Thats where possibly your problem is, on 220v you can ground the neutral, but when you split it for 110 and it all comes from the same panel, so maybe the neutral on a 220v appliance is grounded?? Anyway last post on it.
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Story Time
- Thread starter Gary O'
- Start date
I like everything 45/70 even my revolver. Once and done.
FrancSevin
Proudly Deplorable
55 Years of doing it, and now you tell me.
The white wire is connected to the alternator-generator back at the power plant. There the black (both of them) is also connected. The white is used on both sides of the alternating current.
Black to black,=220 S Ph
Either Black to white = 110V S Ph
Any connected without a resistance device, creates a short, which blows the breaker because of amperage overload.
Any connected to the copper ground (green lug) is a ground fault.
Again, I only have this issue when I put two GFI's on the same circuit. Perhaps we are not supposed to do that.
Gary O'
Well-known member
Nice
My 'go to' handgun remains my Ruger .357
I can run .38s thru it if I want
Although I have a soft spot for my semi autos
Also like aperture sights, for the old eyes. Also have a Couple antique Winchester 1886 models, in 45-70. All shot regularly. The BFR, I bought it for the ultimate mountain carry revolver. Its the only thing I know that can fix stupid on two legs or four, 5 feet away. After I retire, we have a plan to tour the US, I have seen most of it a couple times over. But the wife has never seen any of it. Part of that plan is to visit the great outdoors of the north, Yellowstone, Glacier etc. Where the big grizzlies roam.
Gary O'
Well-known member
My sawed off 12 gauge pump takes care of most two legged renegades within range or not
Native tribal kids used to travel the logging roads up our way
Shoot at whatever they fancied
They scatter pretty good with one blast
Also, it would knock snow off limbs hanging over my paths
FrancSevin
Proudly Deplorable
In bear country it is suggested you wear little bells to keep them away. You can tell if you are in brown bear country by the bear scat. It has seeds from berries and nut shells in it.
You know how to tell you are where the Grizzlies roam? The scat is the same except it is full of little bells.
And always hike with someone slower than you.
Gary O'
Well-known member
Yeah, there were some renegades down the path a few miles from the cabin, but they were mostly reclusive hermit types.
Only trouble with them is when you happen onto their place accidently
Gotta be aware of where you're hiking
There were some growers up there
Couple folks got offed
Some sorta weed war
Heh, authorities don't come out there much
They're not stupid
I pretty much hate to carry
It's just not comfortable when working
But, yeah, nearby
FrancSevin
Proudly Deplorable
My place is so remote, I'm talking "Deliverance" remote. I do worry about strangers. And we have an abundance of Copperheads. Of late I've been carrying the Ruger Blackhawk. 357. Kinda heavy but big bore, big kill power, right?
Hasn't been much help. A while back a 6 foot Copperhead was passing thru the back lot. I fired five shots from about ten feet away.
He just kept on going. That gun is worthless.
Finally had to kill him with a shovel.
Hasn't been much help. A while back a 6 foot Copperhead was passing thru the back lot. I fired five shots from about ten feet away.
He just kept on going.
That gun is worthless. Finally had to kill him with a shovel.
Gary O'
Well-known member
Snake shot is required
I......HATE......SNAKES
Up at the cabin, there are none, zero, zip, nada
Our cabin is quite near Mt Mazama (Crater Lake)
The 'soil' is mostly pumice from her spewing her guts a few millennia ago
They hate pumice
I....love.....pumice
Usually have the dog with me, so near by is close enough.
I haven't seen any, I looked it up and 6000 ft. is about as high as they go. I'm at 6000 ft
FrancSevin
Proudly Deplorable
I think whatever you are loading, whatever you are shooting, one has to be able to hit the target. I missed that guy every shot. Not his fault
Not the weapon's fault
Not the ordinance.
Mine.
I too hate snakes. He was a few feet from where I walk every night to pee. I just wasn't cool and level.
To successfully hunt and kill, one must remain composed, methodical, and focused. It is safer and more effective.
I just wasn't.
Gary O'
Well-known member
Moving along.....
Who dost thou think thou art?
Between oil field jobs, I worked at a private golf course.
River Oaks Country Club.
Quite the area, and a good example of how things once were.
River Oaks blvd had this huge entry gate.
More symbolic than functional.
It separated tiny houses outside the gate from the mansions within.
Pillared edifices with huge manicured grounds lined the boulevard, ending with the ‘club house’, pillars, fountains, white jacketed people of color opening doors, stepping, fetching. ‘Yah, suh’.
