Wood Burner

One of the more exciting moments from Herbert’s Dune Messiah novel was a nighttime attack with the Stone Burner.  The second book in the series, it lacked some of the foreboding intrigue and suspense of its predecessor, and so the few action scenes stick out more vividly in my memory.

The Stone Burner, like most of Herbert’s pseudo-tech, was a rather ambiguous device, hinting at nuclear power but never really confirming.  The terror lay in its unique ability–exploding in some pillar of fire, then emitting a radiation which liquefied eye tissue, thereby blinding everyone within range (this was a plot device I suppose, as the traditional law of Fremen was to abandon their blind in the desert).

In the SyFy miniseries, a late night rendezvous is interrupted by the ominous silence of a pre-storm, followed by the crescendoing wind, and a character’s sudden utterance of realization: “Stone Burner…!”.

This post is far less interesting.  But I always think of the Stone Burner when loading my new, somewhat less destructive, wood burner, which releases…controlled infrared and…clouds of noxious fumes…at least until I get the vents adjusted properly.  For comfort!

Okay: the point now.  We had the chimney swept.  We do this periodically as we enjoy using the fireplace.  And it should be noted at this point that the chimney passed home-buying inspection (which is a nonsense cursory review at best), followed by some company that proved to be not so legit after our first cleaning (a couple rednecks with shop vacs).  The time after that, a most apparent professional, or so it seemed anyway, completed a thorough examination of the chimney with cameras, concluding that we had at some point suffered a chimney fire due to excessive creosote, which conveniently put us in the position of being able to file an insurance claim for money to pay him to either do repairs or install a wood burner insert.

The insurance company, balking at a 5-figure claim, sent out their own inspector, who concluded that there was no chimney fire, but agreed that the creosote buildup, combined with ageing mortar, rendered the fireplace unusable.

We, not being chimney experts, weighed our options, and ultimately settled on the wood burner insert option (albeit without insurance money to pay for it), which bypasses the chimney entirely with it’s own metal piping (well, not bypass as it uses the path of the chimney, but it doesn’t rely on it’s insulative properties).  The burner itself is entirely self-contained–essentially an oven which traps the heat, catalyzes the smoke for a clean burn, and employs a fan system to pass house air around the system to heat the room.  This solution was not only half the price of a prospective chimney repair, but it actually heats the house.

It did have its learning curve though.  Wood has to be split much smaller, I often have to override the fire vent’s automatic shutoff to keep it burning, and I have to leave the door open long enough for the fire to reach a self-sustaining size before closing (this is all contrary to the official instructions).  Then it requires multi-stage feeding to build the coal bed.

It also works much better to burn large fires, and to not periodically feed them.  It’s more of a burst system, and function over form.  Still…

The whippet approves.

And no eyes were melted yet.

–Simon

Plywood Palace

Over the years, I’ve made a few notes about The Landscaper.  He was…an interesting neighbor.  First there was an issue with his delinquent children leaving beer cans in our yard.  Then our ongoing irritation with his kids cutting through our garden.  And the little spat about backyard fires (and his wife, The Harpy, screaming obscenities as me).  And their dog which they let crap in our yard without cleaning up (I’ve even seen their son intentionally goad the dog over here to crap).  But in the end, it became obvious that The Landscaper wasn’t mean-spirited.  He was just negligent.  A bad neighbor perhaps, but a decent person.

The Harpy, on the other hand, was patronizing and condescending, when and if she ever made an appearance outside at all, going so far as to call The Landscaper home when she found him joining us at our firepit for some beer and chatting.  From afar, of course.  She didn’t walk over.

They ultimately separated.  And from the rumor mill, that’s putting it lightly.  Something about drugs and alcohol and a restraining order.  All unverified claims of course, since the information was through other channels.  The point being, our neighborhood representative of that property was no more. All was quiet for a time.

Then began the construction project.  Initially a quaint foundation, through the dedicated and noisy efforts of an Old Redneck, and lots of Fleetwood Mac, it grew to become an enormous plywood box.  Granted I was none too thrilled, but I ordinarily stay out of confrontations unless the matter is more serious.

