Dick does it himself…kind of

I fixed a chair yesterday, which isn’t particularly interesting.  Undoubtedly, the most exciting part was the collapse of the chair’s back leg that threw me and my full cup of coffee all over the GF and kick started the 2+ hour endeavor.  That’s right, two hours.  Had I thought of it at the time, I would’ve simply unscrewed the other three legs, put the chair on the floor and gone about reading my book.  All in all, a Japanese-like chair on the floor would’ve fit nicely into the unifying theme of the GF which is, ironically, that there’s no unifying theme in the GF.  However, I didn’t think of that, and instead set out to find the path of next least resistance…

Dick makes humus

Well, I’m off and running.  As of yesterday morning, the Biolet is officially in use.  I’d just started watching Sunday’s top-4 match featuring Chelsea v. Arsenal, when I got that old-fashioned feeling.  I was overcome with excitement.  Justin and I had prepared the witch’s brew of compost material the night before and put the directed amount (4 gallons) in the bottom of this monstrosity of a toilet.  Yeah, it didn’t look that big in the box, but compared to the normal, flushing version…well, you’ll understand once you’ve seen the picture…

Dick gets a toilet…ish

I have good news and bad news.  Which do you want first?  Yeah, that was a rhetorical question.  Hopefully you’re learning by now that this site is more about what I want and less about what you want.

So, the bad news comes first:  I’m not going to be toilet-less at the GF much longer.  Sad, I know.  But, lest I disappoint those of you expecting a compendium of stories about me foraging into the yard in the wee hours (pun intended) of the night, I have a new answer to your insatiable need for potty humor, which leads me to the good news:  My new toilet is the waterless, composting type.  You read that correctly.  There is no water, no flushing and hopefully, no smell.  It’s basically one step up from an outhouse.  After all, I’d hate to have you think I was taking a step back toward normalcy.

The mathematics of pooping outside…

Dad called yesterday, which was nice because we hadn’t talked in a week or so.  After dispensing with the obligatory father-son dialogue (“No, I don’t have a job yet.”  “Yes, it has been surprisingly rainy here.”), he moved seamlessly into the real reason for the call.  You never have to guess why dad is calling you.  He’ll just tell you right up front, even if there’s no reason for the call at all, and even when he leaves a message.  “No need to call me back.  Just calling to hear your voice.”  Those are my favorite. I always enjoy our conversations, regardless of purpose, and yesterday’s talk was no exception.

“I need to catch up on some things with you.”  Immediately intrigued, I muted the soccer game I’d been watching.  “Ok.” I responded, giving him the green light to fire away.  “Your sister tells me that your room is more like a garage than an actual living space, that your friend that owns the house and with whom you were supposed to live moved out, rented it to strangers, and that you don’t have running water in this place?  She said…” He paused slightly there, wanting to choose his next words carefully.  “She said you poop outside?”  Mind you this was not an accusation; more of a fact-finding mission.  He had been told certain things and needed to check his sources prior to publishing lies to the rest of the family.  Now was my time to set the record straight.   “Dad,” I said, “that is entirely accurate.”