December 30, 2018

Yesteryear
One year ago today: December 30, 2017, sang/crank a few.
Five years ago today: December 30, 2013, an imbalance of single men.
Nine years ago today: December 30, 2009, expensive Italian shoes.
Random years ago today: December 30, 2008, my last New Year's gig.

           Pole saw, my eye. Half a day wasted on this piece of crap. First, I know nothing of these saws, but I do know the people who make them are too ignorant to indelibly stamp the size of the replacement chain into the metal blade. So Agt. R tells me it is a 10-inch blade. Forty-eight miles on the car later, it is apparently an 8-inch blade. Being that is the smallest size commonly available. Look at these pictures. The top blade is the 10-inch and below it is the old blade. The 10-inch blade is 28 inches long. The 8-inch blade is 24 inches long.

           You can also tell by the differing hues of the pictures that one was taken in the day, the other at approaching nightfall. That’s how long it took to determine why the 8-inch blade would not stay on the blade more than one cut. Then you have disassemble the saw again, which takes three hands, and fit the blade back into the slot.

           Yes, there is an adjustment screw. But at it’s maximum setting, the blade is still too loose. Hauling out some more accurate robot gear, I determined the length of the chain on this saw is not 8 inches. It is 7-41/64ths inches. In other words, unless there is some trick to it, like removing a link, this saw is a piece of shit. No wonder it was lent on the condition of getting a new blade. I just wasted probably a hundred dollars trying that. Get the thing out of my sight.

           Here’s another view of the assembly. You need one hand, shown here, to hold the chain into the slot, another hand to hold the blade into the guide pins, and a third hand to slip the chain cogs over that gear on the motor housing.

           There, how was your day? I worked in the shed, using the old bird feeder to cut pieces for a new model. The old one was made from 15 pieces, but this is years later. I now have the space and tools to cut wood into much more elaborate shapes. The new feeder has only seven pieces. That’s the feeder itself, not the elaborate extras to fend off the bluejays and starlings.
           On top of it, everybody who sang at Karaoke Friday two weeks ago has the flu. And it is an insidious strain. Sniffles for nearly a week, then it finally breaks into what I’ve had for two days. Massive sneezing spells with a dry, rasping sore throat, constantly plugged sinuses and passages, what a way to welcome the New Year. And I’m out of resolutions that would make any real difference any more. Resolutions I’ve kept, well, I haven’t done so bad. No cigarettes 15 years now, but what else is there? You know about the diet, but that was necessity, not a deal I made with myself.

Picture of the day.
Sheriff's posse, these days.
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           Plumbing. Time to face that or hire somebody. I’m crawling under there tomorrow for sure. I picked up most of the parts that I know I will need. I’ve received advice to just go ahead and not dry fit the pieces, but I’m disregarding it. I’ve looked under the house to get perspective and the only really hard part is going to be the base of that toilet. I’m going to dry fit the entire run almost in place, building a custom raceway for the down slope and converting every fixture to flexible connection hoses. I was surprised the parts came to less than $50. I’m going for the 2” drain line because it seems to work well enough at the club downtown, and that gets more use than my place ever will.

           This could be a mistake, but the plumbing books that even mention the pipe sizes don’t really give a good explanation when and where each should be used. If it is interchangeable, go for the less expensive. And like I said, a mistake would only set me back fifty bucks. It’s perfect weather for outdoor work so I’ve been really flying at the work shed and rewiring the red shed. I had to glue wooden backer boards into place everywhere I wanted to mount a device. And I confess I’ve never mastered the art of cutting the nozzle right on tube compounds. I attempted to fix the chain saw by drilling a new adjustment hole, see photo, but the blade metal is so hard even my titanium bits won’t even start a nipple.

           I drank every drop of iced tea in the house and have forgotten about five times when downtown to pick up some more. That’s the kind of day I’m having. Anybody want to trade. Wait, no, hold on. From what I’ve seen, I should not make that offer in America. The glue took so long to dry, I watched a Tom Selleck movie. Proof that you do not need a speck of acting talent to be in the movies. It was so bad except for the shape of that Romanian gal. No wonder everybody invades that place. Imagine, plying pillage the village with something like that.
           And last for now, the coffee is still bad. Are they spraying the crops with something new or have they genetically altered the drink I like thee most. The retail outlets must have their own supply, but I’ve got the occasional bad cup over there. Quick question, any coffee drinkers out there, show of hands please? Aha, that’s what I thought. Have you noticed coffee this year is slightly worse than last? It tastes flatter and only the dark roast has any real flavor. What’s the explanation? I read at the coffee shop about every other day for months now about the situation with Facebook. While I have always warned against giving information to strangers, I can see the argument that these millions of idiots did give the information voluntarily.
           Where were the watchdogs then? The information was pretty much available before, but you had to dig for it, which took time and money. If anything brings down the data giants, Google and MicroSoft, I will be dancing in the streets. But not only is the damage already done, the next bad guys will just rear up. The workable solution means making more and more laws that protect the stupid from the smart, and look at Florida if you want to see where doing too much of that leads.

ADDENDUM
           I have a date on April 1, 2019. Or do I? There’s a gal serves me coffee over in Winter Haven, we always did get along. We’ve talked when it is not busy, it’s the same old story. I’m the only guy in the place that isn’t constantly hitting on her. But she’s a single mother and I don’t usually go for that. She is simply nice to talk to but what a tragedy of a life. Um, maybe I can’t say that, because in some ways her life is an American norm. Out of high school, no college, summer job becomes permanent, gets shacked up with the wrong guy.

           He turns to habits and winds up in the slammer. She’s stuck with two kids, four and six years of age. Somewhat chubby with poor teeth, she knows what her chances are. Anyway, she is waiting for the guy to get out and giving him one more chance. It’s drug-related, so I’d say the odds are sorely stacked against the lady. But really, what choice does she have. I have heard this story so many times, but this time I gave it a listen because she really is a nice person. What she misses most, and this is also common, is just going out on regular dates. I’ve wondered over the years why so many women talk longingly about that. I’ve always concluded they also wound up with the wrong guy.

           And when he’s free-milking the cow, why bother wasting money taking the old lady out. Or in the alternative, there are simply far too many guys who spend money on a date hoping to score. This explains why the moment I walk in the door, she’s over talking to me every spare moment. I might add this happens also when I get to the donut shop, the care, and the clubs I hang out. And I certainly know the reason for that since day one. I do not talk to women about sex, ever, unless they pointedly bring the subject up. This new gal has not.
           So we entered into a pact. If, by April 1, 2019, neither of us is in a relationship (not defined), I’m taking her and the kids on a regular date. I’ll find something for the kids to tired them out a bit, then I’ve planned dinner at the downtown hotel that charges $20 for biscuits and gravy. Don’t worry, I’ve got the cash. Hang on, my yeast just perked, so I’m taking a mini-break here. Let me check if it is food-mention time, all good blogs mention food regularly. Yes, close enough.

           What I have is a recipe for good old bannock. The tin cup in the picture has a long and sorrowful story, but let’s move on. Now the purists out there will say there is no recipe for bannock, but I retort saying anyone who likes it will have a favorite set of ingredients. What I like is the bannock dough with yeast. That’s the most carbs I usually will eat at once is a couple of bannock pieces. Since my diet, what day is it now, let me check. Day 392 and I have solidly stopped losing weight. (But I feel great, my clothes fit, and I’m light on my feet again.) The dough is stiffer than bread, so leave at least three hours for it to rise and don’t panic if it doesn’t. The flavor is still there.

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