January 31, 2009

           Living dangerously. This is an ad for a homemade barbeque. You can see it is made from an old propane bottle. This one is smoking away. The ad specifies the maker is looking for used propane bottles, presumably those that no longer hold propane. The ad is posted on a local bulletin board read mostly by ESL types.
           I like the concept for a great recycle idea and the metal is probably safer than the tin models sold at WalMart. I’ve never barbequed anything in my life. As I once heard a man named Reynolds say, “I remember when we at inside the house and took a dump outside.” And he was elected mayor.
           Lesson learned at the office. Don’t try to get any intellectual work done on weekends. There are too many interruptions. Not one word-sync came out of today. It turns out each tune requires at least twenty minutes, even one distraction and you have to start over. I view such things as a positive distancing with any potential competition but it would still have been nice to get some mileage done today.
           Besides the laundry, I mean. I got the laundry done despite the fact the coin-op dryer up the road was out of service. That meant I was over using Teresa’s dryer. We visited for a few hours and confirmed we are decent company but quite different people than could have been imagined. One thing she mentions repeatedly is how I don’t hesitate to explain certain aspects of my personality. She insists this is not only unusual because I’m “open”, but because “most men don’t appear to have even thought about that”. The part I’ll agree with is that men don’t question what they don’t think about. Teresa has clearly been on the receiving end of that.
           During this process we watched a TV program called “Two And A Half Men”. I didn’t realize it was supposed to be funny because it was pathetic. For that brand of comedy, The Simpson’s moves twice as fast, and can claim occasional flashes of creativity. But the other show is just more of that mines-bigger-than-yours crap some men never grow out of.
           We also talked about income options. She is an advertising salesperson, what I consider to be a tough, stressful hard sell. Cold-calling for the newspapers. Still, she seems to have a knack and does speak of starting her own registered charity. I am all for that, I think it is a single provision in tax section 500. In case of that, I am elected to do the paperwork.
           She also knows people who have done the walkaround security work at the casinos, mentioning this pays $8 per hour. Piecing this together, that means anyone who runs the system that the security walkarounds follow must make twice that. It is the American way. So when Pete the Rock mentioned he knows the people who do the hiring at Gulfstream, suddenly I’m interested. I used to work in a control booth type situation. You’ve seen them on TV, the operators behind the overhead cameras that blanket casinos. Check in later because Pete the Rock says they hire part time.
           [Author’s note: yes, this is the first mention of Pete the Rock. He is a dude from New York who seems to know everybody over 60 in Broward County. That loud and booming voice you hear in parks and cafes while you are trying to talk on your cell phone? That’s Pete the Rock. He crashed here for a couple of weeks last month. Gets a big check once a year, prefers second-hand clothes, takes taxis everywhere.]
           I got up to the Barn after closing time and read an odd book about some of the dumb things that happen in crime investigation. Like the dog who pushed 911 on the phone by accident. When the police heard no voice, they traced the call. Then found 1500 marijuana plants at the address.

January 30, 2009

           They finally got the fountain working in Young Circle. Note the rainbow as I pedal past. It was too hot again today but I didn’t have time to stop and wait by the water. The park is quite nice, but because it is downtown it is mainly deserted. They have free shows at the center that are timed exactly when I can’t be there, but I think that is just coincidence. On average, a coffee in the area costs $3. Don’t we all love to wait in line during our 15 minute break while the fat lady orders something with at least eight ingredients?
           It’s a good thing Teresa called, I missed out on y’day. Darn near went to the library instead of home to get my bass. That’s the car for you, this country makes it hard to get by without one and I lost a day over that. The problem turned out to be a blown head gasket. However, that is what they told me three years and 30,000 miles ago. I paid up ($95) and now that the Taurus starts, it runs as well as ever.
           During this repair, I searched on mini-cars or microcars. These are basic car designs powered by a motorcycle engine. Some are ingenious while others are golf carts. There is one from Sri Lanka that will hit 70 mph. Fred’s father had an Isetta, the little German car where the whole front swings open. There are new designs that use electric motors but these seem to be priced in the $30,000 range. I’ll keep on the lookout.
           These cars often do not require registration, insurance or even a driver’s license. For this reason in countries like France and Italy, they are looked down upon as the vehicle of choice for those convicted of impaired driving. That is today’s trivia. The cars here are simply considered too cheap and dangerous in a collision. But when people get broke enough you need a stopwatch to see how fast their attitudes change. We are okay for now when most of the unemployed are still real estate agents and condo salesmen. Check back in twelve months.
           One thing I don’t feel bad about anymore is some difficulties I’ve had with database construction. I used to get dismayed over the time it took to design the tables. Not any more. Read the article “Paperless Profits” in the current edition of Fortune Small Business. A company called NewRiver sends out electronic copies of all those zillions of documents you get any time you invest. I’ve often been tempted to tell my bank and broker to quit sending mail and put the dollars into my account.
           The reason I’m smug is because NewRiver reports their “record tracking” procedure finally became so complicated it required ten years to get it working and it qualified for a patent. (Their budget was $30 million more than mine.) Instead of receiving documents by mail, you get a reminder to log on. Good, that tells people who assume I was playing Tetris what I’m really doing in front of a computer. In a sense, I am a step ahead of the pack because I’ve been advising new business for ten plus years to design their record keeping from the ground up to be database compatible.
           Nobody go saying all NewRiver had to do was ask the SEC to knock off with all the rules. Not only is the SEC a swollen carcass of a bureaucracy, NewRiver is not creating the documents. They are only keeping records of who got what. That is the underlying and far more serious situation because it was designed piecemeal by clerical-minded people. I don’t think anyone has even designed a database that can properly track all postal addresses.
           Near the end of the book on Antarctica, I’ve read a term I have not heard since before I started kindergarten. The word “fugue” refers to, among other conditions, personality clashes that occur to people in long-term isolation. That means more than thirty days at a stretch. I have a little test for you that is designed to trick you into taking the wrong side. Those of you who’ve been reading this blog for centuries just keep quiet about the answer.
           You are the commanding officer of a weather station with two soldiers who must work together as a team eight hours per day, with eight hours of free time and eight hours of sleep. They have both been assigned a long-term stint at your facility. There is a common area and after the first shift, one man wants to play cards and talk. The other man is a medical student who wants to study every spare moment. Remember the test is not that these two won’t get along, but how you solve the situation, that is, who you side with. Careful. It’s a fugue.
           Later. It was a small but happy crowd tonight. The day turned strangely cold by late afternoon. Florida spoils you. Anything below 60 degrees is chilly. It was a table of people from the interior who knew Sammy and his wife. Other than that the few regulars around were bundled up like it was frostbite season. I wish I’d had the word-sync. Tonight was a good example of how Karaoke has created a class of vocalists who don’t know the words.

