February 10, 2015

NOTICE This remains the only major-term blog in the world that does not beg you for money. However, readership of this blog and all blogs in general is down 22% due to Twitter and other short-attention-span social media usage. This blog was originally planned to cover ten years. In a sense, that limit is being approached as we near 3,650 posts. Those who enjoy the information content of this blog or don't enjoy the obviously intentional controversial topics should tell your friends or your enemies to read it. (This is post #3643.)

MORNING
           She’s chilly again, time to spend some time with my scrollsaw. And to revamp the gear needed here to recreate the mini-recording studio of almost two years ago here. I suppose it is that the odds of actually producing anything that sells are so small, there is no daily incentive to get started. Either way, I need another entire new workshelf in here and there is no place left to put it. Except on the east wall, which means throwing out things out.

           Here is part of the gear, you may recognize much of it as originally intended for making my own backing tracks and as shown here, destined to be connected to a Fishman Solo. Everything was purchased to have a line-level output so when the time comes there will be no compatibility problems with the Tascam. For you novices, there are two popular “input” levels.

           Microphone and line level. The difference is the microphone produces a varying current measured in the milliwatts. Line level, which is everything else you have any business owning, is a varying DC voltage between -1 and 1 volt. Mixing them up can blow your speakers. I didn’t say eardrums because anyone dumb enough to listen to really loud music through ear buds already has damage to their head parts. Got that?
           I did the professional horoscope readings at the bakery this morning, including the husbands present who seemed unaware that the wives were reading up on them. Come on guys, just because you don’t believe astrology, you are married to people who do. Even I never made that mistake and I’m the world’s top mistake-maker.
Here’s a juicy bakery snack. Very few people have seen (or heard) me move in for the kill on a babe. When I say few people, I don’t mean I disguise or hide this ability, but that I’m far more likely to stop at merely chatting up a lady for no apparent reason.

           Let me think. Recently, I guess, Trent and Agt. M are the only witnesses to this. In each case, all I did was make the women happy and quit there. It's not like I owe the room an explanation why I drew the line. And closeness doesn’t count for a thing in my books, so I'm not bragging. I never just "get close" like the bullshitters. Well, you should have seen the fancy brunette that showed up as I was doing the horoscopes. Yes, I have the gift of gab, and if I ever meet the right one, don’t for a second think I’d hesitate to transform from provocative to propositional.
           When that happens, the only dude gonna score faster than me is Brad Pitt in a woman’s prison.

NOON

           “Carmine and I have an understanding. I’m allowed to date other men, and he’s allowed to date ugly women.” –Laverne (from “Laverne and Shirley”). I have never seen the show, so it must be on TV.

           Well, I certainly never thought I’d live to see the day when somebody said to me they wished they could “make stuff as nice as I do”. I’ve got a whole two months experience, y’know. Small wood I mean, not cutting a straight line, which I can’t even do that without a fence. What’s up is I was making this sanding disk for the new rotary sander I’m constructing from an old ceiling fan. The other model, made from a broken orbital sander, was excessively vigorous. It more like ate wood than sanded it. Small pieces, forget it. Some of them would dematerialize in front of my very eyes. The penguins got ‘em.

           I modeled this wooden piece from plywood, using the rotary pad as a template. The problem was not the eight large cooling holes, but the four small mounting holes. After drilling, I discovered they were slightly offset to allow for the “waggle” in the orbital sander shaft. I don’t want that. So I used the compass and my 30/60/90 to bisect two chords to find true center, then bisected again to get a new set of holes. Folks, this is fifth grade geometry. But I’m okay if some find it impressive. I’m not anywhere near a carpenter so cheering is welcome.

           What else is new is I’m finding the confidence to work on ever smaller parts. Hmmm, I thought things were supposed to go the other way. But maybe a trade skill is like taking an aptitude test for college—the problem is in my high school, they didn’t even teach aptitude. (Yes, I stole that line from “Taxi”.) So that it is on record, I’ve used my fine navigational tools more for wood work than for plotting charts. Hey, navigation was never anything more for me than a pure academic challenge. It is no longer on the front burner, but I retain every molecule of the knowledge.
           Upon careful measurement of my anteroom, there is a place for a small work ledge if I move my old keyboard (my Xmas present to myself in, what was it, 2007) up the wall and only play it standing up. I can do that. But I have acutely outgrown this place and need something new with a dedicated work area. And that means leaving this entire territory behind. The nearest anything I want is an hour’s drive off-peak. Never drive rush hour in Florida, it is a waste of life.
           That reminds me of the early days when I rode the bus to work at the corporation. It was 45 minutes each way because all the bus routes went downtown first. Add it up, it was 90 minutes per day, so in a week, it was like an extra work day not counting the time standing in the Seattle winter waiting for the damn thing to show. When you divide out how much I was making per hour over the total time it took to work that job, it was probably less than $12 per hour.

           Moments later: okay, here is a photo of the wood-eating sander, as modified for robotic use. A failed experiment. The wooden casing is slated to be removed. I have been informed there are other major-term (blogs that get posted year after year) who don't beg for money. I challenge that challenge, because as far as I am concerned, demanding you log on is a form of making you pay. And the worst form of begging in America is incessant advertising. Maybe I should have said this is the only really free non-political, non-porn, non-religious blog that contains useful information on a regular basis. But I'm not taking back a word from this morning.

AFTERNOON
           It turned into a minor renovation and I finally wore out my Ryobi battery, but I got the shelving ready for the recording studio. The sound equipment is top-notch. It sounds like a PA system because that’s what it is. Then, there’s your reverse threads on the fan motor shafts. No problem, if you put the tap in the die backwards, or whatever you call those thread-cutter thingees, it works fine. Finding backwards nuts is another story. But I had to try it just to see.

