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Yesteryear

Thursday, July 31, 2014

July 31, 2014

Yesteryear
One year ago today: July 31, 2013, reads like gossip.
Five years ago today: July 31, 2009, date with Theresa.
Ten years ago today: July 31, 2004, take a look.

MORNING
           Go ahead, make my day, Florida. I wasted $18.50 trying to buy a $21.20 book because some people are so incompetent it is difficult to imagine. I put in my order y’day, they absolutely guaranteed it would be there at noon today. I explained how important their word was as I would be making a special trip back to Ft. Lauderdale for the book. I got there. No book. I got zero use for businesses that arrange their system so that if anything goes wrong, late, or missing, you get stuck for it instead of them. Up yours, West Marine. You lost a good customer, and by this, I hope, many more.
           I might not have told them off as badly had I known that was going to be the exciting part of the day. They wasted my time asking me the same questions up to five times. “When did you place the order?” That’s why I asked them when they would guarantee the book would be there. They appear to be unaware of what “guarantee” means and act like you’re the one being difficult.
           Agt. M and I held the meeting at a chicken burger joint. Nothing was resolved except that the clubhouse needs two air conditioners. I told him to insulate, but no. Then we decided to drink Gatorade and watch a movie since he’s got 400 channels. Yep, all bad. No movies except 30 year old reruns. I’ve heard of the good shows, like Breaking Bad, but he can’t get them.
           I scrolled through to channel 811. Cooking shows, dense comedy, reality poppycock, and have they quit showing beautiful young women on TV? I’m ex-phone company. I don’t even like to look at middle-aged housewife types much less hear them talking you-know-what.
           This is the plotting sheet I told about last day. See my notes, this is all scribbles about stuff not in the textbooks, or worse, badly described. I am now owner of a Nautical Almanac, but with half the year gone, it was hardly a bargain. Two books are needed, the Almanac is the lesser volume. Again, it is like bus schedule of the sun for the year. What I really wanted was the Sight Reduction Tables, Vol. II.

AFTERNOON
           Dang, Florida, make up your mind. Rain or shine, pick one. Actually, please rain so I can sit in the house and chill. My place is about an inch higher than the surrounding terrain, so relatively, I’m high and dry no matter what. Here’s an idea of the force of the water off one corner of my roof after just a few moments of rain that can last for hours.
           This neighborhood has undergone significant (at least to me) changes since I arrived in 2004. Nobody could have predicted this ten year ago, but I could be shopping in Germany some days and not know the difference. The character has changed to European and in particular middle and eastern European. Today I stopped to see the new Europa Market over on Federal and it threw me for a loop.
           No Russian-style lineups there. And the place is huge. Fully stocked and completely computerized, right down to individual re-order quotas that a cost accountant would love. Real time inventory. Spotless, cheery, with dining tables, full deli bar with what I know to be authentic food. I do believe I should learn the Slavic alphabet as most ingredients are borrowed words. Anyway, I’ll get you photos soon, and a lot of established markets in the area should be worried. It is not often I describe a store as beautiful.
           For the record, I got to this neighborhood by mistake. This is where the company had transferred me just before my second heart attack, the one that disabled me. I’ve been stuck here since because I don’t have the cash to move, an old story. I feel I’m doing better than many, but not these new immigrants, who are super-funded, super-savvy, and completely modern and educated. Nor do they take jobs. They don’t even think like lazy Americans. They open a business.
           Agt. M was not home [when I returned from Ft. Lauderdale, I need a lift to Home Depot. For reasons unknown, I had many electrical devices fail this week. My booster battery, my 12V DC/AC convertor, a handful of unrelated connectors and sockets, I know, it’s strange unless there was an EMP, but Agt. M, who has never lived without electricity, would have said something. I dropped a pill bottle full of 2” fine thread drywall screws on his doorstep. They are for the countertop in the clubhouse, 46 screws. He doesn’t know that’s his birthday present this year.
           By late afternoon, I had just three repairs completed. The power switch on the table saw. So I had fun. And the box for the universal charger is complete. Then I fixed the Panasonic, I dunno, what do you call that stupid thing, a tablet? Camera, android software, I use it to play music at bingo but the cheap headphone jack was cutting out. So I soldered a plug permanently in there – and cut that stupid speaker wire. It was still playing when the jack was in use. Not no more. I’m dismayed how poorly they build this rubbish. And how little electronic design has changed in all the years. As I said, my old Sony Walkman worked better.
           There’s some trivia for you. The Walkman almost never made it. Earlier, Sony had made a small recorder called the Pressman for reporters, but the Walkman was playback only. Sony knew the sound was fantastic, but when they added speakers and recording capability, it was too heavy and too expensive.
           But, like the phone company, Sony had a few crazies who did nothing but wonder around the place interfering with others and one of them figured with headphones, the user could mask out the ghetto blasters, which Sony also sold knowing they annoyed people. They never admitted this, saying instead it created “an adult’s own personal music space”, or some similar tripe. Even I bought one for several hundred dollars. Everyone used them at work, which is where I learned the music I play note for note to this day.

EVENING
           Two punk rock songs you might like. Bowling for Soup’s “Punk Rock 101”, with lyrics right from 60’s country music, and “Almost”, with a surprisingly novel video. (Bowling for Soup is from the same area of Texas as myself. Except they were rich enough to not work all day and had money for recording studios. But they are pretty darn good.)
           Here’s a photo of the left-handed guitar and the clubhouse security monitor. That’s the upright computer screen underneath the guitar. Soon the link will be over to my place where everything is recorded a second time. I warned them and I warn you, keep a good old XP computer separate from the Internet and in top-top operating condition. Don't use if for interactive files and you'll have a trusty storage system for years to come. This blog is stored entirely on an XP system. That's how come I know where everything is.
           Here's an oddball item. I submitted some terms to Newton's Telecom Dictionary, the guy who publishes a hefty tome of computer lingo and catch-phrases. Turns out he's for real and personally replied to my e-mail, also stating my submissions have been included. I admit my ulterior motive was to have a second source publishing many of the catch-phrases coined here, so I expect to be sending more.
           I may have watched ten hours of TV in the past twenty years. So, I thought to look back and see if I missed anything. Okay, 1994, top rated shows.

           Seinfeld – okay, I’ve seen this. Reruns. You cannot avoid Seinfeld reruns.
           ER – no idea. Emergency Room? I’ve heard of it. Sort of.
           Home Improvement – Maybe, can’t recall
           Grace Under Fire – I have no idea what this show is.
           NFL Football – not a chance
           60 minutes – is that the old news program? With the stopwatch thing?
           NYPD Blue – ah, that’s one of those lame cop shows
           Friends – I have no idea what this show is.
           Roseanne – took one look, that was enough.
           Murder, She Wrote – did they bastardize Agatha?

The bottom line: if I missed anything, it wasn’t on television.

