MORNING
Okay. I’m cheered up again. I’m also up at 6:00AM. That’s the curse of the retirement class, waking up totally refreshed but far too early to set a good example. Then again, the only way to wake up raring is when you wake up whenever you please. What to do today? Stick around, let’s see how the old guy finds things to do. That’s one reason we like this silly blog. The painless source of information.
As a refrigerant. Your kitchen model uses Freon, another inert gas, but if you want to make liquid hydrogen/oxygen rocket propellant, you use helium. It is a byproduct of natural gas refining. And the supply is dropping as new oil drilling is into shale deposits, which do not trap helium. This photo is Sir Ramsay, the discoverer of the gas. I like that, “Sir”. See, them Brits understand the proper treatment of scientists. And robotics enthusiasts.
I’m clearly back in fine form. Thank you all for your heartfelt and immediate concern, but now I’m going to the Latino breakfast place. I missed Sunday and lordy knows I miss the spending money from my long-lost gig. Don’t worry, I’m focusing 100% on music as the only viable part-time venture left open to me that doesn’t seem like work.
NOON
Okay, who is this rich lady? It’s Diane Hendricks and I’ll explain why she should dump whoever she’s seeing and take up with me. I first saw her when examining a list of who gave money to Paul Ryan’s election campaign. So she agrees with me the entire American system needs to be revamped and that this can’t happen gradually.
She has seven kids, so I’ll assume she wants no more. She’s a farm gal and serial divorcee, so of course, we would not get married, but a FWB arrangement is best for all. I mean, consider the life she must have in Wisconsin, meeting nothing but fancy-pants suitors. She wants a real man, like me. For example, real men shun politics except to resist it, and I absolutely guarantee if the topic of politics comes up, I can sit there with a stunned look on my face. What more could a rich woman ask for?
Ah, but some say, kids and divorces and inherited wealth are not high on my respect list. True, but here is an exception. Forbes Magazine, who after years of reading this blog obviously, finally took my advice and measured not wealth, but asks, “How far did they climb.” The scale is one to ten, with one being a totally useless twit who inherited every penny without a clue or contribution. Classic example: Steve Job’s wife, Laurene. That’s a one. Same with the Walton lady who married Sam Jr.
At the other extreme, there is the dirt poor who clawed it to the top out of obscurity, classic example is Oprah Winfrey. She is a ten on the Forbes Scale. And that is the rating I would get if ever I get rich. Now Diane, she gets a nine for being co-founder of the company and signing the original loan papers in 1982 that started ABC. Ergo, she deserves a down-to-Earth guy like me.
Note, on the same Forbes scale, Zuckerberg only gets an eight, because although he made his own money, he was born rich. This tells me Forbes is finally looking into that aspect of things, and gets my total admiration for addressing the issue. To anyone born after 1950, family environment is the single most important determinant of future success. And that’s how I know what it is like to have the first two-thirds of a life rotted away paying the bills until you earn the first dollar you can invest. Let’s not confuse poverty with starvation or such. Poverty can crush the most determined spirits. It can hold back even those who have done nothing wrong and made no big mistakes.
Author's note: I don’t expect Forbes to pick up my other suggestion, which is that there are also several different grades of poverty. I recognize at least five grades, the worst being the brand [of poverty] resulting from self-chosen stupidity and recklessness. That is representative of the worst in society. The other extreme of poverty is those, who for no fault of their own, have poverty forced upon them by the very people to whom they looked to for hope and protection. It is sorrowful the way those unlucky few are lumped into the category of the lazy and listless and told to get on their bike and ride. There are wildly different categories of poverty.
So, about the best thing for Diane is for her to hop the family Lear Jet down to Ft. Lauderdale this weekend. I’ll pick her up in the sidecar and we can trip the light fantastic as she gets to know me better. And realizes I am the new V-3, the one she needs, the Brave New World she’s been seeking, but never finding, in the rarified atmospheres of Oshkosh and Sheboygan.
PS: my second choice is not, as rumored, Elizabeth Holmes. I disagree with her Forbes rating being raised because she was a dropout. Poor kids, the really poor, cannot drop out or they wither or are forced to take third-rate careers at the phone company. Her father is Christian Holmes IV and the school she dropped out of was Stanford. If she is self-made at all, it was not skill, but gambling with daddy’s money. Besides, her hideous black eye makeup makes her look like a you-know-what, if you ask me.
AFTERNOON
Digging through my music files to find my drum settings, I see that the average tempo of the songs I play is 158.886 beats per minute. That’s over 32% faster than the default setting on drum boxes, which are geared toward guitar players (120 bpm). Which show would you rather walk in on Friday after work? This concept goes further, for I just got a call from JZ.
Now, he says, he is at the casino that has a Karaoke show. And it is full of single women, like he is the one who discovered this. One got up and sang a song about being lonely, tore out his heartstrings. By the roots. Alright, this is the dude I could not drag to a Karaoke five years ago. About the same time as I failed to talk him into learning country guitar. Let’s us a moment review this. JZ has never seen me sing or perform on stage.
No, not even the night last summer in Ft. Meyers Beach. I had to leave him behind to get there, by which time I’d missed my turn. He does, however, know that every time we’ve done a lounge instead of a bar, all the women were at our table. Henceforth, he wants to do this Karaoke show next Sunday and I told him, yeah, okay. He seems to have glommed onto Karaoke for the first time, and that is entirely likely in his case.
He further reports the crowd loved country [music]. The hitch there is JZ does not know country when he hears it. JZ’s musical perspective is either she’s talking to him or she ain’t—and since he never learned guitar like I told him, she ain’t. So something must have impressed him. (I found out later he finally went to a Karaoke show and did what I told him, and had women approaching him. Remember, I never said we had trouble meeting women. That isn’t the problem at all.)
I’d be remiss if I didn’t go find out what he is gung-ho about. I stopped in up the road on the way back from the post office. This pub is still new to me and I ran into several women I’ve already met there. I said hello. And that is it. Sorry gals, at your ages, it is all or nothing. Or shall I say it WAS all or nothing, as in past tense. I am not known for taking seconds, even my own. It’s immediate, positive, and exclusive, or I move on. Tell ‘em, Theresa.
EVENING
This was a marathon club meeting as we finally found some clips that fit the batteries for the monster bike. We had been considering the expensive alternative of custom drilling plastic blocks until we found them for 30 cents each. The meeting began at the donut shop, where coffee and a muffin is now a $5.00 proposition, and lasted until 1:37 AM as we hunted for parts and know-how.
So you’ll know, we have nothing like the scale of batteries shown here. These batteries are “old” laptop Lion cells (lithium ion, don’t try this at home, there are two different types and you will invariably pick the wrong one), salvaged for the following reason. This is a secret, don’t tell anyone. When the laptop battery pack goes dead, it is usually only one of the cells. The others are still perfectly good and we have around 200 of them.
These cells are each the 3.7 volts as just described. I’m not happy with how they are advertised, which is a misleading format of tiny units and big numbers. For example, I’m pointing to a cell that says 5600 mAh. That’s ridiculous, the standard should be amp-hours, not milliamp hours. It is easier to understand my point if they called in 5,600,000 microamp-hours or something equally ridiculous. The bottom line is the battery at full usage lasts less than an hour. That, we can relate to.
As for the bike prototype, Agt. M does not understand his competition has fully equipped laboratories and workshops. We have but one advantage, in that we can learn from other people’s mistakes. There is probably a proper term, but I call this method the “Chinese Space Program”. Wait until America spends the billions to find out what doesn’t work, then build it so cheap they cry like babies.
After all, he is drinking Lipton with the bag till in the cup.