I was mowing tees one Saturday morning, and shut my equipment down to give the twosome a shot at the green on this par three.
These guys were owners of things, like NFL teams.
Before they got into their swing regimen I asked if any of them knew what time it was.
‘Is he talking to you?’
I didn’t realize that my ranking as a member of the human race did not rate higher than a third person, an entity to ignore, snub, or order to bring something.
‘They wouldn’t give me the time of day’ became a reality for me that morning.
I watched the dried up bitter old geezer twist his beef jerky torso and flail his pretzel arms, culminating in a feeble swing, sending yet another worm burner half way to the hole.
Sad, but this, among all atrocious, is what I hate most.
Yeah, there’s idiots that happen to drive, kids (18-28) that need a good spanking, and haters that in reality fear people that are not like them, and just downright mean people.
But, I so wish for the self-appointed royalty to be brought down, disrobed of their haughtiness, and abased in front of their subjects.
Who dost thou think thou art?
Between oil field jobs, I worked at a private golf course.
River Oaks Country Club.
Quite the area, and a good example of how things once were.
River Oaks blvd had this huge entry gate.
More symbolic than functional.
It separated tiny houses outside the gate from the mansions within.
Pillared edifices with huge manicured grounds lined the boulevard, ending with the ‘club house’, pillars, fountains, white jacketed people of color opening doors, stepping, fetching. ‘Yah, suh’.
I was mowing tees one Saturday morning, and shut my equipment down to give the twosome a shot at the green on this par three.
These guys were owners of things, like NFL teams.
Before they got into their swing regimen I asked if any of them knew what time it was.
‘Is he talking to you?’
I didn’t realize that my ranking as a member of the human race did not rate higher than a third person, an entity to ignore, snub, or order to bring something.
‘They wouldn’t give me the time of day’ became a reality for me that morning.
I watched the dried up bitter old geezer twist his beef jerky torso and flail his pretzel arms, culminating in a feeble swing, sending yet another worm burner half way to the hole.
Sad, but this, among all atrocious, is what I hate most.
Yeah, there’s idiots that happen to drive, kids (18-28) that need a good spanking, and haters that in reality fear people that are not like them, and just downright mean people.
But, I so wish for the self-appointed royalty to be brought down, disrobed of their haughtiness, and abased in front of their subjects.
FrancSevin
Proudly Deplorable
I totally agree!
No human deserves disrespect for any reason other than their behavior. I find that if I give respect and don't get it in return, it is time to show my teeth.
Whilst this approach will hinder one's altitude on the social and professional ladder, giving up self-respect is not worth the view from up there in the rarefied air.
If you're talking about River Oaks in Houston, I agree, lots of snobby and snooty people used to live there. I've been gone from that area for so long that I can't say what happens there now.
Gary O'
Well-known member
echo
Well-known member
I was driving up highway 99 near the Yakima Indian reservation going about 90.
I came up behind a car going 20 in a 65.
The incoming cars were wall to wall so I could not pass the slow poke.
My temper took over and I passed the car in the ditch. The dust and rocks flew.
I regained my speed and came up to a road block. I stopped and the Cop pointed at me. I told him that the car had about 20 miles of cars held up behind it.
He looked and stood in front of the guy. He told me to enjoy my day.
I came up behind a car going 20 in a 65.
The incoming cars were wall to wall so I could not pass the slow poke.
My temper took over and I passed the car in the ditch. The dust and rocks flew.
I regained my speed and came up to a road block. I stopped and the Cop pointed at me. I told him that the car had about 20 miles of cars held up behind it.
He looked and stood in front of the guy. He told me to enjoy my day.
Gary O'
Well-known member
Something penned a decade or so ago.....
Geriometry
I woke up the other day and found out I was 63.
Sixty-effing-three…….
The obits contain a lot of folks that got to 63.
And when I peruse the obits, I go, ‘well shit, the ol’ bugger was 63, no wonder he died.
I mean, it’s really hard to relate…until I hear a 50 year old chatting about the good ol’ days.
Good ol’ days.
Was it back in the ‘80s when techno wizards discussed the unlimited possibilities of ‘the information highway’?
Was it when my 13 year old genius son started creating things on his Vic 20, and phones went cordless?
Or was it back in the ‘60s?
Yeah, for me it was the ‘60s.
'Porn'?
'Smut'?
not quite yet
It was peep shows.
