February 28, 2010

           This is a Merc-Benz, it is a 1997 with only 71,000 miles on it. It is listed at $3800 and the only thing I can find wrong with it is the radio antenna has been snapped off. Never you mind why I'm looking at it.
           Yet another callout, making this the second successful month this year. But of course, I can’t celebrate even a little because some people don’t appreciate it when they have things easy. This morning, I completely redid an XP computer that had the 2010 virus, whatever it is calling itself these days. For a tip, I have another $80 bottle of wine that I lack the “class” to appreciate. You can call them connoisseurs, I call them winos. (And the worst winos are the ones who think they are superior because they took some lame wine-tasting course at the school board.)
           During the install process, my client and I watched Hungarian television via Internet. He has a subscription to several Euro stations. It is appalling how superior their programming and standards are compared to North America. Even backwaters like Rumania have better productions. And better-looking women on staff, oh yeah. I’m sure there are some real Oprahs in Transylvania, but they don’t let them on television, dammit Dracula scares the kids enough as it is.
           I am informed the president is in Russia, doing really important stuff. As he emerged from a room ahead of the Russian leader and walked past a line of people, the idea was to shake hands. Every one of the bystanders either refused or balked at shaking Obama’s hand, moving right past him to greet the Russian. Things are obviously not as DC is portraying them. I’m curious if American TV will cover the incident as well as the Hungarians.
           Arnel is finally back in town. The gang was up there playing guitars in the back yard where he set up a canopy. Jim wants to do the video thing where you record the Karaoke singers and sell them a DVD of their performance. It seems like a lot of work for little return and worse, probably needs a trained operator. If I’m that near a stage, I intend to be on it. Arnel is only working Saturdays for a while, and we work much the same hours.
           That means we don’t jam at all until he gets back to some other schedule. Right now, with bingo gaining strength every week, I can’t even think of music on Saturdays which, for some reason, have never been a great money-maker for me. But I finally have enough cash for the drum box. Despite all the tradeoffs it is still my most basic requirement for a duo setting. I know better than to work with local guitarists without a contingency plan. That, plus it only costs me $2.45 to put on a good four-hour bingo show.
           Jim is playing five nights a week with music. The ever-weird Hollywood Castle pub is paying live musicians. It sounds okay until you learn the place turns into a transvestite club after dark. If I’m going to patronize a room full of confused people, I prefer it to be women. Jim is further planning to do Karaoke in Spanish. He has some 8,000 tunes ready to go.
           His song list still reads a bit like an ad for guitar school. I know that bass is not a solo instrument, so I cannot compete with a guitar soloist—for accompaniment. But you can bet your last dollar when I find the right person, no solo act will be able to compete with my show either. The reason I hesitate to team up with Jim has nothing to do with musicianship. I am, for good reason, chary of bands with more than one strong personality.
           I’ve noticed a flurry of TV shows about underage Internet sex. Strange, that North American willingness to outlaw what other people do when the protestor isn’t invited. I’m against any one-sided presentations of facts, and one quickly notices the theme is always the same: middle-aged women expressing “concern” that all younger women are victims whenever they have sex. A few are; most aren’t. It is not lost to anyone that the most unattractive thing about older women is their attitude toward sex. (And there is always the truism that women cannot be expected to like anything that displaces demand for themselves.)
           It is vogue to label all men who like younger women as pedophiles, when in reality the truth is that men desire certain qualities which the majority of older women do not possess. Yet the fact that some women’s attitude makes them attractive for life shows that all women could probably do so, if they so decided. But to fanatically make criminals out of ordinary people says more about the accusers who, notice, seem to be the most sexually frustrated members of society: self-righteous lawmen and jaded divorcees. If they can’t have it, why should they let anybody else?
           The Internet has created the fiction of the fourth evil. Before, we had drugs, terrorism and organized crime. Now, the momentum is to add men who like younger women to the list, hence the “Four Horsemen of the Infocalypse”. But to lump the natural needs of half the human race as on a level with hardened, deadly criminals is going too far. History proves hatred always backfires on those who go to extremes.
           And another thing we can do without are those endless articles in Popular Mechanics about Jay Leno and his damn car collection. Dear Editor, we are sick and tired of him already. Stick to stories of mechanics who improve or invent cars, not spoiled brats who collect them. It is bad enough how that magazine reports on the return of the blimp every other year. As far as enduring value, that car collection won’t last a year once Leno croaks.

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February 27, 2010

           This is where they hide the battery in a convertible, inside the trunk. Big Jim is driving a Miata? and we had to boost my Taurus. Strange, that was, how the head of the pin that depresses the plunger to turn off the interior lights broke off, meaning the battery kept going dead. But I did find out how to test for an alternator problem. When the car is running, remove the positive battery lead. If the car dies, it is a bad alternator. Jim says the battery in the trunk is to keep it away from motor heat. Only convertibles have this problem?
           Duh, yes of course, I caught y’day’s error. My only defense is that my purpose was not to directly design a sun-tracking device, but to test my ability to learn to do so. Um, try to focus on the development process. I see now that, with the proper programming, only one tube is necessary. That cuts down on my Pringles expense and calories to boot.
           Big Jim was in to get a laptop cleaned up. He’s got one of Arnel’s old notebooks, the Acer, which is now optimized for music. Jim is still doing Karaoke on the beach three nights a week and he just invested a small fortune in what looks to be a top quality show of his own. He’s where I was at the same age, money no object, get the best of everything. He is playing the Castle on Fridays, a place I never cared for, just not my crowd.
           But the important part is the change in Jim’s, and I hear also plenty of others, destinations. They are mainly talking the talk I gave everyone here over two years ago. Live Karaoke is a hit and dominated by country music. There is reputedly a show up in West Palm where the jockey completely fakes everything, his microphone and guitar are not even plugged in, and he is making good money.
           Still, I have the two year head start and nobody is going to catch up easily. Jim is again looking at a duo, but this time for the right reasons. He’s a guitar player himself and is finally fed up with trying to find another guitarist. Normally I would hesitate to form a band with two strong personalities but I’d make an exception since Jim moves in the right circles—places I, or any non-guitar act, would have trouble winning over.
           This Karaoke machine he bought includes 70,000 tunes. I’m leery of that. Of the 8,000 tunes I have, only around 160 are of any real use. Most are the Chinese versions or played on the linoleum. Plus, his new machine will play only the CD+G family of formats while I have tentatively settled on MP3+G. Arnel upgrades many of his midi material by substituting higher quality instruments but this is labor-intensive. The one advantage of midi is the separately editable tracks.
           What I cannot find out after hours of research is whether a midi-based drum machine is feasible. In my act, it is a requirement that the drum track stop and start on cue, adding to the impression that the show is live. I’ve got tons of experience working drum machine foot pedals, to the extent a lot of people don’t even notice I’m doing it. The trouble with midi is all the players I will begin playing again at the point where things left off. That is not good enough.
           I need midi that returns to the beginning after every stop. There are several good reasons for this, which include not having to program a linear pattern and the danger of getting off beat if the stop wasn’t clean. Will it be another two years before the general music populace knows what I’m talking about today? I could not find even one source on the Internet that could answer this question.
           I’ve got a review on Avatar. It’s the sci-fi version of “Dances With Wolves” with the current Indian Land Claims where tribes without any knowledge of mining have located their sacred villages right over the richest deposits. They’ve thrown in the Indian brave become-a-man rituals and right down to the Mohawk cuts. Still, the presentation and special effects alone make it a winner. The landforms are right out of Canaima Park, Venezuela, and that means awesome flying sequences.
           The plot gets a zero for novelty, though the movie flows along well. A scientist is killed and his twin brother, a soldier, is substituted to run a bionic robot. He works for the evil corporation but is rescued by no less than the local chieftain’s elegantly slim, young, unmarried daughter. You have to accept, for brevity, that alien beings from a few galaxies over have the same priorities in social structure as human divorced middle-aged women. You know, constantly things on the brain like religion, marriages, mother, tribal status, and teaching men lessons.
Meaningful convo of the day:
           She, “Is your cell phone charged up?”
           He, “No, I paid cash”

