One year ago today: February 27, 2017, I hate Dunkin Radio.
Five years ago today: February 27, 2013, what the lady said about them.
Nine years ago today: February 27, 2009, mine was a redhead.
Random years ago today: February 27, 2003, well, I “acted smart”.
Do you want the whole truth? Okay, I worked from 6:00 AM until 9:00 PM because I had to tear down the sound wall and put it up again. It was 1-5/8” out of square. Except for an afternoon coffee break, I was wrestling with it all day. Just me and Bushnell radio and the seven-dayers knocking on the door while I’m up the ladder. The problem is that the front door and hall door look like they line up, but they don’t. So half the time was wasted because I had to make a cut where I really didn’t want to. And most of tomorrow could be frittered just trying to catch up.
The problem is, from some people’s point of view, when the records are being kept in another jurisdiction. Does the EU court have the authority to tell an America company what to do? Naturally small-minded, Google is arguing no. Ah, did this blog not have this same conversation thirty years ago, except with the police as the law-breakers. You see, it might be your information, but it is their record. They don’t need warrants to look at their records. Ah, but in itself, that does not confer upon them any right to keep records on innocent people.
My conclusion is far simpler. Ask the question in reverse, that is, can an American go overseas and commit a crime, then demand to be tried by America law? Of course not. Google is wrong and has always been wrong. That, and they fuck with your web page template. A poté! (I believe that is French for “to the guillotine”. What? France outlawed that in 1977? Well, Google justifies bringing it back just for themselves.)
They also had a blowhard who talked that AI (artificial intelligence) would never compete with “the human spirit”. So relax, people, he said. Robots are not going to take your jobs. Unless you are a bank clerk, stock broker, truck driver, contract lawyer, factory laborer, secretary, pilot, or welder, you have nothing to worry about. Or a publisher, jeweler, photographer, librarian, and work east or west of Denver. The guy had a point in that the whole dynamic behind getting the robots to behave like humans is off track. I didn’t like the knowledge based systems he was describing because I always felt that the same goal will be accomplished by simply building faster computers with more memory. The computer will “learn” what worked before by scanning its own memory. Who needs intelligence for that? The police have operated that way since the early days of commercial television.
I say again, the robots do not have to look or act human, which is an asset in many instances. Nor does the robot have to be right all the time to take the average human’s place. It can al ready best most humans by approaching most problems with trial and error. It’s humans who act and think by rote that should be worried like y’day. It’s too late for them. Have you seen the robot surgeons? They stitch the patient up in four or five seconds. And how about that outfit that uses AI to write contracts? It is so fast that even should it make the odd mistake, it becomes more economical to ignore the error and carry on.
New technology has a history of creating new jobs in conjunction to destroying old ones. You love it if you are first in a field, hate it if you make buggy whips. I believe we would already live in a world of smart robotic devices if not for the advent of the atrocious C+ language. That awful code has held progress back for thirty years. It never quite works right and cannot be make to do so. Still, AI is a new frontier in productivity. Except, of course, when your case is the one that falls through the cracks.
Three Gorges dam.
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The lengthy delays on the new bedroom sound wall are not entirely my incompetence as a renovator. Here is a switch that I could have sworn was dark beige until I opened the package. Things like this often involve another trip back to the store for matching parts. The color is called ivory, and fortunately I had enough of that on hand to carry on. I learned only one of these dimmers can be included in any circuit arm. I got music overload by mid-afternoon. The new country sounds so much alike that when you turn the radio off, you continue to hear it for another hour.
Yes, unless I have wrong input, the motorcycle shop in the east end does scooters. Possibly Thursday let’s head over there and get a price quote for the brakes. I broke down and bought the six pound sledge essentially to use it once. For all the hours of planning and purchasing, I have not yet run any electric cable on the sound wall. That should commence as early as Friday. I can’t find any 1/4” drywall except in the catalogs.
The long hours put in on my $500 wall give me time to multitask, only grabbing a pen or keyboard for a few moments at the end. I was preoccupied with music and you already knew that. I’ve added four new tunes, that’s over 10% new material. But as the Hippie would say, it’s only bass and bass is easy. That’s why he can’t play it. Oh, I’ve heard him try. As I’ve said, he plays bass as well as I play guitar, except not well enough to entertain anybody doing it. The strangest tune that’s worked its way in is by somebody called Donnalou Stevens, titled “Older Ladies”. You didn’t just read that.