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

July 30, 2014

Yesteryear
One year ago today: July 30, 2013, Boca Raton
Five years ago today: July 30, 2009, reads like a diary.
Ten years ago today: July 30, 2004, a blue moon.

DAY
           The day starts off quiet but stick around, we get into some awfully informative material shortly. Top story of the say is a guy who wants to build his wife a “pineapple tree” for her retirement party. That’s one happily married man, and this is the innards of the tree. Made from PVC. It is for decoration only, at first I thought he wanted to save the pineapple meat, but no. The cored pineapples fit over this stem, with a frock of cornstalk to complete the show. If you can’t follow this, you are in the wrong blog, seriously.
           I set out to spend $8 bucks today and spent $80. No details are forthcoming, but simple screws at Home Depot are like 2.5¢ each, drywall screws are 1.8¢ each. It is getting mighty expensive to build time machines and robots these days.
           By 9:00AM I drove up to Ft. Lauderdale and bought a tablet of blank marine plotting charts. I’m still examining them as they are another of those things you are supposed to know. The charts are different depending on what you buy, which is another indication of how puzzling, how strangely puzzling, celestial navigation can be. I required hours to study the parts the book doesn’t even say. Four hours, I think.
           Beyond that, the day was boring. I got a haircut and spent an hour at the library looking up definitions of stuff I don’t know. For example, I didn’t know that “front running” is when a stock broker places a small order of his own just before a large purchase order by one of his clients. The large order bumps up the price and you know the rest. (The library has no books, zero, on navigation.)
           Libraries mean trivia. I was looking up the specs for various kinds of alloys. When you buy steel or aluminum, you are always buying some kind of alloy. The temptation is to weld, braze, or rivet the pieces, but the wise men of robotics say no. It makes internal pieces difficult to maintain or replace. They say that beginners have no idea how many times robot components will malfunction. The correct approach is to bolt everything together.

           [Author's note 2015-09-30: the following passage is not clear. The closer we get to acquiring the tools to build a robot, the less the chances of that happening. Why? Because the major lesson we learn is that robots are a rich man's hobby. Except for trivial toys, it takes an organization with deep pockets. On the other hand, we do continual research on components. There is at least a hope in hell of inventing or improving a small component.]

           This got me researching the robotic components I know least about. Motors and batteries. I learned that prototype robots should be able to run six minutes. If that doesn’t sound like much, the experts say try it. I will. In addition, the books say all the transistors I own are unsuitable for motor control. They’ve worked so far, but all tests have been on the laboratory bench.
           Did I spend $80? I'm retired, you know, these things add up. Yes, that includes $3 for gas, $8 for stationary, $8 for breakfast, $5 for soup mix, $15 for screws (just said), you see how it fritters away. I got caught in the afternoon rain blast, that one cost $6 in the coffee shop to wait it out. Sadly, the only coffee shops left in Florida are the franchises. You can go to a regular restaurant, but the regular restaurants are all alike. Specials that aren’t really special, 50-something “career” waitresses, and no matter what you order, it's going to cost at least $8.
           The club shed, shown somewhere below, is looking more like a barn all the time, but it is clean and comfortable inside. The A/C is installed and I’m fronting the club $40 to build smooth and level work tables all around the inside. It’s one thing to laugh at how we evidently ran out of money half-way building the doors, but the only people laughing would be those who ran out money half-way through life. I might add to my critics that I have not seen any pictures of your work shed. At least we have one.
           And we are nearing the point where we’ll have the correct tools to build a robot that, hopefully, will be useful. One recurring theme is the steering method. Most beginner’s projects use differential wheel turning, you know, the robots that can spin around in place. Yet, people like us quickly notice this is not the form factor they send to Mars unless it has six wheels.
           The concession here is that to cover any real amount of territory, four wheels are needed. And in the standard “automobile” arrangement with two-wheel rear drive. The front wheels are for steering. One method is rack and pinion, but that is only one of several ways the steering wheel motion is transmitted. The whole arrangement that allows the inner wheel to turn sharper than the outer wheel is technically known as “Ackerman steering”. And it is far beyond our capabilities.
           Reading any robot book will always steer you to the jock version—fighting toys. The mine’s-bigger crowd who never really grow up. I’ve never watched a match but I read part of the rule book. It seems to be a field for rich fanatics, with some of the 400 pound robots costing $30,000 just in parts. The bouts are three minutes, being incapacitated for 30 seconds is considering a loss. Three judges award points of aggressiveness, damage, and strategy. Is that military enough for you? I mean, where else can little minds get points for aggressiveness.
           The obvious major defect is that these robots don’t introduce any new technology. They are not experimental platforms. Nor can they shoot, launch, or project anything, so how helpful is that? I don’t predict there will be any scientific breakthroughs from anyone who builds “combat robots”. It’s a field that places the focus on the wrong concepts.

EVENING
           What is this? Price progression of mac and cheese dinners. As seen here, the ultimate illustration of capitalism gone wrong. We are taught (in Econ 101) that prices will go down with volume production. This should happen even with inflation—price is a number. (If your monitor doesn’t show, the prices left to right are 60¢, 80¢, and $1.25.)
           The products are a no-name, then a sort-of-name, and last the daddy of all, KD. Why does the KD cost more than twice the newcomer, who supposedly still has fixed costs to recover? It emphatically is not twice the quality. Don’t make me laugh. These products are identical except in the imagination. Now don’t you be consuming any products deemed advertising-deficient.
           Oh yeah, your trivia. How about these? Did you know Coke pays more for the aluminum can than to make the drink inside it? A tuxedo is a tail-less dining jacket (not the whole garb). And the AM/FM switch on your radio stands for “American Music” and “Foreign Music”. And in America, there are two things that are certain besides death and taxes: shipping and handling. (Hey, it was a new joke back in 2014.)

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Tuesday, July 29, 2014

July 29, 2014

Yesteryear
One year ago today: July 29, 2013.
Five years ago today: July 29, 2009.
Ten years ago today: July 29, 2004, Mars airplane?

MORNING
           What’s this? Another band photo? Yes, but with a twist. I finally knuckled down and produced a gif. I never had reason to before, so I took ten stills from the last gig video. This is the first. I don’t have the camera or software to make rapid stills, nor does Win 7 appear to have any app to play them back. What I did was hold my camera up to the monitor while the video played and pressed the feature that takes three shots at a time. Unless I can automate the task, it takes too much time and talent.
           Taking advantage of my summertime lack of neighbors, I ran through the song list at high volume. The band has learned if they leave out a riff, I’ll play it on the bass and once I do, it is a challenge to get me to not play it without admitting an oversight. This compels others to pay more attention to their parts.