February 26, 2010

           Here is my latest improvement to my sun-following Arduino project. The gnomon is replaced by tubes using old Pringle’s cans, the only time I ever buy that product (a tradition). The light-sensors, labeled LED for short, react to differences in light falling down the tubes. It would be sturdier, I think, and it would be easy to use four cans to follow any changes in latitude.
           That’s where I got to pondering that, as you see in Ex. B, only three tubes would suffice. What do you mean everybody doesn’t spend part of each day thinking about such things? If this configuration brings up fond memories of your college days studying Euclid, good, then come over here and remind me how to program the equations because I can’t recall a thing on that topic.
           I’ve got a book by a James Patterson, a new author to me. The paperback “Cross Country” is very well written. The copyright says 2008 but Patterson mercifully avoids dwelling over the Internet and such. However, he is not above anachronisms like the CIA contact in every country, the spy headquarters in every US Embassy and the dead ex-wife he can’t replace. He even slides in around chapter 75 that the hero is African American after carefully building up an image of otherwise; possibly he feels that is cute or clever. Patterson is talented but I’ve often wondered why writers with boring names don’t get a pseudonym.
           The plot is a string of brutal murders by African gangs of pre-teen boys. In Patterson’s USA, a six-foot-six Nigerian disembarking with fifteen to twenty orphans in tow is nothing unusual in the Atlantic northeast. The booklet is a clear portrayal of the situation in middle Africa, where torture, rape and corruption are somewhat of a career choice. The hero is remarkably good at finding strangers who get killed for helping him. Still, I recommend the read, it is on the New York Times bestseller list, if that still means anything in this world of lists.

February 25, 2010

           I was redoing a computer at East Point, this is parking lot overlooking Sunny Isle bay. Some folks swear by winter, but give me this climate in February any time. It is chilly that turns into perfect if you stay in the sunshine. See if you can pick out my Taurus. It is truly on its last legs.
           The mystery trend of callouts continues, which makes me happy. I’m not rich, but at least I’m not having to pinch every penny like I’ve had to the past two years, never knowing month to month if I would have to shoulder the entire rent myself. I’m four months behind on my musical equipment so I’m anxious to at least purchase the new drum machine in the upcoming week if all keeps going well.
           I’m also weighing the options for a duo, as in to start my own. It would be bass and rhythm guitar only (no leads) over a drum track. Again, the only people I know with objections to drum machines are people who don’t know how to use them correctly. Which equates to most guitar players. I have some thoughts and solid experiences with duos that I’ll share today, hopefully you will agree. This is not new material, I’ve had this gameplan for mucho years.
           In a duo setting, there are two routes to take but I caution the reader that does not mean these routes are opposites. One route is to try to play music as technically correct as the studio-produced originals. We’ve all listened to these Eagles wannabe-type groups. Two guitarists battling things out on stage, or a guitarist with the attitude the other instrument is his “backup”. A variation on this same route is the “Wall of Sound”, with two keyboard players trying to emulate an orchestra. (My contention with that is when they walk off stage, the keyboards keep on playing.)
           The other route is to eliminate all notes and chords that do not contribute to the uniqueness of each tune, presenting to the audience only that which elicits their “mind’s-eye” of what they are hearing. This may sound like a “thin” presentation but not to anyone who has seen one of my hour-long bass solos. Rooms full of people singing along can attest to my dominance of this technique. That is correct, I can get an entire club join in to just my bass playing. Of course, the music is carefully chosen for that very purpose, but still, it more than proves my point.
           That is why a duo is, for me, a carefully considered situation. I’m not the type trying to do as little as possible on stage. But I want a guitarist who plays only intros and endings, everything else boils down to three beats (boom-chick, boom-chicka, and booma-chicka). To me, the perfect rhythm guitarist would play those chops with perfect precision, altering the timing slightly for each tune as dictated by the “feel” of the original. For the record, the best bands I’ve ever played in had a guitarist who understood the importance of this technique.
           Alas, my quest for such a local guitarist has been unsuccessful. I keep getting prima donnas who won’t (or can’t (same thing)) start their own group, but they sure as hell want to change yours. They get fired (by me) around the time they insist we play “Hotel California”. Typical that guitarists all want to play only music they busted their asses over to convince themselves they are good musicians. Sorry, it does not work like that. There are no soloists in my duos.
           Part of the problem is that words cannot describe what I mean. But I’ll tell you some of the tunes I specialize with, and if you can imagine a sold bass line behind a simple boom-chicka beat, I’ll wager you can “hear” the entire tune in your head. Think of “Stand By Me”, “Gimme One Reason” and “Fire”. I am the past master at carrying this concept to the extreme, and yes, I’ve had halls full of people dancing and singing to just me on bass with a drum machine keeping the rhythm. I’ve seen guitarists do it for a few minutes, but nothing like the hour-longs that I regularly muster.
           On a related vein, allow me to describe my band “philosophy”. A band is not a game to be played by a fixed set of rules, most of which seem to exist only in some guitar player’s brain. A band is a fixed distance that has to be covered by any means possible to ensure success. The reason so many bands take longer is because so many choose the wrong destination.
           What is, musically, the wrong destination? That is where some guy thinks, “I’m going to start a Blues band.” Or rock band, or ska band. It is a mistake that all intelligent musicians make usually once. When they are sixteen. I do not start theme bands, I merely choose not to ignore what the audience wants. And the lesson over the years is on a weekend, working people want to hear a 65% mix of country music. Do it my way, and you may find success with a two-year gig in some backwater pub. You might make $10,000 there, where others with their falootin’ ideas can’t last worth a dime.

February 24, 2010

           It was a long day made longer by some lingering rainstorms. I spent a half-hour under the awnings myself, only to hear another cold spell is on the way. I was almost tempted to put on a jacket. Maybe it is time to move to San Diego, I hear property there is getting pretty cheap, ha, ha. Have you heard to one about the dream job as the weather reporter in San Diego? All you have to say every day is, “Sunny, 73 degrees, light westerly wind.”
           A callout found me shaking my head in disgust at Hewlett-Packard. They have a “series” of printers called 7700. This proves they’ve got enough deadweight on staff to sit around cooking up such nonsense instead of focusing on making their junk work right. This printer does not even have a decent user interface to control the scanner. Instead, HP places some 2,000 files on your computer, alters your registry and installs a useless piece of crap called “Photosmart Essentials” that immediately begins to take inventory of all photos on your hard drives. Without even being asked.
           The 7700 is billed as a wireless all-in-one, meaning it transmits an 802.11 signal and has a fax link along with being a printer, scanner and copier (although I lump the last three as being the same thing). You don’t have to hook this contraption to a computer, but I say if you do, that computer should at least have easy to use and consistent operating menus. HP does not subscribe to that, yet it sells this model as suitable for a home office.
           Office, my eye. Just try to get that thing to work as anything but a local printer. The wireless device emits an unknown IP address, is blocked by most brand-name commercial routers and your anti-virus software besides. It requires a technician to install. Only HP would call something like that a business machine. Also, buried deep in the operating manual is the fact that the scanner will not write pdf files to your computer. That is correct; you cannot scan a document and save it as a pdf file. The box ought to carry a huge warning sticker. HP is going down fast.
           Oddly, the scanner does write pdfs to “other devices”. As luck would have it, I was wearing my camera and was able to scan the pages onto my Sandisk card. But how are mere office workers to figure out such a procedure? Then I walked the card over to the computer that needed the pdf. It worked, but is that why the customer spent good money on a $700 printer? WTF, HP?
           My more astute readers will have already spotted the good news, that this was another callout. Why do you suppose this is happening? Business has not picked up across the board and all the calls have been from existing clients. What’s more is I have another two lined up already for this week, for a total of four. Usually it takes six months for that to happen (most customers bring the equipment into the shop, I only do callouts when that isn’t practical).

