One year ago today: March 9, 2019, snoopability.
Five years ago today: March 9, 2015, Russian cherry juice.
Nine years ago today: March 9, 2011, spoons proved too boring.
Random years ago today: March 9, 2010, the Russian Google guy.
How’s my woodworking hobby going? Pretty average, it’s enjoyable but I could use some schooling if it was available. (It isn’t, American trade schools no longer offer non-degree single courses.) There are 13 colleges that have programs, a huge decrease from ten years ago, not surprising for I expect somebody to announce a robot carpenter any day now. Most mills are already automated except for some of the setup. A year ago I got these corner vice tools and had nothing but trouble with them. Now, I use them a lot. The only bad design defect is the little levers on the turnscrews. They are too long to be used when your work is flat on a table.
Taking time to go over the courses offered near my cabin, the mixture shows a distubing trend. The courses are watered down and reflect a huge departure from what was considered a tech skill in my day. Put another way, I don’t see much of a future in an economy based on cosmetology, medical billing, and massage therapy. I’m no expert on infrastructure failure but if those are the careers of choice, a lot of the country has gone to the dogs. Many sources would say my real interest is in joinery, a sub-set of carpentry, but I believe any training at all would bolster my general skill level. Yet there is not one course offered that fits my basic requirements. Not even close.
As this blog prepares (yet again) to move away from Google, I found a candidate that offers plug-in architecture. Huh? So I thought I’d look up what that meant. I got millennialized right off the bat because it said, and I quote, “A plug-in is a bundle that adds functionality to an application, called the host application, through some well-defined architecture for extensibility.” Gee, now I know. I suspect it is just another way of saying that the computer code is designed to have compatible subroutines. Like OOPS coding, this produces horrid results when the people who determine what is compatible use the same criteria as on-line dating. These, by the way, are the same people who brought you touchscreens.
For the benefit of millennials who fail so badly at descriptive semantics, I offer these translations:
Plug-in: something you do with the prongy end of a electric cord.
Bundle: what my doggie leaves in the park if nobody’s looking.
Functionality: used to describe what doesn’t work like it should
Application: a layer of wet paint, SPF 90, or Preparation H.
Host: that which has garden parties and/or parasites.
Well-defined: a formerly useful term fictionalized by MicroSoft.
Architecture: what Superman leaps over in a single bound.
Extensibility: stand back ladies, and I’ll show you.
In other words, such definitions are the product of when useless minds try to sound technical. It doesn’t work on me because I possess a super-sensitive bullshit meter in my DNA. Let me insert a graphic from my title page so it stays here more permanently.
Another such source said this about starting a web site, “depending on your needs, your cost can range from $100 to $500 to $3000, to even as high as $30,000 or more. What exactly does that mean, if anything? This is what passes for information with the bunch who call themselves the greatest generation. Yep, that’s what it says, “even as high as $30,000 or more.” The non-answer generation. I don’t make this shit up.
Another mystery. I finally got one of the telemarket callers (there are a few ethical survivors left after the latest crackdown) to reveal his source. He says this number is listed as a “third contact” on an expired real estate listing on 112 Terrace in Miami. His job is to generate leads based on properties that have been delisted (no sold) and as far as he knows, the information is from the Real Estate Board. Problem, that outfit did a complete search and has no such record.
Now, recall that gimp Barry who calls here with the recorded message. I’ve told him off so many times, that next call, I’m going to go along and find out where he’s getting the number. His call machine says according to a “court record”. Maybe he’s telling the truth, but don’t bet any money on that considering these people are bottom-feeders.
Watching a documentary on what I thought was the invention of Ford’s V-8 engine, around halfway through they announced the first V-8 car was produced to day in 1932. March 9, that’s a coincidence for you. It was 88 years ago today.
Lençóis Marahensas desert lakes.
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Has anyone else been getting those Firefox come-ons when trying to log into your browser? I’m not complaining, in the old days they would just hijack you. But this one asks if you would like to change, saying “blgospot” will work better. What is blgospot, I use blogspot and would not trust anybody who can’t spell it. Besides, there is something a bit fishy about Firefox that I have not sorted out yet. Their claims are too stringently worded, meaning they are leaving out something important. I’ll exercise an abundance of caution here.
The ATM system is still down from the storm, or more accurately, only the high-volume locations have been restored. I use a business bank, so it could be days more. I went shopping wearing a surgical mask like most others. I’m appalled to this day how many people openly sneeze in public, but I can’s say much more without sounding redneck. I found a 16mm wrench. The 14mm was $2.97 but the 16mm was $19.97. You just know these yahoos are in it together.
For break time, I began reading that archeology book translated from French. Yep, it is French alright, the first two chapters explain in thousands of words that some guy’s right shoe doesn’t fit. I don’t know if I can take this. But once in a while there is a quip that perks things up. Like, “I was told that time would ease my pain and that other women would come who would have me and share my days. I waited.’
Or this one, “We learned with difficulty how to speak, with difficulty how to walk, and then, once that was done, we were ordered to shut up and sit still.”
I’m already on page 40 and I have no clues what this book is about. The rest of my time was taken by rehearsal. I had to ramp up my sets fron 8 songs to 10 for one simple reason. I do not play any blues or otherwise kill time on stage. My sessions were coming up nearly four minutes short. Now freed from selecting tunes that might interest guitar players, I’ve chosen eight tunes that are mostly for show. You know, in case somebody suggests I can’t play complicated rock or pop passages. You have got to hear my treatment of “Love Me Two Time” by The Doors.
Each set is geared to get the audience on my side, a wee bit quicker each time around until they are trained. I’ve also looked closely at the money side of things. That’s one slot I know better than most musicians exactly where I fit. Musically I fit about mid-way between the best and the worst in the area, but the pay rate is not based on musical ability. Most clubs have a Friday show with anybody they can get and the pay is all around the same. It’s between $125 for the so-so acts and $150 for the better soloists. Add only $25 more for a duo. With one or two exceptions, regular pay maxes out at $200 for a full band. It is likely only the solo acts actually show a real profit.
As for equipment, if this goes as planned, it will be one of the cheapest “bands” I’ve ever put together. Everything on stage cost total less than $1,000 and it’s all paid for. I don’t need a wireless mic to start. I’ve written to several of my musical friends and sent videos. My prediction is I will start too soon, make a lot of mistakes, and quickly glom on to one place as a regular.
The picture of the store hours caught my eye.
ADDENDUM
Here’s a shot of Wendell Smith’s. I grabbed a coffee and toast there on the way back from scouting the path for my transmission repair. Several breakfast places are crowded into that small area, but this was the only one with a counter and swivel stools. There’s something about a coffee and a crossword on a good old-fashioned swivel stool that gets me in. So I’m half-way through the puzzle and I look up. The walls are covered with autographed celebrity photos.
The transmission shop is along Highway 70 and is among a strip of small businesses straggled out along a strip of land between parallel to the freeway to the north. It’s quaint and I like it to the extent it seems real, not one of those restored areas in many cities. Where they never restore enough parking. The repair shop says many of the clubs have opens mics and live entertainment. And that few of them have any web presence. I wish the location was ten miles closer to here.
And leave time for coffee at Wendell's. I liked it a lot.