           Ah, some say, why that’s nothing more than my old “voicing” technique. Each must arrange what they play to match the size and sound of the band or get overshadowed. And yes, this band did reject the idea when I first suggested it. Not maliciously, mind you now, but because ALL musicians wrongly think they are naturally good at it until they go through the protracted and degrading process of learning otherwise.
           Why bring it up? Well, to brag of course. That’s all I ever do. You can tell by the way I never talk about my failures and frustrations. Braggarts never fail and my camper never leaks. Anyway, the technique works in reverse. While they are not consciously doing it yet (they still tend to play only their own part), the improvement is enough to allow me to introduce ever more musically pleasing bass lines. For example, a tune like Del Shannon’s “Runaway” has a muddy bass line during the instrumental. The bass now follows that poignant, some say melancholy, piano riff from Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata”.

           And who remembers the Ventures and “Pipeline”? That’s now got Mozart’s “Rondo a la Turka” overtones.
           Um, around a month back, the Carly Simon tune “You’re So Vain” was vetoed. Fine, I never liked it, but as a challenge, I learned that spicy bass intro. Hence, the keyboards had to learn the fill, and so on. It has rapidly instantly became one of our top crowd pleasers. Explain that. And it is the only song permitted to have a bass intro and yes, they do mention it every other time like it’s a favor. That, kids, is the grinding price of progress.
           Because this is Florida, I must qualify the above. I’m not saying I invented the technique. I didn’t say that. I’m not saying I’m first. I didn’t say that. I’m saying if anyone else is doing it, they’ve kept it a secret. I’m saying that. Nobody helped me work up this plan. I’m saying that. And I’ve never met anyone, not even one musician in Florida who is doing it right. I’m saying that. Point in time is important. If you show up tomorrow with somebody who beat me to it, that does not change a lick of what I just said at that point in time. Certain types of bad persons need to be told these things.

           [Author's note 2023: I came back to this date to put in a working example of the GIF that did not originally function. That's the reason I'd forgotten this clip and have said other GIFs were the first. Here is the finished product, now cropped and labeled "Taking a Bow" in my archives. My memory left out this whole session, I would have thought the first GIF was 15 years ago but the watermark on the original tells me I could not have attempted this so far back. Not shown is how weak I was in those days and unable to work even around my own place. But the length of these blog entries show I was always able to type and focus. Imagine today trying to type in three sections per day.
           It's a measure of blog evolution that this technology worked its way into a fairly static design at the time. That is, this blog was never intended to have even photos, much less photos that are relevant down to even the time of day they are taken. Enjoy the GIF, I sure enjoyed that gig. It was to be another four years before I could produce GIFs on demand.]



AFTERNOON
           Navigation is complicated to the point of seeming like magic. And I’m only learning the basics. It’s doubly amusing in that it is also one of those topics that let you know if you’ve been paying attention as life rolls along. Remember those schoolmates who could not understand why they should learn something they’ll never use? You won’t find any of those sort in a navigation class, believe you me.
           The reason is that a lot of that academic stuff, if you learned it when you had the chance, comes in handy. I learned the constellations and can pick out dozens of planets and stars since I was ten, so that helps. Knowing your trig makes it easier to follow the explanations. Same with modular (base 60) counting. Same with a dozen lesser disciplines that would be a real pain to relearn now.

           Yet I warned us about test-passing. So I can work the arithmetic, but certain concepts such as “Meridian Angle are perplexing. Still, I come up with correct answers so I must be getting close. Who recalls my plan to find a compromise horizon on the beach and use that for land sights? Well, one of my books, on page 108, tells me I don’t need that.
           While other books state the artificial horizon was only good for a noon sun sight, page 108 describes a technique for morning, evening, moon, planets, and stars. The major difference is since you are using a reflected image, you divide everything by two. I will begin practicing tomorrow. The results can be checked with an atlas. Um, oddly, the stars are quite easy to “shoot”. Even as the Earth turns, the stars stay in the same relative positions to each other. They don’t move like the sun, moon, and planets. Too bad no stars are visible around here.

           This is the artificial horizon. The colored plates are for dimming the sun. Clear glass plates are used for star sights. Water or “a more viscous liquid” floats inside the pan and reflects back through the plates. The angle, 25°, is carefully matched to the refractive index of glass.
           I have no intention of buying a boat, but the concept of celestial navigation on land fascinates me. For starters, dead reckoning is nothing. There are no winds or currents that throw a motorcycle off course. One’s estimated position is as simple as reading a road map. Dang, why didn’t I discover this before I set out for Cape Canaveral. I stop every few hours for gas anyway. Here’s where I remind us that there is no place on a motorcycle (other than the inconvenient saddlebags) to keep anything perfectly dry.

EVENING
           These show the progress on the robot hand, called “humanoid” by the eggheads. Upper right pic shows an Arduino Uno at the top and you see there is a size constraint for all internal working parts. I’m enthused that the Nova meet-up is finally moving ahead (since May) and some of the previous drop-outs are now returning. And they are volunteering parts and tools. Gee, more progress in a month than all that went before. Who’s behind all this?
           See the finger joints being printed? Several things to watch for. See how each piece must have a flat base? This is a condition of the design. Although it is possible to print shapes that have supporting stems, these have to be trimmed later.
           Next, look at the yellow plastic table. This has to remain heated during the print. The directions say to coat it with hairspray. But if you’ve ever dated a gal who used that junk, you know it builds up. Why not Teflon or silicon? I don’t know. Both printers belong to other members.
           There is a limit to the size of a print job. When these same pieces were examined last Thursday, I noted several defects but also got several ideas. For example, what would happen if I was to, at a strategic moment, lay a small axle or pin into the plastic during the print process?
           Overall, I was not thrilled by the quality of the printed objects. They are not the smooth and shiny examples that appear on the newscasts. The big deal has become printing artificial limbs for amputees but the motive there seems to be the warm fuzzies. Give me pure research any time.

Monday, July 28, 2014

July 28, 2014

Yesteryear
One year ago today: July 28, 2013, I lost $20.
Five years ago today: July 28, 2009, Internet scams.
Ten years ago today: July 28, 2004, a banquet.

MORNING
           Who recalls those useless “camping” mattresses. You know, the foam rubber pads that they claim you can roll up and take along. Every tried actually sleeping on one o’ dem bastards? Then you know what I mean by useless. Maybe if you piled six of them up. These things, look at the picture. That blue stuff on the bottom. Yeah, I got suckered into buying and only kept it because they cost so much. Well, a little further investigation shows that this material is ordinary anti-static foam.
           If you buy chips or computer parts, this is the foam that is in the package lining. Well, not quite, but close enough. It is pressure sensitive (changes resistance when squeezed) and won’t soak water (the little bubbles are individually sealed, unlike a sponge). This makes it a great waterproof suspension system for the solar panels.
           And you know how when scooters get older, the kickstand really bangs against the frame and muffler. This foam makes an excellent oil-proof padding, just add a couple of strip ties. I’ve got myself a two year supply. By the standards of purchasing custom made foam, this is cheap, cheap, cheap.
           Yes, the camper pod is already undergoing various upgrades based on the Canaveral Confunction. Once more, all wiring will be strung from the ceiling. All moving parts will be secured to the side walls. And the entire rear hatch will be custom built in the shop and later installed into the pod. The existing model worked, but it was problematic from the word go. And I didn’t like getting soaked in Winter Haven in the time it took to get the thing open. Right now, there is a bar across both doors, like on a castle or an old barn door. It works fine, but the lid must be opened first. But the dern rain couldn't wait.
           We also fixed the scooter headlight for the umpteenth time, meaning I’ve earned lunch over at Five Guys. And I’d like to finally install the safety switch on my table saw. This relates to the new clubhouse. I prefer to do the really, really fine work here. It seems to go better when I do such work in-house.