February 23, 2010

           Here is a man washing rocks. We don’t want no dirty rocks in Florida. These are not pet rocks, but they do occupy a privileged position. They are at the entrance to the Mardi Gras. And those people know what is best for rocks. Besides, if you leave the rocks be, sooner or later they start taking on that very un-casino color called “natural”.
           Last evening was an interesting “police” callout. One computer had mysteriously quit working. It was a five minute job but I was there two hours. There are files there from 1985 that still need work. Although I have never been a policeman, anyone who looks at their organization recognizes that their files and mine share an uncannily similar format. That is why I can solve their really difficult problems. They have a position for a tech who can recover deleted files. I said no.
           Cookienator works, and it works well. It deletes the files placed by search engines, such as Yahoo! and Google. I don’t mind cookies from reputable companies, but no thank you when it comes to search engine cookies—there is one and only one reason these companies would place cookies. And they use nastiest type, those flash cookies, some of which have shelf lives on your computer of up to 27 years.
           Most are installed by Adobe Flash player; if you noticed that particular software seems to need an update every other week, now you know why. Furthermore, these virus-like cookies are placed in the “Application Data” directory of your C: drive, which is difficult to view even if you know how. Another serious offender is AOL, who seem able to replace their flash cookies without your computer even indicating it has been on-line. Fred reports over 2,000 flash cookies on his computer, my average is 43.
           In one of those details that probably will never mean anything, last evening I invented a new bass riff. I was playing “Can’t You See” and made an error that sounded right. That’s how I know it is probably new—because it is wrong, that is, it is played in the wrong key. It can be more than difficult to find good bass riffs for descending chord patterns but I tried it in all 13 keys and it works. What can I say? Putting novel bass runs in a tune isn’t always obvious to the listener.
           Add to my words that the current AT&T wireless routers are some of the worst material I’ve dealt with lately. There are several configurations for every router, I know them all. But after four hours of trying to hook a single Netgear wireless adaptor to said router, I had to give up for lack of sleep, a recently precious commodity.
           I was attempting to set up a wireless printer and several wireless computers using the AT&T wireless router as the common network point. It would seem straightforward to connect one device, then simply configure the remainder in the same fashion. Not so easy at all, and all the difficulty keeps coming back to that router. One has to exhaust all chances of it being consumer equipment before calling the AT&T help desk, or they’ll send you the big bill.
           Last, I had some exposure to the WinXP “Media Edition”. My overall impression is that MSoft shot themselves in the foot again. Nothing about said edition seems novel enough to put up with the huge learning curve and setup requirements. I’ve never used Media Edition or had time to check out why it is sold separately.

February 22, 2010

           An update on some of my future planning is in order. I looked closely at the medical or lab tech field and took some sample on-line exams. I passed but I say no [to the career] partially because there isn’t any practical way to truly work independently in the field. I relegate that to a hobby interest at best. I’ll look again when the pending breakthrough with stem cells is announced later this year. Shhh, it is still a secret at this time.
           I went to Borders. How absorbed was I? I had noticed a blonde lady glance at me across the coffee shop. When I got up leave hours later, she had moved to the table beside me. I didn’t see that, and I was too obviously packing up to reverse and follow things up. Dang!
           You know the distressing thing about Florida? So damn many women with no concept of the universe beyond their own personal daily needs. No wonder they all wind up on the skids. Women by the ton, but not one of whom has even a single intellectual pursuit. How I need another Robyn, who studied mathematics, history, music and auto mechanics. The blonde could have spoken up. Instead, she sat there. Alone.
           I had picked up a text book and read 309 pages of computer code that made flawless sense to me. Code isn’t for everyone, and this code was a type I’d never looked at before: the control of electromechanical devices. Recently I lamented how all my life’s coding was financial programming and to that I add my regret that I could get no hands-on experience without signing up for terribly complex math courses.
           In my mind, I know that people who build things are not necessarily smart, they are often ordinary folks responding to a need. They also happen to have lots of spare parts. I am convinced the best way to learn such things is to grasp the basics of Ohm’s Law and jump right in. It is not merely a challenge of measurement for you can buy all the sensors needed on-line. Last count I saw at least forty for sale, such as temperature, acceleration, gravity, light, sound, infrared and momentum. What I don’t know is how to connect those instruments to a computer, hence my recent fascination with the Arduino controller apparatus.
           Stay with my thinking for a moment. Why would I want to build my own clock for $40 when a new one is a buck? Well, let’s look at that store-bought clock. It has no input or output jacks. I want a clock that responds to the environment, makes decisions, and takes action. Can’t do that with an ordinary clock. But I read that 309 pages with relish. If I had a controller, I could make the clock start timing, say, at daylight and stop at dark. I could have it decide to ring an alarm if it got dark when it should not be dark. And I could easily program it to send me an e-mail to check outside for an eclipse.
           The code I read was a complex set of timing modules, using a latitude corrector to keep a solar panel facing the sun. I learned that a counter is nothing but a timer that takes input from an external source. While reading, I came up with a far simpler “sensor” that would do the same thing. And that, peeps, is what I’m talking about. In fact, I’ll present my solution to the problem, along with my original sketch.
           I use two cheap light sensors and a servo motor to tilt the shown table until equal sunlight falls on both. I have the spare parts in my tool chest. I have the code in my head. What I don’t have is the method to hook this to a computer. We already know what happens to people who don’t have challenging pursuits.
           Maybe I’ll never build a Mars rover or a drum machine. But at least I won’t remain one of the faceless masses of the era who never even looked into the technology. (The “No, but I watched the movie” types.) If by straining and calling my little design a robot of sorts, I believe those few (thousand) lines of code today have already given me more than a primitive understanding in the field.
           Some may ask why do I have my head in the stratosphere when there are unresolved issues at home? Well, let me ask the same question another way. Why, when there are complex challenges in the world, do some people insist on dragging everything back to the lowest possible altitude? I don’t know. But I’ll bet of the two parties it takes for that tango, only one of them is capable of thought at both levels. This world is full of fools who would fight over a deck chair on the Titanic.
           Today’s trivia. Of all the e-mail sent last year (2009), 92% was spam. For the record, I received only 21 spam e-mails that same year on my very heavily used multiple accounts. There you go.

February 21, 2010

           The casino up the road, Mardi Gras, must be losing money again. They’ve started picking on people who jog or walk around their parking lot, although that generally happens in the vast spaces where no cars are ever parked. It will add a quarter mile to my commute if the ban cross-lot bicycling. They even have a new rule that you can’t sell to the vendors at the flea market. (That’s a dumb rule, since you are not selling to the customers and that is what the table fee is all about.)

           My spirits are back up, but not my carcass. I can barely waddle out to the kitchen and I’ve bruises the same size and location as biker broad tattoos. Too bad, it was a perfect day and I missed it. I had the option to use bingo money to go visit JZ. Remember, bingo income is totally mad money and only a fool thinks of it as real income. JZ lives on the third floor right along Snapper Creek and a rat got into his furniture. Sorry pal, I can’t even hold the flashlight. (That sounds wimpy. I am not afraid of rats, I had just gotten out of surgery and was too weak.)
           I mean, I didn’t miss today altogether, I bicycled up to Borders (which took an hour). Coffee and cookie, four bucks of bingo money. Speaking of cookies, have you heard of flash cookies? They are malicious computer code that behaves like cookies, except they aren’t. I won’t go into detail but you need to regularly get rid of any flash cookies on your computer. Tomorrow I’ll investigate software that has a good reputation, name “Cookienator”. Return for a review in the future. (Cookienator has since become a standard. You should be using it.)

           [Author's note 2016-02-22: use this link Cookienator to download and install the add-on. Avoid the Softpedia link if you encounter that. There is another site, I think, masquerading as Softpedia, causing reports of malicious code. When configuring Cookienator, set the interval for 1 day. You should always use anti-cookie software when dealing with Google. Like I said back in 2001.]

