Post Bicycle Swap Meet eBay Selling.

This is nobody's business but mine, but let me chirp about it anyway. On eBay I go by the handle "Good_Machine_Hunt_Bargain." I sell mostly bicycle parts.

I made fewer purchases than usual at the last swap meet. I focused on hot deals, and left the warm deals on the table. I had a limited budget, and I needed a quick return on investment.

I photographed 95% of the items the day after the swap meet. Within two days, I started to see my first sales. As a departure from past norms, most of my listings this time are Buy It Now with free shipping. This allows people to make impulse buys, while also not doing math. I think it's working.

All of my sales have been for a premium "hopeful" asking price. The first round of listings always starts with the highest prices. Interest in individual listings can be gauged by how many people are "watching" an item. When a listing ends with no sale, you will still know if your price is in the right ballpark. No watchers? Lower the price. There is one more factor to consider: some obscure items only have a small niche demand, and will take longer to sell. Don't slash the price. Just relist until somebody needs it. If you have the only one available, then you will get the sale... but it might be next year.

I spent just shy of my $1200 allotment. In the week following the sale, I've made back about $900 after fees. I've only sold a small portion of the haul, so things are looking great. After 90% of the sales are complete, I should have at least doubled my money. The percentage of money netted beyond 2x investment is a good measure of purchasing acumen.

Buying better quality in smaller quantity is saving me a huge amount of work. With Amazon selling to fill the space between swap meets, I didn't feel pressure to maximize profits at the cost of a lot of scroungy work. (Extensive fixing and cleaning of parts.)

Early sales report:
I have many examples of tripling my investment. A portion of the "bread and butter" are small items I buy for $1-$5 and sell for many times that. These deals are abundant and low-risk. Even when people know what the item is worth on the eBay marketplace, they don't want to go to the trouble of taking a photo, writing a description, and then shipping it out. I don't mind. I've made a big effort to streamline those tasks. So when I buy a pair of Campagnolo crank bolts for $1, and sell them for $24.95 - it doesn't take much effort. Items under 13oz can ship First Class, which is a bargain. Knowing these details means I can buy a Ritchey headset cable hanger for $2, and I know that when I sell it for $24.95, I will only have to pay $1.93 to ship. (And $0.28 for the packaging.)

Dura Ace downtube shifters? $5 makes $64.95. (This is a case where some people have no clue what the demand is.)

My best sale this round (so far) isn't a bicycle part. A guy was selling a jointer plane, new in the box. How much? $5. I sold it in under 24hrs for $99.95. Making the sale felt good, but it is becoming almost typical. This is America. Somebody bought a gun book from me for $99.95. I paid a dollar.

The goal now is to stay awake and keep hunting.

- Good Machine

Hey... Remember Bicycles?

I moved out of Philadelphia before the spring 2013 became real. Since then, I've ridden a bicycle about twice. Less than two miles each time. I've done a fair amount of thinking about bicycles... but not much pedaling.

I couldn't put it off any longer. My bicycle begged me for new shifters and cables. I got some old Suntour XC Pro thumb shifters at the swap meet, and resale-value-be-damned, I put them on my own bicycle.

I added cables, shifters, Nitto northroad handlebars, and most importantly: a new-old-stock "tall cool" quill stem with the longer extension. The Hoopty "Tall Cool" Bicycle is ready again.

In order to ease myself back into mobility, I set a small loop of a few miles with rolling hills. Short and sweet. I rode the loop, and got back feeling like I'd been chased by a vampire.

Riding a bicycle again literally makes me want to puke. I've grown incredibly weak and slow, but my brain forgets. My brain yells "PUSH!," and I do. Minutes later, my stomach gets annoyed because it can't talk.

I rode the same loop today, and the first thing I noticed is that my buns hurt where they meet the saddle. Right. I have a thousands-of-miles broken-in Brooks saddle with springs - and my butt was a tad sore.

I intend to get back into reasonable shape. I don't need to be the Tarzan of bikes, but I'd like to stand up and assault some hills again some day. That's the goal here.

Money For A Goal; Aspirations All-Told.

What does it take to make a thousand bucks on Amazon? I get earnings deposited into my bank account every two weeks. As a fairly meaningless measure, I set a personal goal of making one of those payments include four digits before the decimal point.

