It is 4:54 PM and I just got in the door. Unless some babe fashion model walks in next hot to trot, I am not moving until sleep time. This is me, waiting in the doctor’s office this morning. Always bring your own reading material if your Mother tongue is English. A brisk sidecar ride out to Flamingo and I got all the good news I’ll need for a while. I checked out completely and all that’s due is a blood sample in May. My prescriptions are 90 day refills so I can take a vacation any time. And vacation is on my brain.
To celebrate, I went out for Chinese food. And I shopped for ice cream, peanut butter, and chocolate fudge. Because I can again. My pudginess, evident here, is not from diet or lack of exercise. The one restricted item I did not buy is eggs, having lost my complete appetite for that food item. I took it easy, but it was so nice to taste peanut butter again. And chocolate. I’d planned on going wild, but after a few spoonfuls I reached my limit. These last seven years have really changed what I do. I don’t like the taste of any cola any more unless it is diet. The others taste “sticky” and give you bad breath.How’s the book so far? “Numbered Account” is shown in the photo. It’s about half-way, that’s how. The tale is 750 pages long in fine print. All the action is maybe ten paragraphs so far. The remainder is ordinary double-dealing chicanery that goes on in any corporate bureaucracy. Everybody’s got a secret and some hidden cards. That makes the reading more than amusing but less than captivating.
Also, much of the plot involves the very dealings between individuals that, in real life, would never escape the scrutiny of senior management. The older blonde spinster in recruiting and the young buck stud sharing confidential files and a double bed within the first week. The writing is very good as everything is believable. No super-hero stuff, no making the world safe for democracy, no high speed chases. If you think banks are safe, honest places to store money, do read this book. It will cure you of that notion.
The tonneau cover on the sidecar, though original, is not leather, but plastic. Alfredo took a look and says the material is actually quite good for plastic. The plan is to reinforce the perimeter with leather, the places where it straps or snaps down to the hull. The straps are real leather that has cracked in the sun and weather, so these will be replaced with high quality duplicates. We’ve even located some Peruvian rivets that cannot be distinguished from the Russian originals.
It looks like the Honda alternator is the source of my starter troubles. Although it passed the battery cable test, under load it does not recharge the system. To the shop it goes on Tuesday. If it is the alternator, chalk up a $575 repair, since the change out involves removing the motor from the frame. This was not uncommon in early motorcycles and is still a quirk of some newer models. Don’t sweat, I have the money. And a callout on Monday, which takes the sting off these upgrades.
From our suspicious activities department, I am now advising everyone not to do anything private on your computer while anything above IE8 (Internet Explorer 8) is running in the background. Of course, you have no privacy when you are on-line with IE8, but there is too much background activity going on when the system is supposed to be idle. So to recap, do not work on private files while IE8 or greater is running. Turn the browser completely off. Same with FaceBook, turn it completely off unless you are using it at the moment. Stay away from Google Chrome. Never use AOL, ever. And for Heaven’s sake, install Ghostery and Cookienator on your computer.
If you’ve been steady, you know I’ve been cooped up. That does not depress me, it makes me cantankerous about being so inactive. Here’s a video of two quadcopters tossing and catching a stick upright . If you can ignore the horrid accent and watch the physics, I say that our robotic club, given the finances, has all the equipment and knowledge to duplicate this feat. Should we run into any snags, we’ll call Patsie the Programmer. That’s a joke. You’re supposed to laugh. What? You are very wrong. I do pity her. Just not as much as I pity her kids.
Another big snow storm paralyzes the frozen north. I’ve hooray-ed myself for not seeing snow in 34 years, but there is another winter item I dislike as bad as half-melted and refrozen “dirty” snow. It is rarely mentioned because the authors mostly live in cities. I really hate mud. The glutinous, ugly, brownish-grey-colored mud that sticks to everything and crawls to the top of your boots. I can’t imagine why I think of this mud every time I’m reminded of Patsie. What do you think?
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