Wednesday, July 12, 2006

How Life is Lived Now

Nothing much on the books today, possums.

Lunch with Brother Steve Runyon, who runs mighty KUSF -- motto: All the Sound That's Fit to Hear -- to the greater glory of this fine university. We'll have a few drinks, and Runyon, who has been at USF man and boy for 35 years will help me understand some idiosyncratic aspect of university administrative practice that is rooted in the past. He's good at that. In a Dickens' novel he would be the Ghost of Institutional Memory.

Note to self: This lunch will be tax deductible.

Yesterday I had what I might call a "niche" experience, one of those instances that few people have gone through, yet it is a common experience of its kind . That is, I had to stay home to let in the building inspector to sign off on the electrical permit for a very small job we had done in the bedroom. We could have done it without a permit, but since Edith works for the city, she wants to set an example.

The inspector arrived in Ford and left in a snit. Haha. For reasons, I don't understand he became testy and *refused to inspect the thing he had been summoned to inspect.* He became curious about some other work in the garage that had been inspected and signed off on the day before.

As a concept, building inspectors are terrifying. They are like voodoo priests except they are staring at your walls and not your chest. But in either case if the words "Tear it out!" are uttered, well, bad news.


Anonymous said...

Why the snit? If it was San Francisco, he would have expected to see larger denomination bills nicely folded and left on the table while you excused yourself and left the room for a moment so this delicate exchange could take place. I rather doubt greater virtue exists in the ranks of the East Bay building inspectorate. Didn't you use to have some knowledge of the real world?

....J.Michael Robertson said...

Is there a guide -- not necessarily a book, a pamphlet on how to do this? Rates. Techniques. Accompanying conversation. You know what I mean.

Anonymous said...

It is an art one learns as Jackson Pollock did his. But better to be seen as cheap than clueless.