One year ago today: January 23, 2018, designing a chicken coop.
Five years ago today: January 23, 2014, my first traffic ticket.
Nine years ago today: January 23, 2010, 30 seconds of damage.
Random years ago today: January 23, 2013, copper bales.
Today’s addendum is money and music, so don’t quit early. I was out evening last and have a new Karaoke hit. George Strait, is it, with “Fireman”. I didn’t care for the tune until I wrote a custom bass line. The significance here is these bass lines are highly adaptable to new original music, and I may have an opportunity to record some in February. That’s the excitement this morning, since otherwise I was shopping, mainly for bicycle parts. I finally removed the back carrier and shelved it until I can find that missing bracket. I found it after the move, but didn’t recognize what it was and put it away for safekeeping. Two years later, duh. Hey, in another three months, this place has paid for itself.
Not much of a day, really, so I have some commentary for you this afternoon. That’s your magazine-grade article you get for free at times. Enjoy, it’s that or a thrilling recount of the leaves I burned in the back yard. I may have pushed myself a bit much and am forced back to taking afternoon naps again, not that I have anything against siestas. Hell, no. I used to do that at my desk at work. Let me calculate the how long it has been since I worked for a living, based on receiving a paycheck. Around 23 years. Since I worked at all, um, 15 years. Now don’t be wagging fingers, I regularly meet people who have never worked. And one thing I’ve learned is all the witty sayings about the value of hard work must have been written long before the American working class was displaced by the welfare class.
Painting by A. Hitler.
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Not for a second would I detract from the valor of drafted American soldiers. Conscription is an evil thing and the major reason for birth certificates. However I am often against the portrayal of war as glorious. One aspect I’m against is the way individuals are created as heroes where, in fact, the victory was a massive team effort. Yes, foxhole heroes exist, but that is not the people to whom I refer, nor do I even mean every instance. Take for example, the Abrams tank. We are led, by the media, to believe the weapon is so superior it has knocked out entire enemy armored divisions without a single battle loss.
Simply not true. The reality is the Abrams tank is at the end of a huge logistics team that, depending on how you count, could be 175 men. So when an Abrams blasts a Soviet-era T-62 in battle, who is really the hero? Nobody acted in isolation. The reason I was pondering this is I just finished the chapter in “Eagle Against The Sun” concerning the Great Marianas Turkey Shoot. TMOR, that’s the battle in WWII where the US carrier planes shot most of the remaining Japanese aircraft. Many a hero was created that day. But let’s look behind the scenes. Are there other reasons than sheer and solo heroism that might have had the same result? Read on and decide for yourself.
Prior to the battle, the Americans had recovered an intact Zero-sen, the best Japanese fighter. It was thoroughly tested for weak points. A new fighter was specifically designed to be superior to the Zero in every way, the Hellcat. And that is what the America pilots were flying that day. The Zero was maneuverable because it had no armor, so a simple squirt of incendiary machine gun bullets could ignite the gas tank, which was located under the pilot’s seat.
The American carrier fleet also had radar, actually two kinds of radar. Search radar was long range. It was somewhat primitive in that the operators did not always know the exact location of the enemy, but they knew he was not within radar distance and thus no surprise attacks. Another huge advantage because you knew when to launch your planes at the right time. Other information such as weather and cloud cover was radioed in by standing patrols ringing the fleet by 75 miles. The radar operators were all high IQ types specially chosen for the job. They were trained to assign the correct number of American planes to pounce on any incoming Japanese aircraft from the optimum height, speed, and position.
The second radar was sweep mode. You can tell if you see the newsreels. The search radar is the big antenna turning slowly. The sweep radar is the little one spinning fast. A competent crew of pilot and radar operator could guide the Hellcat to individual Japanese targets by diving out of the sun even through cloud cover. Outnumbering the enemy two to one, American planes could come out of cloud banks with guns blazing before the Japanese could react. Don’t quote me, but I think that was the air battle where one Yankee pilot shot down nine airplanes. Now that you know what was going on, is that all so surprising?
