One year ago today: April 29, 2013, non-Sicilian Mafia surnames.
Five years ago today: April 29, 2009.
Today we find the connection between marsupials and mechanics as I see it. These are not found in close association in Nature, so let’s begin with this photo. It is not a fake, these are real parts that I’ve built, yet this is not actually anything. I’ll explain. I had placed some smaller projects on a larger piece of wood so I could carry them across the room and noticed this one-of-a-kind view. It is a hodgepodge of individual circuits, but on the other hand, I could tell you in some detail what each piece does. But I won’t, because I like you.
Trivia now, or is it? The kangaroo is the fastest and most efficient large mammal. It must be true, I saw it on IMAX. What, all of a sudden I’m a zoologist? No, I just got to thinking if that is true, why is nobody building a hopping robot? See, don’t judge me until you expose my ulterior motives. At first glance, it would appear complicated keeping things in balance while hopping forward. This also requires a large tail, which robotically speaking is dead weight unless filled with cargo. But I’ve learned the necessary stability controllers are, in fact, very tiny. About the size of a very thick postage stamp.
For you gourmets, kangaroo tastes like beef and it is only 2% fat. The major obstacle to kangaroo farming is popular bias that these animals are cute and thus not food. Back to robotics, don’t look at me to investigate hopping. I still have never even used a robotic arm. The one I would like to test is the Cyton 300. But just you try to find the price on that. My guess is around $4,000. They can be controlled, two at a time, by an XP computer. So why can’t I figure out a way to put them to work? If I did, I’d program them to become my guitar player. It would be easier to get along with than the real thing.
Prof. Oz is back saying he enjoyed the cruise, but had traveled with some skinflints who never tipped or bought anything. It was not a $3,000 cruise as I’d reported, they all had massive discount coupons that took their out-of-pocket down to less than $800. Now it makes more sense what he’s saying. He also wants me to put in more time on the paperback “Caribecana” and I’m having a difficult time continually explaining to him I don’t have the time or inclination. Especially since he is unwilling to make any changes. The book is boring until midway so nobody is reading that far.
He confirms the credit card blackmail on the cruise. That’s what it is, folks. They take your credit card when you board the ship and don’t give it back until the accounts are settled. He confirms Boris’ story that there is a TV channel in your room you can use to verify charges, but it’s not like everyone goes on holidays to review financial statements. Oz was traveling with two accountants so that probably helped. But you think about that. Some strangers holding your credit card? They’ve got you where they want you. Oz could not answer my question about what if you did not have a credit card.
Easy, the eBike had its origins in the pre-club days. Back then I was flying blind, in that all my friends were too busy and all my non-friends were too mentally limited to take interest in any club that went beyond drinking beer and playing cribbage. And yes, last year I lent my eBike to Agt. M who promptly caused $250 in damage. Bent rim, broken spokes, fried battery. Who remembers that?
Not me. What you see here is the result. Whereas I had zippo for experience or contacts when I bought the community’s first eBike, the club today has plenty to go on, probably ten times the experience of the average electric bike owner, and we can repair anything. This photo shows three bicycles being cannibalized to produce one electric. It’s the 21-speed, the “small” frame in the center, chosen to be converted, due to its small form factor and collapsibility which allows it to be carried on the sidecar. See, we’re thinking. And thanks to club association and experience, the entire job will cost only $209, or a quarter the price of a new unit. We are even considering one of the new “hundred-mile” kits for the Jamus, turning it into a super-electric at a cost of around $1,200.
How come we got money for thousand-dollar bicycles but not for robots? Practicality, that’s why. A bicycle with a range of one hundred miles a day is serious transportation, which we need more than we need Mars-mission-capabilities at this point in time. Return tomorrow for a montage of pictures showing the serious resources the club can bring to bear on a project. My cost today? Coffee and bread from the bakery. At day’s end, I rode the Jamus back here from the clubhouse.
ADDENDUM
I did not always travel alone, but started doing so at age 30. It was then the era of the credit card, where many things could not be done, at least not conveniently, unless you had plastic. One big reason I went alone after a bit was that others hesitated to go overseas without an itinerary. I had no choice. They would not leave unless a hotel was booked in advance, not even to Hawaii. Also, before 30, I always met interesting women, even on the airplanes. Not so after 30. No, it is not your imagination, unmarried women do go strange on that birthday. They cannot say hello in the morning without considering that the onset of a relationship.
Ready for some controversy? Another thing you’ve find in older women, that while they are often more loyal while the romance lasts, they don’t know when to quit. The last woman I dated of my own “age group”, (Julie), you could not take her out. If you did, when you left to use the facilities, you’d come back to find some barfly sitting at your table. She’d spray pheromones the instant your back was turned and claim it was not her fault.
She was the type that thought this had to happen countless times before you caught on. Nope, just once. Between her and Judy, to this day I have an aversion to women whose names start with “J.” Somehow they don’t understand that going on a date with you is not an invitation to entertain passes from the local drunks. You can’t be nice to them and nice to me at the same time, period. There, have I over-explained it enough? That’s why I travel alone. The last thing you need is some screwy broad pulling that stunt on you when you are 1,200 miles from home.
Solo or not, I need another trip. Just a few days to see something new. Like most guys, I’d like to meet a fun girl, but not too much of a fun girl if you know what I’m getting at. It’s clear JZ is not making travel a priority again so there’s no waiting for him. The difference is, as a team, we get the chicks. All of them. Yes, I have proof. You just won’t see it here beyond me crowing a little. Remember Ft. Meyers Beach. We had all the women, not just one or two. That’s what I’m talking about.
I had heap big fun in Memphis last year. The older cities have downtown charm. I regret not checking out a few of the older diners in the core. That was due to the appeal of Beale Street. West Tennessee is not that prosperous. Prosperous is Brentwood, a suburb of Nashville, richest city in ‘Merica. I snicker when “country music stars” from Brentwood claim to be from Nashville. Garth Brooks, Carrie Underwood, Dolly Parton. Trust me, folks, if they come from Brentwood, their concept of country is something you fly over. They are singing about things they’ve never experienced. But anyone who has watched “Citizen Kane” can imagine these billionaires longing for what money can’t buy. Must be nice.
Georgia is also a nice drive. That’s the area I reported has all the dead or dying little towns. The industrial base is gone and the grandkids all move away. But the area is so pretty with the pines and red clay, it’s all really there. And the camper pod brings it within financial range. Getting there is also nice if you avoid the Florida east. Northern Florida is a considerably different place than the deep south. Clean, prosperous, and full of the kind of people who don’t steal your bicycle. Yes, I want to buy a bigger place, but surely I can find a few dollars to play with until then.