NOON
           Ah, motorcycle travel. Back what, four days now and I’m still peeling off layers of road grime. It gets into your pores where you can’t get at it. Takes around six showers. And Oil of Olay, thick layers of it against leather-face, as in Florida I don’t use the full face helmet. Too hot. When can I get back to my nice, quiet celestial navigation. I’m too busy to be this busy. I’ll have to show you my new timestamp device. It consists of an old wristwatch in the corner of the robot eye. Hey, it works.
           Now a treat for the naysayers. This one-of-a-kind photo shows the robot club meeting, but with wry intent. I told you how the others rejected my home-made appendage as not the correct approach. Well, what do we see here? People doing exactly what they said was wrong and you can see me helping out. Listen to me folks, I started from below the bottom, I’ve climbed every rung of the ladder without any help. At least hear me out.
           There was a time I’d never set foot off campus, but back then I was half these people’s ages. Oh, they would disagree that they have become followers, but I told you about the Russian guy who stays back and watches what is really going on? That’s him chuckling at the far right. So there.
I’m guessing the true cost of printing a finger to be around $30 and not the $6 quoted at the meeting. Careful of signing up for things, as the primary contact for Nova is a third-party web site.
           Thus, you get a lot of shifty operators claiming to be a hobby or club, but they are selling memberships and startup kits. Beware. If you think about it, there can be no such thing as a truly free pottery class. And the feminist and/or self-help groups? All of them talking confident, independent, and assertive—until the first time any little thing goes wrong, then watch them scatter.
           And while we are on that topic, the robot meet-up has changed its entire format to humanoid robot. Fancy that. And the writer’s club has changed to “memoir writers”. Fancy that, too.


AFTERNOON
           Finally, an afternoon to do what I wanted. Which was to doze off here in the cool air and read my peaceful, quiet tables. An imaginary trip across the Mexican isthmus with the sun. Drinking quinine water and turning everyone away from the door in less than five minutes. Well, unless they had business. Agt. M wanted to work in the new clubhouse, but the A/C isn’t connected yet. You want to work out there today, you go right ahead.
           I’m ready for the next stage of navigation. This requires a small investment in charts and tables, so wait for August. Since cruises get kind of expensive, I wonder if there is some type of simulator available. The navigator takes five readings per day, the obvious noon reading being the least important. It gives you your latitude, indirectly, mind you. But the calculations and procedures are now clear, that is, I could pass the exam. I need some hands-on.
           Let me write down the steps again: (Remember, this journal is also my log.)

                      Record your dead reckoning position on a chart.
                      Take the sextant (sun’s altitude) and time of day.
                      Use the time of day to look up the sun’s “Geographic Position” or GP.
                      Choose and assumed point (the only complicated part).
                      Compare the sun’s angle at the GP to what you measured.
                      Mark a calculated position on a line to or away from said assumed point.
                      Repeat after several hours, and the two lines should cross.
                      That’s where you are at, in theory.

EVENING
           This is a day the way things are supposed to go. Peace and quiet. I didn’t even take up an offer to go for coffee. Me, refuse a coffee? Stranger things have happened. I fell asleep in the rocker and did finally bike up to Drunkin for a late cup. The place up on Federal. That’s always full of big-talking old men. Who drive cars they can’t really afford. You know the ones, pushing seventy and think they can open a pizza parlor. Wallace probably knows that crowd.
           I’m also re-thinking a camper anti-theft package. It is not enough to alarm it, but somehow it must be immobilized to the point that a theft attempt becomes loud and clear. It was a treat to park the camper at the Canaveral Jetty and trip around town light and easy. But that was a gated park with a guard who was taken by the unit when I drew up. My thinking is something that blocks the hitch and freezes the tires in place. Then it could only be stolen by picking the thing up, which requires four men.

ADDENDUM
           I’ve just been informed that Jackie, the maintenance guy from the club, passed away last Thursday morning. Knew the guy eight years, he used to keep an eye on my equipment during the week. He didn’t make a fuss over anyone and demanded the same in return. Those who didn’t understand that nicknamed him “the troll”, but I knew a different character.
           Over the years, he had told me what he’d never said to the others. He had a wife and kids and a corporate job. He’d done the house and the mortgage. I don’t know where, but it must have been in his distant past. The job had driven him to drink, although I never saw him touch a drop. I chummed with the guy a few times, went up to the Legion in Dania.
           I don’t grieve much over such events, I see them as natural in the continuum. For the record, that leaves two from the original “gang”, the crowd that was at the club that day I walked in back in 2006. That’s Sammyford and myself. And neither of us is signing up for the Olympics.

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Sunday, July 27, 2014

July 27, 2014

Yesteryear
One year ago today: July 27, 2013.
Five years ago today: July 27, 2009, $1,000,000 shack.
Ten years ago today: July 27, 2004, Mars weather.

MORNING
           The Canaveral trip books are closed. It cost me $179.15 inclusive. I’ll get you the breakdown another day, but half the cost was gasoline, somewhat higher due to the side trip to Winter Haven. Once again, avoiding the rip-off hotel/motel scams, I did everything, ate the best places, and passed by nothing because it was too steep. Every cent saved goes to pure enjoyment. Maybe I can no longer afford to live uptown, but I still enjoy my kind of places.
           The books also revealed I am $71 over budget this month. Not bad, considering most people would not know if they were or not. Ah, I just remembered. I bought that universal battery charger and lent a guy $35. Got it. See, I was right on top of that.

           The trip exhausted my savings and by the looks of that picture, my energy as well. It was warm out there. And another thing, I don’t believe most people who tell me they saved up for something. These days I need proof, such as a systematic deposit of cash into a segregated account that matches the trip duration and cost.
           You see, I find those who claim they saved up are generally liars. They usually juggled some other finances to come up with enough cash to do something, but that is not at all the same as regimented, regular savings. Like I did. This trip took me four months savings at $45 per month. And wahhhh, I still have not seen a real rocket launch.
           Ah some say, but I took several short trips in four months. Yes, but those were budgeted for, not saved up toward. I said it when I was starting out in life, if you work you must reward yourself. Thus, to me, a budgeted trip is not a special event. It is something built into my design of things. But this satellite launch, I had to save extra.