There’s more. It was known the Japanese planes were guided by a single squadron commander in another airplane circling high over the formation. The Americans designed a radio that did nothing but listen on that frequency and each US flagship had a Japanese-speaking officer who knew as soon as the enemy pilots did when and how the attack was to proceed. And that officer stood beside the Admiral. On top of that, each American pilot was also an officer with a minimum of two years training with the equivalent of two weeks flying time. There is a reason no enlisted men flew American warplanes, and that is still true today. The average Japanese pilot, by that stage of the war, had as little as six months instruction, most of it on the ground.
Define heroism any way you want. I understand the Japanese airplanes did shoot back, but it still remarkable that even a hundred of them made it back that day. Did the Japanese pilot know he was up against at least two radar operators, four radio operators, an aircraft design team, four weather airplanes, four scout airplanes, an entire ring of patrol submarines, intelligence reporters who were reading his mail, and an interception officer who spoke his language listening in on his battle orders?
Probably not.
ADDENDUM
Let’s talk money. As the last of the 2018 receipts get cleared, the reality of operating that car comes into focus. Not counting repairs, that station wagon is eating up $259.60 per month, of which $160.64 is gasoline. These are based on the full year and the records are extremely accurate. That car is killing me. And what can I say—if it is hurting me, what is it doing to people who are not even consciously aware of the cost? Most people I know simply gloss the problem over with a credit card. Instead of being aware of each overrun as it occurs, they prefer one massive headache when the bill arrives.
Offsetting that bill are a few surprising items, mostly economies from having a place bought and paid for. First, to run the household for the entire year of 2018, not including groceries, the tab was just $841.50. And I skimp on nothing for the household. Even the bog roll (toilet paper) is top quality. Then again, thanks mainly to the phone and the expensive ink cartridges, operating my home office came to $1,004.13. Ouch, but that’s a revenue center so that will never change. Other than the Great Trek West of 2018, travel all year, not including gas, was just $492.23. Not bad.
Only $99.16 went missing all year, yes, I have a category for that. I spent $531.61 at the Thrifts, half what was budgeted for. And then the two avoidable expenses: Coffee and entertainment. I could easily quit having coffee downtown and save myself $928.40 per year. But there is a quality of life issue on that. I would go get a job for the money before I’d cancel my daily sit-down coffee. And besides, you should see how the places I go light up when I walk in the room. It’s that guy! It’s that guy! You won’t believe how many times I get sweethearted.
[Author’s note: to those unfamiliar with the term, sweethearting is when the cashier rings up a lower price, or just a coffee when I have a sandwich, or fills up the bag, type of thing. I get this almost everywhere I go from the staff, and a few times the manageresses. I have yet to pay for even a coffee in Davenport.]
That brings us to the last expense, entertainment. This is a broad category that encompasses most everything that makes life worthwhile for me. I never intended to be a stay-at-home. Everything from a Sunday drive to museums to chasing women is in the mix, but it excludes the other budget categories like the gas to get there, the books, and the Thrifts. Those to me are a brand of entertainment but they rarely involve crowds. I spend $339 per month on fun and games.
You can look at that in two ways. Some guys brag and say they spend that much on a weekend. Ah, but are they getting the full value of their dollar? I say no, because I have two spendthrift brothers who can blow $500 on payday and not have a damn thing to show for it. Tell you what, let me calculate my average expenditure on the days I do Karaoke. Why? Because where my brothers would be the howling drunks in the audience buying round after round, where I’m the guy on the stage. Who is getting banged for the, er . . . I mean, the most bang for the dollar? Okay, I’m usually there two hours and sing three songs. Hang on, I’ll go get the actual figures.
I went carousing 58% of the days last year, that is, 192 occasions. Hmmm. Of those, I sang Karaoke or performed on stage 92 times. On those events, I spent an average of $15.86. That’s it. Since the places I go charge an average of $3.50 for a beer, with a bit of tipping this is just four beers. That hardly ranks with my college days when it was four beers per hour. But I will compare my enjoyment factor to anyone in the room. Okay, I’ll finally say it: except for family groups, I have by far the largest Karaoke following in the county. That is a misleading term in only one sense. They don’t actually follow me, because I’m the one that goes to the clubs where they have the Karaoke, so they don’t come to me. My following is based on the number of people who actually cheer loudly when I’m called, by the number of people who turn to watch my act, and the number who sing along. (I pay very close attention to this, especially in rooms full of strangers.)
