Where's Nate?

living large in the four-oh-eight. wicked large.


how (not) to fix an attic fan.

Home ownership rules. As an owner, you reap the profits from an insanely hot real estate market in exchange for upkeep and improvement. No problem.

A few weeks ago, we heard a squeaking noise coming from the direction of our neighbor's house. It sounded like chipmunks mating, and it only happened late in the day. The horny chipmunks persisted long enough for us to begin to question why our neighbors refused to fix the problem. This public scrutiny of our neighbor's inability to "fix that goddamn noise" lasted a few days.

Until we figured out the chipmunks were mating on our roof. Uh-oh.

We have an attic fan. In theory, this is a handy item. On warm days, the fan pulls the hot air out of our house. Call it "poor man's air conditioning". It's so effective that we had "rich man's air conditioning" installed last summer.

To fix the noise, I armed myself with WD-40 and headed for the attic. I was decked out, Haz Mat-style, so that no insulation could bother me. In this outfit, I could have responded to a milk-truck-meets-Humane-Society-van accident on I-280. Sweet.

Except the fan turns on when the attic temperature hits 95 degrees. And as I popped the hatch, I heard the fan kick into gear. 95 degrees, insulation, Haz Mat suit. Love it.

I absolutely drenched the puppy in WD-40, took the wrench to it, and lost 6 pounds in the process. It was better than a Bikram session. And the humping squirrels went away. I announced my domestic project dominance to Paige. She yawned. That was two weeks ago.

Last night, I heard them again. The chipmunks are back. Nice.


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