           The logical new spot (for the mini-studio) would have been the kitchen, but you see, that area is now prone to sawdust. While there is a vacuum system in place, it is not a good environment for computers or musical gear. Besides, I like my nice little home workshop. Shown here is my new keyboard shelf.

           Yes, it is kind of upside down and kind of in my kitchen. But, but, I always wanted to work in the best room of the house. And as you see, my photography problems are still not resolved. The otherwise excellent $4.99 camera of Win 98 vintage, well, it eats batteries. Like all all early model digitals, it also requires batteries to retain photos. This one actually uses more power to store the photos as the memory fills up. I lost an entire batch from the Flagler museum finding that out.
           Actually, the large shelf parts were cut in the shed, not in the kitchen. This is merely the final stage of binding the pieces together. The shed is already too full for assembly work.. And I’ve discovered my table saw is 1/8th of an inch out over a 36” cut. I’m finding I need an absolute top quality table saw, I mean to the 64th-inch if they make such a beast. Then my table saw base could become a router table.

           But listen, that Ryobi battery brought me to a standstill, so I’m off to Homeless Depot. And I can’t ever get out of there in less than an hour. Not when I’ve got a hundred dollar bill in my pocket, nosirree. If I get home early enough, maybe I’ll be a peach and show you some photos of the new studio in the making.

           That’s the one where we finally begin recording my genre of music. I hate that word (genre) but somebody has to put the rhythm, blues, rock, and soul back into country music. The world is getting fed-up with the pretty-boy Nashville candy-ass country they've been milking for twenty years now.
           Later, this is the new Ryobi replacement. Cheap tools some say, but note the date 2012 on the battery pack. This unit took 472 charges, which is 18% better than manufacturer’s spec. Mind you, batteries around here are never abused and are drained completely before recharging (except certain types that don’t need that treatment). Overall, I’m happy with Ryobi except for that chop saw I left behind at Wally’s Folly. Never could find the right blades for it.

EVENING
           Don’t you love these new telemarket calls that claim to be doing a survey? Yeah, a survey to see if you recently bought life insurance. Those people are so smart I can hardly believe it. It’s the most disgusting of American businesses, it is unconscionable how these people are allowed to even operate. If we can outlaw cigarette and booze advertising, we can shut down the telemarketers. I have never met a person alive who agrees with that industry. Except the losers who can’t get “job” anywhere else—which is nonsense, as they necessarily must speak English. Mind you, a person who speaks English and still can't get a job is not even in the pitch.
           I personally never buy anything advertised by telephone. But a complete idiot gave out my private unlisted phone number, so expect a change soon. I had warned him repeatedly against listing me as a “reference”. I therefore terminated the balance of his maintenance contract—it’s in the fine print. That’ll cost him plenty, since I’m the only XP expert left in this town.

           Another offender is the health care industry. They feel they have a right to your phone number. They have repeatedly called my doctors for this information, so my doctor no longer has my number, they have to e-mail me. And yes, I told them why. They seem to have this mental aberration that your phone number is part of your medical information due to your insurer. Not so.

           I went up to Home Depot to stand in line. What else is there to do over there? Just you try to get some help in aisle 17. The idea is to get home in time for some good documentaries, tea, and Russian no GMO cookies. This isn’t as easy as you think, since documentary searches are totally polluted by Gen X lamebrains. Like “Kyle”. Him and his “this will blow your mind” UFO videos. You know a Kyle. He’s 34, drives a Kia Rio, prints “Producer” on his Avery cards
.
           To get to the good videos, you have to sift through all the Kyles that are clogging the search pipes. Specify “World War Two Combat Footage” and you get Kyle’s “Hitler Gay Porno Drug Secret Video”. Kyle is from Utica and deletes his browsing history every fifteen minutes on the nose. (Kyle stole his mom’s egg timer to be sure. Can’t have a repeat of that incident at the petting zoo.)
           And this? It is the product with the mystery ingredients from last day. Ordinary high-fructose corn syrup shampoo. Because modern hair needs nutrition. All them French people in the gallery paintings weren’t wearing wigs for nothing, you know.

ADDENDUM
           Best documentary lately goes to a BBC product, “Planet Ocean”. The narrator gets over-theatrical most of the time but ignore her. By the sound of it, her husband does. Remember the sixties when the announcer would emote to fake how much he was “into” the broadcast? She’s about that grade. But she provides the trivia for today.
           Here goes. At the rate primeval plankton could produce oil, mankind burns one million carbon-years for every year we’ve been using it. So our cars and planes have gone through 100 million years of evolution so far. And the reason the Peruvians fish only for sardines any more is that is the only species that is left alive off their coasts. They killed off the rest.

           Insert comparison to the Americans and the buffalo here. Wrong, guys, we did that so long ago that, unlike anyone around today, we did not know that species extinction was such a threat. Those who do so today do so with the full knowledge they are destroying the environment in a measurable way. Big, big, difference there. And while we now protect the buffalo, the Peruvians are expanding to new fishing nets that haul in 55 tons at a time. And the Brazilians burn the Amazon, the Chinese choke the air.
           We may have been thoughtless, but we have tried to atone. We have expensive controls and pollution laws in place. These others are maliciously exploiting the resources without regard for known consequences. Like I said, they want to copy our plastic, but not to pay to dispose of it properly. “Third World” is as much a mentality as a statistic. You can’t fix stupid and I extend that to you can’t fix these ancient, superior cultures. Steeped in tradition. Well, steeped, anyway.


Last Laugh
Alternate caption: The National Debt

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