Sleazy old buildings down on SW 3rd, all lined up.
Garish signs with suggestive artwork and decrepit blinking lights.
Once inside, old men, 63 year old men, unshaven, unkempt, stained white shirts, matted hair, would check your ID.
My ‘ID’ was a crisp Lincoln.
They’d waive me thru.
Once past the curtain, you had to stand there for a minute or two to let your pupils catch up with the smarmy darkness,
and for your nostrils to adjust to the weird aroma of…well I didn’t know, but the floor was sticky.
The only light was the flittering beams coming from the booths of hastily constructed plywood that housed cheap 8mm film cameras, and a reel of naked ladies.
Naked ladies.
Moving naked ladies.
Humping naked ladies.
Spreading naked ladies.
$.25 naked ladies.
Grainy, grey and white celluloid naked ladies.
Enough naked ladies to make a 14 year old’s heart pound out of his chest….and that was just during the eye/nose adjustment period.
One time I was in such a hurry, I didn’t wait for my eyes to adjust, and ran smack into some ol’ man’s back with my face, of which his stank didn’t get outta my nostrils til after gym class.
That was another thing. Those wooden booths had knot holes in the side panels, and some knot holes had the complementary eye ball…rather unnerving, it was.
Then there was the occasional breaking and entering into your booth.
That was more than unnerving….but it didn’t stop me from coming back.
Yeah, those were the good ol’ days.
I’m not kidding.
You had time to let your imagination germinate.
Now?
Now, no matter what your infatuation, it’s right at your fingertips.
Porn?
I kid about porn.
It’s a freaking bore, and that’s sad.
Not sad because porn is so rife it’s boring, but sad because all information of any freaking thing is right there…just right there…not a mile away at some library, but right there.
It’s like buying a video, because ‘that was the best movie I’ve seen in a long time’….and putting it in your DVD library….and never watching it…. ever again…..because it’s there, right there.
I suppose, once I become 73, I won't even know where 'there' is....
especially if some punk 63 yr old is reading my obit
Geriometry
I woke up the other day and found out I was 63.
Sixty-effing-three…….
The obits contain a lot of folks that got to 63.
And when I peruse the obits, I go, ‘well shit, the ol’ bugger was 63, no wonder he died.
I mean, it’s really hard to relate…until I hear a 50 year old chatting about the good ol’ days.
Good ol’ days.
Was it back in the ‘80s when techno wizards discussed the unlimited possibilities of ‘the information highway’?
Was it when my 13 year old genius son started creating things on his Vic 20, and phones went cordless?
Or was it back in the ‘60s?
Yeah, for me it was the ‘60s.
'Porn'?
'Smut'?
not quite yet
It was peep shows.
Sleazy old buildings down on SW 3rd, all lined up.
Garish signs with suggestive artwork and decrepit blinking lights.
Once inside, old men, 63 year old men, unshaven, unkempt, stained white shirts, matted hair, would check your ID.
My ‘ID’ was a crisp Lincoln.
They’d waive me thru.
Once past the curtain, you had to stand there for a minute or two to let your pupils catch up with the smarmy darkness,
and for your nostrils to adjust to the weird aroma of…well I didn’t know, but the floor was sticky.
The only light was the flittering beams coming from the booths of hastily constructed plywood that housed cheap 8mm film cameras, and a reel of naked ladies.
Naked ladies.
Moving naked ladies.
Humping naked ladies.
Spreading naked ladies.
$.25 naked ladies.
Grainy, grey and white celluloid naked ladies.
Enough naked ladies to make a 14 year old’s heart pound out of his chest….and that was just during the eye/nose adjustment period.
One time I was in such a hurry, I didn’t wait for my eyes to adjust, and ran smack into some ol’ man’s back with my face, of which his stank didn’t get outta my nostrils til after gym class.
That was another thing. Those wooden booths had knot holes in the side panels, and some knot holes had the complementary eye ball…rather unnerving, it was.
Then there was the occasional breaking and entering into your booth.
That was more than unnerving….but it didn’t stop me from coming back.
Yeah, those were the good ol’ days.
I’m not kidding.
You had time to let your imagination germinate.
Now?
Now, no matter what your infatuation, it’s right at your fingertips.
Porn?
I kid about porn.
It’s a freaking bore, and that’s sad.
Not sad because porn is so rife it’s boring, but sad because all information of any freaking thing is right there…just right there…not a mile away at some library, but right there.
