Permit service

A current misnomer in my business is the term "permit expediter".  By hiring a company which purports to "expedite" building permits, one would think that there is a secret passageway through the horrific caverns of municipal building departments that is only known to the expediter.  Paying the fee will unlock the secrets and illuminate the path, and projects with such benefits will have their ticket stamped so contractors can then build them.  

For financiers of affordable housing projects in a shaky economy, building permits are proof that the borrower is in a position to make good on their commitments to spend the lenders' money.  No building permit = no financial closing = no project = I don't get paid.  So it's in my best interest to make sure those permits happen.

Based on my experiences of the last 10-12 months, however, I have determined that expediters should change their description of their work to "permit babysitting", or the more proper business usage of "permit service", as they fill out forms, stand in lines, and monitor progress.  That's about all they can do, as cajoling reviewers to move their piles along is as effective as pushing on a rope.  Some are better than others, and some are less ethical than others, and some are outright liars.  Their business is based on trafficking speculation of when other people beyond their locus of control will finish their work.  It's a step short of insanity.

Despite these shortcomings, we're at the tail end of a permit process that is on the cusp of being successful.  It's been an amazing pain in the ass, and one that is making me re-think how we do business with these regulatory agencies.  Talking clients down from ledges is not my idea of fun, as millions of bucks hang in the balance when Jack Permit Reviewer lets things pile up and the Public Space fiefdom doesn't agree with approvals from the water authority who insists on looking at drawings only on the third Tuesday of a month with 27 or less days in it...unless you happen to be Nationals Stadium, and the whole building department flops like Willie Stargell trying to steal second base.  No problems getting a permit there.

But I ramble on because I received quite a shock today on a job whose permit I'm monitoring through a development company that offers permit services (not expediting).  When I called to speak with my main contact there, an older dude who I've worked with the past 4 years, I expected the usual bantering and exchange of Christmas and New Years good wishes.  He was always interesting to speak with because he answered questions with questions and had a particular cadence and tone of voice that reminded me of what a real life Jedi would be like.  I got used to his style after awhile and we established a good working relationship.

I am referring to him in the past tense because when I asked to speak with him the receptionist said:  "I'm sorry, he's deceased."   WHHAAT?? I asked why, how, when, etc.  Didn't get much info, spoke with his associate who is handling my project, and didn't really care about the project at that point.  He was an older guy, private, had a family, and just got sick and never got well.  He died sometime in mid-December.

Rest in peace, Carl.  

Wasted weekend

Actually, it was quite productive.  I spent virtually the entire day with Hank plumbing the waste lines in the downstairs bathroom, which involved tearing out much more plumbing than I had originally anticipated.  But working with him is an exercise in efficiency--he knows just exactly what needs to get done and does it.  And I know just enough to do the menial stuff while he's doing the heavy lifting--as a result the old water and waste piping came out and we installed the new stuff  by dinnertime.  The rest of the evening was spent with Susanna watching the Caps drop one to the Habs with :21 in the game while Adam was jamming with his band and K was at a play with her friend.  Boudreau's quote:  "He (Jurcina) should have hit him instead of looking for the puck between his legs".  I love this coach.  To be fair, Jurcina was the filling in the screw-up sandwich, as Alzner let the Hab by him and Johnson let the shot trickle through his pads...

We should have a working johnny and sink by the weekend when my cousins join the rest of the world in overrunning our fair city for the inauguration--the shower tile work won't quite be done.

Here's some of the old stuff:

And here's the new configuration...

So no ride on Saturday--it was crappy out anyway, and Sunday morning was wet and I had to go to work to put out a small fire and help Mom move some furniture.  The rest of the fam visited extended fam in Herndon, so as is my custom I joined them later in the day by riding out there, a process that includes a destination rather than an out and back, which is more palatable when time is tight.   And those 35 or so miles today may have well been 135, since I've been off the bike most of the winter now and have the legs of a withered old coot.

The road back to the routine is slowly becoming smoother. 

Impenetrable

I just bore witness to one of the most outstanding goaltending performances that I've ever seen in hockey, and I didn't even watch the whole game.

Steve Mason of the Columbus Blue Jackets stoned our Caps 3 nil.  NOTHING was going in, and when they beat young Mr. Mason honestly, the pipes had his back.  After Stecks missed the open net wide left, his next check was one of frustration--I'm sure the CBJ defenseman on the wrong end of the hit is still feeling it.  Even K, who normally doesn't pay attention to any of the sporting events that her husband and offspring watch, looked up from whatever she was doing to comment on the ferocity of Steckel's check.

It was bound to happen--only their 2nd loss at home this year.  They're not the SJ Sharks, but they're getting close.

I love watching hockey during the winter days...

1 point 2 tons

That's about how much weight I gained over the past few weeks.  Didn't do much riding over this Christmas/New Year's vacation.  Didn't really want to either, a form of ennui that strikes me every once in a while, when I feel that riding is an indulgence rather than  something that can actually contribute to eliminating such tendencies.  When I'm in this state the inertia is huge--overcoming it becomes a workout in itself.  But I did get out a coupla days, though, and I can feel the routine settling back in.

