February 23, 2019

Yesteryear
One year ago today: February 23, 2018, on gimp commands.
Five years ago today: February 23, 2014, a rare successful rehearsal.
Nine years ago today: February 23, 2010, washing rocks?
Random years ago today: February 24, 2017, & I'm still painting windows.

           Not my day. Stand back so I don’t bite your head off. Give me a moment to find something good about today. Okay, I’m fine. The woodpeckers are finally back. I didn’t see them but I heard them this morning. That’s my sign of a healthy yard. How about this jeep parked in Punta Gorda. I spent most of the day over there. Maybe I’ll tell you about that, we had fun over there.

           That last day of physical labor on the tree limbs got me this morning, yet it honestly wasn’t that bad. More the ache of strained muscles than sore muscles, so maybe my Olympic tryout days aren’t done yet. The plan was to attend a quilting demonstration is Punta Gorda. What? You heard me, quilting. It started as an animal show on the 17th, which moved to a flea market on the 24th, then rescheduled to the 23rd, and I can explain the quilts. It’s like tarot cards and aromatherapy. I don’t believe in them, but I know a lot of sexy ladies who do.

           Hmmm, when we got there, the place was sold out and the lineup an hour long. That’s correct, at a quilting show. So, there I am with two ladies on this quilting date so the unanimous decision was to drive across town for breakfast. This is not so easy, since none of us are big eaters and Florida would serve you by the barrelful if they could. This found us over at John Shi’s Breakfast House, about was middle-class white conservative a joint as America has to offer any more. We were there for lunch.

           When I heard somebody had failed this morning, I read the fine print on the Fat Boy breakfast challenge. Aha, you have to eat two of them in twenty minutes. One maybe. So the loser not only lost face, he had to pony up the $50. At those prices, he should have gone to the Longhorn. At the other extreme, we shared a Rueben sandwich, some potato salad, and some of the famous soup. I didn’t taste it, but the gals sent it back. One of my dates was the enigmatic Alaine, who knows exactly how food is to be served and tasted.

           The conversation turned to those Xmas pictures. As a reminder, this was the hand-bell concert where we arrived early and strolled downtown. We were unaware these would be the last pictures of a dear lady friend of Alaine’s, an auto accident a few days later. But these days it is not a simple matter of taking the negatives to the pharmacy and getting soaked for reprints. It was the expense of traditional photography that drove me to switch over to digital some 12 or 13 years ago. This blog, as we know it, would be impossible without the technology. Consider the following.
           My pictures are for the blog, so they are often reduced in resolution, meaning you can’t blow them up much if you want bigger pictures. Nor am I dumb enough to carry my entire picture collection around on a smart phone, hoping I’ll never lose the thing. So asking for pics around me isn’t all a simple thing. I have to drive home, boot the archive computer, and dig through a vast collection of uncataloged jpegs. I’ve told you before the pictures have no filing system. Nor is that a full solution, consider what happened next.

           Can’t e-mail the photos, because the other end has never learned to get the pictures off her smart phone. Forget burning to a disk, they have no disc reader. As far as transferring to her tablet, the special cable required has been lost since 2015. Copy to the office computer, that’s out because the husband doesn’t like anyone touching in while he’s at the poker game. Nor am I going to UPS, who pay too much attention to what pictures you have and want $1 per print. And there are 72 files.
           Nope, can’t view them on my notebook, because that is where it belongs. On my charger 71 miles away. I need it Sunday mornings. I think you can see the direction all this went for a couple of hours. The fact is, same as yours, my computer system is designed for one user. If you need much from me, it is best you be completely equipped at the receiving in. There was an option to got to CVS, but this is my personal flash drive and I do not plug it into anything connected to the cloud. Those who snicker at this “paranoia” obviously don’t have a clue about even the basics of computer security. And who cares if people that stupid snicker, I mean really? Anyway, to solve the picture problem, keep reading.

Picture of the day.
Finnish quartet.
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.

           [Author's note: today's link to a Finnish topic is exactly one year since another like. Since I do not review the links until they are posted, I have no explanation why this coincicence occurs so very often in this blog.]