It’s like buying a video, because ‘that was the best movie I’ve seen in a long time’….and putting it in your DVD library….and never watching it…. ever again…..because it’s there, right there.
I suppose, once I become 73, I won't even know where 'there' is....
especially if some punk 63 yr old is reading my obit
Gary O'
Well-known member
My mind wanders (travels) sometimes
sometimes to the edge
during those times a keyboard is employed
(forgive me)
a pre-first draft (unedited) excerpt from a morning's mental urge;
Anybody got close to near to close relatives that seem to live a cut above everone around them including you?
These are kin, that if you had the choice, you’d pick for Hitler’s cronies, their lives ending by the hand of Idi Amin’s pals.
It’s a dream you have anyway.
These are not necessarily smug folks, as they’ve been raised to be proper with kindly remarks saved for the mentally disadvantaged (you),
but still,
when in conversation, you seem to come off as a curiosity, a toy that should have been discarded but kept because, well, it’s been passed down from aged family members.
These are your kinfolks that you wish weren’t.
But there you are, at their place.
And there they are, choosing the correct fork with mindless ease, while it dawns on you that you not only have one, but both elbows on the table.
This felonious act is like discovering, while you’re waiting for the bus, you have no pants on.
Yeah, there they are, wittily chatting about current events, glancing your way, hoping you will say something so they can have a good mutual laugh, jumping on your blurted fractured words like the ravenous hyenas they are.
But you know this, so you amiably reach for your seventh dinner role, because you know the lone knife is for butter…pretty sure.
And there’s your sister, blending nicely, and even your little brother, cute little bastard, seems to be one of them, along with mom and dad, all exchanging quips and witticisms.
So you begin to feel a tad self-conscious, and thirsty, since your fourth glass of juice has managed to cause that loaf of dinner rolls to swell to the max in your twisted up stomach.
Something blurts from my mouth
‘Why’d the moron throw the clock out the window?’
‘Whud he say? ‘
snicker giggle giggle giggle....rising, swelling to a tidal wave of uproarious laughter
‘I dunno, Gary, why did the moron do that (snarkle)?’
The beets look pale compared to you.
Only you are smiling, laughing sappily with them.
But, on the inside you’re envisioning Himmler’s storm troopers bashing down the door, and hauling everone outside.
You are untouched, saved actually.
Later you stroll out to the gazebo where everone is flailing away, hanging upside down.
You walk slowly by these relatives of yours, stopping in front of your cousin’s bobbing head.
‘TO EFFING SEE THE EFFING TIME EFFING FLY!!!!’
Later that day, sitting in the gazebo, finally with your own thoughts, you settle your mind with the calming resolution of just writing a book.....
So, you never had relatives like that, you say?
Well, aren't you blessed
sometimes to the edge
during those times a keyboard is employed
(forgive me)
a pre-first draft (unedited) excerpt from a morning's mental urge;
Anybody got close to near to close relatives that seem to live a cut above everone around them including you?
These are kin, that if you had the choice, you’d pick for Hitler’s cronies, their lives ending by the hand of Idi Amin’s pals.
It’s a dream you have anyway.
These are not necessarily smug folks, as they’ve been raised to be proper with kindly remarks saved for the mentally disadvantaged (you),
but still,
when in conversation, you seem to come off as a curiosity, a toy that should have been discarded but kept because, well, it’s been passed down from aged family members.
These are your kinfolks that you wish weren’t.
But there you are, at their place.
And there they are, choosing the correct fork with mindless ease, while it dawns on you that you not only have one, but both elbows on the table.
This felonious act is like discovering, while you’re waiting for the bus, you have no pants on.
Yeah, there they are, wittily chatting about current events, glancing your way, hoping you will say something so they can have a good mutual laugh, jumping on your blurted fractured words like the ravenous hyenas they are.
But you know this, so you amiably reach for your seventh dinner role, because you know the lone knife is for butter…pretty sure.
And there’s your sister, blending nicely, and even your little brother, cute little bastard, seems to be one of them, along with mom and dad, all exchanging quips and witticisms.
So you begin to feel a tad self-conscious, and thirsty, since your fourth glass of juice has managed to cause that loaf of dinner rolls to swell to the max in your twisted up stomach.
Something blurts from my mouth
‘Why’d the moron throw the clock out the window?’
‘Whud he say? ‘
snicker giggle giggle giggle....rising, swelling to a tidal wave of uproarious laughter
‘I dunno, Gary, why did the moron do that (snarkle)?’