January 29, 2009

           The car is out of commission. It misfired all the way up to Jimbo’s, then once Charlie replaced the cap and rotor, it won’t fire at all. It is electrical with the possibility of a timing chain malfunction. The car gets left overnight and I’ll have the bad news tomorrow. Remind me to buy a round or two for the house out of tips tomorrow, as everybody helped out. Here’s a shot of Bill and Dicks Auto Repair. They later get an A+ from me.
           Sidney Sheldon gets a good book report. I finished “Windmills” and it picks up after the stereotyped beginning, which now appears more a deliberate literary marketing tactic. Sheldon, while not ahead of his time, was a man of the times. Like many who understand politics (I do not) he appears able to predict governmental errors. This ability is nothing more than drawing parallels in history.
           Here’s a small cooking adventure. Maybe a little insight into the bachelor mindset, too. Last day we baked a pork shoulder. Neither of us know how to carve meat or poultry. While we get all the meat we often have a plate of misshapen odds and ends. So I bought this big size pork and beans. Most of us probably wondered why they call it that, when there is but one meatless scrap of pork rind in the can. Ah, the plate. That’s pork, right? And beans, right? It’s heating with the wooden spoon in the pot. My favorite wooden spoon; the handle doesn’t get hot. Food fans, check back tomorrow but we are going to have real pork and beans tonight.
           Back to Sheldon and his book from 1987. That’s the year I met Robynette. Had no time to read after that. I suspect he dug out some of his older work and polished it up. Spy novels of this cliche are filled with gadgets, yet Sheldon never once mentions a computer or the Concorde. It is worth a read because just when you think you’ve guessed the plot, that person gets killed. Sheldon does it on purpose. My question to American spy novel authors is what is your fascination with bad guys and conferences?
           Let me abet some sinister types here. Listen you underworlders, quit attending bad guy meetings. The authorities are on to that. In particular, no board meetings in Helsinki, Alice Springs, Cairo and absolutely stay away from Rio unless you want to die tonight. (Rio isn’t on the list, but I heard the street food is that bad.) Avoid Heathrow, Dulles, Orly and Templehof. These places utterly bore your readership. Last, stay away from waterfronts, heavily wooded ski slopes and, if any of the other patrons are wearing Panama hats or named Hannibal Lector, sidewalk cafes.
           One of Sheldon’s predictions was unintentional. He anticipated the “sharing” of records and how any one slip-up in a person’s entire life could mark them forever. That part he got right long before databases. He was trying to shock the reader with the power of government to do “background checks” and how easily a person can avoid being checked. In spy novels only criminals object to illegal searches.
           Due to the Taurus, I will not be ready with the Karaoke show. Another item is the TV display. My original plan is help up for lack of an adapter, VGA to coax. Can’t put a PCI card in a laptop. Wallace has been working all day long in the yard, which seems to attract all the French ladies in the vicinity. I am so glad he enjoys yard work. He’s thinks the soil is infertile. It is sandy, salty soil that does not hold water very long. But infertile doesn’t explain the Everglades.
           Trivia. While googling for the Taurus firing order I found out one of those details you never think about. On a four stroke engine think about the spark plug. (Um, I mean a reciprocating engine. A jet engine is also intake, compression, power, exhaust.) That means a power stroke only each second cycle. How does the spark plug know to fire only every second time? Answer: it doesn’t. The plug fires every time. Each second firing is called a “wasted spark”. If that is hard to visualize, draw a diagram.
           I knew an old guy from Peace River who had an English car from after the war. It had a four piston engine around the size of a sewing machine. He used to take it apart once a year on his kitchen table and polish the parts. He got 40 miles per gallon back in 1955.

January 28, 2009

           Both Wallace and I have mild flu symptoms. In addition, he has heartburn but that is expected if you eat in restaurants. I’m making pot shoulder roast with potatoes and carrots. No, we don’t have a big home-made supper each day much as we would probably like to but we do have extremely high quality leftovers. We should rent the room to a maid. Here’s a statistic. When Wallace is here, we go through ten pounds of boiled potatoes a week. Three times the original estimate.
           The Taurus is today’s headliner. There is an electrical problem and I confirm that the properly seated spark plug wires [really do] pop off by themselves. The plan is to take it up to Jimbo’s tomorrow and see if we can do a backyard repair. Failing that, it will be just over a mile from Bill & Dick’s [highly reputable lo-cost mechanic garage]. My biggest fear is the timing chain. You have to pull those sideways motors to get at it.
           The author, Sidney Sheldon, is back today by coincidence [to his audio tape I just finished]. This time, a novel I’d heard of years ago, “Windmills of the Gods”. His writing is vastly superior to his narration. Let me qualify that. While I’ve never read and listened to both editions of a given author, I know the difference between both styles and there is a reason most books aren’t meant to be read out loud. Here’s trivia. Did you know Sheldon is the same writer you see scroll by the credits at the end of that ancient TV series, “I Dream of Jeannie”?
           First, a retraction. My second-hand theory about directions at the South Pole is disproven by subsequent information. Still, that some method is being used is a valid assumption. What's that about assumptions? Oh, please, they meant that about people like, well, you know. Besides, this blog is full of errors, but I don't retract unless the information is blantantly false. Ordinarily misleading means nothing here.
           The author, Sidney Sheldon, is back today by coincidence. This time, a novel I’d heard of years ago, “Windmills of the Gods”. His writing is vastly superior to his narration. Let me qualify that. While I’ve never read and listened to both editions of a given author, I know the difference between both styles and there is a reason most books aren’t meant to be read out loud. Here’s trivia. Did you know Sheldon is the same writer you see scroll by the credits at the end of that ancient TV series, “I Dream of Jeannie”?
           Sheldon plain likes to write; I view writing as imparting order and the condition of permanence to thought. I don’t know if I could produce pure fiction. Never tried. But just you wait. Who was it that said TV would produce a global village? Marshall McLuhan, I think. He was certainly right about the village idiot part. I say the Internet turned it into a bipolar condo committee with a crack-smoking security guard whose overweight single parent sister is a telemarketer.
           By mid-afternoon, I have another batch of word-sync files ready. The process involves such a number of skill sets that I’m not to worried about any competition for a while. Quite a while. I’ll likely run a few through the PA by the weekend. Jimbo’s is about to become the only live Karaoke testing studio in town. I can’t wait to try it because it already sounds better than most aftermarket MIDI tracks. If you knew how it was created, it has to.
           Taking a deserved afternoon break, I read more Sheldon. He certainly follows the Capote formula for intertwining sub-plots, always exactly three deep. Sheldon’s characters could never work for the CIA nowadays. Their haloes would give them away even if their names didn’t. Example: Harry Lantz. (Get it?) I can guess why the book was never a movie—the central female character is not divorced, gay or better educated than her ex. Although she may have been the first housewife in Kansas to earn a PhD. in Romanian history.

January 27, 2009

           Another exciting picture of the yard. This is the result of a week of Wallace going in there and trimming with a pair of tweezers. Note you can see the individual bushes and the fence. He has aligned the concrete trim which formerly could not even be seen. He notes the soil is sandy and does not retain moisture. Even so, look at how dense the forest grew on it’s own. The French-Canadiens seem to love what he did.
           Trivia. The South Pole book is finally getting to some science by page 200. Have you heard of “dawn chorus”? I have, but no clue wat is the static noise heard between radio broadcast channels. It is known to hobbyists as “sferics”, short for “atmospherics” and subdivided into “hiss”, “tweeks”, “bonks” and “clinks”. It acts in phase with the auroras except for bonks, which are distant lightning events.
           We now have a functional Karaoke laptop. The remote monitor is still a problem, but something will come in the shop. Remember, Fred was a TV repairman first. Remind me to rig up a curtain so I cannot be watched while I am doing computer work. You see, too many people whose capabilities end at e-mail and surfing cannot imagine anything more complicated going on in the world. It is sad, but they honestly believe my life is as idle and unmotivated as their own. It took me all day to get a few hours work done.
           Teresa came by, who is beginning to remind me of Julie K. As we get to know each other, views come out. We are both heavily influenced by our backgrounds, although I will often mention mine and she never says a word of hers. I find that fact interesting. Of the educated who pose as ordinary folk and brazenly dare to mingle with the working class, she has a natural resentment.
           It is impossible not to notice that Teresa will mechanically side with the underdog. She does not allow for legality, fault or causation. If an underdog does not exist, she will create one. I am familiar with how this behavior is learned. I know it can, if there is motivation, be unlearned. There is no motivation here.
           The biggest thing with Teresa is feminism. I thought feminism was a cause of the 1980s that petered out as the proponents married off to the competition. Ha-ha, I just got that myself, “Petered out”. Does divorce make feminism retro-active?
           I don’t know if the issues have changed, but they do seem to hinge on matters, such as jobs or rights, that are not evenly spread. They never, fairness being an opinion, will be. Forgive my dunceness, but I still cannot, for the life of me, think of one single right I have that women do not. No, I’m not being sarcastic.
           [This is a repeat, but that is in order here. I have no “rights” in the same sense as feminists don’t. I am a single white male with a non-English sounding last name. I have to make my own way and own decisions against the same faceless bureaucracy. The so-called “breaks” some seem to think I’ve gotten in this life were in reality hard fought uphill battles, most of which I lost against the undeserving but entrenched. I possess nothing of any material value that was handed to me, including opportunities or the supposed benefits of a male-dominated system. I don’t dispute that it is a man’s world, that is, if you happen to be a man who is tall, handsome, rich, young, athletic, talented and well-connected.]
           So, while I am very tolerant of the viewpoint, I can’t sympathize. For every instance of unfairness to women, I’ve got an example of the opposite. Lynn MacLean got the programming job and why? She had never touched a computer, I had a degree. There were only two applicants. She was a woman. Until she got that job, I had never noticed she was also a weekend stripper at the ferry landing. But you see, that makes her the underdog.