The matter became a little more serious when The Motorcyclist paid us a visit.  Another neighbor with whom we initially had a strained relationship, over whom I was perhaps a little overly-critical, we had since settled into a general truce after the whole fence and surveying matter.  But now he was angry, though not with us thankfully.

He was miffed with the Plywood Palace, and expressed his desire to drive down to city hall and protest.  Taking a more rational approach, and now with the understanding that the matter was bothering more than just myself, I submitted an inquiry to the city’s Planning commission, detailing which zoning statues the structure appeared to violate, and asking if it had a permit.  At the time, I figured this approach would bring some peace to a neighbor, while also curbing the construction’s efforts to complete an unsightly monstrosity for everyone to have to see on a daily basis, instead limiting its height to something more reasonable.  And as an added bonus, it was still in their own best interest to have the paperwork in order before they inevitably tried to sell the house.

What I didn’t expect was the city’s immediate response to dispatch an inspector.  I saw the truck arrive and some measurements being made, the insistence of The Landscaper’s former wife that she had approval for it (which I have since searched for and doesn’t exist in the public records), and some other discussion taking place before I quietly excused myself.  Shortly thereafter, construction ceased.  The Planning Commission’s representative responded to me that they were “working with the homeowner now to ensure everything is being done up to code.”  Fine by me.  If the city deems it acceptable, than who am I to object?

Re:
5607 Red Coach Rd
Dayton, OH  45429

Hello, I’m writing to inquire on any recent permit and inspection filings for the above address, with regards to an accessory building.  Specifically, my concern is regarding Section 9.39 of the City of Centerville Unified Development Ordinance pertaining to Accessory Buildings and Use Standards, General Provisions, restrictions 1, 3, 5, and 6.  The structure in question appears to in violation of these statutes.

I haven’t seen the owner (nor am I certain of who that is), and I’d hate to see the structure advance to completion, only for a zoning issue to arise later.  Others have begun grumbling about the project, so I feel it’s better to bring this to attention now rather than later, and save the owner additional inconvenience.

If the structure has been approved, then please disregard.  Thank you.

Yours,
Simon

Some time later, The Motorcyclist stormed over again.  He had apparently gone to city hall anyway, more than once, and was delivering the message that the Planning Commission was to review the case in an upcoming meeting.  If we had objections to submit, we needed to get those in.  So I sent another message, reaffirming that I didn’t feel it acceptable to approve a structure in violation of published zoning statutes post facto, but if it were to be brought into compliance with these statutes, then that would of course be perfectly reasonable.

Re:
5607 Red Coach Rd
Dayton, OH  45429

To whom it may concern,

I recently wrote to inform of an accessory building under construction at this address.

It has since come to my attention that this accessory building is undergoing a review, pending a final decision to grant special approval.  I also understand that any final commentary prior to this decision should be addressed to this email.

As a neighbor of this address and resident of Centerville, I object to the granting of any such special approval.  

I have no objections to the present zoning statutes that regulate these structures, as they clearly maintain the safety, function, and aesthetics of the neighborhood.  And I fear that granting this structure special approval will undermine the spirit of these rules, as well as send a precedent for their future exemption.

To be clear, I would have no objections to the building were it modified to comply with all city zoning requirements.

Thank you for your time,
Simon

The meeting took place, and the motion to grant special approval was denied.

https://www.centervilleohio.gov/home/showpublisheddocument?id=40957

Following that, construction continued, but the height of the structure was first reduced to a perfectly acceptable and pleasing 12′.  In fact, pending completion, it looks very nice.

But The Old Redneck, true to his namesake, had to say something.  Those personality types operate on old honor codes, codes which require responsive action to a perceived personal slight, codes which on some level I still wish existed, except they tend towards premature violence.

