March 1, 2015

Yesteryear
One year ago today: WIP 2014, diet data.
Five years ago today: WIP 2010, oldest software still in use.
Ten years ago today: 2005, a hotel?

MORNING
           Merida, Mexico. That’s the city near Chichen Itza, where I was inside the pyramid. I was in Cancun before it was Club Med and walked away from my boring tour group. I went deep into the interior of Yucutan and found Chichen Itza. This was before they built the bleachers and turned it into a “Luz y Sonida” show. It is also the city where I almost took a “taxi”, a donkey cart, back to Cancun. It was paradise on Earth back then, a city that time forgot.

           These are recent photos from an ad for the university, my own photos long lost somewhere. My hotel was the orange building almost dead center at the top. Twelve dollars a night for old world luxury. This is the public square where Saturday nights all the guitar players would gather.
           The cathedral, built with stones scavenged from the pyramid site, is just off the right. That main walk down the middle of the photo is east-west, so this photo was taken in mid-morning. I used to have coffee in a little tienda just past that red car parked on the extreme left. This was old Mexico.

           That hotel, like most, has a small central courtyard where I used to try reading Spanish books in the evening. The university, the one with no roof, is one block away. You cannot see it here, but it didn’t need a roof, since it never rains. I attended several lectures that I did not understand (I never spoke any Spanish until I was over 40). So technically, yes, I’ve attended the University of Yucatan.

           A few blocks to the south is the market where that little monkey would jump off the canopy and swipe a pen from your shirt pocket and tease you just out of arm’s reach to lead you back to his owner’s stall, who sold little pieces of crystal. I can’t tell from this photo, but carts like the ones in the foreground sell frozen treats. Hence, there were no beggars because there was always this kind of work.

           Now, pay attention, most of what I’m telling isn’t in the tourist books. Archeologists are slowly replacing stone blocks in the church and taking the originals back to restore the step pyramid, around 75 miles away. The Spanish really did a number on this area, destroying everything they could of the previous culture. That’s one thing still prevalent in Mexico, one might say.
           And here is the best picture of the university that I could find. Yes, it really does sparkle like that. I had been walking around and saw the open courtyard through this entrance, on the southeast corner. The main campus area is this single city block, shown below. Or at least this is what it looked like the last time I saw the place in the early 1980s. Looking closely, you can just make out the interior design through the hallway. Not shown are beautifully trained shade trees and areas where lectures can be given in the open shade.

           This is not to be confused with the madhouse other Merida in Venezuela, which is more of a factory town. The Mexico Merida was laid back and agricultural. I had thought often how nice it would be to retire there, but not now. Although the land is flatter than Florida, it is also very easy to get lost in this city. The reason is the roads are not in an English style barracks grid, but follow the old cart trails through what used to be the countryside. Around 600,000 people lived there when I was present.

           This was also the last time, although I did not know it, that I would meet “nice” women on holidays. I knew that age was changing the game on me, that I was meeting more tourists than travellers. There were no more “heepee cheeks” as the locals called them. Rather, they changed into a colder, more rigid and demanding type of female. It that’s called growing up, you can’t blame men for avoiding them.
           I would regularly have morning coffee at this university to meet young white women. It was a focal point for the young and open minded. Not no more. And Chichen Itza is just another tourist trap. Where I walked over there from the highway, they have since put up a chain link fence and charge admission. I went back to Merida a second time ten years later, or so, toward the end of the 80s. It had already begun to slide.
           For that small population, the city was sprawling. Massive, but unknown. Sure enough, when I next heard of the city in 2005(?) it was now all condos and satellite dishes, touted as a favorite retirement destination. Sadly, “civilization” had come to Merida. And sadly, some people have not figured out just how rich I used to be.

NOON

           “I never panic when I get lost. I just change where I want to go.” –Rita Rudner (This broad is sick in the head.)

           I could not resist taking such a perfect day off to work on the motorcycles. Radio 97.1 streaming from Dallas, big jar of iced tea, and not a care in the world. This work was all electronics and sometimes I wonder why I didn’t dabble in this earlier in life. I connected up the solar trickle charger so it does not have to be switched between the marine and Honda battery. Three and a half hours.

