And the clock keeps ticking...

I came across this web page today and this early paragraph really grabbed me, reminiscent of Institute discussions from long ago.  This is all I've read so far; I'll get to the remainder later today.  I suspect it will be quite savory.  Or not.

Philosophy is a practice of wonder and logic; curiosity and introspection; dialectic and meditation; criticism and advocacy.  We all do some of these things, some of the time. We all philosophize, but we do so in different ways.

https://bigthink.com/mini-philosophy/which-of-the-5-philosophical-archetypes-best-describes-you/

 

 

Of Beagles and Masks

I'm pretty sure that I told the story about how Talks With Beagles got his name at least once before, but we never get tired of those old classics.  

I named him Splash after a friend of mine who was a commercial fisherman down in Florida.  His colleagues named him that because he used to fall off the boat a lot.  Right from the start, I had the feeling old Splash was going to be that kind of dog.  

Beagles were never bred for cognitive intelligence you know.  They were bred for rabbit hunting skills and for the friendly manner with which they interact with humans and most other dogs.  In order to interact with humans at all they need to understand a few simple commands like "come" and "stay".  Splash's human language skills got lost somewhere in the gene pool, so I had to learn to speak to him in his native tongue, which I did.  Truth is, I already had decades of experience listening to the beagle language, I just needed to learn to speak it fluently in order to communicate with Splash. Although beagles have a limited vocabulary, they can be downright eloquent with their use of inflection and emotional delivery.  Like the old saying goes, "It's not what you say, it's how you say it."

When I first started on the internet, I was told that I needed to come up with nom de net.  I had recently read a book about Native Americans, and I was impressed with how their names were chosen.  Although old Splash has since gone off to the Happy Hunting Grounds, his legacy will now live on forever in cyberspace.

I never cared much for those covid masks.  Although they might have had some medicinal value, I thought their main purpose was to make us more docile and easier to manage like those poor people in Japan and Red China.  Be that as it may, they're mostly gone by now, and good riddance.

Origin stories

 Well you know a beagle is a dog.  Actually though I think his proper name is Talks with Beagles which I think is the name of an Indian or maybe it is Old Dog taking on an Indian name, or maybe it has something to do with The Freehold.  I will bow out on the subject and wait for Beagles to supply his own origin story.  

And a Boxer is a dog, I think even a particular dog. Not sure about that extra T in the middle, but I like it as a short name, much like Beagles is short for Talkswith Beagles, so if you are in a hurry, and  as Movers and Shakers all us Institute Fellows are in a hurry, we could ask for instance, "Hey Freet what time is it by that big ol' clock of yours."  But if you don't like the ring of that then you only have to say and it will never ring out in the slightly dusty halls of The Institute again.

I am thinking Old Dog comes from when he was working in the printshop alongside all those careless snotnoses who were good enough to do the easy shit but when a truly hard task came down the pike they would have to go to the recesses of the shop where the slightly arcane machines were along with Old Dog who was always fucking with something back there.  They would have to put up with the way he shook his head as if to say don't you snotnose dumbasses know anything fer Chrissake?   But in the end Old Dog would get the job done right, and they would flee when he began giving them the details.  I may not have this exactly correctly but I have no doubt The Scourge will set me straight shortly.

Nobody ever asks me why I am Uncle Ken, probably because once I get to telling a story, well it may take a little time.  Actually my full proper name is Kindly Uncle Ken though I think I am the only one who adds the Kindly.  I knew a guy named Walt once and I got into calling him Uncle Walt (like in Disney) because I liked the way it sounded, and then I realized Uncle Ken sounded pretty good too, so that is my story.

I guess I admire grandfather clocks, old and stately like the fellows of The Institute, and I like those 15 minute interludes, a short one for the quarter after, double that for the half hour, and three times for the quarter to I presume.  I like a chatty clock.

Not crazy about cuckoo clocks though, just too damn silly.  Time is like money, a serious business and a bird popping out is way too much razzle dazzle.

I know even less about submersible pumps and pressure switches than I know about grandfather clocks and how Old Dog got his name.  But I'm glad that Beagles got through that crisis with a minimum of trouble.  

But I was kind of hoping we would continue on with the subject of masks.  I know Beagles and I went to the mat on the issue several times and I thought it would be interesting to revisit the issue in a calmer manner than when it was all around us.  Remember that barber who ran a mask free shop for awhile and got in trouble with the local gummint, although I think other parts of the local gummint was on his side.

I would like to bat the subject around with bar talk where anybody can say anything and nobody gets pissed and if you want to derail the subject by telling a joke there is no harm and no foul.

Or not, as long as people are yakking about anything at all I am happy. 

Holy Fark!

Look who's back!  Jumpin' Jesus on a pogo stick; welcome back, buddy.  I've been wondering about your situation, the way you ghosted the blog, even the other blogs you had going.  How rude!, I'm thinking, quite unlike the genteel protocols of The Institute.  But then I'm wondering, maybe Brother Beantown fell on hard times, landed in jail, is in the hospital, or even dead.  Could be anything, really, and I was still working on an (in)appropriate post mocking and/or impugning you and your person, your job, your taste in music; the list goes on.  Even worse, maybe you had your fill of the mutterings of the hapless Midwestern rubes but were too polite to say so.  But I digress.  Good to see you back; it's like you never left.

