Lulu, among other names

If the stock market crashes on Monday, it would cement a Democratic sweep on Tuesday. Ironically, a crash that helps Democrats win may be driven by investors pricing in that outcome, as Democrats will likely raise corporate taxes and be more fiscally reckless than Republicans.

Fox: Why are you here this morning? Trump rally attendee: Well, in the late 70s, I was a little too young to go to South America for the Jonestown Massacre. But this is as close as I'll ever get, so that's why I'm here. There's nothing like seeing a cult right up front.

An ugly incident towards an official in last nights OHSAA District soccer game between New Philadelphia and Steubenville. We have reached out to the OHSAA Director of Officials who does not have an update at this time. 🎥 Contributed

NOTE TO SELF: After the Election, start a new project to change the U.S. Constitution so one day @berniemoreno can run for President! 😂😉 He is THE BEST! Give ‘em hell Senator! Love that guy….

'My dad was a master residential electrician for forty years, but he padlocked our basement breaker panel with a heavy brass Master Lock and kept the key on his truck ring. He told my brother and me that if a breaker ever tripped, we were to call him at the shop—never touch the box. Last November, eight months after his funeral, the washing machine popped the basement circuit. I bought an angle grinder, cut through his padlock, and pulled the metal dead-front cover off the panel. Every breaker in that box was wired to code with clean 12-gauge Romex. Except breaker number 18. It wasn't wired to anything in our house. It was back-fed from a heavy direct-burial cable running out through the foundation sill, pulling 240 volts of continuous live power from an underground line that didn't show up on any township utility map. Every other breaker had a label in my father's block capitals. KITCHEN. DRYER. SUMP. FURNACE. Eighteen was blank. It was a double-pole, fifty amps, and the handle was in the on position like it had been there for years. I reset the washer circuit. The machine ran fine. Then I stood there with the grinder still ticking as it cooled, looking at that cable. Black, thicker than my thumb, going through a hole in the sill plate that somebody had sealed neatly with foam and caulk. My father didn't do sloppy work, even on things he didn't want found. I called Gil Brandt. He'd worked with my dad for twenty-two years and came out Saturday after lunch. First thing he asked was whether I'd shut the main before I pulled that cover. "No." "Don't do that again." He looked at 18 for a while. I said it looked back-fed. He shook his head. "Back-fed means power's coming in. This is going out. That's a feeder. Whatever it's running, it's not in this house." He crouched at the sill and read the stamp on the jacket. "UF-B. Four-gauge copper, four conductors. Two hots, a neutral, a ground." He ran his thumb along it. "A fifty-amp breaker only needs six. He went up a size. That's for a long run, so the voltage doesn't sag at the far end." He let it go. "Whatever else this is, he did the install right." He clamped a meter on one of the hots. Nine amps on one leg, six on the other. Then something cycled off and it dropped to three on the first leg and almost nothing on the second. "Heater," he said. "Baseboard, probably. Then there's something running underneath it, on one leg only, all the time. Somebody's got a panel on the other end of this." I asked where. He said the township map wouldn't help me. Township maps show public lines, water, sewer, the co-op's poles. A private feeder on private ground wouldn't be on any of them. Ohio 811 wouldn't mark it either, same reason. "You find it by tracing it." He had a tone transmitter with a clamp, so we didn't have to kill the breaker. He wouldn't let me touch it anyway. We walked the signal across the backyard, along the fence line, and under it. The line kept going through the hedgerow into the lot behind ours, about 380 feet from the sill, to the side wall of a gray cape house. I'd known it my whole life. Mrs. Ostrander's. The meter base on her wall was empty. The socket had a plastic cover on it and a faded co-op tag zip-tied through the lugs. Gil read the date on it out loud. 2014. "They pulled her meter," he said. "That's a disconnect. Failed service entrance, probably. When that happens, you don't get reconnected until it's fixed and inspected."...