There’s one thing that got my goat today. Millennials who could not possibly be unaware of how illiterate they are. No matter how hard it is for most dumb asses to admit they are stupid, when it comes to writing, they have simply got to know. So why do such people persist in trying to write out song lyrics? I mean, the truly ignorant can’t speed type. Which means they have plenty of time to get it right. Funny how it is always a male guitar player who can’t spell. Their spelling and vocabulary are so bad, they’ll change the words to an unfamiliar phrase. ‘Commotion’ become ‘com ocean’ and ‘seashells’ becomes ‘seat belts’. I mean, seat belts on the beach? This is how I know we have not been to the moon.
I’m resigned that working on this house entails breaking as lot of drill bits, so up to Harbor Freight again. Who remembers my little scroll saw for $39? The regular price is now $99. The government should quote another statistic called “Price Index for the Things You Actually Buy”.
I’m one of those guys that figures I’m the worst ever for misplacing tools. Except on a work bench, then I’m okay. Today, my most-used tool, my 18 volt Ryobi drill. Poof! I had just put in a switch plate and damn if I could not find the thing. I retraced my steps, looked behind things, after all, I have experience losing things. Guess where it was? On the floor a few feet from me. See, I had been stapling tarpaper, and the vibration causes a piece of insulation just the right size to fall and cover it up exactly—but only from the angle I looked.
The wall is up and finished to the drywall on one side. I’m planning to use a full third of the room for storage. I’ve got stuff in the shed that should be unpacked. Things that can get musty and dusty but should not. And finally, the tubes for my wagon went on sale for less than $9 each. I’ve got a set, the tires are tubeless but ancient enough to not seal.
ADDENDUM
Time for a mini-confession. Florida has bad disk jockeys. Cowboy Rowdy is not the worst, although people who see him say he’s pretty sorry looking. But I own up to using some of his material and I’ll tell you why. The guy is dead pan even when he’s trying really hard otherwise. I quickly learned when you deliver his lines properly, they are actually good for a groan or a giggle. What? You want examples. Okay, I tried aerobics. All that bending and stretching and twisting, the class was over before I got the leotards on. Groan. How about this one: I tried jogging at the beach but within ten seconds you are too deep in the water. Hey, I told you it was Cowboy Rowdy.
Lady Nik called to reschedule. Twice a week doesn’t give enough solitary learn time. I’ve gone over with her that she must find the block, no matter how ornery or ugly or self-deprecating it may be. She has the talent, the ability, and the incentive. And it’s mild, but she’s got the hunger. I’ve insisted that she not practice the same any more. You know, go until there’s an error and repeat till you get it. No, we don’t have time. When something goes wrong, stop. Put down the guitar. And figure out what the you are up against right on the spot, before continuing. Some people can never do it this way and you don’t want to be one of them.
Last Laugh
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SPECIAL FEATURE:
Taking a chance nobody will recognize it, I found pictures of the old Church. My word, talk about memories.
It's for sale for $43,640. I'm tempted [buy it as a souvenir] just to let it fall down by itself. Over the years, you've read about the church where I led the choir, when I was 12 years of age, too young to be in the choir. This is the place and it has been abandoned for years. It was a craft store for a while, but it is at the far end of what used to be Main Street. This picture was taken on a rare overcast summer day.
In the bottom picture, the church organ I played was in the spot where that white box that looks like a fan is sitting on the floor. See the stovepipe? That was originally a wood heater. This one (at the right side) looks like gas and the pulpit was under where the stovepipe goes into the wall. To the left, that's where the children's choir sang. All seven of us.
The door at the center leads a small community room where we learned some of the lamest arts and crafts conceived by the religious mind, but I was always there because I was a mini-hero to the girls. I remember one summer I broke all the church coping saw blades by pressing too hard.
Here's another picture showing the church and the hall. The porch was necessary in the winter so late-comers didn't let a nice blast of Texas blizzard into the congregation area. This scene, I think, tells it all about why I could not wait to get out of that part of the world and closer to people and places that were at least interesting. To a degree. The condition of this church is typical of what is left back home.