I have a lot riding on my Amazon business. Selling with Amazon's FBA program (fulfillment by Amazon) is the best way I've found to make money while still being a smelly fuck. All I have to do is buy cheap books and sell them for more on Amazon. If I'm buying books faster than I'm selling them, then my inventory is growing. If I have a growing inventory of good books (I do), my payments will get bigger. If my payments are getting bigger, then at some point I'll see a thousand-dollar deposit. That's what I'm waiting for.

This is getting pretty close.

Nope. I won't be rich soon. This is a measure which fails to factor in many variables. It doesn't factor in what I paid for inventory. It doesn't factor in any expenses. But it's a number that's getting bigger, and pretty soon - if I don't lay down across the tracks - it's going to hit $1000.

Today is the 10th, and it happens to be a payday. My hopeful goal was $860 to reach a personal best. But I sold an owner's guide for the M1911 pistol for a hundred bucks, and the payout tally shot past $900. Only chance will determine if I reach the 4-digit payout. The sales period will soon end - some time tonight, or maybe early tomorrow. They'll wave the checkered flag. Then we will see.

What does this mean?

I'm trying to get out of some sneaky recent debt. When I come up for air, I'd like to see that I have a semblance of a job and a method of making money. Finding books that I can sell for a profit is fun. It's the easiest job I've ever had, but it's not a passion. I want to make enough money to invest in some of the ideas that have been keeping me awake for years. As I advance my situation incrementally, I feel that I am edging toward the opportunity to create something that I am proud of. A business; a product; a community.

I am proud of my erstwhile travel, and I am proud of this little house that I built. Both have helped me grow as a human, but both have wreaked murder on my solvency.

It's the daydreams of product ideas that I want to see light. I have begun to recognize that I am capable of pushing a new idea into existence, and it is this itch under my skin that makes me fill big heavy boxes full of books.

A thousand bucks is a number. I roll my eyes that my mileposts have dollar signs, but the freedom to create and travel keeps me filling up boxes and clicking refresh.

Sleeping in a 1993 Ford Festiva.

Bicycle swaps are one way I know how to make money. I buy a thousand or two dollars worth of parts, take them home, photograph them, and offer them to a much larger audience - eBay. The velodrome in Trexlertown Pennsylvania has a big swap meet twice per year. Usually, I take my van.

I haven't taken the van anywhere since fall 2013. The battery is dead, and I have it packed full of bullshit. It is acting as part of a team of storage sheds which serve my needs from every cranny I touch. The Festiva is my new buddy. It's been repaired in detail, and it is driving much better than it looks like it ought to be. By preference and default: this was my ride to the swap.

Time to get ready.

With no van to sleep in the back of, I decided to get to work on the Festiva. I wanted to remove the back seat anyway to get more storage, and the weather seemed sunny and permissive. So I began.

The seat comes out with four bolts. Easy. I tossed in a cutoff sheet of plywood to make a level surface. I pushed the passenger seat forward, and fit in a smaller piece of plywood. I screwed hinges into the smaller piece, which can now swing out of the way if I want to slide the passenger seat back. The hinged section of plywood is supported by a water jug behind the passenger seat. The system went together so well, I didn't even have to use a saw.

With carpet-over-plywood base. Handsome!

I cut some castaway memory foam to the approximate dimensions of the platform, and tossed a blanket over that. Done! It's bed-like.

I felt confident about this sleeping arrangement, because Ghost Dancer made it sound so fun and easy. He's not the only one. Another couple made living in a Festiva sound positively idyllic. I've slept in and around some pretty dumb stuff. I stuck my thumbs in my belt and grinned. It feels great to be up to something.

My tape measure told me I had 5'1" to stuff my 6'1" body into. My hands on the wheel told me that my mechanic is an ace. I cruised north with my thoughts ahead of me; to the reverse loaves n' fishes.

I arrived to a tranquil grassy lot, and chose my position. A calm night misted intermittent suggestions as I relaxed thoughtfully between the seats and the hatch.

Daydreamin' & Gettin' high.

I had some laughs and company when Shelly showed up, but soon enough it was time for bed.