AFTERNOON
           Following is a scenario anyone who knows me will find familiar.
           A successful band rehearsal. This band has got to be one of the most well-documented startups of all time, at least for a band that isn’t famous enough to have their own historians. I read back on my long recital of complaints—and I ratify these are accurate to what really happened.
           My ratio of twelve to one is complaints to compliments is probably better than normal for a band of this size. There’s another development in that the band has finally (I’m not going to say I told you so) dropped the price to get a first gig down to $200.

           There’s more. The band is finally learning to analyze the stage work, to focus on the problem songs and there’s a marked improvement in error recovery. Of course, I’m happier, as they are also doing it my way, but with a long enough separation they could deny it. This probably could not be helped, as this band still has a severe case of gittaritis and would resist any idea from a non-guitarist. But it’s moving faster than the wasted six years with the Space Hippie and Cowboy Mike.
           Some may say I manipulated the situation, but maybe I just wasn’t up to wasting another year. Fact is, the band if finally acting as a more cohesive unit and as far as I’m concerned that means time to start recording originals. Once you get a “sound”, you have nothing to lose. As for my methods, in music, the end justifies the means. It is a cutthroat business.

           It says a lot that the other groups I joined never got that far, not even to the elusive demo tape. I’m not against studio work, but I am against deception or recording something that would never sell. Sadly, none of the audio recordings from the last gig turned out. My Kodak microphone was too sensitive and clipped every note. Next time, I record through the PA. Hold on. I no longer have any gear that can do that. Then I’ll borrow something. If we are not gigging, we should be recording. The band has reached a plateau where we are not getting any better just rehearsing.
           But we are getting better. I kept playing on the upper strings (many non-bassists don’t like that) until they took the low end fat out of the PA. Now the bass is again audible across the full range. Stage confidence, and they still have a long way to go, is enough that everyone now leaves the bass playing alone. Is this relevant? Yes, because the band is, possibly without realizing the extent, taking on more complicated music than most other local bands dare to touch. This is my turf.
           I won’t give any examples, since to non-musicians, complicated can mean different things. What doesn't make sense is why isn't this band going anywhere? I mean besides the fact they won't listen to me because I am "only" a bassist.

EVENING
           Okay, Agt. M, I agree there would be more room in my place if I hung my bicycle from the ceiling. But let’s be fair. You are a weightlessness fanatic, I’m not. My bicycle weighs more and it would dent the ceiling of my Florida room. And the weight means I can’t pick it up with one hand.

           Another warning. When these bicycles are converted to electric drive, forget about mass. The batteries can tip the scales at 38 pounds each. And the drive motor has have copper coilings. Trust me, a bicycle ten feet in the air isn’t what you plan for at my age.
           My Win 7 computer barely avoided defenestration. Now, it won’t let me into my own control panel. Says I don’t have the authority. Please, world, somebody go back to building real computers again. Even Apple has fallen on that count.

           Then again, I’ve found Win 7 locks and blocks are very easy to defeat. Win 7 is full of quirks that won’t let you get away with certain things but all of them seem to be designed to fool only the generation since DOS. These blocks, such as the Program File (x86) attribute that won’t allow files they don’t like (such as Lame which is used for copying MP3s) can be defeated by copying a shortcut. This is the same situation as Nova. When a problem is encountered, I try to figure it out, others start searching for an app to do it for them.
           I’m not saying anything else about that.

Saturday, July 26, 2014

July 26, 2014

Yesteryear
One year ago today: July 26, 2013, filler.
Five years ago today: July 26, 2009, vanishing point perspective.
Ten years ago today: July 26, 2004, diving buddies.

MORNING
           Here is the St. Jude’s iconostasis, arrived by e-mail this morning. That’s Alaine on the far left, you can’t fool me when it comes to pretty women. But she has kidnapped my best buddy and turned him into a delivery driver who never packs his own cell phone. The article proofread for this church display is being published in Sophia magazine, I’ll put up a link if I hear about the date. But, ahem, we pretty much know over here how it will read.
           I received news today that Jackie, the staff guy from the club, passed away Thursday at 2:13PM, the exact time the police were helping me start the sidecar. He was ailing and it was a combination of things. That’s the guy whose father was an “expediter”, the guy who makes sure the hotel meals are all equally appealing when served. Return tomorrow for my thoughts on this.
           I got news from Miami that explains why JZ has disappeared. He’s got a job again. I don’t have the details but that makes no sense at all. There was only one thing I could do about the situation. I made a big bowl of fish fritters and took the day off. I’ve found this to be the solution to most of life’s problems. I use the powdered mix, it is identical to home-made, and I add baking powder so they puff up like this!

           Then I surfed the Internet for bass news. Generally to keep up with what is going on in the world of bass playing and making damn sure I am not sucker enough to fall into it. What gives me a laugh is these skinny teen chicks struggling to play a full size bass. It looks like they are fighting an arthritis attack. Gals, the sound of a bass is totally electronic, so find an instrument that fits your body size. Here’s a classic example of the wrong way to go about it.
           This gal looks like her boyfriend talked her into it with his “bass is easy” line. It is so heavy she has to play the thing sitting down. How do I know? Brains, that’s how. First, the boyfriend is a guitar whacko who can’t get into a band, or this would not happen. She has to splay her elbow out to get the right wrist angle for finger playing, which is a stupid idea to begin with. She’d last a half-hour on stage. Her thumb rests on the E-string, meaning she can’t play any notes there. I could go on, but you get the point or you shouldn’t be here.
           I’ve found yet another topic not covered on the Internet. I know that’s why some of you come here. How about building paint camouflage. No, not the stripes painted on the sides, but whole city blocks disguised by paint to look like something else. You’d think the Internet would be a magnet for obscure knowledge.
           But instead it attracts the shallow-minded. You get huge gaps of information. For instance, I know long ago that Moscow painted the city to look different and [it is known] the German bombers fell for the ruse. Factories were painted on open squares and cottages painted on the roof of real plants.
           But there is no mention (in plain words) of this fantastic technique. Here is the one photo I recall, since I was like eight years old when I first saw it. This looks like two separate buildings with a street running between them. Yet it was one giant government office. This technique worked fine yet there is no particular site that gives info on this major event.
           And these guys who have enough time to waste drawing chalk on sidewalks think they’re so great.

DAY
           Now that Guitar Center has removed the musician’s board, I take the occasional peek at Craigslist again. Same core pack of losers who will NEVER get into a band are again dominating the site. What? Oh, well, Guitar Center now teaches lessons and the board, including the ads seeking musicians, is not compatible with that. There are around 35 – 40 guitarists out there who think only in terms of themselves fronting a rock power trio. As I said above, I was looking for bass news.
          This photo is here solely to improve the balance of the blog appearance.
           But they [the guitar players] are not good enough and never will be. What I noticed was the upswing in ads for available bassists. Did half the bands in town break up and I heard nothing? I don’t know these people personally, but I watch every move they make. The blazes, suddenly there are seven "pro" bass players on the market.
           Did it suddenly start raining bassists? And these are the clone crowd, all with the same big old war club of a bass, the same faggy limp-wrist style, same old “thumpitty” demo songs. All seeking working situations. All dryly pumping out perfect notes measure after measure without a hint of true grit bass spirit.
           Finally getting around to updating the Bingo lists, I’ve discovered I really don’t like the Android interface. It is another of those designs for ignoramuses who accept the default settings and never go beyond that. I remember when the MP3 players came out and all the “whiz kids” could not understand why they didn’t play all their favorite music. They used to come into our shop and ask us to "fix" them. Yep, that’s the real “computer generation”. No brainers. Plus the Androids all have the MicroSoft gimptard settings, where a typo sends you to never-never land. Or opens a modular window with no cancel button.