           Speaking further, this time about reputation surveys, guess who comes in at an all-time low? Hewlett-Packard. My eyebrow raised when I saw that the reasons I loathe HP were not even part of the criteria. I dislike HP for manipulating your computers registry by installing 800+ files while claiming it is just the printer driver. They also intentionally flood the market with 600+ printers and 800+ cartridges at any moment. HP will arbitrarily quit selling, without warning, the cartridges to a printer they put on sale last month.
           That eyebrow lowered when I read how HP is planning to respond. They have no intention of mending their ways. Instead, in a 1980 corporate fashion, they’ve committed millions to shining up their image. Bone-head tactics like hiring more people to answer their help desk phones “in five minutes instead of thirty-five”. HP should be asking themselves “why do we need a help desk when Apple doesn’t?”

           Apple, incidentally, was at the supreme top of every criteria as by far the best computer company in the world. I was equally surprised to learn that Brother, another detested printer manufacturer, shared top spot with Apple for printers. Brother sucks and will never be forgiven for the feature that stops all printing when any one cartridge goes dry. That, Brother, is despicable. As I said, the survey didn’t use the same criteria as I do, instead gauging things like how easy it was to take out of the shipping carton. Duh.
           I recently complained about how no virus software seems to prevent new viruses. That is a Catch-22, I realize, because if that could happen, it would not be a new virus, right? Wrong. All viruses must, at some coding level, have common behavior. I’ve already mentioned one—altering your system registry without asking permission. The point is, today I found out the term for a virus that is too new to have an anti-virus definition. It is called a “zero day” attack. (An infection that spreads before the anti-virus definition has a chance to reach the public.)
           Trivia. Catch-22 does not derive from the number of an article in some army manual, as portrayed in the movie. It is from an ancient tale about a fisherman who refused to call it a day until he caught 22 fish. Thus, unwittingly providing a business model for the Hewlett-Packard corporation.

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February 20, 2010

           Call me black and blue, I got through the day because I was mostly sitting down. Laying prone is worse, as it aggravates the lower back. So I had six hours of research time on the Internet without the ability to focus on anything too deep. Today’s photo is of Stack, the Texas guy who crashed his Cessna into the local IRS office. What I don’t care for is how he is shown appearing to be playing an electric bass.
           Rep. Lloyd Doggett, D-Texas, said in a statement that the crash was "a cowardly act of domestic terrorism." The police chief, however, said he preferred to describe it as "a criminal act by a lone individual."
           Whoever Doggett is, he needs to be shot with a ball of his own you-know. Why? Because he is a zero, an unknown, cashing on on this crime for his own publicity. Probably the only time he said anything the real public ever heard of. Plus, Texas police have a past of “lone individual” theories, do they not? When the madness of politics drives ordinary citizens to desperation, the official stance always says they are clearly insane. I mean, what other explanation could there possibly be? The Unibomber, McVeigh, these people are all crazy, and in the exact same manner as well.

           Stack is still pretty dumb, businesswise, for not playing by the rules. Secondly, if you are going to die as a “lone individual”, why not pick a fancier target? I can think of 8 or 10 places that merit such attacks. Starting with the house of dumb bastard Michael Mosman, pardon me if I got the name wrong. He is the “Judge” from Oregon who displayed a complete disregard basic personal rights and a callous ignorance for even the basics of democratic freedom.
           My God, what has become of our education system that allows turnip-heads like Mosman to become judges of anything? Mosman is the klutz who ruled that to snoop into people’s e-mail, the police do not need to serve a warrant on that person. (Mosman figures it is good enough to serve the warrant on the e-mail provider, whence he then put his head back up his ass.) Mosman needs to go on a one-way fishing trip.

           For the self-smug who “have nothing to hide”, did you know the Echelon project is still in operation? This is the satellite system that “harvests” all electronic communications looking for key words. So don’t say “Obama”, “assassinate”, and “terrorist” in the same sentence like I just did, or you may be headed for the docket.
           Did you know the main argument against privacy laws? It is the dopes who actually think people want privacy “only when they are doing something wrong”. That entire thought pattern is based on sheer stupidity. There are plenty of times when people are doing nothing wrong where they want privacy. For example, when they scratch where it itches. The problem is, the law does not allow for exceptions, or worse, leaves the determination of exception up to the mood of the authorities.

           Bingo has truly become good business. For sure, it flattened out my monthly earnings curve like nothing I’ve ever done with entertainment before. There is no chance of me making plans for the cash until I’m back to having several months living expenses socked away, but the evenness of the cash flow is more than evident. Also, the jackpots are now in the $40+ range, causing even small crowds (like today) to spend more money per person.
           Several things still hold me back. One is that the bingo show has become so specialized that it may not take rapidly anywhere else except Jimbos. Another is the instant willingness of so many local clubs to settle for sub-standard calling for the sake of keeping everything “volunteer”. I know, it begs the issue that the management is selling drinks to the players at a profit, and would sell more drinks to more players, but in Florida, you cannot let too many facts start flying around at the same time.

           I need tons of repairs and new things, but I’ve been sinking every penny I made into this place for the last year. It turns out everything is not settled as I was told. That means they will be settled permanently, once and for all, quite soon. I’ve had major projects underway and I don’t appreciate people who waited until the last moment to cause the same old problems over again. It seems I once again know too many people who think they can break any promise they made to me as long as they didn’t write it down.

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February 19, 2010

           This is my comfortable room at Memorial West. No, that is not an Internet connection but it should not be too long before Memorial gets that. They certainly are ahead of the game with patient comfort. And I’ll bet they have record recovery rates over it, but that is purely my own guess. That sand colored object on the table at right is my hat.
           Today will fit in a nutshell and I’ll try to put it there. I got up after a sleepless night of discomfort. The [hospital] sphygmanometer was automatic every hour on the hour, ensuring you can’t really get more than an hour nap at the time. In terms of side effects, this is by far the most serious procedure I’ve ever had. I count my blessings there are places like Memorial West. While they, nor anybody, can do everything, at least the Memorial people have a positive attitude toward trying.
           I’ll talk a bit of medical, so skip today if you want thrills. I use the term “replace” about my stents, but stents are permanent. The arteries eventually incorporate them into the walls, and mine needed a second stent in the same locations. Many stents, few locations. The stent is a tiny wire tube that can be expanded, not compressed. It is inserted into position and expanded (I think) by a balloon. When the balloon is removed, the stent props open the shaft.
           But there is a time lag while the balloon has to seal off the artery. That time is no picnic, for it represents a small heart attack. The sensation is one of having the gonads squeezed between two heavy books, a deep ache of an entire area that takes its time going away afterward. It was explained to me that this was a procedure of final faith, if this does not work, the next stage is bypass surgery.
           I do believe I am equipped to make things work this time. I can, years of experience later, almost name the events which set off my symptoms, and they are all avoidable. One of my buddies, Dave Savino, got bypass surgery when he was quite young and as far as I know, he is still around. He has to take things easy, but bear in mind he was also the type that associated relaxation with doing nothing. I’m the opposite, give me an hour and I’ll read a good book.
           Many thanks to Wallace, who seems to have the same policy as I do about rides to the airport. It does not matter if we have a falling out, or you disappear for decades, I will always give you a lift to and from the airport. I might get you there twice as fast if you are leaving than arriving; you can always count on me for a ride. Wallace must have been horrified by my condition, but kindly said nothing.
           For the record, the recovery period is not determined by the heart. They would not have discharged me if that was the case. Instead, the procedure is done via a leg (femur) blood vessel. They insert a plastic tube creating an opening in your groin through which all the heart workings are done. When removed, the location of this incision, directly at the joint of your leg and torso, suffers a traumatic recovery.
           You are pumped full of blood thinners and the opening (called a catheter) does not heal rapidly. The patient must lie motionless on his back for up to twelve hours, the last eight of which has a ten pound weight (the “sandbag”) pressing down on the bandaging. This is not a rest period, but a grueling endurance test. I don’t believe most people, as I managed, actually remain immobile. The worst side effect is a terrible lower back pain that cannot be relieved by shifting [around one's weight].
           This does not take away from my compliments to the staff at the hospital. They are not responsible for such. I’m saying they do all they can to make your recovery and stay as pleasant as possible. I’m no John Wayne, but I did decline various offers of drugs for pain and sleep, as my last stay showed they make things worse when the grogginess wears off. Again, my decision, not the staff's.
           I will be fine after another 24 hours of sleep.