I slept alright, and I would do it all again - but an extra twelve inches would let me don the crown with confidence. The morning arrived, the nerds began squawking, and I knew: it was time to rise and buy bicycle parts.

H.D.T., B!

"This Ford Festiva beats the dick off my clown-assed scummy pond." 
- Henry "David" Thoreau

$6 worth of books in a Ford Festiva: How I almost got away with it.

7am! Gotta get up!

There's a book sale in Harrisburg today. You can fill a grocery bag with books for $1. My cash flow issues haven't evaporated, so the price is right. My car - the almighty Ford Festiva - just got a ton of work done. I want to see what it thinks about the highways again.

It liked the highways pretty good, I'd say. I haven't personally put many miles on this car, and today I noticed that it has cruise control. No tape deck, but it came with cruise control. Wild times. No cup holders... but cruise? Check. It's a nice touch.

8:30am. I look at my watch, and I'm starting to feel pretty good about myself. It was a rushed morning. No time for food. No time for coffee. No time to interrupt my fiancé in the shower. (btw, I'm getting married.)

Just as my brain was patting my body on it's back, I realized there was a problem. The address I put in the GPS was in "Lancaster," which is not the same as "Harrisburg." It didn't even bother me. I fixed the address and set out again. Maybe I should have taken the extra two minutes to get a coffee.

I was a little bit late, but I got there just the same. I entered the basement of a church and started looking for books that a sane human might want to read. I skipped over the fad diet books and the hopelessly obsolete computer books. I inspected one computer book: there was a 3.5" floppy disk still affixed in it's plastic sleeve inside the back cover. Nope. Gonna go ahead and leave that one right there.

All said, I spent $6 on books. Some of them are actually pretty good. My wireless barcode scanner found quite a few with a healthy estimated value. These prices are great. The snack bar was selling Cokes for a quarter. These folks had put commerce on hold.

I got back in the car, and set my sights on home. I'd stop somewhere and get a coffee. Finally. Maybe I'd get some food.

Instead, my brakes started feeling mushy. Then, when I was looking for a place to pull over, they felt downright fucked up. By the time I pulled over at the Choo Choo Barn in Strasburg, there was no hopeful wish that it was a dream. My rim was hot to the touch, and there was clearly some caliper malfunction afoot.

No matter. This is why I subscribe to AAA services. I got a ride the rest of the way, and I'll save the strife for another time.

Cash Flow

I've been floating by for nearly one year with no job. This has been made possible by several factors.

1) I haven't been paying rent. I started out staying at my parents' house, and now I'm migrating to the tiny house that I made.

2) I had a pile of bicycle parts to sell on eBay. Two swap meets worth; thousands of dollars in severely under-priced parts and ephemera.

3) I don't spend much. I have an inexpensive lifestyle.

I had two goals when leaving my job as a bicycle mechanic. The first and most important goal was to build a tiny house. The house needs finishing work, but the construction is done. I did it. Boom.

The second goal was to find a way to maintain a job-free existence. I want to set my own hours and make a comfortable income with room for savings and time for new projects and adventures.

I feel like I've made progress on the second goal, but I don't know if it's enough. I have the beginning framework for a sustainable situation selling on Amazon with their FBA program. I have the framework, and the methods and hardware are becoming familiar. The fundamental theory is simple - buy low; sell high. The challenge is in establishing an algorithm for exactly when to buy an item. If you spend too much on inventory, then it might not come back fast enough to cover your needs. Everything might sell, and the profits might be very good, but the speed at which the investments show a return needs to be fast enough to cover monthly expenses. That's cash flow.

If I had a reasonable amount of money in the first place, I wouldn't be as panicked about cash flow at such an early stage. As it is - I am. I look forward to honing my skills and algorithms. I look forward to understanding the math and economics which apply to this emerging market of niche interests, abundance, and the dirt cheap distribution which makes profit possible. But I've burned up some money trying to find my footing and get the equipment, software and hardware that I need in order to operate.

I've pulled a rabbit out of a hat many times over the last year. I've run low on cash and put building on hold while I photograph and list a new round of bicycle components. I've pulled myself out of a hole, and emerged victorious to begin building again. I've pinched pennies and stretched dollars far beyond where most people would assume a breaking point must exist.