           [Author's note: I submitted toned-down versions of these phrases to Newton's Telecom on July 31, 2014.]

EVENING
           Sell-out bingo, and the biggest selling point is the country music. One guy won $208. And this is a pub with maybe a quarter the capacity of the big veteran halls. And those who say country music isn’t a winner in this town are not paying attention. Still, when I add up tonight, I’m looking forward to the quiet simplicity of reading about celestial navigation.
           Time for a quick status report on that subject. It’s beginning to melt. The sextant measures the angle of something in the sky to the horizon. You then compare that angle, to some known spot where the sun would be on that same day and same time. But that is actually the easy part, it requires three or four easy additions and subtractions. This places your probable position somewhere along a line. Ah, but isn’t navigation supposed to tell you where you are? That’s what I thought.
           Nope. You then have to go through some hoops to determine the closest known spot to where you are, and where you are is determined by guesswork. That is the part called dead reckoning. And I reckon that is about where I am in the study. This is where the going gets tough. (You could technically use any known spot, but the one closest to your position is the most accurate. I'm learning.)

ADDENDUM
           Maybe I wasn’t clear enough about the book, “Blue Highways”. I did not read it because from the first chapter, it was “hippy prose”. That affected style of English majors trying to space out in the ‘60s. They used weak metaphors (eg. "her slacks with creases as straight as an accountants left margin") and your last acid trip was supposed to do the rest. Additionally, I can be stone-cold against "travel" authors who won’t say what their costs were, and that doubles for the ones who mislead on the topic.
           My reasons are easy to follow. It costs money to travel. I don’t believe, then or now, the author’s claim to have made a road trip of 13,000 miles for $438. In today’s money, that is 14¢ per mile, and that is, how you say, complete bullshit. In fairness, I remind the reader that the US abounded with this type of “free spirit” book during that era. The concept of doing your own thing was rampant, but I also know it cost a lot of money to be a hippie. You needed expensive bellbottom jeans, a pad, and incense isn’t free you know.
           There were books about hippy safaris and European tours and hitchhiking across America. Well, I did a little hitchhiking not by choice and it is not high adventure. More to the point, that author was a treaty Indian and I believe he received regular increments of public (welfare) money along the way. He says he mainly ate in restaurants the whole time. Is what he wrote wrong? No, but the implication that anyone can shuck off society and take off down the road is very misleading.
           Now, you just can’t expect me to read many such books. If I ever get enough free money, I might change my mind about that.

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Friday, July 25, 2014

July 25, 2014

Yesteryear
One year ago today: July 25, 2013, Bozo Award.
Five years ago today: July 25, 2009, beach in the Keys.
Ten years ago today: July 25, 2004, boat ride.

           Zero recovery time. That’s what I get when I travel by cPod, and (pun intended) that makes me one happy camper. One does not get exhausted like on regular car trips. It could be anything, maybe just the slower pace, but if you think I was sold before, well. Here is a photo of the book “Blue Highways”. By chance, I met a guy reading this at the Jetty in Cape Canaveral. I’ve heard of it. This award-winning book was purpose-written about travels, something this blog is not. But what a coincidence. In the background is Jetty Park, facing away from the Canaveral launch facilities.
           As mentioned, the band is starting to behave as a more coherent unit. Nothing in August, but two bookings already for September, which begins “the season”. I’m not jesting when I say the band is slowly coming around to being broken in to my liking. However, it took the addition of the new vocalist, something I have no control over. At her behest, the band is slowly making the changes I pushed for over a year ago. Coincidence? Or just a pretty face?
           The band is slowly wising up to the appeal of country-like music (while denying it is country) and is lowering prices down to ridiculous levels to get a foot in the door. (I say if we go that route, at least play for free in a fancy place. These guys are targeting the Legion Halls.) What a pity they didn’t listen, but you don’t go around trying to change musicians. Agt. M came by early enough for brunch at Senor CafĂ©, where these changes (the robot meet-up and the band) were discussed in some detail. I say we should be happy because we now have access to a 3D printer and the band is producing. (Both of these were to prove false leads withing the month.)
           I’m aware these changes took far too long. But Agt. M did not attend the sessions, so he is unaware of the moods which set the pace. It’s not like I’m going stand up in front of either group (Nova U or the new band) and point out how they are just now where they’d be if they’d listened to me. I’ve seen people insulted to success, but it isn’t my way--it takes too long. Example, my eye, I get paid to set an example. M still uses the skill saw for everything. Sanding, chipping, shaping, you name it, but without any safety gear as shown here. On the other hand, I wear a hard hat and safety glasses while painting.

           My point is, people only learn by example when they know they have to. Nova’s a case study. Moments after they said they would never “reinvent”, the entire room was reduced to just that while the Russian and I laughed on the side. Usually they glance at their watches but this time the meeting was an hour over and only closed with the security guard said he was locking the gate.
           But learn from example? Nonsense. If Agt. M won’t follow example, how can he expect it to work with strangers? It isn’t like he followed my planning methods on day one, either. There must be a need to learn. Besides, one slip of that saw and he’ll be singing soprano, supporting immigration, and voting Democrat.
           Here’s an unusual discovery. Watch how the factors above intertwine. One of the books soaked in the rain last Wednesday was the atlas from 2012. The pages also go wet back then and I dried them by placing paper towel between each page. They again got wet. When I learned about blue highways, I went back to check the colors of the atlas. Behold, under 10x magnification, several overprints of the maps were made visible by the differing absorbencies of the inks. I failed to get a good photo, but by angling the leaves, one can see how the map of New York has had the freeways and tourist route markers overprinted on a far older map. The newer soy-inks shine even after being wet.
           Trivia. Did you know knghts were not dubbed by a sword on the shoulder? That is an English fairy tale. In reality, most knights were French. They were slapped on the face instead. The idea is that is the last time they would be struck without avenging the deed. And we know to this day how such actions instilled a brutal fight-to-the-death spirit in all succeeding French armies. Except Napoleon, who wasn’t really French, see.

           PS the “Blue Highways” book is based on the old map-maker’s habit of marking secondary roads in blue ink. There is no connection between that author’s avoidance of fast food as my decision was based on dietary information unavailable in his day. Also, my off-freeway routing is also unrelated to his hippy van. My motive is because I drive a motorcycle and dislike big trucks. The book is available on youTube audio. Be aware that other differences exist. Like a Canadian, he goes to a restaurant and describes the people; like a patron, I describe the food.
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Thursday, July 24, 2014

July 24, 2014

Yesteryear
One year ago today: July 24, 2013, banned college video.
Five years ago today: July 24, 2009, touring around.
Ten years ago today: July 24, 2004, analemma?

