[Author's note 2015-12-18: Today's posting is a good reminder that this blog is primarily prose. Pictures are always a luxury, never a requirement. Think about it. In the 1970s when this journal began, cut-and-paste was not a computer catch-phrase.]
One report today, and no pictures, since I have no transportation. Both vehicles grounded. So the blog, which is a living and evolving creature, takes a step back to 2009. All special features canceled until further notice. Those things take time and I’m momentarily strapped for that. One thing I made time for was to arrange “Don’t Rock The Jukebox” for duo presentation. Once I got it apart, it was a snap to make it work right. You can almost hear the piano runs on the bass. That’s one song destined to be a standard.
I was up late thinking about how to build a depth gauge that doesn’t require electricity. I told you that was going to happen. Think of a plastic rod of the correct length. As the sled moves, it gets deflected if it touches bottom. This creates other problems, but it is an avenue I am going to contemplate over coffee in about an hour when the bakery opens. Gee, why don’t I just focus on one project at a time? A wise man once said the adversary of art is a hurried life. For me, hobbies are more for fun than potential.
Another casualty over on Federal last evening. A lady steps off the curb in front of the bus stop at Kelly’s and ker-pow, she’s history. The police were really grilling the driver, but he did the right thing saying nothing. This and other sporadic reports as I still have no home Internet service. I could get Comcast, but so few people hate the cable company as badly as I do, really. That’s the people who stole my bicycle*. Plus, I’m the guy that posted the original on-line how-to instructions on the ease with which their cable modems could be reconfigured. Shall we say. Or shall we say “hacked”, instead? If you see this, I’m at the library.
I’ve written another song, another tune that will never reach its potential. It’s the “old” style country crossover, think Johnny Cash, not real country but that’s who would listen. And by “old” I mean it doesn’t have the mass-produced feel of contemporary radio. The song uses a beat that has never been part of any hit record, the 4/4 timing that splits into triplets. Oddly, this makes it difficult to dance to, which is part of the shtick, because the song is called “Dance With Her, You Fool, Dance With Her”. Like every song I've written so far, it got shelved. Ah, but one day I'll be discovered.
The scooter is in the shop. A difficult start last day, which I attributed to the cold weather. This morning I got as far as the newspaper stand. It doesn’t matter what the repair comes to, since even that is paid in advance. I leave a standing deposit with the shop. This makes me smile because as much as some would disagree with doing business like that (the shop could go bankrupt, yadda yadda) I always get free towing and priority. I think it is the scooter microswitch needed to engage the starter, which can malfunction without any outward symptoms. Or I’d have fixed it myself.
And I smile again at the report this morning about the US economic standards. The wealthy are worth, on average, $639,405, which, when you think about it, is not that rich at all. I pay attention to that statistic because if follows my formula of assets minus liabilities instead of some fanciful adjustment indexes the government is so fond of. I’m less confident about the use of purchase price to value assets, but agree that asset accumulation does follow wealth as an indicator of comfort.
How does my wealth compare? Well, I’m not living in poverty and 100% of my wealth is assets, that is, zero liabilities. Alas, the government does not publish the two most meaningful figures, the amount of assets and the income required by a single taxpayer to be middle-income. I guess it to be as little as $28,000 annually, with assets based on one’s age. Except myself, who has an aversion to having lots of assets which require expensive protection and storage.
Did you see the news today? Obama bought the black vote with cell phones, the immigrant vote with amnesty, and now he’s going for the Cuban vote. His administration also found a CIA agent not guilty of abusing his position for cash, which absolutely shocked the daylights out of everyone, I’ll bet. Enrollment in law school dropped 28% to 37,924 so expect a lawyer crisis in 2034. And in Cairo, they put a bunch of homosexual men in prison. Isn’t that kind of like pouring gasoline on a fire? To the Miami Herald, which always misses the point, the crime is not being queer, the crime is making public spectacle of it. Miami Herald doesn't realize their reporting angle is a laughing stock.
ADDENDUM
*Concerning the scooter problem and how it just cost me $25 to replace a fuse. There’s the tale from the trailer court:
I had the scooter towed because, despite my new-found familiarity with circuits, I am as bad as the next guy finding intermittent problems. The scooter would start, then not start. The electricity was there, but the starter would not engage. Left me baffled. Are you ready?
Just now, Florida is experiencing the worst cold weather since I purchased that scooter. It was colder back in ’03, but I drove a car then. What was happening was I’d start the scooter on a cool morning and drive over to buy a newspaper. This heated up the motor for a couple minutes. I normally shut it off. I’d get back and weird—the lights come on when the key is turned, so it is not the battery or the circuit.
Have you figured it out yet? Me neither, so listen up and save a potential $25, [which is] more than I spend on a night [out] self-gifting a Budweiser or two. There is a separate wire off the battery with a fuse to the starter. The heat of the motor on that short jaunt was enough to cause condensation to form inside the fuse case, which is located under the seat itself. Open the hatch, and you just don’t see it. Open it an hour later and it has evaporated.
I looked twice at the culprit, but the fuse was not blown. Therefore, I did not look a third time when it finally popped. The mechanic, with a fresh perspective, saw it in a moment. A $25 moment.
You want a picture today? You want a what? Then go get one. Same with Dupont and Togla. I’m outta here.
[*Author’s note: it turned out to be a Comcast subcontractor that lifted my bike. This was some eight years ago now, but still. And it was Comcast that refused to allow me to wait at their compound gate and ID the truck, and a Comcast supervisor that said if I called back, Comcast would phone the police and charge me with harassment. Their people, it seems, have a right to steal. And, it also seems, to make extremely costly mistakes. I'm the guy who published the on-line manual on how, in my opinion, Comcast should be treated. It wasn't pretty.]
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