January 26, 2009

           This is the overcast late afternoon beach y’day. The new broadwalk was widened, you can see the brickwork. Then promptly narrowed again by letting all those booths set up. Yes, the tourists are wearing jackets. We do get a cool spell here once a year. This view is northeast from Toucans. If you are looking for the pretty girls in thongs, this is Florida, not Rio.
           For the record, the first few batches of word-synch files are ready. I’ve located the wireless television transmitter and am setting it up for testing. (So I can place my karaoke monitor anywhere in the premises as opposed to a table near the stage.) I have successfully placed advertising over instrumental music, such as my warm-up tune (the theme from Bonanza). Other improvements are less obvious such as I am now compressing all music in the new sets.
           Compression. Um, in case that throws some people who just found out what an MP3 was last year and now think they are the leading edge of technology, that’s dynamic compression. Not zipping the files. You know who you are. The last person in town to get an iPod and you think you are some kind of computer genius. Yeah, you.
           I’ve begun reading a fascinating book that must be based on fact. This is the best fiction for me, where like Michener, only the characters are invented. Return for the title another day. The book is about a doctor who is assigned to look after air force personnel who crack up something besides their airplane. Other than flying, the war was not that hard in the air corps. The brass, figuring that was too comfortable, insisted that everybody go up in a plane, even the cooks and mechanics. The ones who got the permanent beejezus scared out of them were marched into Section 7. They were labeled cowards, including decorated pilots who had flown twenty missions before snapping.
           Looking for Wallace later, I dropped in to the Holiday Bowling lanes y’day. He was gone but Heather was there. So was a rather 1950-ish karaoke show. They had great equipment because it made my singing sound great. Either that, or I am learning to sing, but that could never be. I reciprocated by walking the tip jar around the bar and getting them some gas money. I used the term “Kamikaze Karaoke” recently and should define it.
           Kamikaze refers to a show where the vocalist gets no selection and sings whatever comes up next. This will vaguely resemble my show but there are important differences. My show is “live” and thus is not expected to have an extensive song list. As well, up to six people can sing along at once by picking up a microphone. I’ve discovered that people who would never solo will sing along if everybody else does. This procedure is proven, I just have never tried it on a larger scale.
           Later, the wireless TV is set up and works only on channel 4. During breaks, I read more on Antarctica. I’ve got the impression that the “exploration” embodies all the worst evils of contemporary man. Since the area is uninhabited, allow me to extrapolate parallels to what baggage some people would take along on any Mars mission. Imagine yourself in 1957, standing on the brink of a completely untouched land. What do you see?
           I see the chance to start over. Other things I see are a clean slate to leave behind all the hindrances and evils of earlier mankind. The opportunity to eradicate everything from taxes to disease to welfare by just not allowing anything that has ever harmed man into the new environment. However, it appears there was not one thoroughly practical person permitted on the original treks.
           While I can grant that ideals of Empire were more recent in men’s minds in that era, there is no justification for intentionally infecting a pristine land with anything that, under any disguise, has ever hurt people. Here is a place that existed for millions of years without politics or religion. Yet the usual percentage of men were lamenting that they found nobody to who needed conversion or leadership. Weren’t there a week before building a chapel and requisitioning scarce heating fuel. I can imagine how they justified that.
           Say what you want, but that is the kind of people I would intentionally have prevented from setting foot. Do your praying and politicking on your own time. It seems not one of these people who needed to administer to “spiritual needs” said a word about it before the last supply ship was frozen in. The book is made needlessly ponderous as the author clearly sides with the social crowd.
           The author neglects serious explanations. He regularly refers to the east and west of Antarctica. Say what? I’m over half-way through the 300 pages and he has not defined it. By noting that all maps showed the “panhandle” on the same side, I speculate there is a convention of considering north to be longitude zero. My point is the author never says so, yet it is elemental to understanding the book. Since I had to figure it out myself, let me propose it as today’s trivia, as follows.
           Take a map of Antarctica and rotate it so the Prime Meridian and International Date Line bisect the continent through the South Pole, with Greenwich to the top. Argentina will be to the left, the Pacific Ocean to the right. That’s, respectively, West and East. Up and down become North and South. If that is too hard to visualize, plunk the book on a map of Wyoming. Not only are the directions the same, so is the distance between full service gas stations.

January 25, 2009

           New spark plug wires on the Taurus, compliments of Jimbo’s. This improved the condition but did not completely solve the cold start sputtering. Thus begins the long process of replacing electrical parts one by one until I finally take it into a garage. Next is the spark plugs, then the alternator. When the Chinese begin flooding our country with $4,000 cars that last 250,000 miles I’ll buy one second hand. That should be in another four years.
           Book report time. Reading past page 75 of “A Continent for Science” is giving me a much different impression than the title suggests. While never stating anything of the kind, it would appear that being an Antarctic explorer did not make one a member of a very exclusive club, simply because you already had to be a member to even count. Let’s have a show of hands on how many of you suppose being a good polar scientist would net you a job at McMurdo Sound in the early days.
           Maybe nowadays it might, but according to the original accounts, you’d be dreaming. Not only did science have little to do with the selection process, even the idea for the trip was hatched at a dinner party. The affair grows more dimly lit when one accounts for the fact that after WWII, famous scientists became synonymous with those who were successful lobbyists for government funding. Right, Werner? Before you could fine the ruby in your sherbet, they had $245 million in 1957 US currency and their own pet International Geophysical Year (IGY).
           As to style, the book could have been written for 1857. Although thousands took part constructing the bases and running the instrumentation, the only people mentioned by name (so far) had the right connections. Those connections are almost exclusive to the military and those who knew some of the original explorers before 1900. Even the terrain is named after cousins, wives, admirals and queens.
           Everybody else, to a one, is tersely referred to as “an engineer” or “the pilot”. Mind you, the socialite tentacles can droop deep, for being a well-heeled Sno-Cat driver gets you honorable mention, like the factory owner’s son who works one summer to learn the ropes. Nowhere on the continent is there a “Taxpayer Ice Shelf” or “Mt. Sergeant Kaputnik”. But we now know the depth of them ice sheets to the millimeter, by golly. If only more Americans knew what a millimeter looked like.
           Deciding to test the car, I drove to the beach. Along A1A it stalled. Investigation showed the new spark plug wires actually popped off the spark plugs. I forced them back on and was able to just pull into Barry’s parking spot at HWB. A quick refresher of the venue will work well here. HWB is the place I used to play with the Hippie. There are three businesses on that block. The HWB, the Mexicana café and Toucans. The Mexicana is the joint with that horridly distorted karaoke show. Toucans is where I used to jam with Johnny D on Tuesdays.
           So, this area is packed with history and there is about to be more created soon. Barry (HWB) is interested when my “Kamakaze Karaoke” arrives and by coincidence, HWB is the place I first met Arnel. He’d been double booked at Toucans, who foolishly opted for the other entertainer. Now Arnel is back as the only day entertainer at Toucans, having bounced all others off that prime weekend shift. Need I remind anyone of what I had to say the instant I first heard him perform? Hell, here is the exact passage, dated Sept. 2, 2007:
           Around 9:00 p.m. this guy rounds the corner with a guitar. His gig fell through up the road at Toucans and he wanted to play. He does exactly the same thing I do, except he can sing and play guitar. He uses an iPod. He’s got real music in there with the vocals taken out, something I’ve been meaning to look into. Ariel, I think his name was. We jammed up a storm of old hits. He says he’ll be in touch, but I can tell he is a single act all the way.
           I was at Toucans today to jam with him and yes, it was a dynamite show at what may be the most prestigious pub gig in town. I finally met the manageress through Arnel, and she has the distinctive name of Meredith. The collaboration with Arnel is already producing dividends. For example, all future computer equipment will be Blu-Ray compatible. That may seem insignificant but it represents the necessary cooperation on a non-musical level that was lacking in other bands I can think of. When we learn to extract MIDI files, our computer equipment will be 100% compatible.