Once again, the worry is setting in. Worry comes easy when I feel the threat of a traditional job breathing down my neck. I have some bicycle parts and other items to sell, but I've been getting closer and closer to the bottom of the barrel. The $100+ bicycle parts are long gone. The $40 bicycle parts are possibly all gone as well. I need to nickel and dime my way back to solvency.

I feel like I'm going to make it past this point. I don't know how it's going to happen, but I need it and I want it.

I am faring poorly indeed.

Dear Diary, 
I am faring poorly indeed. I fear the season has wrought the worst upon me. I am a withered vestige; a dusty vessel. My arms hang loosely like severed anchor chain. Unable to lift myself from despair, I vacillate freely between tears and frustration. How many more months can I go on like this? I am watching myself from above, and I cannot save the man I see. He is hopeless for the time being. His empty carcass drifts pointlessly in a labyrinth; slowly, for the exit is measured in time not distance.

Catching Up With Clive Cussler.

I joined a society which one year ago I did not know existed. The Clive Cussler society is a dues-paying group with an email chat list. When I got tired of pressing a glass to the wall, I paid my dues and was invited into the inner circle. This afforded me the opportunity to purchase a fantastic hat:

I'm an anthropologist at heart, but a curious goofball by nature. In either case, I had to know what was happening in the minds of Clive Cussler's biggest fans.

I read "Shock Wave" in 1996. I was impressed by the intricacies of the plot and the fortitude of Dirk Pitt - Clive Cussler's greatest serial hero. After Shock Wave, I bought the next 50-cent Clive Cussler book that I came across. It was while reading Sahara that it began to dawn on me that all of Clive Cussler's books might be the same. There is a formula.

I stopped reading Cussler books, but I continued to take notice of them. New ones sprouting up all the time; old ones from the 1970's being sold for a dime. Clive Cussler doesn't have the most titles - what interests me is the machine that he has built. He now co-authors with several other men, including his now-grown son, Dirk Cussler. The machine is now a family business, and it churns out several new titles every year.

I wonder about the details of the writing process. I am curious about the nature of the communication between co-authors, and I would be interested to learn how much weight rests on the shoulders of Cussler himself, now in his 80's. I want more information about the demographic of those who join the Society. (I think it's mostly just rich men with Doxa diving watches.)

With nowhere else to turn, I have decided to begin reading all the books. The first Dirk Pitt adventure was written in 1973, and I am moving in chronological order by series.

Based on Amazon.com reviews, and the fact that I've read "Shock Wave," I am getting the picture that Clive Cussler's writing got better with practice. The early books - I've read three so far - are quaint with a tendency to include wince-inducing passages. In the first three books, we establish that Dirk Pitt is a misogynist who is immune to bullets. While reading these books, I've found that I am not rooting for the main character so much as standing on the sidelines with my jaw slightly agape.

Forging ahead: I am now preparing to begin "Raise The Titanic!" In his previous adventure (captured in "Iceberg"), Dirk Pitt faked extreme stereotypical homosexuality in order to lower the defenses of the evil people who were planning to take over the world. He braved some bullets and unfortunate slurs, but his pulp-beaten bones healed enough for him to fuck a woman at the end. I hope the next adventure is equally incredible.

Problems or Blahblems? Anxiety via Task List.

I'm having a real issue with feeling unproductive and inundated by an infinite task list. This is white knuckle fuck-the-world anxiety; probably induced by drugs or a lack thereof.

Regardless, I managed to pack and ship a good pile of eBay items, and then turn around to photograph and list ten more items. For a day with a slow start, this is a good result. But - I haven't found time to work on a single detail of my new house in a week.

The to-do list is long, pals and scouts. The list is long and growing...

I should be happy. I have health and freedom and I've learned how to generate a reasonable income without the suffocation of a blue collar job.

I'm usually happy. As much as I deplore consumer culture, it makes a reliably buoyant elixir to float upon. At 31, I'm still finding my place.

Shipping Internationally with eBay. Seller Protection is a joke.