But his honor code fell short when he formulated his comment to be completely passive-aggressive.  Old codes don’t work so well in civilized life.  Nor do they carry much weight when directed towards a much younger man wielding a large axe (he chose his moment of confrontation to coincide with me chopping wood).  And since there’s also little honor in taunting an old man from afar while on my own property and holding a weapon, I dismissed him and resumed my task at hand, ignoring additional attempts to re-engage until, disgruntled, he stomped off inside.

There’s lessons to be had on both sides here, though I had a good idea how it would end.  Your house might be your castle, but it’s governed by the city.  And if you think city rules don’t apply to you, it’s unwise to also refuse any active and positive relationship with your neighbors, going so far as to show overt disregard; because while involving the city in the matter wasn’t intended as petty revenge, it sure was satisfying nonetheless.

–Simon

Ventilation

Of all the brilliant ideas the house’s former owner came up with, I recently discovered that one was to disconnect the attic fan.  I have no idea why he did that, aside from being a cheap bastard that didn’t want to pay the costs of running a small electric motor.

Of course this led to some problems.  Notably, our bathroom exhaust and kitchen stove hood fans vent to the attic.  So we’re continually pumping smoke, oil, and steam up there.  We gradually figured this out as subtle cues manifested, like water spots on the ceiling and the smoke detector at the other end of the house going off when cooking.

But despite clear rooftop evidence of a fan once existing, and our neighbor’s assurance that indeed it used to be there, my attic spelunking expedition did not reveal any such evidence.  Nor did I know where to explore.  Nor did I feel so inclined as to lengthen my crawling journey through insulation.  Nay, an alternate solution was needed.

Alternate solution

This is an old rotary blower (courtesy of the Village Elder), which I spliced into an extension cord and mounted to a sheet of plywood cut to fit the width between rafters.  The idea being, that I would mount it against the existing passive heat vent, thereby turning it into a powered vent.

The passive vent

Some 2x4s and deck screws later, with a side helping of profanity, and the fan was affixed.

Of course, the outlet up there I had originally planned to plug it into had to be disconnected, also another dumbass idea of the prior owner no doubt, so I had to fix that, which also revealed other problems: spliced wires not properly contained in a junction box and missing grounding wires.  Projects for another day.  For now, I just wanted this working.  Minimum Viable Product, as they call it in the Agile world.

Ignorance is bliss. Don’t go in your attic. It’ll just make you wonder how your house hasn’t burned down yet.

Finally, I employed a fancy little wireless switch, so I could control it without climbing up there.  And I installed a weather sensor too, so I knew when it was getting too humid.

So how does it work?  It works, but it’s definitely under-powered for the amount of air I’m asking it to move.  I plan to install a second fan at the other end of the house eventually.  But for now, at least the shower steam won’t rot the roof out.  Small victories.

–Simon

Kópsimodendroacrophobia

The fear of cutting wood at heights

Also: Phobia Quotient!

The neighbors rented a boom.

(A tangent here–I don’t think I’ve ever created a name for these neighbors, probably because they’re nice and reasonably normal.  I’ve just called them by their first names: Brian and Kelly.  Let’s change that now.  I shall call them the Busybees.  Because they’re always rather busy.)

Anyway, they hate trees.  Well, to be fair, all Ohioans hate trees.  Almost as much as they hate dressing appropriately for the weather.  Liz is a prime example.  She also hates trees.  Here’s a typical conversation:

Statement: “This tree looks a little brown.”

Response: “Cut it down!”

Statement: “This branch looks dead.”

Response: “Cut it down!”

Statement: “This tree isn’t perfectly erect.”

Response: “‘Erect’…*teehee….Cut it down!”

But this year the trees in question really did look dead, and so I agreed after much insistence to cut them down.  Liz, the Ohioan, had already been convinced.

Cut it down!

So after this roundabout lengthy preamble, I arrive at the point of my post: I don’t like heights.  Never did.  Figured those who do are idiots or showoffs.  Of course, in my youthful egocentric stubbornness, I forced myself to endure them.  Indoor rock climbing, rappelling, mountain hiking, amusement parks–been there; done that.  And while being young grants a greater allowance for risk in the face of death, probably due to the amount of testosterone that was oozing out of my every orifice, approaching middle age has forced a more practical approach to death–like fearing things that cause it.