February 18, 2010

           Pure and simple today. Into the hospital, two-hour procedure that took six hours, and lie here in bed with a good book, unable to move or flinch. I’ve read the book twice and the hospital cable (TV) is no better than the fare at home. I was at Memorial West, so the entire atmosphere was one of unhurried professionalism. Many of the staff remembered me, I think I made a good impression somewhere along the line.
           This is an actual “menu” from Memorial, including something I have yet to see at another hospital—coffee. And it is excellently brewed, I know my coffee. It is decaf, but I have this feeling all coffee should be decaf. There really is no difference in the taste, you know, it is all psychological. The meal is chosen by the patient in advance from a selection of two major groups.
           [Author’s note: I do find it odd that the staff has to ask so often if patients are allergic to certain foods. My oath, if you are allergic to something and keep it a secret, as far as the world is concerned, quit making people put up with your shit and die already.]
           To any of my readers who may not care for the blogs where I talk medical stuff “like two little old ladies about their operation”, I point out some facts. Medical problems are an excellent motivator to record one’s experiences, and the recovery and subsequent period of lesser activity provide the opportunity to “write it down”.
           Memorial West has got to be among the best. The TV and telephone in every room are free, or at least included at no extra charge. I have not seen the entire place, but they wisely seem to have gotten rid of the concept of double room. Other hospitals assume you want to recover next to a moaning, groaning stranger with communicable conditions and weird relations to boot. I brought my own reading material, which no known hospital provides. I began reading “A Song Of Sixpence”, one of those 19th century coming of age novels, but this one is actually has a plot and decent style.
           History has established that the more informative guides to an era are written by non-professionals. It is hard to get a true feeling for the Great Depression because so few of the jobless kept a trail. In place of facts, today all we have left is a ton of journalism on the subject, with some amazing exceptions like Studs Terkel.
           I do my best to cover as many subjects as possible, but no single author can cover the entire spectrum. I’m the first to admit I swerve toward the technical but am equally quick to point out that there are millions of sources for those who view reading as entertainment rather than a source of general information. If one includes blogs of no particular merit, there may be billions of places to seek gossip, but not here.
           And just be thankful I’m not a know-it-all like that Stephen Hawkins.
           Besides, writing is one of those hobbies that demands constant practice. Don’t think I can’t go back myself and see the patterns of change over the years. There are times I don’t remember some things written, but that is a far cry from not remembering at all. If you want to be immortal, write something down. Instead of the tax department, let the world decide if your life was worth living.

February 17, 2010

           A photo of Hollywood Station, an apt name for something across the road from the railway tracks. Then, it was the town that came along later, so nobody is blaming FEC (Florida East Coast, the railroad company). The apartments away from the street have views of the parking lot only. From undisclosed prices in the stratosphere, the smaller units are now moving at around $77,000. Why, if wasn’t for that train at 5:30 every morning, I’d take a look myself.
           All is in preparation for my short hospital stay tomorrow. Times are lean and this is the first occasion where I go in without any insurance or meaningful assets to divide up in the event of my demise. This is quite a drop from just six years ago when I had every insurance except wage loss, but it is almost a given that people who got ahead on their own will always come bouncing back. Let's hope that holds true in my case.

           [Author's note 2016-02-22: this was a short but very significant post. The reason I did not carry wage-loss insurance is simply because I had never lost any wages. Never having been ill a day in my live, and I mean hospital-ill, from any disease or medical, I had never been in the habit of carrying that insurance. If I had, I'd be basically a rich man today. Free money coupled with my business sense and the world would today know my name. Don't make the same mistake.]

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February 16, 2010

           I remain befuddled as to why business has picked up. I love it, but I’m not dumb enough to count on it until it continues a long time. I even got a small contract to make ID cards, and there is a notable condition on that. I’ve been warning people for decades about loosing personal information on the Internet, and all I got was suspicious glances or worse. Well, these ID cards were to have names and pictures on one side, but only “Staff” or “Volunteer” on the other.
           The user has an option of which side of the card they show in their ID badge. Plainly, the majority must have insisted on this option, since it doubles the price of the cards. What is unusual about this particular batch is the source: a large group of reverends, deacons and church workers. So I was right. One should very carefully control the information that gets out to only so-called “public records”.
           I’m due for surgery, again for my heart, and everyone knows I am far too young to for this. I agree. Surgery is such a drastic word; I’m getting a stent replaced. Stents seem to have a six-year duty cycle with me. Symptomatically, I’ve learned to avoid 99% of the situations which trip an event but of course, I cannot completely get away from phones ringing. I estimate I am operating at 40% efficiency. I had to walk four blocks today and it took me 45 minutes.
           The good news is some guy came in with 200 leather cell phone cases and clips. They weren’t brand names or anything, just older stock. But lots of people are holding on to older cell phones. The guy just needed $20, so I was able to flip the lot at a fairly decent profit. Wow, have you seen what those things sell for?
           Something I find dispiriting about the job market these days, besides the impossibly low rates of pay, is the obviousness that employers are taking advantage of the applicants. I’m seeing things creeping into the ads that the phone company would have loved to do twenty years ago: make everybody do everything regardless of what they were hired for. Call me old fashioned but I don’t think a qualified worker should have to sweep the floor when it isn’t busy.
           Don’t jump to extremes with that. I still think people should keep their work area and the lunch room tidy. But there are some things I don’t want my doctor doing. I’m saying that even in a classless society, there are those more skilled than others and what you pay them does not stop at dollars. I also draw a distinction at “intellectual pay”. Some people go into accounting so they don’t have to deal with customers, and your back room technicians are not “inside salespersons”. Hear that, AT&T, or does it have to be repeated like 90% of everything else when talking to you.
           Others say you do what you have to for a job these days. Yeah, well that is how unions grow big and strong. Unions exist not to protect the workers from the company, but to prevent the company from turning the workers against each other. Some people have trouble with that concept. Without unions, there is little to stop workers from doing extra to curry favors from the management. The boss told me that while I was over last weekend mowing his lawn. Just kidding. I predict an eventual rise in union membership, or at least a better union environment than back when times were good.