Shipping outside of the United States is something that makes US eBay sellers cringe. To qualify for "seller protection," you have to ship with a service that provides a tracking number and delivery confirmation. That leaves one option at the post office: Priority Express International. The cost is much higher, and it is typical for prospective buyers to assume you are trying to fleece them. The fact is though, when you ship with a lesser option, the buyer has only to say that they did not receive the item, and their money will be refunded every time - at the seller's expense. Regardless of any mitigating evidence, eBay will automatically rule in favor of the buyer. I understand why eBay does this - they must protect eBay's reputation as a safe place to buy. Unfortunately, the way they achieve this is by systematically throwing sellers under the bus.

It cost me about $300 to learn this lesson. Now, when somebody asks for international shipping, I just quote the high price and give a short robotic explanation.

Sometimes people don't mind:

Hi sandwichbear,

I'm very glad to invite me to your auction and to get chance to take your fine parts. The Topline crank-set is my favorite one and I've been using four sets for my bicycles. I hardly ever see a new one in recent years. I don't mind the shipping cost what you anxious about. Thank you very much.

Kindly Regards,

Takashi from Japan

Takashi seems like an alright guy. Like many Japanese, he is also willing to pay a fair price for good components. If I could lower my shipping costs, I would happily do much more business with Japan.

Installing an inlet, wiring an outlet.

What a difference a pill makes. In spite of a cold wet day, I managed to get some work done.

First up on the chopping block: an alternative to running an extension cord through an open window.
I bought a weatherproof “inlet” for the side of the house. An inlet is like an outlet, but it has three prongs instead of three holes. Since I don’t know the professional way to complete most tasks, I had to piece together a plan from Youtube videos and bits of forum threads. Mix that information with some common sense, and you’re ready for tools.

15mg of borrowed Adderall worked like a charm. Without it, I’d be muttering and cussing. A project like this might bring me close to tears. With it, I’m focused. I know my methods are cobbled together and inefficient, but isn’t that the nature of all self-directed learning?

I slipped a Sharpie out of my pocket, and traced a circle around the guts of the inlet. The circle was two inches in diameter, and I only had a 5/8″ bit. Not to be slowed down, I drilled several little holes instead. I retrieved my new Rotozip to clean it up. The Rotozip didn’t like my siding too much, so I walked back through the snow once more to retrieve a jigsaw. Better. I only had to hack away for another five minutes to get a good fit for the inlet’s guts.

Any person with skill or experience would be done by now. I was still getting started.

From the outside, I ran my 5/8″ bit up at a slight angle, and towards the general area where I wanted to install an outlet inside. The bit broke through the drywall pretty close to where I was aiming. Close enough, anyway – and I allowed myself a wide margin of error.

The next task was to install a plastic outlet receptacle on the inside wall. The Rotozip was right at home for this part. I Sharpie’d around the box, plunged the Rotozip’s bit through the drywall, and found almost immediately that I had traced the box over a stud. That’ll need to be touched up. I traced again, and cut out a rectangle the size of the box. The size was about right, but the depth was about a quarter inch shallow.

Here’s where I started getting fancy.

I used a big flathead screwdriver to slash a bunch of shallow grooves into the foam board insulation. I clawed the insulation out with my fingernails and the flathead blade until the box fit. I know there was a better way, but sometimes the best way ends up being any way that doesn’t stop the project. The box fit.

But I wasn’t done yet.

This type of receptacle – the blue plastic type – attaches to a stud with two pre-installed 3″ nails that are at an angle nearly perpendicular to the face of the box. Maybe a 15 degree angle. The box itself fit the hole, but the nails did not. Even if the nails did fit into the recess I’d carved out – how could I pound them in without cutting out way more drywall?

I cannot recommend this solution, but it worked:

I used the Rotozip to carve out two extended recessed lines where the nails could be nested. The receptacle and the nails were now recessed in the wall where I wanted them – but how could I pound in the nails? I walked through the snow again to retrieve a nail set. A nail set is used to push the head of a nail neatly flush with a surface without damaging the surrounding material. In my case, I eyeballed the angle of the nail and estimated where the nail set could go to line up with the head. Then I jammed the tip of the nail set through the drywall at an angle, and forced it to line up with the head of the nail. This took minor violence. I pounded the nails in using the nail set jammed through the surrounding drywall at a shallow angle. It worked.

