One year ago today: March 3, 2014, millet, no thanks!
Five years ago today: March 3, 2010, I was wrong
about riding the trains*.
Ten years ago today: 2005, the parking lot prick.
MORNING
I had to wait a few hours for opening time at the bakery. When I arrived, that group looking to buy the place was there with all the friends and family. At that stage, I think my days of morning coffee and crosswords are numbered. Here’s a photo of the brand I call “Florida Road Art”. This is a study in bald tires and pee-stained mattresses. This is from my trip y’day, notice the cane field in the background. The litterbugs took some care to make certain the tires were stacked very neatly.
The electrical problem will be part of this repair job. Calculations show that if the starter works reliably, I may be able to keep this motorcycle “as is” for another two years. That’s really the only fault with it. Once started, it will run forever—unless you get a stall. And with that worn out clutch, that is surprisingly easy to do.
I heard Leonard Nemoy died. On these trips, I keep a sort of record, like the captain’s log on the Star Trek series. You know, how Kirk starts off talking and fades into the opening scene. I realized I’ve never seen an actual such log. That means I have no idea if I’m doing it right. I’ve seen the log books in museums, with one or two lines listing the bearings and such, but that’s hardly enough to be the script for a television series.
Additionally, these long trips give me time to reassess. One thing I like is the reassurance these small towns give me that I will never go hungry or homeless. I saw places on the lake, small collections of mobile homes, called “cabins” that rent for $250 per month. Twice the size of this place. While I’m not planning such a move, it is wise to have a plan in place. Since nobody can ever have “enough” money to retire, a certain amount of faith in the system is necessary. My plan is that by the time I can’t afford such a cabin, the majority of people will be in dire straits—and that can never quite happen here.
NOON
Still smarting from the sun, I stayed indoors at the library all day. I peel easy so just turning a little red is enough. That’s where I got the band saw info just mentioned. It is quite a capable unit, although I suspect the adjustment knobs on mine have been over-tightened. It has a tilting table which I’ll soon try. I certainly like it already.
To the library, if you are reading this, then I got through but there is still no service back at home. I took the opportunity to download a lot of information about my new band saw. Many sources say if they had only one saw, it would not be a circular, but a band. Now they tell me. It’s already done a remarkable job on the few practice scraps I’ve tested.
Fortunately, anybody who comes along can tell you I have no trouble thinking backwards. Or sideways, or vertically, for that matter. What else did I learn, after all, I was there all afternoon. Well, I learned you don’t use red chalk in your chalk line because the color can bleed through paint. Use blue. And how many of us know what “wainscoting” is? Hmmm, that’s enough, so I’ll write about it.
Wainscoting is that paneling that goes halfway up the wall, often seen in Tudor style English houses. The above that is the wallpaper or painted wall. What catches my eye is that the word is German. I don’t know it to be true, but the word loosely resembles “wagon sides”, see the connection? Anyway, I learned that the wall has to be stripped to the studs, then reinforced with backer boards. And the pieces are custom made for the most part.
For authenticity, only real oak wood is used. I read how this was imported from the Baltic, which led to the discovery of why such wood is prized. It is because the bad climate in that area causes the trees to grow slowly. The result is better density. Anyway, I got to thinking, since those spray-painting punks will never go away, I’m surprised they have not termed what they do as “wainscoting”. You see, the best they can do is decorate half-way up the wall.
I also learned not to use glue on table and chair joints, because to remain level, the wood has to be allowed to swell and shrink evenly as temperature and humidity change. And, don’t cut through glued wood, it wrecks your saw blades. I haven’t sawn this way, but it’s one of those things I would never have thought of on my own. But I did guess right that that water putty is used for filling in a smooth edge on plywood.
EVENING
I had to chase down this photo (accidentally deleted) because it shows the black earth from around Lake Okeechobee. The soil all around the lake is this type of, well, it is kind of like solid muck. It is more like little fibers that are permanently damp. Plowing it seems to raise no dust. It isn’t wet, like a peat bog, but it is thick and deep. Fine for making a Texas snowball. This is what grows the monstrous crops of sugar cane. And turns the lake water black.
It’s rare for me to demand my money back and walk out of a Chinese restaurant, but that’s what happened. I’m now at home with a pork chop sandwich instead. I’m not made any the happier that a decent pork chop costs $2.50 these days. I spent the afternoon in the library, so yes, I was hungry on the way home. I purposely fasted so I could have Chinese. You should hear me out on this unusual situation—only one Chinese guy in the place, and they keep him busy.
These two white guys are going to make a fortune, just not off me. They took over the Chinese kitchen on Pembroke and fired everyone except the chef. They computerized the system and raised the menu prices by $1.05 per item. And they stay open an hour later, so the phone is ringing off the hook. Herein lies the problem. Nearly an hour later, I had to ask for my money back and leave. They’re trying to run the joint like a pizza parlor.
Hence, they were putting walk-ins on hold while they catered to the delivery drivers. Whoa, guys. You make the other crowd wait. The person who walks in has a lot more invested than a phone call. He’s not sitting in his armchair waiting for the doorbell. I was expecting to be finished my meal and back home after an hour. Wisely, they did not argue and refunded my cash—just in time for me to hit El Presidente before they locked the doors. And I got the last two pork chops with barely a minute to spare.
I was out late because I ran into Billie-Bill. He’s got an inside with the old gang from the clubs on Dixie, plus he does something I won’t—play for free. Let me particularize that. I’ll stand in or open mic for free, but I won’t drive my equipment across town in a van and set up for a four hour show for free. That’s what I’m talking about.
Strangely enough, Billie-Bill knows drummers and bassists who will do the same. His singer is that fat lady I do not get along with at all. My choice, not hers. Let’s just say by 1985, I’d had it up to here with fat broads who think they are sexy little hotties and who get miffed when you don’t. And who tell me where to park my bicycle. Yeah, that’s one and the same.
ADDENDUM
The library time was also to gain some knowledge on drill bits, router tables, and cutting circles. The more I learn about robots, the more I am convinced that the breakthrough is NOT going to come from something anybody builds. You see, all the parts are already there. And the robot industry is springing up from the same basis as music and computers. They don’t sell you the product, they sell you the dream—and there’s more money to be made selling hopeless dreams than any other American product. Hey, we invented the Internet, didn’t we?
My understanding now is that the alpha moment, when it comes, will be a new type of computer or computer code. That’s what will enable robots to either drop in price or become so flexible as to replace the gronk elements of humanity. I can see that will be a cruel nightmare for most people because the machines will completely outperform them. But the larger forces at work ensure this is a political inevitability. Robots are the ultimate product of socialism, no matter whether humans or machines.
Ha, come to think of it, nor does it matter what kind of socialism. Communist socialism, national socialism (Nazism), or Canadian socialism, the goal is to make the individual subservient to the state. Whether using the end of a bayonet or a welfare check, mission accomplished. Having said that, I’ll now continue building my “tank tread”. Purely for the challenge. And of course, to make sure if the robots take over tomorrow, I’ll have a job fixing them. Weren’t we just talking about a Plan B?
*I believe I was referring to the fact that I had not rode on a train for so many years. I realize that is likely more due to just not getting around to it even though I live only two miles from a major station. And also, the lack of cash to stay anywhere nice once I arrived [by train], although on short stopovers, I've slept in the stations before. Remember, the above was written in 2010, when my "friends" decided to kick me while I was at the most vulnerable down in my life. They lost anyway.
Last Laugh
Togla's Breakfast (but why is the water green?)