January 24, 2009

           A quiet day, something not so welcome any more. Teresa came by and we went for coffee and to the library after work. This picture cannot be explained but Teresa (on the left) surmises this may have been a crime scene. It looks like somebody killed Santa Claus. Or maybe the Roamin’ Gnome? All that’s left is his boots and the perp only has to say is “I didn’t do it on purpose.” Memorize that phrase and yes, you can get away with vehicular homicide in Florida.
           I tended shop and worked on the lyrics. I’ll have to find something else to call the process because it isn’t any of the standard operations. How about “word-sync”. Yeah, that will do. More would have got done except for the phone calls all morning, mostly from women who have secretary-brain. They have no concept that the person who answers the phone may not be another air-head. You want to buy something, okay, but no lady, I will not take a message. Get your mother to take a message. There’s more to it, but I believe I’ve made my point.
           Checking in at Jimbo’s, I decided not to run the show tonight. Only a couple of regulars [were present] who’d rather watch TV. I’ll reconsider things after I see how the new word-sync works but anybody who can get a crowd in there on Saturdays will make everybody happy and themselves a good dollar. That whole strip [along Dixie] suffers whenever the working class stay home. Sigh, I remember when going out on Saturday was a tradition and I was so tempted to sit down and have a cold beer. There was a talkative customer there who liked the concepts I was describing. But I stuck to the plan, had a soda and came home.
           Reading is my relaxation, and I’ve got a great book on the South Pole. Actually, Antarctica in general, so ask me any question about Scott, Amundsen, Shackleton, Ross and the like. Chalk up today’s trivia to that peninsula that juts north toward Tierra del Fuego. I learned that is geographically part of South America, not Antarctica. I also got motivated and made us a big supper of sausage and sauerkraut. Don’t get the impression I miss having a woman around the house, because I’ve never in my life dated a woman who was domesticated.
           Here’s another item from the book. On that peninsula, early explorers (around 1900) have discovered carved rocks that show people were there within historical times. I have no theory on how that could be. That means people got across the Straits of Magellan since the last ice age. Outwardly, that is just impossible. I may look further into the matter.
           It took an hour and I’ll get better at it, but the first word-sync tune is done. It was chosen because I knew all the words. Johnny Horton’s “Ballad of New Orleans”. I used to play that for a nickel on the juke box after my paper route when I was 10 years old, not suspecting I would begin taking piano lessons that year or that I’d be starting my own band within 36 months. You know, that first band taught me a valuable lesson.            That there is no difference between people who can’t help you and who won’t help you.
Come to think of it, it also taught me that certain people love that expression about it taking 43 muscles to frown and only 17 to smile. They plainly know that it takes zero muscles to sit there and look stupid. (I didn’t write that, it was on the Internet.)

January 23, 2009

           That’s Wallace in the forest. It is becoming a tamed forest as he cuts back the vines and yanks the roots out. The forest looks great at first, then you realize it hasn’t been kept up. There is street trash and weeds to be removed. Once the vines are gone the area looks even better. Privacy has not been affected for the remaining plants keep people off the swale near the patio fence. He’s been at it for four days, in case anyone thinks I was exaggerating about the amount of work I did there myself. You could not even get in there to do the trimming.
           Music dominates the day. I tested the new system for “live” Karaoke and of course, it was full of trade-offs. Like all contemporary software, if there is a shortcoming, it is carefully down-worded or not mentioned at all. But you can always count on me to get you the facts. Just a reminder that I use some terms loosely as I am describing the operation, not listing specifications.
           The software, Serenade, works as described and only that. It attaches lyrics to any MP3 and plays them back in synchronization with the music. How could anyone screw that up? Easy. The resulting file is really several files. They must be played back with the Serenade interface and only the MP3 part plays on any other device. It will do, but none of the bad part was spelled out in the advertising. For clarity, you cannot play back the file on regular CD equipment because Serenade does not output MP3+G format.
           That caused me to follow up by searching for software that performs the chore. Serenade was not expensive and taught me what to be wary of. First of all, MP3+G disks require a disk player that is compatible. This leads us back to the format. I refer to CDG and MP3+G as the same, but CDG has the same problem as CD. Only around a dozen songs will fit on one disk. Nor can I find out if CDG is the same as Super Video (SVCD), but that would be too easy. These people like to make life complicated.
           That leaves MP3+G, but for some reason, these are hard to find. I wanted a free sample to test my equipment. No dice. But I did notice that what was for sale was in the zip (compressed) format. Now MP3 files are already one-eighth the size of CD, so what is it with compression? That means the file must be decompressed before it can be played, as if you don’t already have enough to do up on stage. When all the above is tallied, it looks like it several manufacturers tried to tweak a system that was not designed to be manipulated. Folks, never let engineers work on a project without a babysitter.
           I got a phone call about joining a band. Very funny, because I am in a working situation and the other party is not. It is plain dumb to say I can't get gigs when I've just played 72 weeks in the past 78. Some people think a singer-guitarist is even necessary. (Put it to the test. I can regularly pack a room without having a singer or guitarist, and I don't mean Karaoke. If some people would try that, they'd quickly learn a hard lesson about what they are really worth as an entertainer.) If the guy was phoning to join my band, his choice of words was bad. Something about me learning his material and following his philosophies, something known to break up every band he ever started. Well, that's the New Age type for you. Getting things exactly backwards.
           Let me tally things up. I have a growing, successful, on-going operation with a steady following, regular money, and a house gig. As far as I know, other musicians dream of that and I seem to have pulled it off on the first try. I won't mention the the rave reviews I've gotten, or people who've jammed with me, or the fact that I have never been fired. The other person is offering... Well, um, let me see... Can I get back to you on that?
           Demo tape, my eye.

January 22, 2009

           This is the pain clinic up the street from the shop. I had to get you a picture, since I’ve noticed the small office building next door has had to hire an armed security guard to patrol their entrance. The offending operation is called “The Art of Pain Control”. My opinion is that such places should not be silently plunked down in reputable areas. By reputable, I mean there was no overt drug problems in the vicinity until this placed arrived. Maybe the problem existed, but it wasn’t driving customers away.
           In hopefully unrelated news, not a single customer came in the door, but this was still a successful day. I have found software that creates MP3+G. Read back far enough and you’ll find I knew what these were at a time I did not suspect they could be created on a home computer. Here is another instance where the “specifications” did not offer any clue about how to use the technology. I had searched the Internet to find only that these disks were either very rare or very expensive. (These archives show it was Sept. 30, 2008 that I found the first information about this format.)
           Today was a quantum step forward. My MP3s are the original with the bass sounds equalized out, sort of. I don’t have MIDI accompaniment. Thus, my “live Karaoke” show is but a few days away. All I do is cut and paste the lyrics and create my own MP3+G disks. As always, it took months to find the answer because nobody had a clue what I meant. Story of my life, in fact for a while there I was wondering if I had to go back to college and get an engineering degree to pull this together. Sound familiar?
           Today is dominated by this occurrence. Somebody who knows MP3+G could have shown me in minutes how this works, but that person never appeared. Look no further if you wonder why I have no use for whiz kids. I see that I earlier hit snags using the “+” sign as a search criteria, so I may refer to the format as CDG (Compact Disk w/Graphics). My policy is to document all such learning experience, so skip today unless you like information for its own sake.
           This development does not help Arnel. His show is based on MIDI files, which are not music in themselves. MIDI is a set of “triggers” which connects to a separate device which produces the musical sounds. The “patches” I’ve referred to are the sounds generated by that device [called a sequencer]. This also explains how Arnel’s act works. He gets the MIDI file with the lyrics and removes the guitar track. He does not display the lyrics to the audience, rather so he needn’t memorize them.
It is MIDI files that allow [many] Karaoke acts to vary the tempo and key. I don’t require such capability. Since Arnel sings, he often has to change the key to his range. Now it makes sense why he needs a quality device that will convert MP3s back to MIDI files, and also why such a device is probably not going to work very well. Extracting MIDI tracks is akin to unscrambling an egg.
           I’m not out of the weeds myself. For instance, I do not know how the resulting CDGs will play on my extant equipment. The problem of two different displays remains, but if need be I’ll put duct tape over one of them. The show must go on. Eventually I want MIDI tracks because the quality of sound can be fantastic. Until then, I’ll have the closest thing to “live Karaoke” in this town.
           Naturally, my mind is racing ahead to other possibilities. In the end, the ones that make money will survive. Since I can already make MP3s out of anything, so give me $20 and I’ll display your name on your birthday. The priority is the music I play, but shortly thereafter, the music I can’t play looms large. And I know how vocal removal software works. One thing I can almost guarantee is that my Karaoke will never sound like, well, Karaoke.
           Trivia. I saw a diagram today of an iron forging operation around 300 C.E. in Spain that could produce 350 pounds of quality iron per day. I find that incredible. I also saw a photo of what looked like a man holding a hole in the air. It was, of all things, a “perfect” mirror. This is totally new to me and I read on that ordinary mirrors can never reflect 100% of the light because they conduct electricity along the reflecting surface. The new mirror was made of non-conducting material and it really appeared like I said. Amazing.

