It's a guy thing.

The dish is done. Actually, I finished the construction yesterday... a gazillion bolts to fit through holes that didn't want to line up. There is a trick to it, involving five tapered alignment pins, which I had to go out and buy first thing yesterday morning at an industrial supply house. Put one of the wedge-shaped petals in place and insert the pins in the holes so that everything lines up properly, then install the bolts... so say the instructions. The reality is, you horse the petal in between the supports and get three pins inserted. When you go for the fourth, pin number two comes loose and hits you on the head.

Did I mention that this thing is put together with an insane number of bolts? No problem — I had bought a pneumatic ratchet for a similar project last year, so I wheeled the compressor outside and let it chug. And chug. And chug. About a dozen bolts later the compressor quit; it's a Husky, which is an unfortunate use of the word. It has a large plastic shroud that looks impressive in the store, but actually conceals significant internal wimpiness. I must have a talk with the fellow who bought this abomination: No wimpy tools!

I probably could have torn into it and fixed it, but repairing a crappy wannabe compressor really wasn't high on my list of priorities. Home Depot is around the corner, so I rented a contractor-grade Ridgid. Thirty bucks well spent: it came right up to pressure and cycled off. All day it just sat there and did its thing.

For the rest of the day I inserted petals, lined them up, ratcheted bolts in place, aligned brackets, installed circumference skirt sections. Even got the feed assembly built and put that up. Over 1,216 pieces of hardware, neatly sealed in plastic bags plainly marked with numbers that didn't match the instructions. But they're all in, and all tightened. Happily, the last bolt went together about half an hour before quitting time, so I got cleaned up and returned the compressor (grudgingly) just in time to go home.

Today's task: find satellite Galaxy 11 and make it work. I wheeled out the test cart with analyzer, receiver and video monitor and hooked it up to the dish. Moved the dish around (this is not motorized — you horse it left or right and use a big honking wrench to move it up and down) and finally found a satellite. Nothing familiar on it: the only analog signal was a jewelry shopping network. After some more searching I found IA-5, one of the satellites ABC uses. An excellent start: now I know which way to go. Found IA-6, then Galaxy 4. Galaxy 11 should be exactly between those two. Split the difference, and up popped a satellite. Scanned around and found a feed from the Centers for Disease Control, plus a digital carrier where I was expecting to see it. Hot dog! Locked the dish down, tweaked up the feed assembly that sits in front of the dish, disconnected the test cart and put the permanent cable in place, got everything sealed up and weathertight.

Went into the control room and turned on the receive equipment: nice clean pictures of the CDC program. More than I wanted to see about skin diseases, but that's okay: my project works! Just to savor the victory, I thought: let's move one of the steerable dishes to Galaxy 11 to compare its signal against the new dish. Tuned the receiver to the same channel and told the dish to move. Snow gradually gave way to the CDC lady — wonderful! — and then the picture went back to snow. Rats. And when the steerable dish finally stopped on Galaxy 11, what should appear on the monitor? That's right: the jewelry shopping channel I stumbled across right at the start.

At least the real Galaxy 11 was easy to find again, though having to cut out the nicely weatherproofed feedline to reconnect the test cart had me quietly growling. But it's all working now and sealed up again, and the video operators can watch the Jewelry network to their hearts content.

Now for the final male ritual of project completion: time to go out and stare at the dish. And to think about getting a truly manly compressor.