One year ago today: July 11, 2013, passwords and privacy.
Five years ago today: July 11, 2009, reads like a diary.
Ten years ago today: July 11, 2004, Marco Island.
Sometimes you just can’t help wondering what can go wrong with a good situation. You are in luck today, because we can answer that. Imagine us driving to the bakery. Say, Agt. M, you said you didn’t like your futon. Look there, a brand new solid wood futon on the side of the road. Three hours later, do you have any idea how many ways a three piece futon can fit together? We finally got it. Standing back to admire our handiwork, let’s tear off all those pieces of tape.
Look, M, some of these pieces of tape have letters on them. Hey, they fit together, here’s an “R”. What, you have an “N”? And so on. Now we know why such expensive furniture was abandoned. How do you spell “CRIME SCENE”. Crime? What, they took the mattress for evidence and threw out a brand new futon? Actually, it was missing a few bolts and such, child’s-play for us to fabricate in the new robot room.
Here, look for yourself. That’s not laminate, it is solid wood. I spent the remainder of the day on my cPod. I was able to put in two three-hour shifts, an endurance I have not had in ten years. Before I describe some design changes, bear in mind I purposely built the camper on the large size. I can trim pieces better than build them up. The first pass made the camper interior far larger than necessary. So I conducted a real live one-person ergonomic experiment.
[Author's note 2015-07-11: within another week, we found and salvaged an even nicer futon. Turns out this one was solid teak wood, which eventually got used for other projects or sold by the piece. I found I didn't care working with teak and don't understand why it is so prized.]
Just how much “space” is needed at the head of a sleeping bag to crawl into it feet first? We’ve all done it in a pup tent, but what is the minimum comfortable height? Results—I found that you first draw your knees to your chest, then extend them like a hinge into the sleeping area, so you never need more space than the length of your own femur. But height, that’s different. Some spry measurements later I found that 23 inches is ideal for me. And I allowed for nearly twice that in the first design. The pod is now so different, I call it Mark II.
There’s more, the 23 inches coincidentally has another neat feature. During the Great Trek of 2013, I found on pleasant nights, the best way to sleep under the stars was to prop the canopy “roof” open near the back. This took time and had to be done from the interior. The new design raises the roof to that height all the time. My arm, shoulder hinge to fingertips, measures 23 inches. Thus, the camper design has evolved to a sharper wedge in the front to a smaller box on the back.
At this stage, it will lower the average height of the camper a total of four inches. I’d prefer it not actually look like a camper, and a low profile helps there. Agt. M’s find of that 11-ply lumber was fortuitous indeed. The modifications so far have added a scant 30 pounds to the total weight.
In other news, the bakery is closing for three weeks on the 23rd. Holidays. How’s my navigation studies? I bought three books and have begun to read the intermediate material. Man, it just short-circuits the brain. There are passages that contradict what I’ve already learned so painstakingly over the past several weeks. I can now plot what is called a “line of position”, so soon I will invest in some blank plotting forms and the tools to work them.
Agt. M has the new left-handed Fender and played his first chord, a G major. I think. He’s in complete beginner mistake mode. I still don’t know if he’s taken to it yet, but in five minutes, I had him faking a Charlie Daniels tune. Like all newbies, he is madly frustrated when his chord fingers will not obey, but you watch. If he keeps at it, my average time-to-gig is only seven weeks. For any musicians out there, I am not teaching him how to play guitar. I’m showing him how to be an entertainer.
I found a great three bed, two bath, place asking just $32,000 in the Palm County listings. It could have been the one, but I quickly learned the physical location is Pt. St. Lucie, over 100 miles from here. My max is 35 miles. Anyway, I switched my search criteria from the misleading ad and found this picture of the place. And yes, I’d happily live in that, no problem at all. This one needed a complete interior redo and some plumbing work. But that is where JZ enters the game. Here it is, another place I did not buy.
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