           Good morning Winter Haven. It sits between a host of small towns and cities smack in the middle of nowhere, which is the jungle and bombing ranges south of Disneyworld. Nope, not kidding, look it up. The reason I backtracked to Kissimmee is there isn’t even a direct road through them barrens. I wanted to spend a day there but next time. The train station was definitely on the other side of the tracks. But I remembered Nell’s, the food place and I wanted breakfast.
           Here is the pod somewhere in that town or nearby. It looks surprisingly dry for the terrible soaking I got last evening. It is possible to dry my laundry in the sidecar, which I did only to find on arriving in Okeechobee that my best shirt was missing. Hey, it’s a parcel of the adventure. Back in Winter Haven, I quickly found Nell’s Country Kitchen. Biscuits and gravy.

           I was well into chatting up the cashier before learning she runs the place—see, I knew she exuded to much authority to escape my attention. Instant sparks, so I cautiously left my contact info. My kingdom for a gal who can keep up with me. And I don’t mean by slowing me down, okay? I found the road south, it goes past Legoland. It resembles a small castle, but it was early and I was late. Before long I rode into Okeechobee, another town without a used book store.
           But the logic for Florida says that before can you have used books, you need people who read books in the first place. If anyone missed the point I’m making, you might like Okeechobee. Seriously, I pulled into the most hippy-looking coffee shop I could find. Interestingly, everybody in the place struck up a conversation with me except the one pretty gal in the corner. She talked to all the others, but not me. Not even a where-you-from.

           Before dawn, I had spread my papers on the tables to dry, shown here. It was an utter inundation you can see the handwritten notes I kept on the trip. If you are right now reading about it, then I successfully recovered the majority of it. Back toward Miami in that part of the world are huge dairy farms and sugar cane plantations.
           Mostly, I thought about the flubbed satellite mission and when I’ll ever get back that way. This was some twenty miles west of Canal Point when my motor died. Oh no, miles from anywhere and a storm on the horizon. Within minutes, a squad car pulled over. He was on his way somewhere but said he’d check back on the return leg to see how I was doing. The road is too high speed with no shoulders for anyone to be the Good Samartan.

           To my dismay, I found all three of my batteries had died. The Honda, the booster pack, and my beauty, the marine RV cell. Last night I told you of the panic to get out of the rain and I must have elbowed the power switch. Why else was it off? Now what. Around ten minutes later, a second squad car pulled up. Two patrol guys who instantly saw my situation. These guys saved my bacon. They pulled around and helped me boost, which failed. But I explained the grounding problem.
           We uncoupled the trailer, gave a short push, and the unit fired right up. Thanks guys, this is your best report card, Palm Beach county. They even parked the flashers so I could get off the grass onto the roadway safely. The younger guy was fascinated by the wagon electronics, particularly the relay bypass. He said he wished he could do such wiring and all I could do was advise him to start reading. Seriously, you won’t learn the right things by watching or listening. I wish there was something I could do to make the path easier.

           I quickly opened the throttles and did the speed limit plus five all the way back home, arriving here at just after 3:00PM. No satellite, one breakdown, $21 worth of coffee (the figure $31 stated elsewhere was wrong). Of course, I’ll tally up the total cost and post it soon. No rocket and I’ve been waiting since I was six to see that event. That’s how far back the disappointment reaches on this one. There has to be another time. And I’m taking my sextant.
           Here is a larger photo of a river dredge. The barges are placing the tailings on that artificial island on the opposite bank. Where I was on the Jetty, there was a gap between the island and shore where it was possible to see the launches begin, albeit miles away. When the island is complete, it will block this free view completely. That's so pitable, that we pay taxes that enable these space adventures, but we must pay again to watch them spend our money.


ADDENDUM

           [Author's note 2022: the following passage is hard to read. It is pasted in from an old robot club record and details the time I took a hand-built robot finger to the NOVA robot club meeting. The other "team" showed up with a 3D printed hand. But they could not make it work. The snarky sound of the following is because the leader of that other team seriously did not like me. Probably just a personality clash, since my team was the one that got things done and made him, the "leader" of the meetup, look like the fat, useless blob that he was. That's the guy who loved to cancel meetups by text messaging and who stole the 3D printer.]

           I raced to get there, but I got to the meetup in time to see the results. Recall, a month ago I pushed through the “build” proposition, but only succeeded because others were absent. Even though the change was reflected in their announcements, there was a real chance things could just as rapidly have been undone. I was happily surprised, but get ready for some barbs. I forget who said it, but when you get educated, you can get yourself into far more intellectual troubles.
           Imagine my glee to walk in on an entire room fiddling with robot fingerjoints. Aha, this meetup now has us (myself and Agt. M) painted all over it. For which we may or may not get credit. After months of inactivity, somebody went out and bought a 3D unit. It produced these primitive, but working pieces. My contention was how the meetings had to become so intense that a single miss would leave others behind. Ha, I got away with it and nobody appears to notice.

           I know this was a psychological ploy, but it worked, didn’t it? I spotted long ago my usual approach (let the other guy think he’s on board) was not getting the fire lit. As the oldest attendee, I saw the others were mainly beginners apt to reject anything from my direction. So it was psychology or nothing. As long as things keep moving ahead, I was right--so pray it keeps moving.
           The attitudes are still there. When I brought in my home-made finger, a lot of noses got turned up. But that cool Russian dude knows the score and he sits back quietly watching my progress. All these guys were fumbling with the pre-fab fingers and some ventured to say I my finger reinvented the wheel. That’s what a bunch of rookies we got there. The hypocrisy was ten minutes into their trial-and-error play, it was, “Let me see that finger of yours again.” That was fun to see.
           No, I didn’t say it, but I was tempted. What I said was the backwards approach you use when dealing with bratty kids. I quoted the guy who said I had to keep reinventing the wheel, not because we need better wheels, but because we need better inventors. Look at 'em go, and yes, I did spot the irony in it all. Hypocrisy has a subtle aroma.
           But I’m there to learn. I instantly commissioned the printer guy to first perfect his technique, then build me two thumbs. Two? Yes. One for them, one for me here at home. I see his printer is not so great with small holes. This is a new printer, not the one from the kid in Miami who quit showing up. Hopefully the round of Internet photos this time will bring him back into the fold. He’ll see progress—and I was only in charge a few moments—which was enough for me. Now let the other guy take over.

