Last week I went with
bleukarma to tour some tall ships. It was fun, there was a ton of rope, and I took a folder full of pictures I haven't sorted yet. But I'm not going to talk about that, here. I just want to tell you something small that happened afterwards
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The stove in the house where I grew up was made during the late sixties or early seventies. It was rust-orange and the contacts where the coils plugged into the wiring were gummed-up with age. Before cooking anything, you first had to hit the coil you wanted to use a few times with a frying pan. (The front left was the worst offender at this - it's also the one I burnt my hand on, once).
Any and all televisions with dials. WHACK. THUMP. SMACK. POW. But not the gargantuous ones kept inside giant wooden boxes, because you'd just crack a bone and the TV wouldn't register the contact.
My old car, where the ignition lock wouldn't let me turn it off unless it was in park, also had gummy connectors and did not always register being in park when it was. I still hit gearshifts with the heel of my hand after I slot the thing into place. Slide-slide-pop.
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