Search This Blog

Yesteryear

Sunday, March 1, 2020

March 1, 2020

Yesteryear
One year ago today: March 1, 2019, generic post,
Five years ago today: March 1, 2015, memories of Merida.
Nine years ago today: March 1, 2011, 31 miles by scooter.
Random years ago today: March 1, 2004, early website price shopping.

           Finally a nice enough day to get the big dog into the bath tub. He’s fine once you get him in the water, it’s the surrounding logistics that don’t proceed as smoothly. And that dog stays wet for hours afterward, which is why I avoided dunking him during the cold spell. There, that’s the big news of the morning, except I made TexMex chicken pie. Contains butter, evaporated milk, eggs, this is not diet food. See photo. You like that lone star venting? I came up with that on my own, y’know.
           Hello? Hello? Are you there? I hate this Win 10, it regularly locks up on laptops and tablets. I know the problem, it’s that the software is intended for dumb bastards and other computer illiterates. It takes tons of system overhead to make up for what they don’t know that I have to wait small eternities for basics like a picture to open, or render a video. Stupid Win 10, it takes just as long to cancel a copy command as to wait for it to plug along.

           Have you seen the new Harbor Freight web site? What a millennialized abortion. No matter what your search criteria, you land on a coupon page to waste your time. I arrived in Tennessee without my router bit wrenches and tried to find some on-line. They’ve got them for $15 to $20 a set. I’ll settle for a couple wrenches, but don’t bother using “router”, “bit”, or “wrench” as you search criteria. Google is as bad as the Spanish language for moronic interpretations of compound words. I’m the guy who asked for directions (in Caracas) to the post office, and they sent me to a lumber yard. Ask Google for a router wrench and you get the Netgear repair site.

           That transmission on the car needs work. I have a recommendation in West Nashvile, an area I’ve never been except on I-40. I’ve decided I can afford almost any repair, but don’t know if I’ll pay for a replacement. It was a quiet day and I reviewed some of my rehearsal videos. I got a surprise, but it may go nowhere. The only harmony that “makes sense” to me is thirds, and I saw that on some tunes, I was indeed doing fifths. But I can’t do them consciously, so I could not record any on demand. Nor do them on stage. Here’s a funny side effect of the process.
           I’ve made up a few clips of my solo work as demos. If you think about it, that’s a good way to let a singer-guitarist know what I can do. But, and this is the big but, most of them don’t spot that I’m doing harmonies. Hmmm, since I know I’m not that good, does this mean they are that stupid? Anyway, their comments and questions show they are not connecting with the situation.


           In a twist, when I sang melodies, I would sometimes seek out tunes that had strong harmonies, backwards to what I do now. I was wondering why so many guitarists would try to copy what I was doing and it sounded like crap. I’m beginning to understand. Many tunes on my list benefit from harmonies, and I find if I do it right, many people miss the technique, but like the effect. Darn rights it’s got me thinking.
           Like, at first I was wondering why so many tunes that sounded better in harmony did not employ the tactic. Now I get it. The vocalist ego outpaces the lead guitar ego. I had a flashback to what’s-her -ace that got pregnant in seventh grade. “I sing alone or I don’t sing at all.” I wonder what ever happened to her? She was so good-looking she never spoke to me.

Picture of the day.
Chinese subdivision.
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.

           Here’s a shot of the fence posts salvages so far, about $100 worth. These are the easy ones, the rest have to be pulled from a heavy pile of other debris. The picture is here because it doesn’t fit anywhere else today. The cross is a rune, you’ve seen it before. Or it could be the grave marker of the New York Times, just waiting for the location once they dig themselves deep enough into the liberal pile. Note only one of these posts is eight feet long. I’m calling them the potato posts from their intended usage.
           Elliott, my pal from the Pacific Northwest, is considering early retirement. Knowing that guy, retirement just means he’ll slow down a bit. The discussion led to the conditions of retirement that took me by surprise. That’s something I’m about to repeat in writing, because you cannot possibly know [about] it until it is too late for you. Ready?
           People who have adequate retirement incomes tend to be useless and boring. There, I said it. I’ve found there are two broad categories of retirees, and I don’t mean just in my own demographic. Those who have enough money and are boring numbskulls, and those who are somewhat interesting but broke all the time. This makes sense if you’ll allow me to explain what I’ve seen.

           The people with enough money got so by wasting their lives in some corporate cubicle. Now they live in gated communities, play too much bingo, and sit around Panera dreaming about making “the big money”. Remember Pete the Rock? Big planner with a racing form in his back pocket. The other people who are not ex-corporate types may be less boring, but they have no money. I’ve told you about this bunch. We can’t meet up for coffee unless I give them a lift and buy the coffee. Woe to those who think I’m kidding. Your two choices if you retire early: broke or boring. Take your pick.
           You bet this is one of my incentives to get back on stage. I’d rather do just about anything than chum around with people my own age, and that goes for the ones in my audience. I’ll play until I croak before I’ll be identified with either side of that coin.

           After lunch, I took a look at the Soviet war film, “Tanker”. They’d have you believe the interior of a T-34 is large enough for men to stand up in with room for a woman to sleep on the floor. As they go into battle, she says to wake her up when it is over.

ADDENDUM
           So the FAA proposes all drones over a half-pound be required to carry an on-line GPS tracker. What’s next? Demanding they file a flight plan? That is so unfair to kit airplane hobbyists because every knows what a swell bunch of nice-behaved boys they are. People who would never fly anything dangerously near an airport, across a crowded highway, or over a nudist colony. All’s I can say is one the Feds start regulating your hobby, it is time to switch to stamp collecting.
           As usual, the justification for the new laws is safety, the example given is a terrorist payload. The real motive is more government overreach. Instead of spending a few thousands tracking the known terrorists, they use sthe excuse to spend billions tracking everybody—which is their true intent. How do we know? Because their solution is always an increase in record-keeping capability on the public at large.
           You know how to solve the terrorist problem, Mr. Trump? Pass a law that no terrorist or known affiliate has any protection under American law. That’s correct, we should not extend any shelter, even due process, to such people. Then, once a month publish the list of who is being watched. End of problem. To any SJWs here by mistake, I agree this would be very unfair to honest people, but so is every other repressive law in this country, and you should be protesting those because they’ve been longer on the books.

           As for Trump’s libel suit against the New York Times, I’m standing back and watching. The Times is claiming op-ed is an opinion and opinions are protected by Freedom of Speech. That may be so, but you still cannot say things that cause people harm in certain ways. Even speaking the truth does not convey any right to cause harm. I’m watching, but secretly I hope Trump sticks it to the media. Why? Because I believe the law protects media only when they are reporting facts. Once they take sides, defamation laws apply.

Last Laugh