I can probably fill the hack-job drywall damage with some spackle – much easier than patching. My drywall job is far from pro, but it looks alright with paint on it. You can see all the joints and a good percentage of the screw heads, but I’ve moved beyond caring about that. I can hang drywall, but it’s going to have some character.

I walked through the snow again, and took a fifteen minute break to review outlet wiring. Brass = hot; silver = neutral; green = ground. I got a clean scrap of Romex, stripped the three wires on one side, and with inefficient meticulousness, I attached the wires in a correct and respectable manner. I slipped the wires into the wall-hole from the outside, and attached the cover plate of the inlet making sure the waterproof gasket was evenly compressed against the siding. I moved inside, stripped the other end of the Romex, and attached the wires to their corresponding outlet screws.

A careful idiot could do this. A careless idiot might get injured, but a careful idiot will do just fine. Double check your work, and plug in something you don’t care about. I had no issues. Now I can plug an extension cord into the outside of my house, and the outlet on the inside will have power. The battery charger is always plugged in – so when you plug in the extension cord, you are “plugging in the house.” I love it.

ADD, SAD, and feelin' bad.

I'm all out of meds. It's a long convoluted process to import brain medicine into this country. You have to convert your money to Bitcoin, send the Bitcoin, verify that it was sent... and then... after awhile... you'll get tracking info. After that, you're home free - you'll have your pills in 7-28 days. Needless to say, I ran out. I'm living the catch-22 reality of being an ADD case that needs to plan in advance for certain things.

An additional encumbrance is how immediately defeated I feel when there is no sunlight. The chemical imbalance is enough to toss me off my rocker. I landed on my ass, and that's the position I've been moping from all day.

I wish I could hide myself in a burlap sack until spring, but sadly, my exposed vitriol sometimes comes in contact with innocent bystanders.

These Arms Are Shotguns TBA, AT&T!

Pipe dope. PTFE tape. That's what I'm messing with.

I'm applying these materials to a propane trunk line, and I am trying to avoid any leaks. I am using great care and focus; heeding advice gleaned from several hours of study.

I'm in the basement. The lights are switched on by a motion detector. Motion detecting lights are great when you are passing through with an armload of groceries. But - what if you're trying to examine your work closely when the lights turn off? It makes you wish your arms were shotguns. You want to lay a thick blanket of blast down on everything in the room.

I'm wrapping tape delicately, and diligently counting my turns and layers. I'm smearing pipe dope carefully for a good even coat on the pipe's threads. My phone rings. Mother... fuckers. AT&T isn't trying to sell me something - they're just bragging about a service that I wouldn't pay for anyway.

"Reply 'stop' to end mktg messages," they offered as an aside.

I text "stop," reflecting that the word choice does little to capture my current sentiment. I'm slightly more cheesed, because I feel like they tricked me into doing something, instead of just waiting for them to all find hell on their own.

More than four minutes later, I get a message confirming that I will not get any more messages. I look to my arms and lament. My needs are delayed again by slow medical science.

Woes and dough; threats and bets.

I don't have as much money as I think I should. In my skool days, I learned about double-entry accounting. I passed that class, and I passed Accounting II, too. But now that I'm a real man living an adult reality, I use the "feel" method of accounting. I don't know where all my money went, but I feel like there should be more.

I've sold thousands of dollars of stuff. After fees, shipping, subscription accounts... battery banks, building materials, life... the margin is thinner than I feel like it should be. So I blew the dust off my book scanning equipment and cast my line into the water. There was a book sale close to home, and I scanned ISBNs for several hours. I didn't win any big scores, but I got scores of little wins.

I will say one more thing - an unbelievable reality: the IRS hunted me down for $18.92 from 2011. Government-owned robotic tracking machines - it is to you this warning is being issued. Read my keystrokes: brimstone will rain precipitously upon those who seek my soft-earned money. My participation in this charade is a mirage. Under this skin and smile, my bones are being whittled to knife points. Test the water. Test the water with the very tip of whichever pinky toe you like the least.

Lagoon of bullshit.

In mid-day, I took my last sip of coffee and stood up to get something done. I lost my keys. It wasn't a pretty sight. There were no pretty words. I knew I was at the bottom rung when I punched the mattress.

