"You didn't think it was gonna be that easy, did you?" - Lucy Liu, Kill Bill, Vol. 1

Proof that gravity next to a hot stove on a cold day is very high. Gravity=Hot Stove Temperature/Outside Temperature. Where do I go to pick up my Nobel?

Okay, on a related note, The Mrs. has written a novel. It's located here. Or, at least the first part is. Let me know what you think - we'll be popping in more.

Now, on to the show . . .

Thick fat flakes of snow falling from a clear blue sky on a Sunday morning in Fairbanks, and I'm here in my front room, fire crackling, a cup of hot, fresh coffee in my hand, dogs and The New Boy wiggling on the floor. And I feel good about it.

Why?

Because yesterday I did 90% of the things I had on my list to do before it starts to get cold. I cleaned out the ashes, then I swept the chimney.

Then, I changed the oil and filters in both of the Wildermobiles. I figured that the oil would tend to flow a bit more at 20F than at -20F, and that my mood would be better, too. I did this in the yard. For reasons too long to explain, I didn't put the cars into the garage to do this.

The first car I did was The Mrs.' car. I drove it up on the ramps. As I wiggled underneath the flannel shirt and jeans that I was wearing soon melted the snow under me. I was just at the right temperature that the snow my body heat melted plus the snow on the ground and driveway gravel soon melded into an amalgam ice-rock armor on my butt and shoulder.

Now, the air temperature of 20F is really not too bad in Fairbanks. What is bad is touching bare metal that's at 20F for an extended period of time. That tends to make your fingers as numb and icy as Susan Sarandon's soul. So, I went back and forth into the house to warm up, leading a trail of tiny rocks clattering to the floor as my armor melted.

I drained the one quart of oil that was actually in The Mrs. car. This marginally disturbed me, since it's supposed to hold five.

The Boy was outside, asking numerous questions about every step.

Boy: What's that thing?

Me: An oil filter.

Boy: What does it do?

Me: Filters the particulates out of the oil so they don't abrade the engine.

Boy: Oh. What's that word you just used when you banged your hand? What does that mean?

Me: Go ask your mother.

I then went to work on my car. My car is interesting. We bought it from "Viagra Steve." "Viagra Steve" got his name when I was cleaning the car out after buying it from him (dog hair everywhere). As I cleaned out the nooks and crannies, (old sweatsock, assorted small nuts and bolts) I found the empty bottle of Viagra, complete with the prescription label that indicated that it was Steve's. So, now, he's "Viagra Steve."

The Mrs.' one comment when I told her about the Viagra was, "Eeeew."

Even though The Mrs. and I have essentially the same vehicle, her's is far more genteel. It has more neat things, like a thermometer, compass, and automatic door locks when you put it in "D".

Mine has dual pipes, custom suspension, wide oversized tires, and a deep throaty rumble when you start it up, much more like a Hot Wheels toy. Plus, when you roll down the driver's side window, the door automatically opens.

I finally got all that done, and finished (mostly) insulating the hot tub.

I think The Mrs. is pleased with the hot tub - we now have steps, and it looks far better than the entertainment center we made eight years ago.


So, give a guy a case of beer and $180 worth of lumber, and, what comes out? A snuggly warm hot tub.

So, I sit inside my warm house, with my hot coffee, with those big, fat flakes dropping from a sky that's starting to get gray. It's a lot like the sword fight scene in Kill Bill between Uma and Lucy Liu, except that we don't have bonsai in our front yard. Oh, and we don't have two women attempting to kill each other with Samurai swords.