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*That* neighbor...

On Facebook I hooked up with everyone I went to high school with. That was a good thing. It re-enforced my learning. Now I know why I left town in the first place and saved me from making the error of a lifetime.
 
OK. My favorite neighbor, who's watched my cat and gave me a salmon he caught (all cleaned and everything) and when I told him how amazing it was, gave me some smoked salmon he'd made, his brother is dying of cancer. That sucks, but at least his brother is cool and is trying to get everything in order before he goes and he gave my neighbor, we'll call him Joe, his '87 Ford Ranger. It isn't running now, though, so he was getting it off a trailer this morning. I helped out, along with...Bill. (Fuck, I should just use real names, none of you is going to know them.) We got the bugger unloaded and I asked them both about Bob's wife. They hadn't heard anything. Joe thought she might be staying at their other place. So I guess I may have to ask at some point. :/
 
That Neighbor's house has needed paint, a roof, and basic maintenance since I moved here, some 6 years ago. One could argue that he just doesn't have the money except for the rain gutter that came loose and then hung halfway down for the better part of a year before it finally fell off. Or the new FJ Cruiser parked outside.

Around 2010 the roof failed to the point that he nailed a tarp over part of it. In the past 5 years we're on something like our third tarp and from time to time a good wind storm comes through and the neighborhood is treated to bits of shredded tarp.

I mention this because today as I was taking The Dog for her patrol of Squirrel Park I saw ladders propped against the place and by the time we got home a second tarp had been added to the other half of the roof. As I type this, sounds of midnight construction disturb my calm.
 
There should be pics, first of all.

Secondly, my weird neighbor that I mentioned upthread, he's been out every weekend for the past two months sawing and grinding and hammering on something in the engine compartment of his 1990s vintage Ford diesel pickemup truck. I don't know what he's doing and I don't want to ask, either, but it's taking some time to do whatever it is.

I was up on the roof last week cleaning out the gutters and got a good scope on things from up there. He has almost succeeded in paving his back yard and has mostly succeeded in killing off all the grass on his front yard with chemical spray, so I can't wait to see what's next. I'm hoping for a merry-go-round somewhere. Or better yet, a fucking Ferris Wheel.
 
Volpone said:
That Neighbor's house has needed paint, a roof, and basic maintenance since I moved here, some 6 years ago. One could argue that he just doesn't have the money except for the rain gutter that came loose and then hung halfway down for the better part of a year before it finally fell off. Or the new FJ Cruiser parked outside.

Around 2010 the roof failed to the point that he nailed a tarp over part of it. In the past 5 years we're on something like our third tarp and from time to time a good wind storm comes through and the neighborhood is treated to bits of shredded tarp.

I mention this because today as I was taking The Dog for her patrol of Squirrel Park I saw ladders propped against the place and by the time we got home a second tarp had been added to the other half of the roof. As I type this, sounds of midnight construction disturb my calm.
Click to expand...

Maybe you should mind your own business.
 
Volpone said:
That Neighbor's house has needed paint, a roof, and basic maintenance since I moved here, some 6 years ago. One could argue that he just doesn't have the money except for the rain gutter that came loose and then hung halfway down for the better part of a year before it finally fell off. Or the new FJ Cruiser parked outside.

Around 2010 the roof failed to the point that he nailed a tarp over part of it. In the past 5 years we're on something like our third tarp and from time to time a good wind storm comes through and the neighborhood is treated to bits of shredded tarp.

I mention this because today as I was taking The Dog for her patrol of Squirrel Park I saw ladders propped against the place and by the time we got home a second tarp had been added to the other half of the roof. As I type this, sounds of midnight construction disturb my calm.
Click to expand...

Maybe you should mind your own business.
 
I don't have time for That Neighbors in a society with levels of anomie and isolation this high. Just That Landlords and That Roommates.
 
Geez, got wrangled into an awkwardly long conversation with him and utterly failed to competently extract myself. "The place is a piece of shit. I don't know what to do with it." "I didn't want you to think I was a lazy piece of shit. I'm working all the time." :phpeek: OK. Here's the thing: Everything wouldn't be rotten if you painted the place when the paint peels off it. Everything wouldn't be rotten if you put a new roof on when the current roof starts leaking. If the camper that has been sitting in the driveway for 8 years is an embarrassment, there are plenty of places you can sell it. Ditto for the '87-ish notchback Mustang. And I've really got things I need to make happen, so standing here, at the gate to my yard, throwing a tennis ball for my dog and making increasingly less subtle hints is a cue for you to say "Good talking with you. Stay in touch!" I hate my life.
 