January 21, 2009

           As you know, I like to watch the state of business affairs in the neighborhood, since I am in competition with that crowd. Surely it amuses me when the standards, that is, those people whose parents set them up in business with that “shopkeepers ethic” begin to suffer. Lord, did they shake it in our faces for the last 40 years, the part about they were superior because they were their own bosses. Except for the part about where they got the money to tide over. I took a picture of this “For Rent” sign today. You would not think that offended anyone. Wrong.
           I had a two-minute discussion with the landlady of this ad. She seemed to think I [was under some obligation to] explain to her why I was looking at a public notice in a public place without telling her in advance who I was and why I would not sign a ten year lease. The conversation focused on her thinking I would pay her to take this picture versus how much she intended to pay me for doing so. We did not get along so well considering she was a fat lady leaning out a second-floor window. If that is your kind of gal, ask for the address.
           As with y’day, my energy was all about the Karaoke software. It seems to work exactly as advertised, with none of the qualified surprises one normally associates with American companies. I was able to control the system after a few minutes, when I inserted some of my own advertising during a pause in the sequence. Subliminal advertising that flashes “Tip the Musician”
           This software represents only the first step toward my goal. Everyone on my side has been fully informed of the progress. Afterward, I rode my bike for six miles. That could be in response to the reports of “cold” weather in the district. If I ever wax poetic, remind me to describe the frozen winters of the first 2/3 of my life. Don’t talk to me about your stories of snow and blizzards. Until you’ve spent five years north of the Arctic Circle, don’t start with me. How many months and years I scraped a hole in the ice to look south over that frozen tundra wondering why anyone… Well, you get the point.
           In fact, I was happy enough with the software to take the evening off. I bumped into Will, from Jimbo’s. Jeopardy, Cash Cab and some other game show caught me and I stayed for a few hours. Earlier I practiced my bass lines to new material. When the dude plugging coins into the juke box asked for requests, I gave him my new list. It was definitely an excellent choice for as I said, I watch for what people are not playing. I’m looking forward to Friday. The material I intend to use for my Karaoke show is taking over my act.
           Rumors. We might have known that Trader John’s the book place was not going to merely disappear. The word is that he has re-opened in North Miami. A little beyond biking distance, it is also in the same general area as Borders, the Barn and Aventura Mall. Now that I’ve picked up the trail, I’m in the market.
           Last, according to the few new faces found in my shop, we are the last place around that offers Internet access, except for Kinko’s where nobody ever goes. This has not brought any significant revenue in for me, which confirms my analysis that this town cannot support an Internet café. This is doubly true, because the few locations that tried lacked atmosphere. The rent was so high they had to push the expensive ice cream and coffee on the customers. Or, they attracted a noisy clientele. Locally, it seems every third building is for rent.
           Many of our customers are shopkeepers, but not “standards”. That means they build or repair something, as opposed to selling incense and yoga lessons. Strange it is that lately there is a common complaint, more so because I had the same grumble when I was twenty. The shops are vacant, but the landlords will not lower the rent. Am I the only one that realizes that this is a revelation about how much power is concentrated in a few hands? It is a mystery to me, because the rich must eventually notice they are living on equity rather than profits. Even Krupp (the German armament family) had to close down their castle and rough out the Depression in a tiny 40-room chalet.

January 20, 2009

           Cold spell. That means indoors till noon. Which in turn means grilled ham and cheese, butter for Wallace, 80% vegetable oil margarine for me. And lots of coffee. I’ve been trying to catch a History Channel documentary on music devices. The really good programs tend to air when I am busy and, primitive as it sounds, I have no provision to record television. My TV capability is light years in the past and I am bragging about that, sunshine. And cold or not, flowers still bloom in Florida. Here is a flowering vine along the east wall. The prevalence of flower pictures this winter is intentional.
           I hate the Brother company and their crappy printers. Now, I can't use my scanner because one ink cartridge is dry, meaning I can't install the driver on my new hard drive because the printer won't turn on without that cartridge. If I said I’ll never own another Brother, let me repeat that. Do not buy a Brother printer. My stance is the same as ever: printers are 35 year old technology and there is no excuse for stupidity in the design.
           Yikes, dead silent in the shop all day. Mike purchased one of those 4-stroke bicycle motors that drive the wheel with a spindle. It looks like a small lawnmower engine with a short pipe out one end. When mounted to Mike’s tandem bike, he can to 35 mph. I once pedaled to half that speed and concluded the roadways are too decrepit in this town for even that. I would not mind a motor around half that size and weight that moves maybe 10 mph. Mike says they drove his all the way to Miami Beach. I’ll pass, both on riding a bike that fast, and Miami Beach.
           The rest of today is technical material, but read it anyway if you are at all curious about the challenges I face with computers. With help from Arnel, I have been scouting for Karaoke software suitable for my act and I believe I have some good news. I’ll run over the nature of the experiment first. The goal is my “live” karaoke show by adding those scrolling and color-changing lyrics to the music as I play along. It seems so simple until you try it. Here is my progress report.
           One thing I never knew is that you can add lyrics to MIDI files. Arnel showed me how to add lyrics to the track of any instrument with a melody line. I thought that was a feature of the Van Basco Karaoke player. It is also a laborious process, involving a lot of back and forth. Furthermore, every MIDI manual I read failed to spell out in plain English how it works. Usually they said something like “the ability to add lyrics is defined in the MIDI standard.” Whatever that means.
           Today I find out that the MIDI lyric track is called “meta event type 5”. This means, I think, that lyrics can be matched up with other MIDI events, which could be what I’ve been looking for. I had touched on this by trying to attach lyrics to the drum track (that was a complicated dead end). It says here that drum track is Channel 10 on the MIDI. As usual, there are incompatible exceptions.
           My search led to “Serenade”. It is software that places the text into the MIDI file. Here’s something else I did not know. The file extensions .mid and .kar both mean the same type of file. It is custom that says use .kar when lyrics are present. Expect this to cause confusion. Serenade seems to do much more, however. It will extract or add lyrics, which is important because most MIDI files don’t have [any] lyrics [attached], but I’ll bet the ones that do have to be fixed.
           Now get this. Instead of the gruelling chore of using all those Van Basco hyphens to match the words to the event, Serenade uses a neat system simple as you please. You type or paste in the words, then use Serenade to play the MIDI file (as opposed to playing the MIDI file in standalone mode). While the music plays, you tap the Ctrl key along to the melody and Serenade memorizes that sequence of text syllables. Beautiful! Result: instant Karaoke from ordinary MIDI files.
           I have not yet purchased the software. What a boon to my project if it works as advertised, for I can then focus on getting realistic sounds out of my equipment. Changing the sound is called using “patches” and it almost certainly is a better documented procedure than plugging in lyrics. And just as certainly, this is going to cost a bundle (estimated $800) to get decent sounding samples (digital representation) of quality instruments. Predictably, they want more money for sampling more expensive instruments although the sampling process is the same even if you are recording frog farts.
           All of this knowledge was, so to speak, dug out of solid rock. Nothing useful naturally came along. I ask the same question now as I did when I started college. Where do these programmers get their knowledge of what is not yet done, and the specifications of how to interface with it? There is no central repository of this information and no school seems to teach it. If they did, I’d sign up tomorrow. Fred experienced the same thing when he first saw a home computer.
           Many a year ago, a customer came in and wanted to sell it. Fred looked asked what it could do. The reply was, “Well, anything you want it to.” That is like no reply at all unless they can demonstrate it. Nowadays we know it requires software, but I can see Fred staring at it sitting on his counter, him wondering what all the hype was about. Today, I downloaded the entire operating manual for Serenade and had it memorized by midnight. I may not be a musical virtuoso, but when it comes to getting useful things done on a computer, “There’ll be no Dunkirk here.”