February 15, 2010

           Did I ever tell you the only course I ever failed twice [in my life] was Canadian Income Tax? That was around ten years ago, so I was no slouch at studying. I just could not grasp the fundamental illogic of that 900-page textbook. It seemed to me Canadian tax was based on the presumption everybody in the country, no matter how poor, had a $100,000 pool of cash, and any job they worked simply meant topping that pool up after payday. I still don’t know whether to laugh or cry at the examples given in that course.
           Dozens of the examples were worded to trick you at the last minute that the famous doctor or millionaire investor was a woman, although I have yet to see such a thing in real life [in that country]. Most examples stressed foreign sounding names from the old eastern British Empire. “Parmar is not sure whether to cash in a $250,000 Canada savings bond and buy a Rolls Royce, or borrow the money and write off the interest. Please advise Parmar on the best option, as she turns 18 next month.” You think I’m kidding, don’t you?
           Today’s high point was a callout after 5:00 PM. It as another customer completely baffled by that AT&T changeover to “powered by Yahoo”. The phone company has always lived in a different world, but they are jerks to think people over 30 understand what that means. Well, I do, but that is not what I meant. Everybody has to change the way they log on to their old BellSouth email accounts, but AT&T does not give and directions, just some bonehead re-direction screen.
           What was interesting was the customer’s situation. He had been working on the roof of his manufactured home (mobile home double-wide trailer) and he crashed through the rafters. The aluminum spars pierced his neck and came out through his shoulder blades. He was awaiting a disability claim, around two years now, and needs his computer system to work at home from then on. Disability is nice, but it is not a free ticket. Fortunately, he also had great insurance coverage.
           Trivia for today is yet another iPhone app. This one plugs into the power charge port and it’s purpose is to detect “body odor and methane gas” emitting from the person sitting in the next airline seat. Thank goodness for technology. The article did not specify if the device made any further response.
           One interesting side effect of the bad economy is early retirement. The social security Ponzi scheme is calculated on people working until they are 65. But older types who have lost their jobs are opting to take a reduced payout and retire rather than re-enter the workforce at a lower wage. That means they are taking more and contributing less. It may be that is the only money they will ever see out of the Feds.
           Speaking of the feds, I found out that they are defending “Net Neutrality”. This is the techno-term for giving everyone equal access to the Internet. The providers are gung-ho to charge a premium. I can see both sides of the issue. If there is a charge, then rich people will have primo access and poor people will get what’s left over, as usual. On the other hand, this is a capitalist system and if these private companies can’t make a profit, they will stop upgrading and the whole infrastructure will decay. I hesitate to take sides on this one, but I’m intrinsically a “make the user pay” type. I mean it is not like poor people are using the Internet to better themselves as opposed to, say, read email and watch youTube.

February 14, 2010

           Let’s talk bingo. My operation seems to move from strength to strength and I’ve been receiving the highest compliments for the show. It is still evolving; just remember Jimbos is a cantina first, a bingo room second. Don’t arrive there if you are expecting the same dull old game available anywhere in this town, and you get here on Old Dixie Highway, there is no freeway to the door. Although the fundamentals can’t be changed, the whole atmosphere is different from any other bingo.
           When I say evolving, I’m referring to solid and progressive aspects that keep Jimbos’ bingo refreshing. The jackpots are twice what they were six months ago. There is a steady clientele of progressively younger people showing up as word gets around. The sound effects are incredible. I now use a complete array of laptops and MP3 players, with an amazing ability to operate everything at once on stage while I’m keeping up with the game. I have to react to events in real time, it is like being a super disk jockey while doing ten other things at once.
           Favorite sound tracks include the Tarzan yell, the bugle charge, Happy Birthday, and that heart-pounding Jaws “Doo-doon” sound. It is amazing to just watch, almost as if the caller had been performing a solo music act for years.
           I’ve also learned when to time the intermissions, which are random. I can often bring in a series of Karaoke-like tunes to fill the gap. Keeps people interested and in some cases like tonight, really makes the grade, causing a nice five-minute pause while everybody sang “These Boots”. Bingo has become a serious contender for my entertainment income, climbing a few percentages of my total income each week (although that cannot continue forever even though I wish it could).
           Most promising development is the “half game”. Bingo is normally ten rounds, the final game having a big fat jackpot. Last night, we added another sudden death round. Any bingo wins (regular, four corners, postage stamp) and the winner splits the pot with the caller. Since the Powerball doesn’t apply and the prize is split, it is a “half game”. If it catches on, and I believe it will, I may have to rethink my priorities for future Saturday nights.
           Here’s the test for local humor. Either you get it or you don’t. First I need a visual. Imagine three toothless south Florida types in a taxi; headed for my bingo. Got it? Now read this sentence closely: “It Was the Night They Drove Down Old Dixie.”
           I was in the shop all morning researching legal terms and medical procedures. It turns out a new condition is being investigated which appears to describe exactly what happened to me. Caused by subconscious stress, it is responsible for weight gain via triglyceride accumulation in the lower abdomen and constricted heart vessels. Various photos and diagrams pinpoint the identical trouble areas which began to affect me during late 2003. Maybe now there will be some better way to describe my heart patterns than “abnormal”.
           Medical reading gives today’s trivia. For some reason, it costs 18 times more to deliver quadruplets than a single birth. Overtime? And, there is a pill that duplicates the effect of marijuana smoking for those incurable conditions that happen mainly to, well, marijuana smokers. Everyone is familiar with how the symptoms can strike at late night college parties, behind neighborhood saloons, and while listening to Hendrix on payday.
           Now here is something truly fascinating. I concluded from direct observations by the time that I was around eight [years old] that being “smart” is a conscious decision made at an early age. I maintain each person decides in their own way whether they want to be smart or dumb in life, and I do so because I have personally witnessed it so many times. That is why I am so rarely fooled by those who have developed cover-ups for their personal stupidity later in life. My least favorite cover-up: New Agers.
           Now a researcher named Simonton has pin-pointed a direct link between genius and work that reinforces my traditional position on this matter. He describes a genius as simply a person who dedicates the required amount of effort and intelligence toward a subject that is in popular demand. Like myself, he underlines that intelligence is a primary requirement, it is by far not the only ingredient of being “smart”. Most crackpots are highly intelligent but totally mixed up on priorities.
           The bad news for dummies is that the “required effort” is around 10,000 hours of concentration, hard work and study. That’s all it takes to be rated a genius at something, folks. I estimate I have studied the single topic of computers for 5,230 hours in my life. Although I have never found my calling, I further estimate I study approximately 1,100 hours each year. Not just read. Study. Oddly, even in grade school, I rarely studied the assigned material.
           Well, so as not to cause too many depression attacks, let’s end with a little Dave Barry, who said, “Magnetism is a force which, as we all learned in physics class, causes small objects to be attracted to large objects such as refrigerators.”

February 13, 2010

           This vacant parking lot is directly across from the illustrious Miami Convention Center. Not that I ever thought conventions had any use, but they do seem to be one of the first items that get the axe. Not all that long ago you’d see streams of cars circling around waiting for an open spot. This photo is from y’day.
           Now, back in Broward, lets’ see how the day went for those of us whose business conventions are held at Burger King. Today was another good one, I am still stunned by the number of callouts. Each day I grow more convinced that my competition has gone under, but I do stress it is the unseen competitors. Not the shop across the boulevard, but the whiz kid who charges half my prices. All I know is that something has changed and I hope it is a trend.
           For example, a walk-in this afternoon found me troubleshooting a true museum piece. It was an office completely equipped with Win95 computers and DOS programs. From what the owner says, I may be the only person left who knows DOS, another thing I’m starting to believe. (That’s part of the mystery of my competition, because anybody younger than me is unlikely to have a DOS background.) The office equipment was in sparkling condition, including an old Epson dot matrix printer.
           The owner is the guy who runs that ring and coin booth at various clubs and shows. The programs were totally 1990s, he had Peachtree and First Choice (accounting and database), with the old lo-res graphics and chunky screen menus. He had jammed a program called “Kargas” which he uses to print those tiny price tags you see on rings. Turns out he had accidentally reconfigured it. Back then you didn’t install a printer driver, you custom configured the printer and computer combination each time. He was so impressed, he paid me the second largest tip in my computer career.
           Earlier, a client came in to use my shop computers for his on-line course in CIS (Computer Information Systems). We got to talking, and although I encouraged as much as I could, I was dismayed by the shallowness of current computer courses. It amounts to my saying I’m glad I did my studies back in the day when we really had to learn something. The client, although in a graduate year, and I’m sure his grades were up there, didn’t have much of a clue about what is really required.
           Then, I also was the victim of such schooling when I was younger. These days I’d know precisely what to tell a counselor who said I had to take a philosophy course when I was signed up in the sciences program. I still refer to that as “tuition gouging”, but I was 17 and I bought it. However, I emphasize that I did take all the available computer courses (around 8 all told) and it is the content of those that was superior to anything today.
           Another thing that strikes me is the apparent lack of general exposure in today’s students. I mean, in my day it was forgivable that I did not know there was no such thing as a spreadsheet or I had no idea what the Internet was all about. Back then it was a major operation to keep informed about the computer world. Today, there is no such excuse. Today’s dude was absolutely floored when I showed him the Arduino. He’d never even heard of Wikipedia.