One of the major (though unintended) activities that I attribute (rationalize) to the lack of road time was the demolition of our downstairs bathroom.  A tiny space, 4' x 7', laid out such that one's knees are about one's ears when sitting on the throne.  When we had 3 amazonian au pairs in 3 years, I often wondered how they fit in that tiny space, but they managed.  

I started busting out the ceramic tile shower surround on New Year's Eve Day.  My hands were sliced and diced by the time I was preparing the New Year's Eve feast.  Note to self:  do not prep food with garlic, lemon, and salt after such activities.  Walls came down the next day, and I was able to get huge hunks of tiled wall out and barely avoided a hernia.  By the time Hank and I loaded, hauled, and dumped this pile of rock wall, plaster lath, plaster, ceramic tile, mudset, and the associated rotten framing members, we weighed in at 1.2 tons.  That's 2400 lbs of debris out of a 180 cubic foot space.   

Now it's opened up, and Hank will re-plumb, reframe, and re-wire the space while I'm at work this weekend, and then I'll hang/finish the drywall, tile, paint, and install the fixtures over the next couple of weeks.  Then we'll be back in business with a 2nd bathroom that actually works and I can actually shower down there after coming in from rides rather than scaring everyone away in my schwadey costume.  Excellent.

River Road

Usually on our anniversary we take the day off and do something cultural and eat something lavish.  The romantic escapade ends with last minute shopping for Christmas.

Since our work schedules prohibited this interlude on the appointed day, we planned on doing all of that today.  That is, until the 60" water main broke in Potomac/Bethesda and washed away our best laid plans.  Thinking we would be without water (and we were, as the faucets featured a trickle), I ran to Safeway to stock up on some H2O.

We still went out, shopped, ate, and even looked at some tile for the kitchen before coming home to the kids, who had their Christmas vacation bonus of 2.5 hours, as the County shut down all schools due to the broken water main.

But we got everything done that we wanted to, and got to spend some time with each other.  Double bonus--I'll take that whenever I can.

Hoping that both of you have a merry Christmas...

Happy Anniversary

Tonight marks 18 years of marriage. 18 is quite a number--the number of years before the passage to adulthood, as it is hard to believe that some kid is now allowed to vote after existing for as long as we have been married. On an completely non romantic and non reflective note, it is the jersey # of one of the best base stealers in the '80's MLB (who happened to have an 18 year career), the number I wore playing baseball in my glory days. I would be remiss to not mention that, while 18 is not a prime number, it is close in its coolness. And marriage is quite a cool thing, especially this one. Without Karen I can confidently say that I wouldn't be where I am today.

Little did I know 18 years ago tonight that I would be playing Christmas carols with the entire fam while sitting around our suburban enclave...on a guitar, no less, an instrument that is slowly becoming less unnatural to me, after wasting 8 years of my parents' hard earned caiiish on piano lessons when I was a non-practicing imp. K and S on the piano (duet), A on the sax, and me strummin' along. On the last run through we actually sounded decent, but we're not (and never will be) the von Trapps.

Great weekend of getting things ready for the Christmas cavalcades. We went to the annual party at Mike and Diane's place, a party that has morphed into a showcase of musical and lyrical talent. It's become a tradition that more and more people perform, and we and our neighbors did our annual butchering of some Christmas carol in the manner of relating to local life and times, and it was well-received (so well-received last year that the evite poll required us to create a new song). Hanging out with our friends, kids running around being kids and teenagers, and plenty of good stuff flowing. It was, as usual, a great time.

When Mike turned 40 a couple of years ago, he had an "Open Mike" (get it?) night party, where all of us were to perform some sort of musical number. Paul and I decided to "explore the space" since we "had a fever" and that was that. Another great party. They're all memorable, especially when kids break their arms at them.

These are the parties that we went to when we were the kids, watching our parents let their hair down a little while we were hanging with our buddies and trying to figure out how this all fit together. Then we started having them as teenagers while our parents were in the inner recesses of the house, venturing out only to show that they were still boss, but trusting us enough. Then of course the group house parties where the neighbors call the cops because we're too loud, or the beast from the hills stalks one of your housemates because he gave him the hairy eyeball. Then parties turned into "soirees", when we were young and sans kids, but less raucous and more mellow because we were more "mature." And then we didn't have them for awhile because the house becomes the domain of the napoleonic tyrants who don't care that your're no longer cool, since now it's ALL ABOUT THEM. And then they get older and we can let our hair down again, although some of us don't have any of that anymore. And the cycle begins anew.

Sad anniversary

I was cleaning out my garage yesterday and wrapping up some final trim work with Hank, the contractor, when I saw some rare activity across the street.  Our neighbors who had left their house mysteriously a couple of months ago were getting their mail and checking up on some things.

I ran across the street to greet them.  We exchanged warm hugs, handshakes, and Christmas greetings.  I asked them where they went, and what's been up, knowing that the answer was directly related to the tragedy they experienced last year.  As Laura started to speak I could tell that the words were not coming easily, so I told her to say no more and we redirected the conversation.  David is working at Dulles Airport now, so they've moved to be closer to family and work.  Their grief is still raw, and staying in that house is no longer an option.  We exchanged phone numbers and promised to keep in touch, but after they sell the house I'm afraid we won't see them again, as we're a part of that sad memory too.