January 19, 2009

           Dr. Sports was in today and it was the high point. Shows you how slow things have been. His radio show, 880 AM BAZ or something like that, gets drowned out this far north. A couple of things came up, the one that intrigues me is his statements that those quips I wrote (for him to plug this blog) may have gone over unexpectedly well. That’s his picture.
           He is copying the tape and I’ll wait until I hear it myself. He wants to set up some kind of relay in which the show takes place here in Hollywood. Just the broadcast is in Miami. He is a natural talker, where I tend to need a clear direction or topic before I can open up.
           If I participate, or write more quips, it is out of pure curiosity. I’ve never worked radio before. DJ Steve (that’s his name) has a ton of free coupons, mostly restaurants, I can have. Me, eat in a restaurant? Maybe I’ll just take the ones for things I don’t normally spend money on, like pizza. He’s got passes to some huge press party up in Tampa this Sunday. Rose Bowl isn’t my thing but he states the VIPs of national press will be there. That is, to me, a significant point. I have nothing against shameless self-promotion. Learned it from the Hippie.
           It finally happened. I don’t have enough spare parts around the house any more to slap a working computer together. I sold all my power supplies and the neighbour isn’t going to share the DSL. His wife thinks if he does, we can read their email or something. I biked into downtown and downloaded more lyrics and tabs. I even found what was supposed to be the tab for “Bonanza” but it turns out to be just the lead riff. In the wrong key.
           We seem to be the last outpost of Internet access near town center. I know Kinko’s is over on Young Circle, but if you include parking, that place costs $13 per hour. New faces have been showing up although my system is rarely more than 30% busy most of the time. It is slack enough for me to use one of the computers whenever I arrive.
           Later. I don’t think Rose Bowl is on my agenda. For starters, I don’t like to leave town unless I have my own vehicle and bastante cash to get myself back no matter what goes wrong. Tampa is a good hike up the gulf coast. I’ll wait for more information because I’d like to say I went to a live game once in my life. It would be doubly nice if advertising revenues picked up the tab. What? Bastante is Spanish for “sufficient”.
           Wallace’s buddy is crashing here for a few days. He didn’t know he would become the newest serf for her Majesty, Pudding-Tat I. Pete, that’s his name. Pudding-Tat and him get along so well together. I wonder if he’d like to adopt? One great thing about Pete is that, like myself, he has not watched TV most of his life. That means he knows about stuff, and maybe knows a good cat when he sees one.
           The Internet has grown another offshoot. Coverage of women who complain about “bad luck” and on-line dating. This has roots; what do they expect? There are actually two types of women who advertise for a date. The unattractive and the unreasonable. It seems to me on-line is nothing more than the logical extension of want ads and computer dating. There are no darker washroom walls than the Internet. You put your profile and contact information there; you suffer the consequences.
           I took a moment to analyze the complaints. (I went beyond the usual grumbling over lying about looks. We already know which sex uses more trickery in that department.) Generally, the women are carping about men who exploit the Internet as a proxy pick-up joint. (Duh, ladies, just what in hell did you expect?) I view such dating as a class of people who truly deserve each other. It is the same crowd who say men only want sex and women only want money. The women whine that if they don’t dress like sluts, the men don’t hit on them. And the men gripe unless they brag and spend money, they can’t get the women. Definitely not a bunch of musicians, I can tell.
           One lady has a web site begging for money to put an ad on at the Superbowl for a husband. She was “crushed” to find the man she met on-line was running the same ad in twenty other cities. She appeared on TV and I was expecting to see a brainless 20-year-old. Nope, this broad was pushing 35. Didn’t Darwin have a theory on this? When will she discover one can also be crushed by stupidity?
           Sorry, I can’t give more info because it was one of those feminist shows that don’t dare suggest anything is wrong with the woman. Let me formulate a guess, though, why this lady was not going to meet Prince Charming. She was expecting a man who would be attracted to the very things she did not have, most of it physical. She was beady-eyed, flat-chested, pinch-faced, black-haired and Ms. Cyrus wants that hair-style back.
           Still, there is no such thing as a woman so ugly some man won’t make a wife out of her. Thus I leave you wondering what is really wrong with such people.

January 18, 2009

           Times are tough out there. I rode my bicycle all the way down an artery without seeing a single vehicle on the street. One positive outcome of this recession is some local bigshot is advocating removing all the parking meters. Good idea. That is one of the main reasons I avoid the beach. Other people have different theories of drumming up business, like this cafe on Hollywood Blvd. with the staff dancing on the sidewalk in their underwear.

           Since I also watched movies on TV, I had plenty of time to revamp my song lists, which includes the task of renaming the tunes so they will display on your average DVD list. Can’t be bumbling around on stage with that. Today’s TV features were Independence Day and The Alamo. It is comforting to know that no matter who invades, they are incredibly bad shots.
           I combed banks of music to find tunes that fit my show. I want tunes that can be improved with a fatter or chunky bass line. Suitable material is rare, yet great things are possible in front of a trained audience. The important thing is to keep the material fresh. I could use a little help around here on that one. All the new music available seems to be either all-male bands or, if there is a female, the tunes are over-orchestrated.
           Channel 65 aired an hour on moonshiners. The message I’m getting is not the cops against the bad guys, but people who are defending themselves against laws and taxes that they had no say in. I think that’s the “by the people” part, and that people have not only a right, but an obligation to protest against bad laws. Since voting clearly does not work to steer the government in the right direction, I understand how people will resort to other means. Hence, the government makes those other means illegal which creates more criminals. That means more television, and the beat goes on.
           Later, I’ve got a new hour of music to run through Audacity. I think the newest tune is “Afternoon Delight”, still before 1979. It might be okay that I didn’t really play this music when it first came out, or I wouldn’t be resurrecting it. These are more complicated music than I played years ago, keeping it interesting to me. The relevant aspect is that it doesn’t put me to sleep like “House of the Rising Sun”.
           Hang on for a moment, let me check if there are any tunes on my list that I played when I started my first band at age 13. Nope. Not one. The “oldest” tune on my list is “Lodi”, excepting only “Sixteen Tons” as a non-rock and non-country classic. And I never played “Lodi” until last year. Say, my second anniversary is coming up at Jimbo’s. Hang on again. Here it is. May 26, 2007, Saturday. It was also my first solo gig. Let me find the entry (not all details are revealed in this blog, in case that is what you erroneously thought).
           May 26, 2007. That’s an interesting read. I made $5 that night and people bought me three drinks. I was concerned about not having enough material. Five bucks is more than I averaged relying on others to get the gigs, making a good start. On June 29, a month later, I made $36 in tips. Today even the average tip take far outstrips what I made as a band member.
           That first gig was a huge gamble. As a non-guitarist non-singer, I also knew that to a lot of people, bass was a background instrument. These days almost every new tune I play has some bass solo or added riff taken from guitar. Hey, guitarists steal bass lines all the time. I didn’t begin to break even (on variable costs) until August 2008. Do not worry, I am not about to write any tacky songs about how tough it was. I enjoyed every moment of it and you can imagine what I’ve saved not going out on Fridays.
           Much later. I also redid several rough spots left over from my early days of sound editing. Remember, I play every tune the way people remember it, even if that is technically wrong. Usually it means taking out background noises or getting Johnny Cash back on key. Sometimes I remove repetitious parts or add a second solo. Most of the time I just wonder what was it with Creedance and the key of B flat.
           Here’s trivia, sort of. As I test through music that meets what I need for my act, a truly old instrumental keeps qualifying. I cranked it up through the headphones to listen to the details and it is a real fusion piece between electric and what sounds like a fifteen-piece classical orchestra. It is the theme from [the television show] “Bonanza”.

