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Yesteryear

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

August 18, 2010

           See this picture? Good, because I can’t. It is a moon rock, about the size of a sugar cube. It is also what convinced me I finally have to get a camera that takes better macros. This rock is on display at the Ft. Lauderdale Library, where despite a lot of expensive-looking renovations, they are cutting staff hours. The rock is dark and speckled, much like wet beach sand.
           The rock is part of an exhibition on astronauts and focuses on the defunct Shuttle program. My lawyer informs me after the Columbia disaster, NASA relocated the observation area back a couple of miles. He knows people who were at that launch and they all agreed something was wrong before liftoff. So NASA moved the fence. That’s nice.

           I had another not-mentioned-in the-manual Hewlett-Packard repair. Their higher end printers have ports where you can scan directly to a flash or memory card. The problem is, when this feature quits working, you are stuck. Not a word anywhere from HP on the solution. Theory: the printer has a small “computer” chip on board and it is kept charged with transistorized capacitors. When it locks up, these capacitors must be discharged, and you cannot do that simply by turning the machine off and back on again. Try this. While the printer is turned on, unplug the power cable for a minute, then plug in again. This acts as the equivalent of a reset button, yet another feature missing on HPs.
           Guitar player number 17 has appeared on the scene. He can play anything, but he is only 15, the son of a guitar teacher. Maybe I’ll be doing some Green Day after all. His parents want him to get a job, so my advice is make it music. At least there is a chance it will do him some good over the next fifty years. At fifteen, a kid should be enjoying life, not working and certainly not “building character” as the theory goes. Seriously, parents, there are no jobs a 15 year old can get that will do him or you any good in the long run. Just you watch, if he does well, they’ll want room and board. Either way, they cut off his allowance. I know a lot about this brand of parenthood.

           [Author's note 2015-08-18: little did I know that this guitar player became the most successful of all that I auditioned in Florida. Although he had never near of Johnny Cash and had never heard any of the music we play, we were out playing gigs within two months. We never got anywhere, but we did play the gigs. We practiced a few more times, but without wheels and his own gear, it was difficult to rehearse. When he hit 18, he left to go to college. He's in his twenties now, but like myself, I don't think he stands a chance in this world.]

           I got around to looking at scooters again. This item may have to wait until winter, when business picks up again. Too bad, I could surely use it right now. There are five scooter stores in the immediate area, and plenty more up near the airport. At least one of them has to be lean and hungry, don’t you suppose? I’ve also been asking around for advice on this vehicle and the general response is that it is the right thing to do.
           Next, I tried to get in touch with JP. He is not working at Quizno’s any more. As usual, he leaves his phone unplugged for days at a time. Without the scooter, I have no realistic way of getting there, either. We usually take a mini-holiday in the Keys around November and we need to get coordinated, not an easy task for guys like us who, left to our own devices, would spend all day chasing women. Says JP, women are irrational; says me, good, for if they were logical, guys like me would get all the good ones and you get the leftovers.
           What’s this? New studies on depressed people show that the latest anti-depressant pills have an unintended side effect. They cause the body to grow new cell tissue in the critical areas of cognition used for memory and logic. This new brain matter has a greater effect on the patient than drugs alone and is considered a major breakthrough in the treatment of chronic mental depression. They are politely saying the program “has the same effect as obliging these poor-me types to get off their whining asses and go read something intellectual”.
           Actually, that was me saying it. All the “depressed” people I met at the phone company had one thing in common: They were so self-absorbed it was pathetic. They were the epicenters of their own universe. Then, if I was as useless as that lot, maybe I’d hate myself, too. Up their meds, I say.
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