One year ago today: March 29, 2014, Where’s George?
Five years ago today: March 29, 2010, was more interesting than today.
Ten years ago today: March 29, 2005, how I got started in music.
MORNING - updated 2024.
This is my morning work bench. Does it make me look busy or disorganized? Either will do. Actually, the picture was taken for effect. I’ve got several painted items drying so it looks like work. Reality is, this is a relaxing and easy-going project I left overnight and woke up to. It was chilly, but not so much. I spent the night in the trusty armchair. But then a surprise as I counted my pocket change.
But the poor people part is very real. I’m short money rich style, not poor style, which have different root causes. Poor people don’t do their routine maintenance. So things merely go wrong at a higher rate and they think it is coincidence. Do I have any examples? Yes. I found out this morning I was “broke” and sure enough, my scooter battery went dead and the kick starter is still broken
Then the batteries in my camera went dead. Next, I ran out of soup mix and sure enough, no toothpaste. See what I mean? The poor would rapidly conclude it was treachery. I had a spare battery booster, a cabinet full of Harbor Freight freebie batters, a jar of chicken stock to make my own soup, and so on. My point is if I did not plan ahead, I would wonder how the world knew to attack when I was down.
So, my expenses today are $3.00 for gas, $7.00 for breakfast and $4.99 for groceries. Do I go to the movies or drive to the bookstore, both of which save me money in the short run? Or stay at home and sip tea, not giving a care in the world about paying the bills. Because I don’t have any. And crack a wry smile while reminding people like Wallace and Theresa that they actually have much more money that I do. Ah, the aroma of fresh-brewed tea. Have a nice day.
NOON
“It’s no longer a question of staying healthy. It’s a question of finding a disease you like.” --Jackie Mason. He’s the guy who got fired for making too much sense.
I opted to stay put. Get some small stuff out of the way, like building that footrest for when I play my guitar sitting down. It’s a hassle to use the guitar strap during rehearsal. So I made the box big enough to store my foot pedals and such. Mainly, I was practicing some navigation. You can use the former year’s Almanac, if you know how to convert the readings. What? You’re curious how that is done?
My next task was to build this fake microphone. I don’t know if you can see it all that clearly, but the black headset on the top is the real McCoy. The white-colored ersatz job is on the bottom. I told you I was getting better with the saws. This piece is “carved” out of a solid piece of lumber. And yes, it swivels. Eventually it will be painted black to emulate the real deal. What is this for?
You may not agree, but I’ve found that on a motorcycle, people will give you a wider berth if they think you are recording anything. This boom attaches to my helmet and cannot be distinguished from the real telephone. I’ve had this plan in mind since I noticed the phenomena on my scooter trip to St. Augustine, when was that? 2011? Anyway, people clean up their act if they think you might be keeping track of their license plate.
It was not until now that I had the skill to make this duplicate. The genuine item is listed at $32 from Radio Shack, so now I did not have to destroy a working part. There is also social aspect to the affair. I sometimes think better by talking out loud and it has nothing to do with age. I’ve done this since the age of eight. Stupid people consider it very weird, but that is part of being stupid, you know. This way, if I talk while driving, people won’t mistake it for talking to myself.
The boom isn't finished yet, it will attach to the helmet, not to my ear, and will tilt back out of the way (there will be no headband on the mock). It will take some hand-shaping from here on, but it is a full 3D replica, and weighs half of the original. I figured, if I can cut a tank tread, I can cut a replica of anything. Eat my dust, Nova! Or better yet, eat the crappy things coming off your fancy 3D printer. Mine are nicer.
AFTERNOON
As it worked out, I cannot used the exact design of the boom on my helmet. I did not allow for the face guard to be fully lowered. This is not a problem, That’s why I’m working with wood. The “antenna” is an ordinary finishing nail, the kind with the tiny head. Rounded a little on the min-bench grinder. Remember that? My first fancy tool. The wire (not shown) is a broken jumper from my old Ardunio supply. Here’s a picture showing part of the process, the unpainted nail and disk.
Okay, already, I’ll give you a few pointers on “carving” with the saw. I picked it up from how-to videos so I hope you appreciate not having to find it yourself. By that, I mean I had to sift through a hundred crappy Internet posts to find anything useful. I found some tank treads that tricky cuts. What I did was apply some of the skills from there, where you cut one dimension, then clamp the block back together for the next dimension.
True, clamping small pieces gets tricky, but plan ahead to cut smallest the smallest pieces last. What? Well, I meant plan ahead to those who can, Patsie. The way I did it was to think back on that 8 hours I spent last year studying nothing but drilling pilot holes on the drill press. By now, I can do this with some precision. Then, instead of clamps, I can use small nails as push pins with no danger of ever hitting the saw blade. If there is any chance of metal contact, don’t proceed, this is not a blog for dumb bastards.
EVENING
I decided against the foreign cinema. They are running only one feature this week, and that has to do with a Jewish lady whose husband won’t divorce her. To say the least, I would have little patience for identifying with that plot. What happened instead is I tuned in on a conversation of other people who had joined on-line dating clubs. This party had gone the same route I did—they paid money to join a club where the membership was supposed have the riff-raff filtered out.
In my club, the women were advertised to have university degrees, But the club never asked for proof and it turned out only 10% of the ones I met had any credible basic schooling. The majority were so clueless they must have slept their way through the eighth grade. Now here I was, eavesdropping on a couple of obviously educated men who also quit for the same reasons I did. That is, the women can be gotten, but they are not worth it. And it is not our job to tell them.
So it was fun to hear others reach the same conclusions: old ladies who expect drawn out courtships before they deliver the goods are playing a losing game. I understand their caution, that they’ve been taken and dumped, but the answer is not sexual brinkmanship. Put another way, I’ll go all the way to the Moon for a good woman—but I won’t get off my chair for one who is only half-good. Am I making my point?
Did I tell you how I went along with one lady from the club to see how far she’d play the game? I wound up writing her, what was it, eleven e-mails? She never wrote on her own, only in response. This went on for two months. She never mentioned sex, never suggested we meet, never volunteered or contributed a thing. This, I thought, was an educated 55 year old woman?
One other point I could agree on with these guys is the feeling that you are being played for a sucker. These old woman refuse to indicate whether they are interested or not but focus on getting follow-up dates. That smacks of gold-digging. Instead, they get what they deserve, which is essentially nothing.
Last Laugh
(C'mon Togla, you can do it.)
