Here is Agt. M and one tiny part of the recording studio he’s rigged up for the church. Shown here is monitor of the choir area with smaller touch screens for all the popular controls. This is several hundred feet away in the back of the church. You can barely see a white grand piano on screen left with a lady in a brown shirt singing.
As figured, the sensor of y’day turns out to be the crap of today. The “official” explanation is incompatible with the physical design. The blub says the sensor detects the “length” of the return signal, but the design says the sensor’s shared pin must either transmit or receive, not both. I comprehend that digital signals, at a high enough frequency, behave like analog but this is not the case here. The pin cannot detect a return signal while it is transmitting. Therefore, I quit taxing my brain and took the eBike for a spin. I told you stats would improve. I traveled for 53:03 minutes covering 9.447 miles at and average speed of 10.7 mph. I can work with these numbers, considering my gasoline bill for the scooter is topping $44 per month. Electrically speaking, I get 53 mpg, mind you this is a very tricky and complicated conversion. One has to consider the effect on the electric bill.
I invested in another ounce of silver. Do note these are troy ounces. I do not know why this precious metal is not weighed like others. You can look that up, I’m busy. The price has risen $6 per ounce in the past month. But thanks to the eBike, that may have been the most economical trip to the silver store on record.
Dave-O came by. He’s convinced the frequencies that become vacant once they close down NASA will become available for free global phone service. What a theory. Even if it was free, they’d still require an $8,000 phone and a two year contract. This is America, so they’ll also want picture ID. The American system excels at preserving a system that is 60 years out of date.
For the sixth day in a row, I’ve helped Dave-O communicate with his family in Texas. I suggested that he might be better off to drive there and take care of business himself and all I’m saying is he did not say no. Next, I will casually hint that I would be willing to pay half the gasoline. It was another too-hot summer day, so we drove around looking at fancy houses. (His vehicle has excellent air conditioning and he knows a lot about the history of the buildings in the downtown core.)
It can be hilarious listening to us communicate. Despite our similar backgrounds, our upbringings were utterly polarized. He lived in the city, I lived in the bush. He attended university from a frat house, I lived in a $40 per month firetrap. But oddest is our connotations of ordinary words. I call it lamb, he calls it mutton. It’s a distancing caused by environment. He worked for his father, I had to keep where I worked a secret so my father would not steal my paycheck.
So we were looking at yards with trellises. He calls them by some fancy Japanese word. And I say the stucco on the side of a house was applied by a person in the plastering trade. Dave-O says no, it is called “stuccoing”, a verb I’ve never heard before. If it is mud-like and applied to a wall with a trowel, I’d say plastering. To Dave-O that means to get drunk and cause a fight. Same planet, different worlds.
I did a quick Karaoke show uptown and ran into a guy names Jeff. He plays no instruments, just plays backing tracks through an expensive looking room full of gear and sings along. Turns out he is a country music fan. We’ll see, but two strong personalities don’t mix in showbiz.
Ants. We are invaded by ants. Time to buy Bengal, the ultimate anti-ant powder. For some reason, ants like my cactus bed. They appear to have declared a truce so all of them can live on the east side, where there is no shade in the morning. Grrr.
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