Here’s something you don’t see every day, and if you do, odds are you are not modifying it. This is the [inside of a] flashing dance boot. It really flashes now. If I’d had more than a few hours, I’d have made the thing sparkle, twinkle and blaze as well. Yes, the club was paid handsomely for this custom work. The pro shop charged them $60 and it lasted merely two days. My work will endure seven years, for I used lithium cells and all soldered joints are heat-shrunk and ruggedized. I circled some of the interesting components in red shown here.
There are now two strategically placed spring triggers, one in the toe and the other in the heel. And the lights flash in a true random pattern at different intervals depending on the pressure of the dance step. This type of project is called “multidisciplinary”. To do it right, one requires a grasp of dancing, shoemaking, electronics, music and many of the lesser faculties. You won’t see this procedure much any more as now such things are usually done by teams. That is, one skill per person and huge management overhead because there are too many cooks. This was under budget and ahead of schedule. What an interesting hobby indeed though still a fledgling one. It’s too early to say if it was a wise decision, but getting out of computers was a correct move. The old shop is still vacant. It was the best shop, the best location, the best of the best and we walked away from it last August.
Bingo was a success, at least enough to assure I can leave the A/C on full blast whenever I want this summer. Things have definitely turned around since March although over a starter problem, I am riding the bicycle this weekend. I stopped for coffee downtown and got stung $3. If I had the scooter, I would have pumped that much gas and went to Burger King, whose coffee is totally excellent.
That’s another thing. While I monitor the price of coffee, I mean off-the-shelf Maxwell House. That is not to say that is the brand I buy and use here in the house. Never said that. This might be a good time to remind the reader that this blog does not by any measure contain all the information about what goes on around here. Heaven’s no, don’t ever be that silly.
For instance, today’s account does not contain my synopsis that what is happening these days is not due to chance or good fortune. Rather, it is thanks to a fact whispered only at the highest levels of the arts and professions, it is called the theory of “Get Off Your Ass.” Those who sit around watching TV and bitching that others have disposable income, take heed. You are not suffering; you are getting exactly what you bargained for.
Wait, there’s more for the record. Don’t confuse my attitude with that of some fat cat speaking from the top with inherited advantages most of us could only dream of. I don’t care for the Winston Churchill’s of this world either, dispensing advice from the ivory towers. I was born without any particular aptitudes or talents. I am not rich, not tall, not handsome, and certainly not that intelligent. I do claim a damn good education, but like everything else in my universe, I had to carve it out of nothing by hard work. My daddy never, ever said, “Here’s twenty grand a year son, go to college and make something of yourself.”
Dave-O came by for a cup of that famous coffee. So we sat around in the Florida room. He smokes menthol cigarettes and likes his coffee with cream and sugar. Those days are so far gone for me I don’t like to think of it. When did I last enjoy a smoke and a coffee with sugar? Let me think. 1989? Somewhere in there. He gave me a lift to the shoemaker’s, that explains why I was downtown in this heat. Of course, we blabbed about the driving trip, I say we just do it and to hell with Broward for a while. It will still be here, potholes, sinkholes and rat holes, when we get back.
[Author's note 2020: rumor has it Dave-O is still in the slammer. All I know for sure is he once dialed my old number from the police station, something he was forbidden to do. That was the end of that guy.]
