One year ago today: June 19, 2013, analyze the new band?
Five years ago today: June 19, 2009, copying CDs.
Ten years ago today: June 19, 2004, the Buccaneer.
This was another general purpose day, so you get a general purpose report. The new security system has been altered so that a burglar, even if he thinks he knows the factory settings, cannot disable it without tripping an alarm. Here is one of those infinite tunnel or barbershop mirror photos, neat huh? The system had to be rewired to work on 2 volts less. However, another club lecture is due, I see. Because the rule is never more than one open OR empty package at a time in the transformer drawer.
Remember the banana plugs I could not figure out. Hooray robot club, now I know. They are a special model that jams the wires against the frame—something anybody who repairs music phono cable would always avoid. Other than the lack of directions and the requirement for a narrow range of compatible wires, they work fine. The harder the backward tug, the stronger the joint.
The video now has sound, which is too sensitive and picks up the fans even at lowest sensitivity. This is a problem because fans are a necessity in summertime Florida. Unless you want to pay for A/C until it hurts. Fortunately I have surplus stage microphones, but each improvement at this point brings up the quality of my security videos almost to the level of basic on-line movie production. I mean, I don’t own any cheap microphones.
Fruit soup. No, Patsie, not fruit loops. I tried some at the bakery this morning. It is pretty good, but as you figure, it is sweet and reminds me more of desert. Sorry, I forgot the camera on the charger, but it is raspberries, blueberries and other berries in a foamy purple sauce. Apparently it is a summertime treat in Hungary, eaten cold. For the winter, it is good old chicken soup, same as everywhere else.
Shown nearby is a typical session and you will notice the profusion of laptops but the complete absence of any robots. Or robot components, tools, activity, paraphernalia, or even textbooks on the subject. Not at all what I expected.
What is an iconostasis? Since I just finished helping Alaine proofread a report on this entity, I suppose I should look it up. Whew, since I already did the report, I’m glad to find out it was those panels of little pictures of the Saints that line the back all of the altar. Good guess, though I did get it from context. Remind me how much I dislike proofreaders who are not knowledgeable on the subject material before I ever do that myself again.
I listen to WLRN, but only to remind myself how the simple-minded go through life and attach themselves to the shallowest causes that other dunces can dream up. Like that Miami Latino type who objected to S. American sportscasters calling players “The Brown” or “The Black” instead of by their names. A real cultural hero, that boy, because he’s obviously never been to a S. American soccer game. The brand of immigrant who thinks he’s a representative of how his culture will enrich the USA, but he’s denigrating his own customs. (Radio is big in S. American sports and the announcers pick the term that helps the listeners best identify what is going on. There is no racism to it, I would be called “The Bald”.)
Well imagine my shock when I heard this blog quoted word-for-word this evening (on WLRN). I was in the kitchen, so didn’t catch who or why. But it was an independent opinion I had expressed around a month ago—and in the way only I could put it. But it’s gone now. I’ve left the radio on in case they repeat it, as radio stations are wont to do. Actually, I listen to two radios. One with music and the other with talk shows. Keeps things moving, you know.
Here is the guitar conversion in process. The strings are removed. The two parts that need work are the nut, that’s the white strip at the top of the fretboard, and the bridge, the white strip at the bottom, just above those six little white dots. It slants the wrong way for left-handed. Can you see why this picture, a security breach, is unusual for here? Right, because it shows that bookcase in the background. Normally that would not fly, but I think such books would intimidate anyone who should not be here. And I’m okay with that, really.
We knew it was coming. That MicroSoft insistence on a “security number” has to day been followed by a new “privacy policy”. They say it will “better define” the types of behavior that “could affect” your account, and a new definition of what your responsibilities are. And we know how well MicroSoft has respected what people want in the past. All being spread by the Outlook virus. What is the name for a program that is technically legal, but cannot be deleted.
The whole MicroSoft system has become Canadian-like with catch phrases like if you continue to use it like you did before, it means you are “in agreement”. If you don’t, it does not mean disagreement, rather that you are terminating your account. Oh, and your “MicroSoft account” is no longer your account on Microsoft, it is a legal term referring to “a service that lets you sign in to MicroSoft services”. Fortunately, I have quite a number of accounts set up prior to 2006 when I saw this coming.
As MicroSoft still dominates the operating system market, this is essentially the final end of the Internet as a free service—in the sense that unless it is anonymous, it is not free. Once more, I don’t put anything on the Internet that I would not tell my worst enemy. But I see the full implications and it is a sad time for the last large anonymous group on the Internet—those people whose e-mail does not directly reveal their identity.
I now have to clear my buffers every time I log off my e-mail or I start getting targeted ads. The problem is, the ads are targeted for a 28-year-old single mother. A “spiritist” group wants to recruit me, so I read their site. They want me to join a journey that “goes from outward to inward”, and answers such questions as where did we come from and where are we going? That’s easy, we came from slime and mud and the human race is headed right back there because, instead of improving their lot, they sit around and ponder idiotic topics whose answers they couldn’t begin to comprehend. That's why species extinction is the rule, not the exception, you New Age types.
So there.
ADDENDUM
Here’s some domestic news, so you’ll know I still put my trousers on one leg at a time. So, what’s going on around here that the world might want to know but is not gossip? Ah, maybe this is where one gets that-there “writer’s block”. Or maybe it is one of those tests, is it the subject that is lacking, or the author? If I’m worth my salt, I should be able to write about anything. If I can’t, I could be the next Hemmingway. Okay, here’s something. A book.
Or maybe I fancy myself a man of mystery, you know, now that I attend a writer’s meeting, and all. Here’s a picture of the book and my measuring cup of noodles. We bachelors can eat anything the way we want. It makes sense to only microwave in glass containers. And why should I measure twice for one helping? Why, if you come over for dinner, I have a matching set of 4-cup corningware. One man’s laziness is another man’s efficiency. And am I stalling for time, or what?
Bing-bong. Agt. M is at the door. I’m saved. No, wait, he just wants to go to tennis and watch the pretty women. Naw, because I wind up hitting on them all myself and he’s too shy to help. Like JZ, he was raised to be nice to women where I have learned to be 100% honest. Even though they hear only what they want, I can always prove I told the truth. Which some women hate. Not the truth, but the proof. I won’t mention any names like Theresa.
This book starts like a detective story, but I can tell it will quickly take another tack. The condemned man must be innocent, or nothing makes sense. Predictable or not, this book was on the New York Times bestseller list, so I must give it a fair reading. But this is the last time I’m giving that source such trust. The NYT has been picking some real dogs lately, you know, recommending material that is too damn politically correct. That nonsense wins elections, not converts.
As I walked through my own patio doors with my bass on my back. I snagged two of those slats and broke them right off the plastic hinges. How anyone on 8th street can look right into my living room. Agt. M has suggested I get some window tint and replace the curtains. They never did draw back right anyway, like Venetian blinds, they only work right the first ten times or for a month, whichever comes first. Why doesn’t somebody invent those holders like they have for curtain rods, but for PVC pipe? Then room dividers would be easy.
My second option is to put another curtain inside the room, which would also section off my reading area with its own air conditioner. Is this important? Well, yeah, right now I like to read in my ginch and I can’t because I got no damn curtains. That’s my big first-world retirement problem of the day. Okay?
And here’s an interesting title from “The Atlantic”, which gives a seven step test to tell if you are in a religious cult. I did not read the article, but add this one, gals: You are in bed with a seventy-five year old Hindu man and 17 of his other wives. That should be considered a very strong clue, ladies.
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