The beets look pale compared to you.
Only you are smiling, laughing sappily with them.
But, on the inside you’re envisioning Himmler’s storm troopers bashing down the door, and hauling everone outside.
You are untouched, saved actually.
Later you stroll out to the gazebo where everone is flailing away, hanging upside down.
You walk slowly by these relatives of yours, stopping in front of your cousin’s bobbing head.
‘TO EFFING SEE THE EFFING TIME EFFING FLY!!!!’
Later that day, sitting in the gazebo, finally with your own thoughts, you settle your mind with the calming resolution of just writing a book.....
So, you never had relatives like that, you say?
Well, aren't you blessed
FrancSevin
Proudly Deplorable
For the record, Gary, I am not so blessed.
My four siblings and I were raised in relative poverty. Humble beginnings at the very least. The youngest never went to college yet became a millionaire through hard work and enterprise. The Second oldest was a preacher, easily the most humble and generous of the bunch. The middle two went to college.
Somehow, they came out "differ't." You might say "special."
A good piece Gary. Thanks for sharing.
My four siblings and I were raised in relative poverty. Humble beginnings at the very least. The youngest never went to college yet became a millionaire through hard work and enterprise. The Second oldest was a preacher, easily the most humble and generous of the bunch. The middle two went to college.
Somehow, they came out "differ't." You might say "special."
A good piece Gary. Thanks for sharing.
Gary O'
Well-known member
Hey, we all have our luggage
Some write about it.....
Those self-made guys are fascinating
Seems you came out OK
FrancSevin
Proudly Deplorable
College may make one informed, but it does not guarantee you will be smart, intelligent, or rich.
That all comes from dedication, experience, and hard work.
I started my fist company at the age of 12.
At 14 I was picking tomatoes and hoeing corn for 35 cents and hour. Never stopped working.
Even now, I am officially retired but at 75 (next month) I still show up for work in the morning.
I cannot imagine life without useful & productive effort.
Like the commercial says, "what if my retirement plan is not to retire?"
Money is nothing when compared to "happy."
That all comes from dedication, experience, and hard work.
I started my fist company at the age of 12.
At 14 I was picking tomatoes and hoeing corn for 35 cents and hour. Never stopped working.
Even now, I am officially retired but at 75 (next month) I still show up for work in the morning.
I cannot imagine life without useful & productive effort.
Like the commercial says, "what if my retirement plan is not to retire?"
Money is nothing when compared to "happy."
Same here, learned how to weld in high school and was always building or modifying something. Joined my Dads trade Millwright, I was going on jobs with him when I was 14, also he is where I learned to lay bricks, stone etc. I came to Ca. in 1980 I hooked up steady with a company in southern Ca. called Canlines. That is where I got my first experience in Container handling ( cans ). I came to northern Ca. for a shutdown job at a cement plant. The owner saw my rod bending bars in the back of my trucking and iasked if knew how to use them. I relocated up here in 1988 and worked for him until 2003 when I started my own General contracting business, I plan to retire in 2 years and my son will take over. When I ask the customers how he is doing, I got told he is knowledgeable in his field, has a good work ethic and he is easier to get along with. Easier to get along with?? WTF
Gary O'
Well-known member
My son's GF had a couple dogs
'had'
One was offed by a semi a week or so ago
Ruger
She was pretty broke up about it
I'm a dog lover, all dogs
Cat's, not so much
It's been said 'Just tiny wimin in cheap fur coats'
(I can't argue with that)
Anyway, I made a framed live edge thing for her pup
Hope she likes it
'had'
One was offed by a semi a week or so ago
Ruger
She was pretty broke up about it
I'm a dog lover, all dogs
Cat's, not so much
It's been said 'Just tiny wimin in cheap fur coats'
(I can't argue with that)
Anyway, I made a framed live edge thing for her pup
Hope she likes it
echo
Well-known member
My parents were well to do. The only money that I got was when my father died.
I got $500.00 and a motorcycle which I refused. When my Mother died the money disappeared. My cousin died and sense he was a biker, no one wanted to be related to him, so I guess that I'm elected with allot of confusion.
I went to private school payed for by my company. I did pay to go to Linfield and other schools.
I got $500.00 and a motorcycle which I refused. When my Mother died the money disappeared. My cousin died and sense he was a biker, no one wanted to be related to him, so I guess that I'm elected with allot of confusion.
I went to private school payed for by my company. I did pay to go to Linfield and other schools.