One year ago today: May 2, 2014, Henrietta Lacks.
Five years ago today: May 2, 2010, on Barbados.
Six years ago today: May 2, 2009, computer stuff.
MORNING
You want some fun? Try carving a propeller. Yep, I stayed in on my Friday evening and had a go at shaping one of these gems. I found several sets of instructions, but nothing that was easy to follow along. Guys, when you document something, you have to stop and take pictures at the points that matter, not whenever you feel like taking a photo.
Part of the difficulty is it has to be trimmed by hand. The moment you pick it up to hold at a convenient angle, you lose the perspective so easily seen when it is lying flat on the table. I had pencil guidelines and I still schmucked up twice. You’ll see.
I also learned that using most any wood except balsa is problematic. The curved shape of most airplane parts means you need a wood with no pronounced grain or you can’t carve it. Plywood won’t carve at all, though it will cut. I used some oak flooring for my third try at a propeller. Although it is carve-able, it is hard wood and heavy enough to affect your center of gravity. This is the brand of information I am after. The part they don’t tell you.
So I took an hour off and played Travis Tritt and Alan Jackson. Of the two, Trill hires better musicians. Come on, guys, pay your band. I still prefer my musician to sing and play. These guys mostly strum along. That is so easy, I can fake it on the bass, which is not easy at all. What’s this, a new Terminator movie on the way? Save me a seat. But I don’t know about the Griswolds without Chevy Chase.
Another look at the Tesla battery says not yet. Developed for home use, the idea is the car battery adapted to keep a house, or at least the essentials, going for 24 hours. While the concept of an entity like the power company monitoring not just your usage but your patterns horrifies any thinking person, I would not invest in any half-measures. That’s what the Tesla is. That, and Tesla is a misnomer, he didn’t have anything to do with the technology being used.
Listen, few people love electricity as much as I do. But until something comes along that anonymously takes one completely off the grid, is it worth $70,000? Not to me.
NOON
When you delve too much into propellers, you get tunes like “Mony, Mony” stuck in your brain. It’s another of those skills that would be foolish to think can be learned by anyone. I’s listening to NPR which remains degenerated into a support group for obscure and unpopular causes. Their approach has not changed in decades—redefine the issue to one of poor, little persecuted underdogs against a big uncaring predominantly "white" system.
Shown here is the progress. It's painstaking. My first effort at the top, then the stab at carving. Ha, ha, get, it “stab” at “carving”? Those who rule that isn’t funny have too much time on their hands, evidenced by how they have enough to waste making stale comments like that. The current work-in-progress is the oak piece at the bottom. It is at the “bow-tie” stage and I wish I had that sanding machine now.
I was within an ace of attending a crochet meeting. That’s correct, crochet. As a matter of fact, I am a rather accomplished crochet type. Like knitting, I’ll often dip back into it long enough to insure I will always have something to do when I get old. True, the assumption is I’ll have the use of my hands, but if I ever don’t, somebody can pull the plug.
EVENING
Crazy, but I’m clearing a spot for another work bench. That belt sander is on the way, so I have to lessen my seating space indoors because it is the least used part of the Florida room. The number of chairs will stay at three, but one will fit under the workbench. Agt. M missed the meeting this morning, but showed up with a half a fridge of apples, bananas and pears. We decided to change the center of gravity on the cPod from 60/40 to 55/45 on the tongue to keep it more level at speed.
You see, driving up the alley I may have found a six foot counter of solid cherrywood. I sent Agt. M back over to check it out. It’s the alley behind the fire hall where you find some of the nicest wood people could ever care to throw away. That’s where the oak on the propeller came from. Also, the work bench (if you see a picture, it got here) is actually a beautifully finished desk with drawers and scrollwork. It should be here within the hour.
Another NPR annoyance is their glorification of jocks. These people contribute nothing to society and are so specialized they do not in any way represent realistic examples for youth. They are in it for themselves, their own self-edification. NPR is in a phase of featuring jocks who got some disease that prevented them from their chosen sport. Ho-friggen-hum.
This afternoon, they had a parade of jocks talking about lost limbs. And that lady that swam from Cuba? Gotcha! There isn’t one critic reading this who assumed she swan anywhere but to America, though Bermuda, Jamaica, Haiti, and the Yucatan are equally good destinations. Who’s the closed-minded party now? Ut-tut, no arguing there is good or bad closed-minded. That's a cop-out.
Whenever there is a program featuring jocks talking, all I hear in every third word or so is, “me”, “my”, and “I”. “My doctor said to me that I would never swim.” Figuring these sorry people have suffered enough, I changed the radio station.
And here it is. The photo, above. The new work desk, complete with real leather (back and sides only) swivel chair. And more bed frames. And another solid wood work counter for the shed. The cherry-wood slab is not shown. Nice. We don't salvage no junk, you know. See you later. When we score something this nice, it is customary that I treat at Dunkin Donuts.
ADDENDUM
I finished all the Grisham novels from Deland. Best was “King of Torts”, more of an expose on the corruption of the American system that awards punitive damages. I don’t know where I stand on the big issue, but I am against large cash awards. If someone gets a settlement based on future earnings, they should be spread out over that future and cease if the party dies or recovers.
Grisham attempts to chronicle the change of character in a lawyer who goes from $40,000 per years to $110 million. It is too cliché for me, too based on the assumption that all people with money develop a taste for identical trimmings. Some of it makes sense like the private island villa. Some of it doesn’t, like a sudden taste for hard liquor, thirty-something Russian women and discussing business over expensive food.
Last Laugh
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