I heard an anecdote which I believe took place in Texas. It seems that for some reason when iron was hard to come by, people would burn down an abandoned house to harvest the nails. I was considering this approach when I found my keys in a balled up t-shirt. I wish I didn't find them. I might have done better to touch flame to this lagoon of bullshit.

Shaving off a sliver of the pile.

I sold some bicycles. Shelly was over to work on the farmhouse table again, and I finally let go of some bicycles. I owed Shelly some money, and now she owes some to me.

I still have too many bicycles and too many parts. I have a pile Care Bears, a collection of mini guitars, stacked boxes of Mad Magazines... I have stacks and piles of building materials... I am filling an entire room and closet with eBay items to be sold. I need to start making space and making storage. I need to begin the process of letting things go.

Shaving off a sliver of the pile

I went to two parties. I sat around three fires. I wore zero costumes and drank zero beers.

Soon is the season; soon is the move.

I put a ceiling over the bathroom walls. I marked the floor where the pipe from the shower basin should go. I made a thing that resembles a kitchen counter - the next time might be the charm.

None of that is helping us move into a small house any faster. I need heat and electricity. I need to hook up some propane tanks and battery banks. I haven't done either of those things before, but now would be a great time to try it out. The story is the same as it was last week: first I need to sell bicycle parts, then I need to transfer the money to my bank account, then I buy my way toward progress.

I am ready to move in. Emotionally. There is a lot more work, but the loft is a wonderful place already and the downstairs will fall into place as soon as I install the systems.

My birthday is coming up. Kristin got me a gift, but the manufacturer ruined the surprise. There was a huge photo of the contents pasted on the side of the box. I was glad. I want it now!

Ubiquitous Tiny House Heater

Staying warm is the best when you can look at a tiny fire.

Staring at the thought of building cabinets.

I don't know how to build cabinets, but I have some ideas. I need to get a counter in the kitchen of this tiny house I've been building. I need to decide on a place for the sink, and a place for the tiny oven. Then I need to build a structure to keep those things in their place.

I'm not a carpenter, and I'm not in any danger of becoming some great woodworker. I basically waited until the last minute to start poking my tape measure in all directions. All that did is confirm that I have no fucking clue what I'm doing.

Instructions for cabinets include lots of expensive plywood. The benefit is that there are instructions. I'll try again next time. Today I built something that functions more as figure 8 than anything belonging inside a house. Strike one.

Trash picking the future: Free tiny cabinets.

"Wait... slow down. I want to look at this."

The car slows and the headlights slide past trash.

"Woah woah! Back up slightly. I need the headlights to see what's going on."

The car inches backwards, and our headlights settle on a small pile of wood and steel. I exit the vehicle to get a closer look. There's a grill. There are some futon pieces and some veneered particle board that used to hold shelves. I have no business hoarding more materials, but my brain automatically tries to fit these pieces into a puzzle. Then I see one piece that seems an easy fit.

A small cabinet sits to the side of the pile. Functional knobs and hinges - hell, the whole thing is fine. It just looks inexpensive and dated. Too 90's for a modern renovation, and too cheap to consider refinishing.

I gave it another quick inspection to ensure it was tossed for style and there was no disgusting substance. Clean. I took it home.

For now, it looks like it belongs over a toilet in 1994. I plan to remove the superfluous material over the cabinet portion. With a little effort, it will be a cute set of tiny cabinets. 

Good place for a fuse box? We shall see.

Shipping derailleurs; buying a watch.

It's 7:21pm. In my left hand, I am holding a Campagnolo Record front derailleur. I have it wrapped in a square of bubble wrap, and with my right hand I am trying to tear off a piece of packaging tape. I could use an extra hand for this, but my honed shipping skills still keep this procedure possible.

As I move to tear the tape one-handed, my watch beeps. I drop the whole mess with a huff, push the watch's "light" button which stops the beeping, and resume the surgically precise operation.

I got a new watch. It's the first brand and style change I've made in over ten years. My go-to wristwatch maker changed the design to include a feature allowing for two different time and alarm settings. This changed the familiar user interface, and after a year of suffering, the battery finally died. Now I am the proud owner of a bright red Casio.

Quaint and informative.

I couldn't be happier. This is the simple digital watch that I was looking for.

Painfully insulting!!!