July 25, 1996
Dear Everyone:
Happy Birthday,
“Richard” (7/23) and “Byron” (7/28)!!!
A few weekends ago,
I got into a real domestic mode, doing laundry, running the dishwasher,
emptying all the wastebaskets.
When I pulled the wastebasket out from under the kitchen sink, to
empty it, all this water came out with it.
Investigation suggested that water was leaking from the garbage
disposal, but only when the dishwasher was draining.
On the one hand,
this was good news. It takes
me a week to fill the dishwasher (and another week to get around to
emptying it again), so I had time to get a plumber in to look at the
problem. Of course, the bad
news was, I needed a plumber.
I checked with my Complete
Fix-It-Yourself book, which indicated that the problem might be as
simple as replacing a hose, or just tightening the clamp.
However, since the
only way to determine the extent of the problem required lying on your
back with your head under the disposal with a flashlight, while someone
else runs the dishwasher, I preferred to pay a professional to do it.
I made an appointment for last Saturday and the plumber showed
up, crawled under the sink and located the actual cause of the problem.
The part of the disposal where the hose connects had completely
corroded through.
In retrospect, this
was not much of a surprise.
I’d already replaced the hot water heater, the tap that feeds hot water
to the washing machine and the washing machine hoses.
Clearly,
Contra Costa water, especially hot water, is corrosive to pipes.
I now have a shiny, new garbage disposal, guaranteed for five
years.
It’s a good thing
it’s guaranteed, because last Tuesday, when I ran some egg shells
through it, it went completely ballistic on me.
Sounded like it wanted to tear the whole kitchen apart.
And, yes, I checked; there were no spoons in with the egg shells.
I now have a plumber coming on Saturday to check on my shiny,
new, but clearly dysfunctional, disposal.
Having got the
disposal fixed, or so I thought, “Jeannie” and I went to see
The Frighteners.
Michael J.
Fox plays a psychic con artist, teaming up with ectoplasmic buddies
to “haunt” houses, then “exorcise” the spirits, for a price.
Trouble is, some unknown force is causing perfectly healthy
people to drop dead of heart attacks and Fox is the only one who can
“see” the perpetrator.
That’s as much as you need to know.
This is a prime
example of good actors in a bad movie.
The direction, in particular, is atrocious.
The plot is pure nonsense, which is not necessarily a bad thing,
except that, in this case, it is.
Even the music is lousy.
As “Jeannie” said, “It makes no sense on so many different
levels.”
The one interesting
point about it is where it was filmed.
The locale looked like any typical small
New England town.
But it was filmed entirely in
New Zealand.
New Zealand has some spectacular scenery, but none of it is in
this film. To see New
Zealand scenery, go rent
The Man From
Snowy River instead.
(Or watch the syndicated TV series,
Hercules,
The Legendary Journeys.)
As for The Frighteners,
I can’t even recommend it for the air conditioning.
I’m on vacation next
week, for our annual pilgrimage to
Elizabethan England.
Love, as always,
Pete
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