So trivial, yet it really ticks you off.

[Harp]

Admittedly my own fault for blasting the AC every nite, the Commonwealth Edison electric bill came.
Opened it gingerly, closed my eyes for a second and wham! Com Ed screamed I owe $43.
Necessary overhead, wrote the check. Once, a coupla years ago at another apartment building
Com Ed came and mistakenly disconnected my unit. Took two days to correct this, no slack ever
credited my account or compensate for refrigerator "food loss" totaling $2-3 for a bag of ice that cashed.

 

[GHT]

Once, a coupla years ago at another apartment building
Com Ed came and mistakenly disconnected my unit. Took two days to correct this, no slack ever
credited my account or compensate for refrigerator "food loss" totaling $2-3 for a bag of ice that cashed.

Two to three bucks? You cannot be serious, ( to quote John McEnroe,) there must be some sort of legal speak that could jack that cost up to $2K to $3K.
On the approach to Christmas one year, long before Covid, one of my drivers ripped down the Christmas bunting that had been erected in a small town, on his way to a customer to collect their goods for delivery. Unfortunately the bunting had been tied to the roof of one of the shops, so that as well as the bunting, five tiles came down.

At first the police took an interest, the shop owner was claiming criminal damage. Then I got a bill for £5K for the roof repair. Five grand for five tiles, someone has got very creative. When the police heard that our vehicle, although at the maximum permitted height, had been making this journey for over three years, without any such incident, they questioned the Christmas organisers, as well as the shop keeper, if they knew the legal height that bunting or any other temporary decoration must be fixed at? Er, no. Height? What height?

High enough so that tall vehicles like buses and trucks like our's can pass safely underneath. The criminal damage was quietly forgotten and the five grand roof repair came in at just under £150. So there you go, a tale to get you creative.

 

[Hercule]

Aggravation du jour: (more like self-loathing, really) the amount of time I spend on YouTube. - in my defense I work as a librarian and sit in front of a computer all day. What else am I supposed to listen to while I’m working? Unfortunately, that excuse doesn’t cover time spent on my phone.

Periodically I take stock of my recreational screen time and vow to do better, but I rarely seem to muster up the necessary will power to do anything about it. (Hmmm, where are all the stones that should be hurtling in my direction? Nevermind.) The trigger this time was being shadow banned. Serves me right for commenting on what was deemed a touchy subject. I thought I was quite reasonable and polite in my comments. But touch a nerve I did. Rather than engage and discuss, the (unlikely in my opinion) snowflake shadow banned me and the other posters commenting in the thread. Is this what it’s like to be on social media? Somehow I feel like an 8th grade girl.

Ok, I guess I'm good until the next time.

 

[tonyb]

Taking care of my "lawn" is the very least of my priorities. When you live alone and have to work seven days a week to pay off what you owe to the Medical-Industrial Establishment, you are (a) seldom actually at home, and (b) have absolutely no you-know-whats left to give about such things. Besides, not only is it good for the bees, having a scruffy and ragged dooryard does wonders when it comes to keeping the property-tax assessment down (my house was the only one on the street to see a decrease this year). Given that our valuations have been artificially inflated by ruthless housing speculators, I see letting the weeds and the leaves run rampant as a potent weapon against gentrification.

My lawn is partly grass (a couple-three or four varieties) and partly other things I can’t identify. Let’s just call ’em “weeds.” At least they’re green. And it all looks okay when it’s mowed.

When I lived out Seattle my lawn was largely moss. It was sorta like a critter’s underfur — mostly covered by the longer guard hairs (grass, in the case of the lawn), but underneath it was moss.

 

[LizzieMaine]

My back yard is like that. Until the 1960s, my house was heated by coal stoves, and the ashes got dumped out back. There is very little that will grow on a bed of coal ash other than weeds and moss. The actual grass out there is about the size of a bathroom throw rug. On the other hand, you can still find a lot of unburned coal chunks out among the ashes and the clinkers.

 

[EngProf]

Taking care of my "lawn" is the very least of my priorities. When you live alone and have to work seven days a week to pay off what you owe to the Medical-Industrial Establishment, you are (a) seldom actually at home, and (b) have absolutely no you-know-whats left to give about such things. Besides, not only is it good for the bees, having a scruffy and ragged dooryard does wonders when it comes to keeping the property-tax assessment down (my house was the only one on the street to see a decrease this year). Given that our valuations have been artificially inflated by ruthless housing speculators, I see letting the weeds and the leaves run rampant as a potent weapon against gentrification.