Two tidbits: They got an electric Smart ForTwo Car last week, to add to their motor fleet. It gets parked behind the '85 Mustang that has been sitting in front of the garage since he rear-ended someone with it over 5 years ago. I really don't have strong feelings one way or another on this.

The other thing: I'm selling my house because I've had enough of Portland and Oregon and I am trying to flee. Apparently I had a blind spot on just how bad my foundation was when I bought the place. The house is small, over 60 years old, and has no significant structural problems, so I thought a bad foundation was a worthwhile risk. Besides, I was never-EVER going to sell it, so it didn't matter.

Never say never.

Well it's been a 2 month nightmare. We put the house on the market for 2 days, everyone goes nuts and we get a dozen offers. Then the buyer backs out after the home inspection. My third buyer stayed. But among the annoying things her realtor did was add a line in the contract that the foundation would be inspected by a "licensed foundation professional," who would make any necessary repairs. I was really, really nervous about this, but my realtor didn't seem too worried, so I agreed to it.

Turns out I was right. No one with a license wants the liability of saying "sure, it should be fine." There are enough easier jobs with less risk out there. And anyone that wants to take it has suggestions that range from "for $26K we'll put plastic over everything so they can't see it" to "we'll rip out the floorboards in the bedrooms and sink piers down to the granite." Problem is, there's no granite here. You could dig to China and not hit granite. But a contract is a contract, so we're all trying to figure out a way to make a stupid deal work.

Anyway, now I understand my neighbor not wanting to put any money into his house. If it isn't sellable, he can't recoup that money.

Of course normal people repaint their house every few years and when a rain gutter falls off, they put it back up. For $5K you can probably get yourself a nice new, professionally installed roof instead of tacking new tarps onto it every couple years. You could buy a lot of new roofs for an electric Smart Car.
 
That neighbor is out, laboriously rototilling his front yard again. I'd say rototilling a garden in his front yard, but if last time is any indication, he isn't going to plant anything. So I have no idea what the fuck he's up to. I mean, it isn't a trivial task. He's been at it all day. And once he's got the ground all worked up, he won't do anything with it.

Meanwhile, his huge, honkin' cinderblock mailbox is falling apart. I don't know how concrete can wear out in 2-3 years, but there you have it. He spent an entire weekend building it (I think the saga is upthread). 6 cinderblocks, stacked on top of each other, with timber to fasten the mailbox to (I think only 2x4s, but still...) So the damned mailbox is close to 5' off the ground. I bet the mailman has to reach up to put mail in it. Anyway, yesterday, while walking The Dog, I noticed most of the cinderblocks are cracked and falling apart; like almost busted in half.

Well, he's not my problem after next week (knock on wood). The house is sold. The buyer is supposed to be signing the last of the paperwork today or Wednesday and I'm loading up a U-Haul on the 12th to get out of this miserable town and miserable state.
 
Volpone said:
That neighbor is out, laboriously rototilling his front yard again. I'd say rototilling a garden in his front yard, but if last time is any indication, he isn't going to plant anything. So I have no idea what the fuck he's up to. I mean, it isn't a trivial task. He's been at it all day.
Click to expand...

That's where the bodies are buried.
 
All kidding aside, and sorry to be a downer in my own snarky thread, that's one of my earliest Portland memories: Missing girls Ashley Pond and Miranda Gaddes. Working from memory here, because I don't feel like rereading the details, but one of them was being molested by Ward Weaver, who was the adult son of an incarcerated serial killer. The cops didn't do anything at the time.

They found one of the bodies under a concrete slab in Weaver's back yard that was "for a hot tub." The other girl was trying to track down her friend after the disappearance. They found her body in a cardboard box in a backyard storage shed. :(
 
On a lighter note, if there was a way to upload a photo that doesn't have an URL, I'd share a picture I made with a tip about staging a house so the buyer can see possibilities. It was a bucket with lotion in it, on a string, next to an open trap door. Selling this house was unpleasant enough that I was tempted to write "DEAD HOOKERS \/ " on the underside of the trap door in Sharpie. Then the buyer wouldn't see it unless she opened the crawlspace. But in the unlikely event that there is (or ever will be) a dead hooker buried in my crawlspace, I figure it isn't good to joke about such things.

Anyway, the reason I'm writing is this morning, before 6, I was awakened by the sharp cracks that I assumed were some idiot setting off the last of his fireworks. Eventually I gave up on trying to get that last 20 minutes of sleep (so now I'm tired, naturally) and opened the curtains--just in time to see That Neighbor walking back into his garage with an axe. Who fucking splits wood at 6am?
 
Other day he was out hoeing (raking? I couldn't tell; didn't want to stare) his tilled front yard. At least he did plant a couple trees in it. That's more than happened the first time he did it.
 
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