That is correct. Cheering, and compare that, because live performance is highly comparative. It is always an event when the jockey calls my name. I love high-fiving all the way up to the stage and all the way back afterward, both hands. Take it any way you want, but don’t call it bragging until you see it. I work hard to put on a good show and I’ll take as many bows as I can in this life. If you’d like a pic, go see < href=https://talesfromthetrailercourt.blogspot.com/2018/11/november-17-2018_17.html>November 17 last year arthe Castle Lounge in Redding, CA. When I tried to leave early, the women would not let me. They screamed until I got back on stage. Seriously. The staff bribed me to stay with free everything. Yep, compare that for $15.86.
And since this article attracted 180 clicks, it stays:
I'm in a coffee house in Lakeland, Florida.
I wanted to tell you about the trip to Paris I did not win. It might be blogged previously, but here is the more complete version.
Most of you are too young to remember the original satellite trivia game. No, not Internet, but satellite link ups. Oops, see the Internet influence, I obviously meant up-links. It escapes me the the game-name, but you got a transmitter box from the counter at participating nightclubs and logged on. I chose the bar that gave the winner a free drink, and drank there for free for something like five years, winning every game. I usually went there on Thursdays, but otherwise barely remember the place. I won against teams who had the repeat questions on laptop. I was always able to adapt to whatever they tried, which I get to in a moment.
But I recall the championship. It was open to four-member teams. I rarely played on a team since I didn't need one, but when I did, there was Charlene who knew all the mushy trivia stuff, and Don, who had all the useless trivia like dog breeds, gambling terms, and psykumalogical shit, I mean the terms anyway.
Here's some background about the tournament. The grand prize was a trip to Paris. I'd done teams before and you know I have an inherent dislike of copycats. Darn rights I developed tactics to throw them off, it's something I would naturally do because I truly hate copycats. Note that I define copycats as those useless people who do what you do for some stupid immediate gain; I don't mean the people who duplicate your successful moves at say, music or Karaoke. You get the idea.
For that reason, I had a horde of "dirty tricks" to throw off the contestants who tried to copy my answers. First, take a mo' to understand the scoring mechanism. There are 15 questions per round. If you answer quickly, you get 1,000 points, but wrong answers disappear and the points go down until there are two choices left. If you don't answer you get 0 points. Now this is important: if you leave a wrong answer, you get -250. That's negative 250. Are you still with me?
Thusforth, I naturally developed an array of tactics to fake copycats into leaving the wrong answers. It hurt their scores overall even with the answers they knew. Dirty pool? Not really, I did not ask them to copy me, and puh-leeze don't hand me that crappulence about imitation and flattery. That is so kindergarten I don't want to even hear anybody dumb enough to repeat it.
So, what were some of my tactics? I'll only tell you some basics, but trust me I got good at it. Okay, the boxes beep when you press an answer. So if you answer quickly, it means you knew the answer. The gronks will quickly glance to see what button you pushed. I became expert at rapidly moving to a different button, or if I did not know the answer, pretending to push a wrong answer. With such tactics, I could regularly fake out copycats some 6 questions on average. Multiply this many times, and you can see how I could win even on topics I had no clue about, like Academy Awards. Another tactic was to wait until there were two choices left and suddenly beep the button rapidly, as if you were changing your answer at the last moment. If you are imaginative, you'll grasp all this.
Well, the championships were always teams, so we needed a a fourth. Ah, now it comes back to me, I did tell you about Mike and his booming voice. Mike was the slowest on the team, I didn't even want him there. It was almost he was on the other teams. He'd realize the answer long after I'd keyed it in and faked out the competition. He'd "whisper" it loud enough for the entire room to hear and after one or two instances, they caught on. I'd tell him, Mike, shut up, shut up, we got it, we don't need you. But, the others heard me admonishing and were soon patting Mike on the shoulder.
I even tried between sets to make him go stand outside. But the team rules said four people so the judges let him back in. They thought it was such fun to see what was happening. You know judges. So I lost my one chance at an expense paid trip to Paris. To this day, Mike thinks he was "on the team" and lost because we didn't listen to him.
Hoo-rah!