January 17, 2009

           Here’s a slack job for you. This is taking place across the street at the casino lot. It makes for excellent night security around here, but the light pollution does block the stars at night. The scene attracted me because of the enormous bucket crane needed to get the repairman up there. No ladders in that operation.
           You could say I went on a date. That is a first in years, if a date is defined as going out for a while with a gal in my car and doing things around town. I minded the shop for Fred while he was at motorcycle ballet and for a change the phone barely rang. This gave me time to look around youTube and again be disappointed. For all the brilliance of its best, youTube is still a forum for the ho-hum.
           Teresa came by near quitting and we went to “Neil’s Place” for coffee and a muffin. Turned out to be “Nilus Place” and the tab turned out to be ten bucks. Call me a big spender, but a date is a date. Instead of fixing my car, I drove us out to K-Mart on 441 and we went our separate ways for a while to get some shopping done. Two points of note. First, I view unstocked shelves as a trouble sign. That location is not replacing its inventory. The other, we met an actually great storeperson. He was polite, knew his section, the selection, stock, prices and could answer all questions. That does not happen in Florida. I’m certain it is purely coincidence, but he was also Anglo, although we did not notice that at all in any way.
           Did I mention I’ve got a gig tonight? Probably. Teresa and I came back here whence I made chicken soup and she finally met Wally. She’s from Buffalo, so they’ve seen a lot of locations up in the Atlantic Northeast that I think look fine from an airplane window. Only. They were reminiscing about terrible winter storms. Yep, that part of the world is something I’ll leave until much later in life. I picked up my music gear and, since Teresa had a long day already, dropped her at home.
           Before that she watched to pilot of Spyz, the movie Wallace and I created last year. There is no progress, because between the 15 different formats out there, it turns out that I don’t have a single piece of editing software that will turn all the scenes into a final finished product. The low budget means many of the shorter scenes were out takes from existed material accumulated over the years with whatever was available.
           I started at 8:30 P.M. and my new format is bearing fruit. When the crowd is mostly regulars, I disk jockey through a variety of MP3s. This appears random but I’ll reveal the secret. That Internet jukebox does not carry all tunes, so I’ve watched and listed the stuff people want that doesn’t search. I can play two hours of said favorites if the situation calls for it. In another brilliant move, I found the settings on my PA that exactly match the tone and timbre of the juke box. The transition to my music is seamless.
           The bar mics are now left on full volume. Experimentation has shown that audiences here are so inured to Karaoke that I don’t need to control that. Just let them sing. My pre-recorded music still suffers from compression errors, meaning I am up on stage between most songs and I often get the same tips. In all, I can do a four hour set actually only playing three. My God, I’m turning into the Hippie!
           It was a large birthday party and between the tips and 50/50, I can probably fix the car tomorrow. Again, this type of activity fits my exact goal for a successful weekend. When I say a weekend at home, I don’t mean when work is available. I go out, I show off, I hit on every good-looking gal in the place, I have great fun, and not only do I spend nothing, I waltz away with a pocket of cash for the remainder. So you’ll know, I planned for this many moons ago. One thing that always revolts me is the amount of money some men have to spend to get a fraction of what I expect to be paid for. Both the money and that they look so bad spending it like that.

January 16, 2009

           Things like the weather and the economy like to team up on business around here. This is the fancy GM lot up on the corner. I have no before and after photo, but here is another location where the inventory is just not being replaced. Note the vacant parking spots and the empty lane. A year ago, there wasn’t room to squeeze between them on a bicycle.
           The Taurus acts up in cold weather. At least that is the fourth year in a row it has done so, and it has never failed to require repair every winter. I’d say that’s a pattern. Now it is intermittently leaking water when the motor warms up. That’s Murphy’s Law, see, because I’m the type that doesn’t arrive anywhere early enough to start looking for car trouble. That’s the only time the motor is hot. Sometimes you just got to wonder about these coincidences.
           Good, because I don’t remember much of the day otherwise. I’ve also got the sniffles. Sure, I was in the shop applying for various jobs. The changes in the economy shine through many of the ads and listings. Part of my definition of Third World is when the average job does not pay enough for the worker to thrive. I would say, all you college grads out there, that if things don’t pick up you might as well ask for your money back. Each recession this decade is different than in the immediate past. This time, the infrastructure is permanently damaged.
           So I looked at the big picture, trying to identify with all the yuppies that are going to lose their life savings in the real estate debacle, facing their senior years without the wealth they thought they had accumulated. Then I said, “Piss on them” and went out with my bass to play a gig. Hey, Yuppies, I don’t recall you people complaining about all the poverty you induced by borrowing your way through life. And it was a good gig, too. My tips have finally reached a total that I can be proud of. I said total, not rate.
           It seems I am badgered to define induced poverty. Personally, I think the context is clear, but here goes. It is the effect when borrowed money causes prices to rise to the point where those who do not use credit cannot afford things. Real estate is a grand example. House prices rose far faster than can be explained away by economics alone. These Yuppies were into the realm of speculation, and the majority always have to lose at that game. The Dutch had their tulips and the Americans had their mortgages.
[Photo delayed]           A few of my fans reported that people I knew were playing at Boston’s. So I walked up there but I didn’t even know anybody in the audience. The band was unusual in that the bassist played [what looked to me to be] a small sized standup bass. It sounds fantastic but it was totally electrified. The tone was similar to a Fender Jazz bass and lacked the boominess of a real standup. The section that was played, or plucked, was full size. That puts me against the instrument because it places physical restrictions on what can be done. I could not play what I do on a standup.
           My plan for the weekend is to do nothing in my spare time. That’s been my plan since I was 12; I’m just not any good at doing nothing. What’s this, a John Wayne movie on Sunday? He was already old when I came along. Among his memorable lines, (speaking to a Comanche chief) “You speak good American. Somebody teach you?” No, John, it was his minor at Princeton. I remember that movie because it contained the only known on-screen insult to The Duke. “You speak good Comanche. Somebody teach you?”