February 12, 2010

           Here is some interesting architecture from one place I made a delivery today. Is that Alfred Hitchcock making a cameo? It is official Valentine’s day for the working class, and I made five deliveries. That’s down by half from the usual twelve, but it gave JP’s bro and I a chance to catch up. He worked seven hours without a break until I practically dragged him upstairs for a lunch break.
           Joe reports revenue is down. I was kind of hoping to make enough to purchase a Zoom (drum) box, but it will have to wait. Especially since I paid the full electric bill, including Wallace’s share, for the last two months. If Wallace is broke now, wait until he sees the new lump on Millie. I feel sorry for them both, but being useless is an option, not a requirement of old age. Wallace could be living in paradise without paying a cent if he’d only change his terrible attitude.
           He’s still going on about Theresa having “too much stuff”, although it is precisely the stuff we’ve been talking about getting for years. Possibly he wants a tenant who shows up with a backpack. He’s scheming at something but it won’t do him any good. He’s staying away, trying to pretend he's been exiled. That is a complete fabrication. It has never been nicer here. And it is great that he isn't hanging around here all day crabbing about the jews, niggers and everything else. He is also saying he doesn’t have privacy but same as ever, he has his own room for that.
           He’s asking for trouble and he is going to find it. He is completely out of his league and has made the error of lying on a court document.
           Now on to important news. Downtown is lacking the pizzazz of earlier years. Miami doesn’t have the same core as most cities; it certainly has no old downtown district. It is mainly pawn shops and government offices, both of which prey on the down and out. I was easily four times as mobile as the traffic, probably more if you count the times I go ignore the one-ways.
           I used to work in downtown Miami and it was, what’s the word, emotive to see the old places. If it has more than 50 stories, I was probably there. Espiritu Santo, The Four Seasons, The Mandarin Oriental. What’s lacking is the teeming business of the early decade. I was tempted to peek into the hotel but it looked deserted from Brickell Avenue.
           Business from the courthouses and such has tapered off completely. I had no deliveries within the law offices. The only buildings which seem full are what Orwell might call the Ministries. One curious edifice is the Ingraham Building, right out of an old Batman movie, missing the gargoyles. Everything is old world, right down to the polished brass in the elevators. It has no retail shops, only endless small offices.
           Flower delivery has been revolutionized by GPS and computer graphics. All orders are on-line and each address prints with its own map. Part of the slow day is undoubtedly that the 14th is on a Sunday this year. I zipped over to Quizno’s afterward, but Alaine was just pulling away and I could not stick around. JP and I chatted for ten minutes, convincing me I need a new car so I can reliably visit my own friends. I just don’t trust the old Taurus, which is misbehaving, as in asthmatic.
           No beach gig. The winter wind, although not cold, is chillier along the waterfront. The Hippie called, saying maybe in another few weeks, meaning he’s got other musicians for tonight’s show and doesn’t want to pay me. That guitarist from Tamarac called about my country duo. That is a no-go, he is super pro and although certainly worth what he’s paid, that is not the same as what he can expect to make locally. The average pay has dropped to $75 per musician and not many joints want to pay even that. He was also over-protective about exchanging song lists. I haven’t ruled anything out, but you can’t start from the top in Hollywood because there isn’t any top.

February 11, 2010

           I’m driving downtown tomorrow, this photo is a sculpture near the arts museum, or more accurately it is a museum that favors anyone who is not a blue-eyed European. These aluminum arches remind me of the Sidney Opera House. The height of the largest arch is nearly twenty feet, if you look closely you can get the perspective from that man in a white cap sitting on a bench just below center left.
           Yep, while I’ll never be a graduate shoemaker, I’m learning beyond what I planned. This is assuredly a trade, and I don’t mean one of those trades where you can just plaster things over. Shoemaking takes real brains. The customers are generally a nicer crowd to associate with than one might think. It stands to reason that people who wear $300 dress shoes on a daily basis probably don’t hang around construction sites very much.
           Taking stock of what I’ve learned, it is certainly a trade which has sub-trades. Doing heels only would require only a grinding machine and a minimal stock of supplies. Still, it is not for me, plus I am now used to a fully equipped shop with everything at hand. Or at foot, as it were.
           A guy came in today with a peculiar pair of shoes, which needed soles. I noticed the brand name “Vegetarian” but never thought into it further. The guy comes back, tries them on and is totally satisfied with the results but within moments, he pulls them off. He could tell there was some leather in the repair. Sure enough, and to keep him happy, I peeled back the insole to discover a small strip placed to reinforce the heel. The guy could actually tell there was leather inside. Amazing.
           We got to talking and he knows a country singer and guitarist. We traded phone numbers. I have never given up hope but on the other hand, the lack of good people has forced me to do some of my own singing. I wish more people would understand that if you want to do your own musical thing, you start a band. You don’t join one. The guitarist was startled by the amount of research I put into the country duo concept. I think he may be thinking I have a bigger operation than I do. I specialize in small rooms, less than 50 seats.
           So I stopped at Jimbos and put in a few songs. I normally sing “Spiders and Snakes”, which through my two-year house gig became the official theme song of that location. Plus one other tune, in this case, “The Perfect Country Western Song”, a.k.a. “You don’t have to call me darlin’, darlin’.” If I could only expand to 25 songs, I know I could do a captivating singles act.

February 10, 2010

          [Author's note 2016-02-10: this post is a Dragon Naturally Speaking transcript.]

           See this building? It has a hole in the top. Kind of like the hole in our roof that is causing serious permanent structural damage. I would fix it today, given the go-ahead. I will let the jury decide why I have not gone ahead and done so at my own expense, even thought I know the workmanship would automatically be "deficient".
           Gee, I can hardly remember when I last had so much fun with a blog as today. This is like icing on the cake. The northerners got two feet of snow, down here we have two feet of ignoramuses. Both require a lot of shoveling. Now a word from our PR Department It is called “Three More Things Stupid People Cannot Understand”.

           A)      Food stamps are not welfare. They are a right of every American who earns less than $13,000 per year. The governor of North Dakota gets food stamps because her salary is $1 per annum. One American in eight has received food stamps since this recession began. Maybe people have to beg their governments for help where you come from, but not in the US of A.
           B)      Around 94% of successful business owners (such as myself five plus years at the same location) receive all their mail at the business address. Nothing fishy about it at all. That’s where the bills get paid from. You do pay bills, don’t you? Then show me.
           C)      Florida towing companies are forbidden by law to release any vehicle except in person to the properly registered owner. The papers must be stamped in Tallahassee. These documents must match the vehicle and the owner must personally show up, no exceptions. My car is fully registered with the sales tax paid. I mean, isn’t everybody’s?

           This was such a popular theme, I’ve been asked, sort of, to continue. Okay. Here’s three other things imbeciles can’t grasp.

           D)      Mental defectives are not allowed to enter into the United States. Since 1892. Check it out. I know an awful lot about American border law.
           E)      Canadian OAS (Old Age Supplement) is welfare. It brings their local deadbeats up to the poverty level. The more you get, the more you are a loser. Worse, you must be resident in Canada to get OAS. If you leave that country for more than 30 consecutive days, you are disqualified. If you leave more than 183 days, things get even worse. I know an awful lot about Canadian tax law.
           F)     “Search and Replace” is a powerful computer function. A blog owner can replace very instance of a nickname with a real name. Or address, phone number, SIN and who knows what? This blog has a 15 year rule about real names, but I’m perfectly willing to make an exception. Try me. I know an awful lot about computers.
           G)      (Yes, this is number four. But four is worth it this time.) Construction contracting is not a true business. Just ask the Workman’s Compensation Board (WCB). They’ll quickly let you know whether you are a proper businessman or some wise guy who never paid his dues. The Board does make mistakes, but they are never really wrong, either. I know an awful lot about disability claims.