           So you get a documentary. In the top photo, I am pointing at the all-important charge controller. Those who think they’ve gotten away without bothering with this device have paid many times the cost in buying new batteries. You can see the Ural spare tire in the upper right corner, so we are looking down into the cavity of the passenger side saddlebag.

           Visible is the big marine battery and the various connections that interface with the Honda battery and the solar charger. There is one cable not shown, it is the power supply to the cPod. In the bottom picture is the supply cable running down to the standard Honda battery, without this extra juice, this small factory battery has to be replace around every four to six months. For $65 minimum.
           While I had the tools outdoors, I also replaced the scooter horn with a louder car horn. But not a big one, more like those Japanese imports. But at least people can hear it, you know, the type of people who like to take a nap at the red light. The standard scooter horn was getting ignored. I thought about an air horn, but let me see how this model turns out first.
           Blog rules, the most expensive club meeting yet was this morning. $25, at the Senor Café. That’s just what these things cost. What? We spend more on club meetings that building robots? That’s not true, but if we did, hey, it’s club first, not a manufacturing partnership. Besides, the club is synergistic. Without it, chances are I’d have not solar-powered camper and it would have cost me $150 to get that horn replaced.

           We examined the “caterpillar” joints, Agt. M says the wood is oak, a piece of flooring material. Shown here, the pieces have to be matched and that won’t do, unless you are making a jig-saw puzzle. There are several wood samples in the picture along with the ever-nearby record booklet. These often get chucked when full but now I wish I’d kept them over the years. The variety of topics is phenomenal. Yes, this one still says 2014, there are still some blank pages left.
           I’m about to do some reading on drill bits. Up until now I saw two types. Wood and metal, and I’ve used metal bits on wood lots of times. I was up at Home Depot and sure enough, they are sold out of the exact bit I wanted. A short-shank 9/16ths. No, I’m not about to buy a $27 drill set to get the one I want. The reason for the shank size is experience. I found I never have to drill really deep holes and the standard size doesn’t work well in the confined space of the drill press.
           I also put an anti-touch deterrent on the sidecar. When any part of the metal frame is grounded or jolted, some mini-leds flash for about twenty seconds. They don’t really alarm anything, but it lets the bystander know he’s detected, so he doesn’t know what’s going on. These devices were salvaged from McDonald’s Kid’s Meal toys. Orange you proud of me?

NIGHT
           This picture has no relevance. It is Agt. M moving a chair in the late afternoon a few months ago. I said the day had great weather, not that anything exciting happened. We thought the chair might be some rare wood, but it turned out to be stained Chinese birch.

           I’m back on Craigslist and the account is anonymous. What? No, you only think your account is anonymous because they at one point got a working phone number on you. You can be tracked for life over that because who you call doesn’t change just because your number does. Anyway, they banned me for life, you know. Or at least they thought they did. My favorite Craigslist activity is to set two people I don’t like at each other’s throats. Then sit back and watch. But the good old days are over. I can post again and I might just do that.

           Looking at the musician’s list, it has gone from bad to useless. I see Zack the Sack and Mustang Sally are still posting 5 – 6 times every day after five years. There’s deadbeats and then there’s incredible deadbeats. But one change I’ve noticed is the number of non-guitarists also looking for the perfect “backup band”.
           That’s crazy. A singer wants to “put a band together to do his originals”. These dolts have no clue what is involved. Bands are one of the most complicated adventures imaginable, you don’t suddenly decide one day you are going to slap together some guys to showcase your wonderful material. All while taking a shortcut through the parking lot on the way to the studio, too. And don't you like the guy saying “Let’s start a band.” Shucks, maybe learn us to read, too. Ain’t doing nothing else this afternoon.

           But I did stop at the local honky-tonk for a Bud. This was a classic. Some lady began arguing with her ex. He made the usual implications, she defended herself saying that she could count on one hand the number of men she’d slept with in that bar. I bust out laughing. Myself included, there were only six men in the bar. It took them a while to get it.
           I don’t rub elbows with that crowd. I had taken my notes and the tank tread oak wood blocks with me. Whereas I should have given up, since we don’t have the gear to cut these right, I rather looked closer at the mechanism. Maybe, since I’ve had exposure to 3D printing design, I should not give up so easily. Put another way, when you think things through, it is not that tough to see that other guy gave up even earlier. And that he was an engineer. Of sorts.


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