January 15, 2009

           This is two sheets of hardboard on top of my car. The significance is that it created some shade on the car roof. In turn, that meant it was cool inside the car. I don’t think there’s been a thermostat on this vehicle in many years. I had to open the window on the way home to let in the heat. From what I hear, not too many people up in Ohio are having that problem.
           As Yoda would put it, “Aware I am quite the value good of a picture blog daily.” What I can’t do is find the camera driver disk. So I systematically took this place apart until I found it, and in the process revamped most of my disk filing system. That was long overdue and the next major project has to be my sock drawer.
           My reward was to get into the shop and fly through all the job prospects. There are no “job” jobs left. Every job on the Internet seems to be some kind of commissioned sales position that the so-called employer has taken pains to word otherwise. Most seem to be some kind of scam but enough (around 15%) seem real enough to follow up. Even the classifieds are rarely anything but a link to yet another resume database.
           There is something I find offensive about giving my resume to “professionals” who then decide where to apply. That is something I’d rather do on my own. Of course, one way around this is to create a resume with a phoney name until you get enough information about the exact job and then apply independently. But these “employment agencies” set off my alarms. It is just wrong to have the kind of info on a resume in the hands of semi-educated clerical workers who would sell you out in an instant. (Semi-educated being any job that does not require a Masters or better.) For anybody who just got here, I point out that I was in the communications industry for 15 years and know first hand what happens to your “private” information.
           Teresa arrived by late afternoon and we sped through some extra computer material, determining that for $30 she could do a major upgrade to her home system. Make it 6 times as fast. While she was there, I took the time to show her what it is I do on a computer, this usually being a wise move if there is any chance they may get the mistaken impression I am playing Minesweeper all day. Heck no, I much prefer solitaire.
           I went to show her the publication on Creditland. It was gone. What? I was so proud of that. I clicked on all the back pages and more as an afterthought clicked on the front page. Well, I’ll be. My article is now the headline. Find the Minnesota version of Creditland and my article “The Demographics of Real Estate”. It was written for entertainment, not information. And since I spray such articles around to see who picks up, I’ve forgotten my own Creditland password.
           By early evening I suggested [to Teresa] we stop by and see the Karaoke show at Jimbo’s No Windows. Again I must remark at the huge weight and volume of gear the DJ uses. Then again, since this is the fifth time in a row she asked my help to fix wiring problems, please allow that she may not know how to apply, oh what’s the name of that law. The one where for every pound you take off the airplane you eventually save seven pounds. We stayed almost three hours after which Teresa remarked that this is the most enjoyable evening she’s had in [I think she said] ten years.
           Everybody would like to borrow my Fender, but I need that around here for the odd student lesson. Teresa had one of those gift catalogues, you know the ones full of bargains that aren’t quite bargains. The ones that sell shawls, coin sets and show massage heads. This one also sold guitars. I love to take these catalogues on coffee break. I admire how they word the copy. I’m a bloggist myself. My favourite today was “One of our musical staff members picked up this guitar and said that he was truly surprised by the quality.” Why are you staring at the ceiling?
           Teresa would like to get a guitar and at lease have a go at what I showed her last week. It is entirely possible to become an adequate rhythm player in four to six weeks, and I mean stage quality. No, you will not be a studio recording artist, but you will have fun and make money. I sang the Jimbo’s theme song and there is no indirect way to say this, but I seem to have really done a good job. And that’s coming from vocalists and regulars with no incentive to inflate the matter. Who knows? I’ve certainly had enough practice.
           The Miracle on the Hudson. A commercial jet suffered foreign object ingestion [hit some pigeons] on take-off and the pilot did a deadstick into the river. Once the smell died down enough to enter the flight cabin, all 155 passengers “walked away” from the wreck. Or maybe they swam. Anyway, the pilot will likely get what he deserves and the documentary TV channels have enough to last the rest of this year.
           Meanwhile, here is some trivia. Iris scans, normally understood to be a government security measure, which doesn't explain what the government is up to that needs such devices. Anyway, the iris scan is exceedinginly accurate and needs just 756 bytes for a positive match. I have an example. Who remembers that Afghan refugee girl on the National Geographic cover? She was tracked down and identified after 18 years. Remember her bright green eyes and you should be able to guess how they did it. She was lucky it was the good guys looking for her. Even if you are a saint, no government should ever be trusted with such power.

January 14, 2009

           Don’t think too loud in the courtroom. It won’t be too long before they start recording that, too. This is the plaque outside the main doors. Actually, it was probably nice of them to at least let you know the reels are running. Inside the court, around 10:45 A.M. a group of the lawyers present asked another if he wanted to join them for lunch. The latter declined, saying he was due back by 1:30 P.M. How did he know they were having lunch in the next county?
           Today I made $15 on a $1,300 callout because it was covered by a warranty. Sigh. The price is based on 21 hours of field time and more hours of research. I learned a lot about wireless printers, one thing being that I’m not showing up for less than $250. There exists a ridiculous complexity interfacing different manufacturer’s equipment that allows everybody to deny responsibility. Only the government can do that on a daily basis. Since it may do some good, I’ll tell you what I found today.
           WEP, or Wireless Equivalent Privacy, is outdated but still a standard. Normally you program your wireless antennas with that code that prevents unauthorized usage. Here is the problem. Netgear wireless antennas want that code, so 99% of all installers, including myself, will enter the historical string used by Netgear components, that is, a ten digit telephone number easy to remember. The new AT&T modems called 2wire have a ten-digit setup number stamped on the back, but no serious installer would ever use it. I said “serious”.
           Because it is a secret code that is not truly secret. It is known by strangers who would have, among other things, knowledge of your phone number, system, IP and home addresses. (If they were trustworthy, why do we still get telemarketing calls?) The phone company has always sold this information to the highest bidder—but now the phone company requires this code to be used on other equipment. Damn! Worse (and I’ve complained to Netgear about this), when said code is entered, it displays as a string of asterisks. You can’t tell what you are overtyping.
           Draw your own conclusions but don’t dare complain later if you disagree now. It is really another example of AT&T throwing its weight around. While all this was transpiring, I had the opportunity to do something I really like. Homework. That means your homework, not mine. My client’s schoolchildren had some assignments. I recall this type of homework from my own childhood. Written by adults who have lost contact with how children approach problem-solving. An ordinary word scramble can be impossible for a ten year old.
           I have my own theory on teaching children, I’ll repeat it in case you were unlucky enough to miss the other times. Teaching and tutoring bores most children because the lessons are primarily based on memorization and that insane but sticky attitude too many adults have that the child is “supposed to know”. No, they are not supposed to know. They don’t have accumulated banks of experience to draw on, and it would seem, neither do a lot of the adults who don’t realize it. My theory is that the best way for children to learn to think is to be around somebody who is doing it. Again, a lot of adults don’t qualify.
           When children watch somebody think, they will imitate any successful action. In the process, they learn that it is okay to solve problems indirectly. Children don’t need to be told to think, they need to be shown how. True, this approach means children will witness failures as well. If that bothers you, don’t call yourself a teacher. My grade school education was characterized by memorized answers, parroting the textbook and a total forced isolation from any examples of the thinking process. That is defined as “programmed for failure”. I was, as a schoolboy, regularly punished for thinking out of the box.
           Prime example. In the science lab there was a sensitive scale that could measure fractions of grams. I quickly noticed a variation in the weights of pennies. (Those of you who know my family can smell the trouble brewing already.) It took me but moment to discover other curious people would weigh their pennies. Aha, Science Fair project and we had a practice run a week before. Find out if your penny is light or heavy. It worked fine until my brother came snooping around and saw that I was keeping the pennies. The howl that started up! The squealing of wild pigs cannot compare to the sound of small minds seeing somebody else getting ahead. Only those of you who grew up in a town of less than 5,000 people can know the volume.
           These days, I would have gotten first prize in science, statistics and economics plus a commendation from the president, a few scholarships, and the odd television appearance. Instead, I was not permitted to run the exhibit, the “school’s scale” was now off limits to me “for trying to cheat people” and my $1.14 was confiscated by the principal. I narrowly escaped being punished at home a second time. Sure, today they would be talking to my lawyer, but that was then.
           If you find that tale puts certain parties in a bad light, just ask when you want more. I’ve got thousands of such instances if you got the time to read them. My point is that children often cannot tell productive behaviour from non-productive and they will copy it all. But they certainly can tell when adults are thinking right, and given the chance they will only copy what works. Rote tutoring and classrooms do not provide that choice.
           Did I mention CreditNation? Yes, I did. It is that e-zine that published articles on the horror stories of credit. I submitted some work and it seems to have passed muster. That means the editor published it on-line under my pseudonym, and furthermore, did not alter so much as a punctuation mark. Now, if only I had not forgotten my password.
          Trivia for today? Since I can’t think of anything, I’ll risk a possible repeat. We’ve all heard of worm viruses. Who knows what worm stands for? It is an acronym for “write once, read many”. The even sadder news is that people who create viruses actually think using terms like that. Okay, then what is a “celebrity virus”? Let that be your homework, and get rid of the box.