One year ago today: July 21, 2017, the circle of fifths.
Five years ago today: July 21, 2013, blah.
Nine years ago today: July 21, 2009, Wallace takes a stroll.
Random years ago today: July 21, 2006, cheap-ass Hippie.
This was one of the oh-boy-am-I-dumb days. This [picture] is part of the gear needed to finally install the kill switch on the hotdog cart. That was the problem, and I ignored my own experience to wire that switch in first day. The conflict was I needed to know as early in the process as possible if the heater was going to fire up. So, fully aware that the cart had never been used, I connected the battery shown here. That was last week. And everything worked. I should had got suspicious on that count alone and disconnected one of the battery terminals.
The good news is once this battery was 80% charged, it cured the water heater problem instantly. That’s a relief. Only the missing diffuser rings are delaying our first real backyard barbeque. In that sense, this was a good day. I traced the wiring through the entire cart and found one component installed backwards. Why didn’t I check that, I knew the cart was hand-made? Mind you, one other aspect of the business is that everyone we’ve talked to who every did it learned the trade from “some old guy”. We are the only ones we know of learning it from scratch.
Our only source of information is some notoriously inaccurate Internet videos. It could be said having to wing everything is an advantage, but it doesn’t seem that way from the working side. We also went through more of the shed and found quite a bit of old but solid metal cooking gear. Like camp stoves and grills, we have more than enough accessories. We even found one of those solid “tupperware” trash bins and more metal advertising signs.
I say with a sly grin, I got that bass part happening in “Boney Maroney”. I didn’t use the capo because that would have really been too obvious. That, and there’s other tunes I can use the technique better. “Boney Maroney” is already fun to sing and play. That alone assures it a place. It’s never been quantified, but yes, the audience knows when the band is having fun and so that is just one more thing I will plug into the calculation. It would be different if I had been born with talent, but as it is, I’ll take any advantage I can. Tomorrow will be rehearsal #7 and nobody else locally has gotten that far.
You bet, there is a chart of how many iterations of each song we play. It may not compare in numbers with earlier efforts, but that is due to extra work being put in. You know by now the magic number is 30 and the tune we’ve played most, “Midnight Special”, has only six iterations. We may have played it more times, but iterations means start to finish the way things are intended for stage work. That will be an interesting situation in itself, since Twood is not that flashy an operator. His playing is a tad weak, but nothing like live performance to put that away.
Well, I never overplay the band and did not do so last time. But if you want to get the crowd, you would have to do on guitar what I did on the bass. Take it to the next level. And that’s another 10,000 hours easily. Strange in a way, since I play bass today exactly the same way I did when I was 12. The difference is total mileage. Twood, if he keeps doing what he’s doing, will be making a giant leap forward, since his natural style is a bit subdued. If that’s not by choice, this is his big chance. And I’ve been waiting twenty years for somebody who would play rhythm right, so this is not youthful exuberance.
I’ve received advice that the local gas companies would be a good source for those diffuser rings on the hotdog cart. If so, get ready for a barbeque. I’ve budgeted to cook nearly forty pounds of meat to practice with. Like I said, we are starting from scratch. While we are licenses soley for hotdogs, let’s not forget that single barbeque Wallace and I had at the original trailer court. The one with Carlos’ grill make from a propane tank. If I can cook pieces, I can learn to cook slabs. There is also a budget for $85 worth of sauce and spice samples. If we fail at this, it will not be due to under-planning or lack of preparation.
The mighty Amazon.
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Rain slowed me down. I got soaked twice, but kept on working. The sun returns a few minutes after each deluge and you’ll dry out fast enough. Here’s a candid shot of the pineapples in the back yard. These are around half grown and unlike the big Dole plantation kind, these fall over from their own weight. I took the remainder of the afternoon off to devise some procedural checklists. The cart cannot just be shut down at end of the day. There is an hour’s work anyway, including draining the heater, emptying the tanks, and checking every little thing over, at least for now.
Now I know we played by the rules, and the government has made that harder to do than to cheat, but in the end, you always make more obeying the law. Remember what Lanskey said when he got out and was asked what he’d change. He said next time, he’d get a license. Or was that Lepky. Checking the fine print, once we get that license, we will be cleared to operate anywhere except inside the boundaries of a state park. And even then, we’d only need an event visa. You bet I was quick to notice that except for regulated material (guns, tobacco, fireworks, cars, pets), it appears we could sell any non-food items we please. Without cheating, I know the others are cheating. I can take advantage of that.
And is it ever nice to have a small work area back. Just a table where I can putter. I’ve installed cleats for all my amplifier and phone charger cords, that kind of small project. You need a clean spot to do this right, the cleats are tiny, the pilot holes are only 1/64th, almost robotics size. For the first time since I sang commercially, I’ve got a sore throat that affects my tone. With my luck, I don’t mean Rod Stewart style other. More like Tiny Tim, if anyone remembers him. The one who married Miss Vickie, who promptly turned around and sued him for $8 million or something. Hey, this is the Internet, go look it up for yourself.
