One year ago today: January 19, 2015, who's being left behind . . .
Five years ago today: January 19, 2011, I despise Hewlett-Packard.
Nine years ago today: January 19, 2007, still got those ties.
Random years ago today: January 19, 2012, Immigration & Carnival Cruise Lines.
MORNING
By now, this cold spell is serious. Economy-affecting, you might say. For me, it forestalls minor repairs, which I accepted as part of my lo-cost retirement plan. Example, the headlamp retainer on my old, old scooter works itself loose every few months, meaning I have to redrill a small pilot hole for a new little screw. Try that with numb fingers a 6:00AM before you’ve had morning coffee.
Now I can name you two places on this globe where junk only takes on value when others notice you have a use for it: California and Canada. I’m not surrounded by Californians, so go figure. Dozens of prying eyes noticed not what I had in mind, but that I was interested in that pile of broken metal.
Not daring to go get my battery tools, I painstakingly (with my sore finger) began to dismantle the screws from the pieces I needed. What? Oh, sorry, I need them for the adjustable “jack stands” for my camper. Didn’t mean to keep you in the dark there. The drawer glides are not quite strong enough, so I was getting concerned about having to buy some “legs” to fit under the deck when the camper “drawer” is open.
So, don’t even try to tell me any of the observers could possibly know what I was after. But then thousand years of history and 17 years with my family teach the lesson: to jack you around, peasants don’t have to know what you want something for, they only need know that you want it. They, who had walked past when they thought it was junk, now began to gather in muttering groups. Actually, I had removed three of the legs when they noticed what I was after.
Now, you see two of the legs leaning against my scooter, it is obvious I was taking only these parts. I wanted some of the custom chromed bolts, so I turned back to the wreck and removed a few dozen. When I turned back around, one of the legs was missing. You see, in Canada, there is absolutely no shame attached to this activity. Or to copy-catting somebody at work with a limited supply of materials where that creates a shortage so neither party’s project can be completed.
This is a curious cultural difference, it’s neither right nor wrong but it is certainly one of those characteristics that argue against assimilation. Being a copycat sounds so kid-brother innocent—until it emerges as a consistent pattern that prevents progress. I’m telling you, if you counted just enough tress to build a log cabin, since you can’t fell them all at once, some Canadian would come along and cut down just enough to prevent either of you from building anything. If any of you think I’m making this up, go over and see if you can get my metal pole back. So there..
Ah, but you see, I have experience dealing with peasants, be they neighbors, bureaucrats, or guitar players. I got the parts I needed and high-tailed it for morning coffee. When I returned an hour later, I could not help but notice every scrap of the remaining metal was gone. You see, it had gained value. But the monkey-sees had not gained any brains, so pieces of it will reappear in the trash over the next few days. It never fails. They did not need it or want it, but they can’t just let you take it all for nothing.
NOON
“I'll bet there aren't too many people hooked on crack who can play the bagpipes.” – George Carlin
The bakery was closed with a sign saying to reopen on the 25th. That has to be the new owners, since there is no reason for the closure, certainly that they would not have told me about in advance. I do know the latest buyer was humming and hawing up to the last minute, making it impossible for the bakery to give their customers a proper good-bye.
It’s over, no doubt, and one thing for me is that bakery permanently changed my eating habits. I can easily tell bread that has preservatives and I won’t touch it. So, that was four years of fine dining, every morning that they were open except when I was out of town. Makes me their longest term customer. I’ll have to put them on my email list. The daily horoscope reading was an institution.
For those that just got here, I can answer the question of why I pay attention to horoscopes. Easy. I don’t believe in them. But I know a lot of pretty women who do. Come to think of it, I don’t really know any ugly women, period. Huh? Well, I don’t know Patsie, now do I?
I heard the drip, rather than found it. And lookie, when I opened the cubby hole, I found this colony of orange mushrooms. They were not there two weeks ago. This picture does no justice, they are florescent orange glo-in-the-dark ‘shrooms. But they can’t stay here.
The black plastic object on the right side is one of those blowers for air mattresses. It really moves volume and it is here blasting air into the cavity to dry things out. I’ll have a go at tightening the joints. Beyond that, it is time to call in JZ for a more lengthy solution.
By late afternoon it was temperate enough to take some measurements. I think I got lucky. The “leveling poles” I rescued were adjustable in two directions. This is because the canopy was designed to be lowered in windy weather. Well, leave it low and only push it up at night when I need that space to sit or dress. From what I’ve calculated so far, the bar can be cut in half to provide either or as needed.
The poles have this springy clips inside that are a standard bolt size for my drill press. I may wind up having a hybrid tent system yet with one major design difference. And that is my camper is livable and sleepable without having to set up the entire rig. Once the “drawer” is out, everything else is optional. At a third the weight and a quarter the price of the original (over-built) unit. I also took some of the bracing pieces just in case. And this looks like just in case, by golly.
NIGHT
What’s that medicine smell? It’s the patch on my sore finger. I thought of good old Absorbine Jr. until I saw the stuff was $13 for the smallest bottle. So I found these patches with the same ingredients that also have a heating effect. They make most food taste like peppermint. They conveniently fit inside my customized splint. I’d say that worked out pretty well.
Let me tell you something else. Tonight it was cold. I don’t want to hear any comparisons or contests; I’ve heard it all before. Well, at least heard anything the last 50 years of bull artists could come up with. Cold is relative, and I’m satisfied it’s cold when the entire kitchen steams when you turn on the tap to do the dishes. I’ve trudged through -40 blizzards, so don’t argue.
Now, I would point out that I have two electric heaters, a propane heater (see picx), a good winter sweater, and an electric blanket. Most people in Florida do not. I froze my ass through16 Washington [State] winters and another four in Montana. And tonight, in Florida, it is cold.
ADDENDUM
My little 12V compressor failed, so I dismantled it to see. Pretty ingenious design, I’d say, I wish I’d taken a look at it before I manufactured my air piston. It works with two little rubber beads that rise or fall depending on the air pressure flow caused by the movement of the piston. Most interesting, in fact I may remove the plastic casing so the operation can be observed. It’s fascinating to watch.
The slimy operators in this town have made it nearly as expensive to recharge extinguishers as to buy new ones. Still, I might patronize them, but they insist on getting your personal info on file. No, they don’t ask, they insist, and if you don’t comply, they refuse to refill your extinguishers. So don’t tell me they aren’t up to something. (Yes, I know they have the right to refuse anyone service, but the cause has to be reasonable. Do they have a right to your information? I'm a Libertarian. I say no, they don't.)
Screw that. It’s none of their concern where I live or my birthdate or my phone number. Besides, when you add up the two trips to get the extinguisher refilled or tested, it cost more than a new unit. Henceforth, I’ve sketched out a potential transportable (as opposed to portable) unit with an old ammonium phosphate (all purpose) tank. I repaint the tanks another color.
This photo shows all the basic components of the planned system, plus a few of the fittings. You’ll recognize some standard air hose couplings and on top of the compressor a small valve stem. You cannot see the prep work, which is removing the powder and drying the tank, then inserting (temporarily) a packet of silica gel. You can’t leave it [the dessicant] in there or there is a way it can choke the nozzle.
But this is all you get. Why? Because all compressed gasses, explosive or not, are inherently dangerous. Thus, I never show how to seal the bottle. It is tricky enough that anybody who does it will inescapably have to do so much thinking on their own that they could not possibly blame me for any trouble they get into. The tanks have an unknown rating, but I know they will handle any psi my toy compressor can output.
Last Laugh
Return Home
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