Consequently, my parasympathetic nervous system now strongly advises me that death should be avoided and doing certain things increases its risk potential.

But damned if I didn’t try.  I went up there twice and cut branches, though in the end, Liz did the bulk of the work.

So this got me thinking.  Is my phobia truly debilitating, or just a common healthy fear of death, albeit somewhat too strong?  Internet time!

I didn’t vet this information at all, but it seems sound.  Let’s see how I stack up:

  1. Snakes?  Some Indiana Jones shit right there.  But they do have a creepy shape and are among the few large terrestrial animals that are venomous, so I get it.  I do not have this fear.  Pass.
  2. Heights.  Already discussed.  Good to know this is #2.  Fail.
  3. Public Speaking.  I don’t really think this is a phobia.  It’s anxiety over social acceptance, not a life or death scenario, unless you consider the tribal fear of being banished which might lead to death.  Exempted.
  4. Spiders.  See #2, though they’re smaller.  I like spiders.  Pass.
  5. Claustrophobia.  I don’t like being restrained, probably from childhood memories.  My parents thought it was funny to sit on me for extended lengths of time.  Sick Boomer humor.  But small places don’t bother me.  Pass.
  6. Airplanes.  Nah.  I hate them more than fear them.  Smell farts for hours, get felt up by security, then packed in like an Amazon warehouse.  But not fear.  Pass.
  7. Mice?  No.  Pass.
  8. Needles.  I hate getting poked.  Triggers a primal fear, though I don’t have a panic attack from it.  Pass.
  9. Crowds.  Nah.  Just an inconvenience.  Pass.
  10. Darkness?  Only after watching Alien or Jurassic ParkPass.
  11. Blood?  Only my own.  Pass.
  12. Dogs.  I love dogs.  Pass.
  13. Clowns?  I hate them, but it’s not fear.  Sort of like cats.  Shoot them for entertainment, but that’s it.  Pass.

My total score: 1/12.  But, these are weighted based on commonality, so I will use sketchy math to quantify this.

I’ll take the inverse of each item (only counting the “very afraid” numbers, because really, most of us are probably “a little afraid” of many of these, which does not a phobia make), multiplying by 100, and excluding #3, the total equals 169.9.  This is the total max sissy quotient, which I’ll set as the baseline of 100% total sissy.

I posses #2, inverse of which is 4.2.  Then to scale it with the baseline, that’ll be 4.2*100/169.9, which equals 2.5%.  I am a 2.5% sissy.

But where is the median sissy?  I really don’t know, because I don’t see these as cumulative probability, so let’s take a nice midpoint in the range: 5+((32-5)/2)=18.5.  1/18.5*100=5.4.  5.4*100/169.9=3.2% sissy.  So I’m lower than baseline, according to my questionable math from unvetted sources.

I guess I’m pretty normal after all.

But you’re a total sissy if you fear blood.

–Simon

Workshop

Tools–the modern man’s vector to creation and maintenance.  The medium that separates us from the primitive.  The…continually growing pile of crap that must be obtained for the sake of keeping other crap functional.  And the collection never ends.

What started as a srewdriver/socket wrench set and a tape measure has, over a lifetime, morphed beyond the tangible.  It is now a pursuit.  A concept.  A verb!  To…instrumentumate!  I’m sure that’ll catch on.

The result of which was a set of bins that had every tool haphazardly cast, necessitating the full scale emptying of said bins to find the appropriate tool for a given task, with the side effect of me not wanting to start a project, and to the impatience of Liz.

And to follow this chain of causality further, Liz bought me a tool organization system and a workbench!

Alas too late for the recent laminate installation, but new tasks will no doubt spring forth to demand my attention.  And when that day comes, I will be able to easily find the necessary tools.

Or… further instrumentumating!

–Simon