I agree 100% with the "let it grow" philosophy when it come to grass and yard cutting. Almost everything in my life has higher priority than cutting grass, so when it gets "pretty high" (variable/subjective term) it gets cut, but not before.
In this Southern climate - plenty of rain, plenty of heat, plenty of humidity - grass grows plenty fast, so you could spend your life doing nothing but cutting it, if you let yourself worry about it.
Also, for your own survival you need to schedule cutting on a day when it's not quite so hot - if that's possible - and also a day when it's not raining.
I tend to agree with Frankenstein's monster (paraphrased) "Grass good!" - for the bugs and bees and for the O2 and CO2 conversion.
Also, if it helps with a lower property-tax assessment, and I think it does, that's an added benefit of non-cutting.

 

[Touchofevil]

^^^^^
Safe bet that your friend is happy to see him go.

We made it as far as June 15 (tonight) this year before the amateur pyrotechnicians commenced their annual assault on the nerves of the neighborhood dogs. My little Otis is already trembling. If recent history is a guide, this will go in for at least a month.

I’ll call the vet tomorrow to ask for a sedative. It annoys me to have to go to this trouble and expense. And I hate to see my dog so distressed.

we too had a round of fireworks and more set off last night. It tends to last to the end of July around here but I would not be surprised to hear it go longer.

 

[Harp]

Two to three bucks? You cannot be serious, ( to quote John McEnroe,) there must be some sort of legal speak that could jack that cost up to $2K to $3K.
On the approach to Christmas one year, long before Covid, one of my drivers ripped down the Christmas bunting that had been erected in a small town, on his way to a customer to collect their goods for delivery. Unfortunately the bunting had been tied to the roof of one of the shops, so that as well as the bunting, five tiles came down.

At first the police took an interest, the shop owner was claiming criminal damage. Then I got a bill for £5K for the roof repair. Five grand for five tiles, someone has got very creative. When the police heard that our vehicle, although at the maximum permitted height, had been making this journey for over three years, without any such incident, they questioned the Christmas organisers, as well as the shop keeper, if they knew the legal height that bunting or any other temporary decoration must be fixed at? Er, no. Height? What height?

High enough so that tall vehicles like buses and trucks like our's can pass safely underneath. The criminal damage was quietly forgotten and the five grand roof repair came in at just under £150. So there you go, a tale to get you creative.

Admirable recourse to common sense legal adjudication.

However in the instance of a corporate error which resulted in several days/nights of darkness
and a melted bag of purchased ice intended for Kentucky bourbon, neither Promissory Estoppel
nor the Felony Murder Doctrine proved sufficient foundation to pursue reimbursement. Although
the facts were beyond question as to electric service contractual implied and paid; also, the ice had
been liquidated, a true instance of cold murder, cumulative merit sorely lacked justification for further
recover pursuit. Chalked to a tort of misadventure and the sincerity of the truth that for Justice to
exist there must by necessity also live a measure of Injustice. If the sacrifice of trivial convenience
and a bag of ice contribute even a bare farthing to the preservation of Justice, so be it.

 

[tonyb]

we too had a round of fireworks and more set off last night. It tends to last to the end of July around here but I would not be surprised to hear it go longer.

It’s about an hour and a half to Wyoming from here, if you drive the speed limit, which means that in practice it’s more like an hour and ten minutes.

Within spittin’ distance of the border, on the Wyoming side, are fireworks stores — not stands, stores, catering to all those greater Denverites. It’s like having a liquor store just over the line from a dry county. Or a cathouse next to the hotel hosting the Focus on the Family convention.

 

[tonyb]

My back yard is like that. Until the 1960s, my house was heated by coal stoves, and the ashes got dumped out back. There is very little that will grow on a bed of coal ash other than weeds and moss. The actual grass out there is about the size of a bathroom throw rug. On the other hand, you can still find a lot of unburned coal chunks out among the ashes and the clinkers.

I thought moss wouldn’t just come up on its own here, but I recently noticed on the north side of the house, hard against the concrete foundation, a little spot of green.

The concrete Virgin Mary statue I brought here with me (it had lived several years outdoors in the cool and damp Maritime Northwest) is holding on to the primitive plant life it had acquired in its former home. It now resides on the east side of a garden shed, and maybe three feet from a cedar fence to its south. In the months when the sun is high in the sky it gets quite a bit of direct sunlight, so I was pleasantly surprised that the moss and lichens survived.

It’s a life of simple pleasures.

Out Seattle way just about anything left in the shade — cars, patio furniture, etc. — for more than a few weeks develops a green slime. If left out for more extended periods the dirt and whatnot falling from the sky gets into cracks and crevices and becomes a great growing medium for moss. An auto repair shop I patronized referred to those kinda vehicles, which often came in on a tow truck, as “fuzzy cars.”

 

[Touchofevil]

It’s about an hour and a half to Wyoming from here, if you drive the speed limit, which means that in practice it’s more like an hour and ten minutes.

Within spittin’ distance of the border, on the Wyoming side, are fireworks stores — not stands, stores, catering to all those greater Denverites. It’s like having a liquor store just over the line from a dry county. Or a cathouse next to the hotel hosting the Focus on the Family convention.