           I also learned the plastic is melded together with acetone. We have a surplus of acetone over here. Remember that summer I spent making taxi dome lights at Taylor Plastics? I had forgotten about acetone, so I learned that back, thank you Nova. Also, keep your old acetone in small bottles. You throw your little plastic shavings in there. They dissolve to about about an 8% concentration and this makes the glue work better.
           There’s more. I was informed of an obvious fact I overlooked. Each piece printed on the 3D must be designed to have at least on flat surface. Think about that. What’s more, there is an improved video that shows the hand as not having full functionality. The thumb and pointer are controlled independently, but the remaining three fingers move as a unit. I did not ask the obvious question of why waste the effort of making nine joints when three would work.
           I learned the “cables” that serve as tendons are 200 lb braided (not monofilament) fishing line. Which is not a special order item. Only 80-lb test is sold locally. It has a strong surface friction “bite” and it takes and holds a knot. The lower photo shows a spool of this thread and a stepper motor in the upper right corner. That motor technology is still to be learned. Give me 24 hours.

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

July 23, 2014

Yesteryear
One year ago today: July 23, 2013, diets, prices, the first pod.
Five years ago today: July 23, 2009, contains DNA.
Ten years ago today: July 23, 2004, return from Ocean Reef.
Random years ago today: July 23, 2014, the spectacular non-launch.

           What do you see in this picture? I saw nothing. Because the launch was scrubbed with two hours and three minutes to go. Hello from Cape Canaveral, Florida. This view is from the Jetty (capitalized), the best spot between view and cost you’ll get. It is in northeast Port Canaveral. The admission is $15 if you are not a resident, another smelly rip-off. But my rate was $5 for a motorcycle. I quickly grabbed the best spot, unhitched, and spend the day touring Cocoa Beach.
           That crane on the left is not space equipment, but a river dredge. If you look back near the center horizon, you can just make out the tops of some gantry towers, about five miles away. The trees block the line-of-sight. The rocket would lift off slightly right of dead center. I got to this spot just before dawn after a relaxing and quiet night at Spanky’s parking, next to a noisy roadway. But the new pod fan blocks exterior noise well enough I no longer need white noise. (I installed a white noise generator but have not had to use it.)
           Ah, but you want details of the day. I stayed mostly on Merritt Island, kind of pricey. I found Gina’s, a little deli where I had an egg on rye, asking more questions about the launch view. It appears all the watch-for-free spots are now off limits. Even where the SLC (sight launch complex) is visible, the trees are being allowed to grow thirty feet high to block even the view from sitting on the roof of your RV. There are a few places that will let you park but won’t tell you the fee until you’ve wasted five minutes talking. Also, they will not guarantee you can see the launch pad, only the plume.

           On the regular launches, the crowd seems small enough. To find the Jetty, turn eastbound onto George King Boulevard. A few “experts” I asked gave me directions back to “barge road”, the area near the oil tanks I chose long ago. All you get is a wild goose chase, as the entire road is not clearly posted as no parking. At the Jetty, there is a second floor above the Bait Shop with the best view you’ll get. The river dredges are busy creating an island of dredge dumpings to block even this view. But at $280 for a hotel room, stick with the Jetty.
           Here is a shot of the oil tanks shown by satellite in the 19th, proof I was there. This town gobbles money, coffee alone is setting me back $13.46 per day. Return after I get home for a list of my actual expenses. Be prepared to triple your daily intake of cold liquids. Once I got my spot, I went on a tour of the town. I met a redhead who was “Queen of the Thrifts” who let me follow her to one with some books. There are no used book stores in Cocoa Beach.
           Around ten minutes into the conversation, just before I had to tell her I’d found the book of my dreams and could no longer chat, she let it slip out that she was married. It was now five hours to launch time. Most of the Thrifts are selling much the same things. She said the best was the Catholic Thrift, which is a regular house, so you go from room to room to find things. Don’t walk into the last room in the boutique without knocking, or you may see the side of some women you don’t want to see. I want to see everything about young women, nothing about old ones. There are exceptions, just not around here. I found a book on geometry, which was far more interesting than most married women, and took a walk to the end of the pier.

           The park maintains a fishing permit, so no license is needed to fish off the pier. The fishermen were quite excited to see a surfer hauling a huge “grouper”(?) ashore. Biggest fish I have ever personally seen anyone catch, but I don’t know the details of this one. I don’t know fish, but that looks like three months of fishburgers. I could hear then say it was good eating.
           The pier is quite long, and I hate to say it but even the young women are not as good looking as back in my day. Heavier set, not as defined, and any with a tramp stamp are instantly rejected. And even at the beach, they sure do pile on the makeup. Must be something they pick up from television.
           The launch. It was first set back from 6:00PM to 7:03PM. I carefully chose a Delta IV heavy lift as the one to see in case I only ever see one. This is an air force spy rocket, not a NASA event. Then, just after 5:30PM, the guy from the bait shop waves me over. The launch has been scrubbed, postponed for 24 hours. I had been joking for the past few days about the “conspiracy” to prevent me from seeing the launch. “They” tried everything, detours, bad Honda wiring, closed bridges, camper problems, you name it, but I was ready for their cabal, only to be defeated by a bad cooling center.
           It’s a version of Occam’s razor. He’s the monk that said pick the simplest explanation, in this case, a conspiracy. Was I joking? Well, not in one sense, because it was not the simplest explanation, but the simplest one that covered all the bases. Until further notice, I was jinxed. The net effect was a fizzled launch. I learned a lot, however./ I can’t stick around, but now I know where and where not to visit in the area. I know I only need six hours lead time, I know where to park, and I know how much it costs. Pay attention, because the locals don’t even know these points are important. Here I am, exhausted from talking to the masses.
           To make something of the trip, I asked how long it took to get to Winter Haven. Forty-five minutes was the usual response, which of course was a lie. More like three hours. I took the side road via St. Cloud, the type of country road I prefer. I had to drive through Kissimmee, where the fire department likes to ignore the big empty parking lot next door and block the streets during rush hour.
           I made into Winter Haven, through the sections of a big city I did not see last month. If I’d gone a single block further in most directions, I would have not taken it for a sleepy little town. The pod is now thoroughly tested, but not ready. I was hit by a flash storm that soaked everything. It takes nearly two minutes to open the hatch and crawl inside. By then, the rain got everything wet, including my mattress and sleeping bag, pillow and the Kodak camera. The road maps, my notes, all my clothes, all had to be left overnight. I was up at 6:00AM, I should point out that even when wet or damp, it is still warm overnight in Florida.

           To make this clearer, the camper pod did not leak. Rather it was the time required to get the camper open and crawl inside that caused things to get wet. And the same thing in reverse in the morning. The camper requires better, larger hatches. Preferably something that opens and provides a shelter. There is rarely much warning in Florida of a rainstorm, as the skies usually have rain clouds and it can downpour while the sun is bright.
           Exiting in the morning in fact takes longer. It's one of those things that was not important at the planning stage. It still requires a full twenty minutes, no shortcuts, to get the cPod buttoned up, including pack up time, the walk-around, and the light check. It was too early for Nell’s the spot I found last trip, so I had coffee at McDonald’s and began drying out my papers.
           So, how was your day?