One year ago today: May 12, 2016, acrylic sculpture.
Five years ago today: May 12, 2012, Arduino explained, in English.
Nine years ago today: May 12, 2008, these are amazing times.
Random years ago today: May 12, 2011, but it still doesn’t work.
Now my backup camera is giving out. Here is the best photo I can get of the beginnings of the laundry room. These are the four concrete piers plunked on the ground, not leveled or squared yet. The shadows show this is before 7:00AM, but most of the day the structure will be in the shadow north of the red shed. Whatever I say below about alternate foundations, I’m choosing this one so I can easily move it once I decide to get rid of the red shed.
Furthermore, I add that the entire shed is GFCI protected and the north set of 8 sockets are switch protected. That’s the saw table, meaning none of that equipment can be operated unless the service light is on—and the switch is out of reach over by the doorway. Reminder, the shed is not designed for construction materials. The largest practical board inside is maybe four feet. The jointer will plane lumber, but any piece over 4 feet juts out through a slot in the wall into the garden.
The two new tools, consisting of the router table and the jointer, were never kept up to robot standards. The now-repaired and reinforced router is only good for short pieces and I had to build a new fence to get even that. The jointer has two flat plates on either side of the blade and they are out of whack. This stalls work on the lanterns but it’s better than hand-fitting each piece. Remind me to go check on the condition of the Peace River, that’s a horror story ignored by the media. Ah, but they’re all on the take, busy publishing feel-good immigrant wonder-stories while your water is being poisoned.
Do we have a new tune on the bass solo list? Have you ever listened, seriously listened, to the bass line in Twitty’s “Tight Fittin’ Jeans”? Probably not, but I have. It really moves. I’ve Karaoke’d a Twitty tune before, “It’s Only Make Believe”, but that’s when I was finding my voice. Now I’m back to the bass lines as the major criteria. I always called him the guy with the big haircut and only late in life I regarded him as a real player in the country music arena. He died around 15 years ago. He was somewhat known as the singer that “made doin’ the nasty classy”.
There is a fiddle break in that tune, which also has an interesting bass pattern. The strings on a fiddle and a bass are tuned in the same sequence. I’ve never outright played a fiddle part on bass but now would be as good a time as any to learn. The feature of the bass line that got my attention is that it is a full measure long and never repeats a note more than once. If you’re on-line I’ll bet you go listen to it now. I’ll make bass coverts out of some of you yet.
Bird box.
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Figuring it’s a hot day, nothing will get done, I opted for the siesta. Not much of one, since the horticulture guy dropped by to take a look at the yard. Yes, he says, the sandy back yard is ideal for citrus trees, but they will not grow large enough to give any shade in my lifetime. You can still pick the fruit. The blighted tree with the Mitchfruit is a wild lemon, they really grow that big. And that tree has to, has to be cut down, it has the canker. These may be repeat photos as parts of the yard come back into focus. These are the wild lemons, according to the expert.
I had to make a dozen decisions because that was the only window I could get materials delivered. I’m not taking a chance on the rain. I want that white shed roof completed, pronto. That roof is already worth more than the shed. And the shed took me away from working on the house. It’s like moving back to Texas where the outbuildings are nicer than the family home. I will not put a washer/dryer on the front porch, nor anywhere visible from the street. That’s where I draw the line.
He says the wind never gets bad enough here to lift small buildings, but my neighbor’s barn got flattened, did it not? Also, he says the way to get around a fire permit is to set a half a 55-gallon drum on cement blocks and burn above the ground. And there is an ideal spot for that in the back yard. There is a fire ban in effect, it has not rained properly in months, so that firebox won’t happen soon. Agt. R says also, the ashes contain real soil nutrients and should be carefully saved and mixed with the sand.
“Who the hell wants to hear actors talk?"
--H.M. Warner, Warner Brothers
Agt. R says now that I have a ton of experience, plus the book theory, I’ve become a tough customer when it comes to construction. As an example, he quotes the electrical. Why yes, R, now that you mention it, my shed does have better wiring than your house.
Wait, the score card says I’m allowed some gossip. What? Oh, don’t you worry, the gossip mill in these small towns works 25/7. I just don’t partake and this ain’t that kind of blog. But I know you can keep a secret. JZ’s first love, the gal I turned down flat, is back. Remember Petunia? Turns out she is a registered nurse and has a job just 11-1/2 miles from here. On a Friday night after two beers, that’s what, a nine-minute drive for JZ. Nice guy that I am, I reminded him that his family has no male heirs, so he’d best get started.
Now, it’s none of my business, so this is pure meaningless gossip, but I know the telltale signs of a life estate when I see one. You die without issue, and your portion of the inheritance goes back into the kitty. So, if the entire estate is, in fact, carrying that provision, then should JZ have a single male offspring, he’ll be one lucky little sumbitch in about twenty-five years. JZ, the world is counting on you.
ADDENDUM
How goes the cat book? The murder mystery deepens, but only because the action takes place at a lake. “The Cat Who Saw Stars” could easily be compacted to half-size by simply cutting out the fat. I’ve long since given up trying to remember who is who. I haven’t looked, but the author is definitely a frustrated woman to whom no man could pass muster. Her hero, six-foot-two, became a philanthropist with the billions he inherited, you get the picture. And every other person he meets in the hamlet of Pickax has an unmarried younger sister who returns every year to get back to her roots, which by the way are never dyed black.
But if you can read around all the frillery, there is a plot. The hiker who disappeared is found buried under sand which has mysteriously been blown up from the beach just after a fisherman reports a UFO that blasted along the shoreline, and when the authorities showed up, they confiscate the dead man’s camera. The only thing known for certain is our hero had zucchini fritters with dill yogurt, squash bisque, lamb stew, crusty bread, and green salad, followed by dessert and coffee on the deck.
Once more, to keep the book readable, I’m playing a DVD simultaneously. Remember Jill St. John, the 60s actress? I don’t, but I remember the name. It’s one of her old spy movies, the acting is surprising good. As a sign of the times, the movie has all kind of “allowable” scenes, like the unmarried couple in bed, but with just their heads showing. No nudity, no language, no violence. As always, that splashy broadway music in the background. I don’t much like broadway music with its horn flourishes and “big” vocals.
Conclusion. Don’t buy this book. Don’t borrow this book. Don’t wait for the movie. The authoress is as batty as her cats only she has a much shorter attention span. The murder mystery picks up slightly, but is dissolved in a few paragraphs when old Lilian decides to wrap it up. The guy who fell overboard was the owner of the new restaurant. He was also the married man Tess was humping. His wife killed him, and in turn is swallowed up by a timely sinkhole behind the restaurant. You never do find out about the dead hitch-hiker or his camera. But the cats see a UFO, that’s the end of the book. Really, the end.
Last Laugh
But how do you know when they're gone?
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