ADDENDUM
It’s not just me, now everyone has the sore throat, I was just the last one to get it. Why is everybody telling me to drink hot whiskey with lemon? It has no therapeutic value and I dislike the taste of whisky, even sweetened or disguised. Taking time to check the news, I see Google has been handed another fine in Europe, this time what, $5.4billion. The gargantuan fines barely make the back pages here. Anti-trust practices again, like making it difficult for customers to choose non-Google options. This process is known in America as “nudging”. It’s illegal, but not enforced at the corporate level.
My objection is that once cashless, the authorities will have complete control over your life. They can seize anything and cut off your food, medicine, and ability to ride the bus. Nor would it stop there for the simple reason that it never does. Once they gain that power, it will be abused to the hilt, read your history. In America, conspiracy theorists are often the best historians. Americans are so apathetic and trained to believe anyone on any suspect list is guilty that the system will slide in any number of restrictive practices. They’ve been doing it slowly since 1933, when they confiscated the gold. (They didn’t confiscate the gold, actually, they confiscated the profits.)
I’ve expressed this concern long ago and I have a plan, but can’t get the desired information. I know that people will always use something as a form on anonymous exchange. In a cashless society, there will still be druggies, prostitutes, gambling, and pornography. My question is, what will people use to pay for it? If I could find out, I would begin stockpiling it today. However, the information, probably available in Scandinavian countries, is not easily uncovered. I wonder if it is gold or silver?
I now have four dead batteries around here with supplies to perk only two. This is hit or miss, so I’m choosing a car battery and a motorcycle battery. And I have no old clothes left, I had to buy new work clothes for this battery work. Battery acid, no matter how dilute, is not compatible with cotton. Please, let one of them take a charge, which I would then wire in tandem on the hotdog wagon. There is no provision for recharging and I know from experience relying on plugging in a trickle charger will let you down.
To the right side of the photo you can make out discoloration on the white paint. This was the general condition of the cart when we got it. Some vermin had taken up residence, but other than a mud-dauber nest, there were only droppings and abandoned nests, easily vacuumed. I wiped down all the surfaces with vinegar, then bleach, but the discoloration, as seen here, remained. I don’t usually, but that is now painted over with Kilz, the anti-fungal primer. For all this work, it is still the basic cart we bought. The only structural change is I’m reinforcing the panels where we intend to transport a fold-up table above the fender. Let me see if I have a picture of that, this could be a repeat.
The watermark indicates you’ve seen this photo, but I thought you’d like our approach. This is the cart configuration in the original paint. It is not patched, glued, puttied, and primed at every spot that was even visibly scratched. The obligatory water tank is in the upright housing. It was intended to feed by gravity, but a water pump will spoil you first try. The left side, can you see it, is open, the fire extinguisher its there. It doesn’t take up the whole space, so I’m thinking. We must have a sound system, and both of us want to emphasize nostalgia. That’s one reason we avoided a more expensive shiny metal cart. This may be the best planned cart startup (I said startup) in Florida history.
Agt. R. wants to paint the cart battleship grey. What? Okay, he just said grey, but that’s not what connected in my brain. Grey, you say. My management manner says let people make mistakes that are not service-affecting. But grey? That man is not busy enough. I’ll put him to making a couple of a-frame sidewalk signs. Oh, before I forget, this cart has a budget for advertising. No plans on how it would be used, but remember what Lincoln said about advertising. If it was up to Agt. R, he’d hire smooth tighties in bikinis. Hey, as long as I am in quality control.
Look again at the pump pic. The exposed wires are now tucked into tubing, robot grade, and the blue object in the background is the required “15% larger” waste water tank. That is, it will drain all on-board water (not intended for drinking) plus a little more, and it is vented to an overflow. The idea is to keep the waste water from ever getting sloshed inside the wagon interior. Taking a hint from various solar water retaining tanks, I may even enclose this tank into another that would contain a leak. The most common reason for carts being condemned is wastewater coming in contact with bare interior wood. As you see, there is no such thing on this cart, and I gave it another coat of primer earlier today. The enamel paint right now is only the exposed surfaces, I’m tempted to coat the entire interior. The health inspector will love us.
Leave me alone now. I’m still kicking myself for not wiring in that battery switch first thing. I needed that $53 for a trip to the gulf coast to test the PamCamper. My consolation is a bunch of projects are coming to fruition at nearly the same time. The electric, the plumbing, the music, the vending cart, the court case, the diet, and the car pension I’m tapping into early. If all this happens in a month or two, that would be like instantaneous in the scheme of things. And I just might make the Smithsonian.
What? I told you I have a “car pension”. It’s an extra I paid into that I don’t need now, for those who can take the hint. It slayed me to put extra party money away for this when I was in my twenties, but damn rights I’m glad now that I did. This is the pension that I had planned (in 2010) to leave until late 2018 or even 2019 when I thought I might be too halt to ride a motorcycle. I wanted to leave it, as it is one of those that gets greater if you don’t tap in. In the end, I both got the car and didn’t need this in 2017, but it won’t be long now. A car soaks up 25% of your take-home pay in this great nation, which is totally adapted to getting you for every penny of it. In America the way they’ve planned and built the system means you cannot thrive without private transportation.
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