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It's been a long time since I worked on any carbs but I don't think it's the ethanol clogging the jets, especially if it's an older unit.  All the jets I've seen have been brass, which is impervious to such solvents.  Ethanol is notorious for dissolving hoses and gaskets and the resultant gunk is what is causing the problem.  That's purely my conjecture; there should be a competent small engine mechanic in your area who can square you away.  OR, you could check out Chickanic's YouTube channel; she has excellent chainsaw-fu and may have already covered it.

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-5F?  Meh; you get used to it.  It's the wind that makes it brutal.  Funny story: Used to work with a guy, recent emigre from the Soviet Union, who wore this amazing black sable hat/cap/whatever, the kind you see all the Russkis wearing in the movies.  He'd come into work shivering, talking about how cold it was and I had to smile.  He was from Siberia.

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One final word.  You mentioned "old dogs" a few times.  There is only one Old Dog at the Institute and he be me.  The other members are Beagles and Uncle Ken; please make a note of it.  Yes, you are forgiven.  Thank you for your attention to this matter!  And I've been meaning to ask, "What's a Freet?"

This super cold weather is For The Birds!

Greetings from Boston,where it's -5 F right now.  I'm sure it's cold where you all are, as well.  TalksWithBeagles, I do hope your well water is fully working by now!  We have the town water piped in here, but I do leave our meter-closet open at this time of year so I don't have freezup on the main water line.  It's never been a problem, I'm just being prudent.  I wanted to write, "water-closet" but of course that has a different meaning to some Brits.  We got a lot of snow this time, around 20 inches and two of my neighbors' snowblowers wouldn't stay running so I loaned them mine. That ethenol in the gas sure clogs up the carb mains if not maintained!
Long time no visit the Institute here, sorry... but it's good to be reading you old dogs again.  I'm playing catch-up, I can toss a few stories in here and there to contribute.
Ken, I'll find a keepsake or two and maybe a future story.
Our latest toy here though, you older dogs may remember these, has been a grandfather-clock. They are so beautiful and also are kind of fun to keep tuned and in-time, it's a rather shame the younger pups don't want them any more, and you can find on Marketplace what sold as $3000 clocks now for just one or two c-notes, fully working or just needing minor restoration.  Ours chimes beautifully each quarter-hour and keeps perfect time.  It was cheap, door was taped shut with masking-tape with no key for the door lock, and was missing it's finial. It didn't have many scratches though so I was happy to remove the masking-tape glue with Goo Gone, found a cheap finial on eBay, and Amazon-ed a key. It's a beautiful piece of furniture and we're enjoying it.  I'm not fooled that any heir may want it, it may go to landfill on that eventual day when I pass on, but at least until then we can enjoy it. 
This week we decided to help the cold birds by putting out some bird seed, which we've never done. So we tossed some loose mixed seed onto our back porch, and soon four or five small wrens came and this was super entertaining for our two indoor cats, glued to the window and flicking their tales.  My wife soon got us a bird-feeder, and I just hung that up yesterday in a temporary way and I'll redeploy it with a pole later. It's a medium cost one, so that if squirrels get onto it their body weight closes access to the seeds.  Our idea being that we'll dangle it off the porch over the grass a little, so that we don't get quite so much poop on the porch deck.  Rocky (dog) has been tracking that into the house when he comes in from doing his Business, so we have to wipe his feet, not fun.  
Interestingly, the birds have not discovered the bird-feeder at all yet. They keep coming to the porch floor and looking for seed. I want to tell them, "it's right there above you!" but of course that would scare them off.  It has the fatty sunflower seeds loaded in, I hope it helps them during this cold snap.
I hope you're keeping warm and safe where you are!  

But Some Things Last Longer Than Others

Turned out it wasn't the pump after all.  It was the pressure switch.  In addition to calling the well driller, I called the regular plumbing and heating guy and also left him a message.  He called me back at 8:00 AM and said he would be there between 10:00 and 11:00.  He showed up promptly at 10:00 and had the problem fixed by 10:15. It's only a temporary fix though.  The switch needs to be replaced as well as the pressure tank.  He said that he might be able to do it tomorrow or next week for sure.  Meanwhile we have running water in the house again.  Yay!

Nothing Lasts Forever

There are several alternatives for water pumps on rural wells.  The most popular is the "submersible".  It's called that because the pump is located at the end of the drop pipe that extends down the well casing and actually runs under water.  Submersible pumps are warrantied for 20 years, which seems like a long time at the beginning, but doesn't seem nearly as long when viewed from the other end. 

Ours lasted over 25 years, so we should be pleased with its performance.  It just died a few hours ago, and now we have no running water in the house.  The only problem with submersibles is that nobody can repair or replace them except a well driller because the pipe needs to be pulled with the same equipment that installed it.  This takes some doing, and they're certainly not going to do it in the middle of the night.  I left a message on their voice mail after being assured by the nice lady who made the recording that they will contact me as soon as possible.  Ah, the joys of rural living!