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Hello, my name is Judas Gutenberg and this is my blaag (pronounced as you would the vomit noise "hyroop-bleuach").



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Like my brownhouse:
   rolling an ancient washing machine upstairs
Tuesday, April 18 2017
This morning, Gretchen and I met David (of Susan & David) at the Wall Street house with what we needed to do a number of chores there. I'd loaded the replacement washing machine in the back of the Subaru (along with a piece of loose aluminum soffit and two transparent window well covers), put a ladder on the roof, and equipped the car with a number of tools. Getting appliances down into that basement is not an easy job, as I remember from the time Gretchen and I wrestled a dryer down the stairs. This time, though, we had three people. Still, there's not much room to maneuver and an additional person didn't really help. And even before we had it in place, it was clear that a bigger problem lay before us: getting the old Whirlpool up those same stairs and into the Subaru. Not only was it slightly wider in one dimension, but it was older and thus made of much more substantial metal.
Somewhere in the course of all this, the house's new residence made an appearance. She'd been upstairs entertaining her parents, who'd flown in from France and only spoke French (which Gretchen had done her best to stumble through). She herself clearly spoke English as a second language.
Once David and I had gotten the monster Whirlpool to the bottom of the stairs, I realized I would be best to remove the lid so I could get a better handhold on its inside (otherwise I couldn't really handle it from my side). Removing four screws should've done trick, but the lid was held by a complex structure of thick metal wires. But then when I grabbed the top and tried to lift, it gave way. It turned out that the only thing holding the top on was four small screws all on one side. To completely remove it, though, we had to disconnect a bunch of wires (one of which we cut) and detach two hoses. But without the top, the machine had a nearly-cubic form, and this meant we could just roll it end-over-end up the stairs. This time we'd removed one of the doors, meaning we wouldn't have to do anything elaborate at the top of the stairs. Still, it was a tight squeeze with no more than an eighth of an inch of play at one point. But then that big ugly fucker was out of the house and then in the Subaru. All this struggling with the washing machine had eaten into our time, so I decided not to deal with the soffit today. But we did manage to install the plastic covers over the window wells.
Our next stop was the house on Brewster Street, which David had never seen. It was still being worked on, and signficantly behind the schedule Gretchen would've preferred. One guy was doing some painting while another guy installed cabinets in the kitchen. The floor in the bathroom had yet to be installed, and there were lots of little things needing doing. But the interior colors looked really good, particularly in the context of all the Edwardian details.
Initially David wanted to go his own way from there, but we convinced him to join us for lunch at the newish healthy Latino lunch place on Broadway called Peace Nation Café. We all ordered the black-bean burger, and I had mine with all the stuff they like to put on it, which is a weird combo: cabbage, beets, and avocado. I don't usually like beets, but I trusted their vision enough to give it a chance and, with a side of pickled jalapeños, it ended up being one of the best burgers I have had in a long time. Plus, it came with fries, which are always welcome.
Part of what was going on at lunch was handoff David was making of a coffee mug he'd illustrated with a drawing of Ruth Bader Ginsburg wielding an enormous fountain pen. He was giving it to Gretchen (with a note) so that she could present it to Ginsburg's doorman at the Watergate (one building over from where Gretchen's parents now live). Of course, it would then presumably have to be tested for anthrax and what not before the aging jurist would ever actually get to hold it in her frail bony hands, but hopefully someday soon she will.


For linking purposes this article's URL is:
http://asecular.com/blog.php?170418

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