           Yes, this is a 1957 radio repair manual. The connection is direct, because you suddenly remembered I’d alluded to how the lovely Becka’s husband was once a radio buff. There’s an old Seminole legend that where there are radio tubes, there will be computer printers within arrow shot. I marched up the road and for once, the natives were right. Make that partially right. I discovered a monstrous storeroom of top notch computer gear in pristine condition. This included four printers. (Wide carriage, plotter, inkjet, laser.) Several scanners, including a high-speed negative scanner. Shelf-loads of high-gloss printer paper, and importantly, a cardboard carton full of brand new spare ink cartridges.

           Three hours later, we had the prints, or I should say print. The valuable in demand was this single composite photo (see where I’m pointing) in front of the church mural. Remember this, stitched from three separate views? Um, for reasons unknown, Alaine dislikes pictures with somebody’s hand in the way, yet for this blog, it is a bit of a trademark. Consider that I had to figure out the entire wireless setup and it parallels setting the whole office up, a service for which I normally charge $800. In return, I got to spend all that quality time alone with the lovely Becka (nothing happened, my choice) and in return I got some rare radio manuals, which I will read and post comments. Nearby is the photo that caused all the fuss, displayed as it was intended, on a monitor.

           Curious as can be, I asked to see the restored radios, of which she had kept only three. Whoa, that’s workmanship I could never master. You know how the old cathedral radios had all that scrollwork? The late husband had completely redone the cabinets, including some where he’d reapplied the veneer. This will be a lost art soon unless somebody programs a robot to do it. Like many classic hobbies that require brains, there will be nobody to step up to the plate once the current aficionados pass on. Consider further that she was astonished when I turned the radios on and picked up stations. Wow, you can do that? Up to that point, they were decorations.
           Being it is Sunday, I can eat one treat and it was a big slice of chicken pie. A blog event? Yes, because for the first time in 446days, I felt full. If I can figure out how I did that, I’d sell it. Follow my logic, not my words. Of course, there are times you can feel full but it does not last. This one, four hours later when I turned in, I did not think of food. Many happy returns on this one. Because after around 400 days, nothing else works. You cannot trick your appetite, pills no longer have any effect, even prescription pills, all’s left that you can do is tough it out.

ADDENDUM
           On the way home, I stopped in Arcadia for a brew. It was that same club JZ and I first went where the fat lady at the door tried jumping my bones all night because I’d paid the door charge with a hundred dollar bill. That was 2015 or something. The same fat lady was at the door. This time I paid with a fiver, so she didn’t even recognize me. I stayed for one since the harmonizer guy wasn’t on duty. I’d thought I was there early so I brought my scribbler. Nope, the band was already starting, and they were one excellent, but entirely unoriginal cowboy band. If you watch Nashville promo video from the 1990s, that’s exactly how they looked and sounded.

           Great PA sound, singer with a ten-gallon and an acoustic, but middle-age, overweight, and looking funny in a full denim cowboy costume. And a lead player half their age on stage right, playing only what he was told, and a rehearsed stage manner that did not at all fit the room. The music was fantastic, recording studio quality. I really wanted just the one beer and had to jot some notes, so I found a far corner of the bar. The place is huge, a former hotel ballroom, so there are lots of dark corners. Within moments, I’ve got this stoutly built blonde lady taking an intense interest in what I’m writing. No, not eyeing me, but trying to see what’s on my page. I casually folding up the scribbler to block her view and she stands on her tiptoes. It was a strange setting. She was ordering a drink and stayed on too long. I swagged the last third of my Bud, and left the building.

           Before I forget, in the course of that office set-up, I discovered all the files for the embroidery machine. That throw pillow is an example. La Gitana, wait, don’t tell me, don’t google, let me remember. Ah, yes, it means “romani” or as they say in English “gypsy”. I’d once looked at this as a business, but the stitching is so perfect it leaves a tone of cheap Asian knock-off.
           Pulling into town well after dark, I stopped for coffee and fired off an e-mail to the guitar player in Eagle Lake. If he has any positives, I’ll proceed on my own time to sparkle up enough tunes to play a full set, no obligations. Usually what happens it I encounter just another guitarist with a “yeah-yeah” attitude toward bass playing, and even rehearsal doesn’t change that. The logic is minimal, my bass playing is designed for stage work. Once we get to stage time, that’s the next crossroads. The guitarist will either embrace the sound, or start getting jealous of it. Place your bets now.

Last Laugh

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