The fireworks around here begin just around an hour before the hint of darkness. It makes no sense unless you are just setting them off for the noise.

 

[Touchofevil]

The same old complaint from me but with a twist: The Boneheaded person who runs the stop sign because why not, they are close enough to stopping and they can beat my truck through the intersection plus the car behind them who runs it with them. Maybe they figure that they can fool me into believing that they are in reality being towed by the first runner, but I know better.

 

[ChiTownScion]

It’s about an hour and a half to Wyoming from here, if you drive the speed limit, which means that in practice it’s more like an hour and ten minutes.

Within spittin’ distance of the border, on the Wyoming side, are fireworks stores — not stands, stores, catering to all those greater Denverites. It’s like having a liquor store just over the line from a dry county. Or a cathouse next to the hotel hosting the Focus on the Family convention.

Independence Day is quickly becoming my least favorite holiday. Firing off cherry bombs and M-80's as a kid was great for laughs: listening to it in my 60's is just annoying.

 

[Harp]

The fireworks around here begin just around an hour before the hint of darkness. It makes no sense unless you are just setting them off for the noise.

The hood has its share of fireworks fools. Some guy over on the other block always uses heavy hardware
M80s well into the night, sky rockets, all the silly shit. Sounds like a mortar barrage sometimes.

What seriously affected me was the summer air show over Lake Michigan. I had an apartment downtown
for three years and the F15s would thunder overhead, reminiscent of long ago air strikes. Couldn't take it
after the first time so I sequestered at a suburban hotel for three-days.

 

[Zombie_61]

The fireworks around here begin just around an hour before the hint of darkness. It makes no sense unless you are just setting them off for the noise.

The same goes in our neighborhood, but that's been the usual pattern leading up to Independence Day--starts in June, peaks July 4th, then tapers off throughout July. Last year was different because of the pandemic precautions, but our mostly latin/hispanic/latino (or whatever the current PC euphemism is) all appear to have connections south of the border that allow them to obtain the explosive and skyrocket type fireworks that are illegal here, so we get to hear occasional explosions year round. One neighbor is so close that we can sometimes hear the sound of the firework being launched from the mortar in their back yard.

 

[Hercule]

When we lived on the west side some of the neighborhood fireworks on the 4th of July seriously rivaled that of some municipalities. As I am wont, I just saw it as $$ going up in smoke. But to each his own.

 

[tonyb]

Independence Day is quickly becoming my least favorite holiday. Firing off cherry bombs and M-80's as a kid was great for laughs: listening to it in my 60's is just annoying.

The Fourth of July was parades and picnics and civic fireworks shows. I was a member of a Boy Scout drum and bugle corps way back when. We did at least two parades every Fourth of July (hard to beat a small town parade on a summer day) and ate ice cream and hotdogs and kept our antennae up for whatever sort of mischief might come our way.

Of course kids will wanna shoot off fireworks. That’s almost a law of nature.

I don’t recall there being the kinds of fireworks (illegal, but that’s not much of a disincentive, it seems) we see — and HEAR — nowadays. I’m talking professional-grade pyrotechnics, stuff that goes hundreds of feet in the air and has multiple explosions in multiple colors and rattles windows a couple miles away. It’s some impressive stuff, for sure. But really, this stuff doesn’t belong in the hands of amateurs, especially amateurs who have been drinking all day. At best it’s a public nuisance. At best.

 

[Hercule]

Before our son came along, my wife and I used to walk down to our local park for the fireworks display on the 4th of July. We'd bring along iced tea, a bag of cherries and honeyed sesame sticks, and stake out a blanket sized bit of real estate among the throngs of people who had been there all day. We usually were able to catch the tail end of the band concert (the "Hometown Band," being a union gig was anything but hometown). The fireworks were set off from the edge of the park bordering the lake (Erie). I swear, with the slight off-shore flow of air they seemed like they were going off directly over our heads. You could actually feel (VERY strongly) the percussion from the explosions in your torso. It wasn't a pleasant experience at all. At least for me it wasn't. We only did that a few times.

 

[Touchofevil]

Loud talkers who are close talkers.

 

[tonyb]

It’s been more than 40 years ago that I attended a fireworks show in Roslyn, Washington, which, as I recall, occurred one day removed from the Fourth, so either the Third of July, or the Fifth.

It was my first visit to Roslyn, a late 19th century time capsule of a town on the eastern side of Snoqualmie Pass in the Cascades.

I suppose the show wouldn’t have impressed a fireworks aficionado. It wasn’t a big budget affair. But for me, situated seemingly right underneath those technicolor explosions in the sky, the light reflecting off the surrounding hills, it was quite the memorable event.

This was before Roslyn got “discovered,” before it became a set for a network TV series, before the completion of a major expansion of the Interstate over the pass that made it an easy (usually) drive from the population center over around Puget Sound. Before the golf courses and condos and all got built right nearby.