           It is so kind of me to make the above points without mentioning names. But I’ll give you a hint. Who would use that corny pickup line, “Save water; shower with a friend”, and fancy himself clever? (My version is, hell, if you are that much of a cheapskate, save even more water and shower with an enemy.)
           I further point out that of everyone involved, I appear to be the only one who has not changed or altered his position in the past two years. I have never wavered a fraction from my original agreement. Look it up for yourself. Meanwhile, others are constantly discovering brand new loopholes, assholes, ensuites and enemies. I wonder why’s that?

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February 9, 2010

           The 2010 virus has re-surfaced, as nasty as ever. This is the virus that floods your screen with authentic MicroSoft mannerisms, which shames Microsoft for their silence. And such intricate attacks prove there is a deliberate and systematic rebellion against the Beast. (It serves MicroSoft right, arrogantly charging $400 for a product even containing such juvenile loopholes and vulnerabilities.)
           Let’s relax. Looking at today’s picture makes me wonder if I’ve gone Navajo. Look a little closer to notice there are four distinct lines. Top to bottom, I call them flatline, turret, huffduff and seti. They represent my analysis of my own bicycle riding patterns. I’ll explain soon.
           Let us talk about bicycles, for we need the diversion. Today I was researching bicycle tours throughout Middle America. (Golly, why would I be doing something like that?) The majority of articles agree [with me] that Panama is the most boring and useless place to bother with. Let me sift the facts. For instance, did you know the new titanium spokes (of which your bicycle as 72) are now selling for up to $12 each?
           Let me cough up the trivia as we go along. The record bicycle speed (correctly determined not by velocity, but by total distance covered) is 33 miles per hour. I consider it an honor that I not infrequently peak at one-third of that. Due to the zero-impact nature of pedaling, I can extrapolate my own ability to bicycle at 16 times greater than I can walk. The bicycle saved my life. Did you know it was not even called a bicycle until the 1890’s? Some Belgian newspaper decided, thank goodness, to quit calling it the “velocipede”.
           The zig-zag arrangement in today’s photo is a diagram of how I ride my bicycle. The first is a straight line, showing the distance I would travel in windless, level territory. The second shows the exploratory criss-cross route I would take up and down the streets of a new town. Third is the situation where there is only single side road in and out of something worth viewing. Last is a random “drunkard’s walk” when I’m scouting a new area.
           I know that I would have to average 31 to 36 miles per day to even attempt a bicycle camping trip. At this point, my cardiologist says no. So far my “in-city” round-trip record has been 26 miles. To prove I have given the matter real thought, I’ll reveal my nicknames for the bicycle patterns shown above.
           The first I call “flatline” for it resembles a hospital DOA monitor. The second I call “turrets” as you see. Third is named “HuffDuff” after the oscilloscope pattern on WWII British bombers. And the last I refer to as “seti”, for it resembles the static picked up by the Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence. Should I regain my health, I must make a major bike trip within the next few years.
           Meanwhile, if you are looking for spectacular scenery, the best I can recommend is the Sabana Grand in Venezuela. The landforms are the most spectacular imaginable. Plus, most Venezuelan roads are paved, including long stretches of unused country highways.

February 8, 2010

           In a departure from the usual recount of the day, it is time to take a look at some hard facts. The big question is, “How will you be remembered fifty or a hundred years from now?” For many people, the most durable records will be files like this blog (even though this blog is about me). We all interact with the environment. Consider today’s blog confirmation that some people just cannot be trusted no matter what.
           Allow me to say that I do not seek out problems. Yet certain people thrive on a high level of argumentative anti-social behavior. They twist everything others do into a conspiracy theory, they blame all their mistakes on somebody else, and before too long it is no wonder they only people they can “count on” is their own families. Nobody else puts up with their nonsense, so in a way that makes sense.

           I’m not saying I am perfect, nor have I ever said anything of the kind. Don’t we all love the sort who tell us we said that because they are losing a debate? But there is another type of loser, the one who cannot win by logic or persuasion, instead he goes behind the other guy’s back and resorts to discredit or slander. I state for a fact that I consider that cowardly behavior to be a national characteristic of Canadians—and I worked fo a Canadian company for 15 years so I know exactly what I’m talking about.
           The strange logic of these Canadians is that since the other guy “won’t listen”, he needs to be taught a lesson. Where this breaks down is they forget the other guy will retaliate, and some of us are, well, way smarter than others. Not perfect, but way smarter. In fact, I know this one Canadian who is so dumb, he could watch me walk into a donut shop with one of my computer clients who is over 6 foot 4, and he would not have the brains to figure out it is the Chief of Police. Now that is dumb, Wallace.

           As I was saying, these Canadians lack the ability to see the consequences of their actions. They do not understand when they start back-stabbing, it is a two-way street. What happens to my car happens to their car. I’m trying to remember the name of that eastern lawyer. Turpin? Turnbull? It escapes me at the moment, but I am certain if I am prodded just a little more, it will come back to me. You see, we have issues in this country about people who lie to the police.
           At the expense of a certain amount of repetition, let’s look at some facts. If anybody out there has been told there is a spare room here, demand to see a recent photo of it before you leave home. This is a two-bedroom place and there is no “ensuite”. I had to rent out my own bedroom and go live in the Florida room because the person I thought was my friend refuses to commit to a schedule that would allow us to rent out his room while he is away. He originally promised he would either pay the rent or let out the room.

           I only went partners on this place so as to have a place large enough split the rent with somebody. The other guy’s claim that I was destitute is a blatant lie, for I had plenty of money to buy a smaller place of my own. His claim that he “bailed me out” is pure fabrication, and in fact is he was the one living in a slummy flea-bag basement with no windows.
           Renting his room here does not mean drag somebody off the street. He tried that; his “accountant” buddy turned out to be freshly released from the insane asylum. He finds them at a local coffee shop of pitiful two-bit losers all facing a poverty-stricken retirement. They sit around hatching desperate last minute “big plans”. I make more money fixing shoes than the lot of them will ever accomplish. Their gigantic dreams include starting a “Texas Holdem” club and a “Take Out Pizza” shop. Isn’t that just the kind of person you’d want as a roomie?

           [Author’s note: Now don’t get me wrong, some of these men were formerly successful in the corporate world. The problem is, once that world collapsed, they started getting paid what they were really worth. They hang out at the only coffee place in town that gives free refills, using $1,200 laptops to check 2 cents worth of email. Likely too broke to get Internet service at their boarding houses.]

           So, let’s look at the numbers. This place was supposed to be a 50/50 deal as to the operation, with the singular exception that if one person was here alone, he would pay the entire electricity bill. In 22 months, including all rent and bills, it has cost $14,483.17 to operate this place. I have paid $10,362.27 out of my own pocket where I was obligated to pay only half, that is $7,241.59. Do the math. That means I must have paid $3,120.69 of the other guy’s bills, including his rent when he randomly leaves without adequate notice. He seems to think this place becomes self-sustaining when he isn’t around, which is pure genius in itself.
           I have never received a word of thanks for my $3,120.69, just some second-hand crap about having “the run of the place”. I defy anyone who has true knowledge of the situation here to find a single instance where I did not hold up my end of the bargain and more. I am not the one getting a free ride; this situation has already cost me serious money. I have always acted in the best interests of the partnership, never just myself. That is why I am broke and had to move into the Florida room—I’ve been cheated and lied to by someone I thought was my friend.

           Face the facts. When is the last time you gave thousands of dollars to somebody who was cussing you down and falsely acting like he was your landlord? When did you continue to clean up after him? That money does not even account for hundreds of hours of my labor and gasoline in my car. If I wanted the run of a place I would have bought my own. I’ve not saved a penny and I’m stuck doing all the work. Clearly, this situation is not my doing.
           Who is the bad guy, now?

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