December 16, 2013

           Today’s top story involves the asinine. For an Xmas gift, I thought to send some money to my Canadian friend. But last time I send US dollars and got back reports of extreme difficulty getting it exchanged. He had to travel to a branch where he had an account, which takes time and costs money. So this time I thought to send Canadian money. That was a mistake. And blog rules say I must report the worst as well as the best. Here is the horror story.

           I went to the Desjardins bank, the one with a reputation for dealing with Canadians. My intention was to exchange around $100 US for $100 Canadian. First hint of something wrong was having to show ID. Lady, I’m not opening an account. But she still entered my personal information into a database not once, but twice, and asked me my middle name. Like she was going to trick me, holding my card against her chest and asking me to “confirm” this and that. This is what I mean about Canadian vigilantism. They won’t outright accuse you of being a criminal, instead they treat you like one and pretend there is some big difference. It took nearly twenty minutes to complete this basic transaction, what a bloody waste of time.

           So now we have learned that Canadian banks don’t respect your time or privacy. It will not be forgotten. And the plastic bill, shown here, is definitely Canadian. How did I know that before I even read the face? Because it was transparent, slippery, and difficult to do business with, that’s how. In another archetypical move, under the guise of combating counterfeiters, the bill has been changed to allow it to be tracked electronically. I’ll explain.
           The serial numbers are now printed in magnetic ink. Like that would fool anybody. Knowing that Canada probably has some law against obliterating the number so the bill cannot be tracked, I exchanged the bills with my neighbor up the road. Measure, counter-measure, those Canadians never learn. Big Brother may not be a Canadian, but he would feel right at home there.

           [Author's note 2015-12-16: this comment about Canadians being slippery is not idle humor. It is part of their national character, and unless you know as much about both systems as I do, we don't care to hear an opposing opinion. I'll explain. When you listen to two Americans negotiating business, you'll find each one is naturally trying to get the best possible return for himself. But listen to two Canadians. Each one is trying to outright screw the other and keep the whole pie for himself. Thus, when you get a Canadian doing business with an American, he interprets every counter-offer of sharing by the American as being some sort of double-dealing rip-off. Don't say I'm wrong until you've tried it twenty times. And don't try only nineteen, I'll spot your lies in a split second.]

           “Where’s George” is now a game played by Ottawa for keeps. A simple currency exchange was turned into an Inquisition. The lady behind the counter was definitely Canadian because she reacted with that annoying attitude Canadians get when they know you are ready for them. She balked when I presented local ID instead of what she was really after (the information on my driver’s license).
           Then she balked again when I had to “recall” my cell phone number, which was identical to the dog pound. Hey lady, you want to turn a simple banking transaction into a bullshit sequence, I’ll help you out. I doubt one Canadian in a million suspects a thing and any who do will not speak up. Strange is it not that the reverse of this twenty-dollar-bill shows a monument dedicated to Canadians who fought for freedom in Europe. But they will not fight for their own—the government might cut off their welfare “cheque”.

           Here’s a trip back to 1984. I found this in an old guitar book that I must have been lugging around all these years. It shows a bass line marked out of a guitar picking rhythm. Let me explain that back then, bass playing had not degenerated to the limp-wrist copy-cat-ism you get today. Back then one had to think and adapt to learn bass because there were no teaching aids available. They had not been written yet.
           There you have it in my own handwriting, dated references. On Xmas eve, 1984, I was reading this score. If I recall correctly, I was in Thailand at the time. I could read music, but did not know where the notes were on the bass. I therefore memorized the patterns on the neck and that is how I play to this day. I have to watch my left hand or I get lost, and I have to stop and figure out any notes above the fifth fret or second string. Shhh, that’s a secret so don’t post it on the Internet. Or anything like that.

           Another neighbor with a 2002 Cadillac called me over. He could not find the trunk release. Neither could I. It was not under the seat, on the dash, or in the glove box. Plus, his back seat had no button behind the arm rest to reach the release handle for inside. We went on-line but could not get past all the con men trying to sell us owner’s manuals and spare parts when they knew darn well we were not looking to buy anything.

           I’m aware since the epic trip of last month, this blog lacks spice, excitement, and pizzazz. So here is a picture of the wall at in the men’s can up at the club. I don’t decorate the joint, but I can tell you there is a reason the pinups are up high on the wall near the ceiling. Okay, that’s the thrill for any gronks who got here by mistake. This blog is concerned with information, not instant gratification. Only those who appreciate the difference will keep returning, and frankly that is absolutely fine with me.

           Last, the marvelous has happened again--I found something on-line by not looking for it. Somewhere there must be a term for this occurrence. Remember my study of latching memory circuits and how I lamented that I could not find any information on how to utilize them? As often occurs, I stumbled across what I needed while reading a lecture on a different topic. Like any child of the times, I can pass a test on how a D-latch memory circuit works, but until today I had no idea how to use it in a useful circuit. And it is rare to find a teacher who understands this. We all have limitations and I build a latching circuit a year ago. It sits on my desk because I had no information on how to connect it with the outside world. Until now.
           How sad it is that most of my electronics was learned by this roundabout method.