January 19, 2023

Yesteryear
One year ago today: January 19, 2022, so 1940s.
Five years ago today: January 19, 2018, hunting grounds . . .
Nine years ago today: January 19, 2014, where do they find?
Random years ago today: January 19, 2004, somebody else’s turn, my eye.

           The good news this morning is the German grandmother who was jailed for telling the truth has been set free. Even the weakling German government realized they had best smarten up. The problem is, the enemy that put her in prison is not about to forgive such an affront to their authority. The bad news is I was distacted by a phone call and burned my banana muffins. Now we’ll find out if it is true birds will eat blackened bread. Here’s a table of elements I found interesting. Only two elements are derived from cosmic rays.

           I removed my BandPro listing so as to avoid distractions with my duo. I glance through the offerings and it’s like these musician sites somehow attract banks of these losers. Like the women in dating ads, they list what they want in a way that avoids saying what they have to offer other than jargon about what they think is fancy equipment. I’ve also been in the area long enough to recognize the freaks and crazies. Possibly I just find it strange that every one of them I can remember now has a glossy listing which, in my opinion, says they are aware of their shortcomings but can’t admit it.

           The neighbor was chatting in the back while I worked and that boy is dangerously unaware of what’s going on. He’s the guy who remembers the old D-party before they went full commie. He can quote the latest mainstream talking points and still believes the 2020 election was fair and honest. That any evidence whatsoever must therefore be right-wind propaganda. He is unaware that CNN has lost it’s viewers. Many of the politicians are so old he remembers them by name. Sadly, he’s now got nose cancer on both sides and in the worst way.

           Here’s another mystery with no easy on-line answer. Something steals my paint brushes out of the soaking pan if I leave them overnight. At first I thought I’d misplaced my favorite, but last night I lost another. Tracing the may paths back to the trees, I found them both. Nothing had nibbled the bristles, but they were picked clean of paint. I used the brushes again before thinking of taking a photo. Wait, here’s the photo. The animal has to be at least the size of a squirrel to get that far. I know brushes are sometimes made of animal hair, but that was not touched. I have no night vision equipment but isn’t that something?

           I’ve got the steps almost done and trimmed the dead leaves off the Papaya. I have five large and one small, still way too green according to the on-line super-pro-experts. And we know they would not lie to you. Why, even years later when they discover they were wrong, they still go back and change what they published and offer apologies. What? I got them mixed up with Boomers? Dang, happens all the time since I was born in between both groups.

           Here’s an interesting side event, a gal getting sucker punched. If you watch it, read the comments. I agree with most of them, that the person she should be accosting is the boyfriend. This must be in Canada, where you see this crap all the time. Guy says he caught his best friend doing his wife and beat him half to death. Ask him about the wife and he’ll say, “Oh, she’s in the kitchen cooking dinner. Are you hungry?” Yep, Canadians.
           Before I forget, here is the closeup of the crystal screen. It’s crisp to the naked eye, but up close you can see the individual crystals. I have no idea how this technology works. There is also a look at the two shelves I set up in the red shed. Ultimately, these will have to be removed to finish the walls, but for now I need them to keep things organized. Mostly yard tools will be going in this space, since the shed is almost impossible to break into without making a racket. I was on my back in the dust and grit to get this done, so at least nod in approval.

           Noon break had me reading the update on TRAC, the system used to monitor cross-border money transfers. It was forbidden knowledge not that long ago, As usual, the software used a loophole that people who use money transfers somehow do not have the same right to privacy as “regular” bank customers. It did not take long for them to turn the system on innocent people and now that $600 rule is in place. However, my system assumed back in 2003 this would happen and we have measures in place—but damn, they are inconvenient. I know, for example, that $500 limit on Money Orders is no accident. The TRAC system is set to ignore that as the lower threshold.
           If you don’t want your private business scanned and sifted, here are the outfits that turn your bank info over to the snoops without being asked. Others require a warrant or something, the ones you want to avoid are: WesternUnion, Maxitransfers, MoneyGram, Viamericas, Euronet, and the entire nation of Canada. Scarily, the TRAC system is funded by money won from successful prosecutions. It’s like paying the cops to arrest themselves, and they have now sunk to monitoring any transfer of over $500 from anywhere in America to a private citizen who just happens to be living in a border state, or any city on the coasts.

           IBM announces quantum computing is a threat to privacy—like we didn’t know that 25 years ago. Here’s a faked robot construction laborer, but today’s High School diplomas are really participation trophies, which makes it time for that bunch to worry. Factoid: the US imports 85% of its food fish. And 99% lf consumers cannot tell white fish apart, even professional chefs have trouble with that.

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

           As the afternoon drags on, I got three new shelves underway, here is the one in the silo. Note the neater appearance, since important stuff is stored in suitcases and boxes.. This understates the importance, for these shelves mean keeping things up off the damp, very important in these parts. Without good circulation, mold and mildew become your buddies. Now I will shortly have the long awaited charging station, for everything from car batteries to AAA cells. And a computer work station in the silo.

           News from Tennessee for any animal lovers in my readership. The big doggie had a tumor removed from his paw today. He had to be put under and it must have been heartbreaking as he would not leave the Reb’s side. Remember, this is also the doggie that came about while I was around so I have an affinity and was anxious. But she called and he’s back home, woozy, but himself. He is on half rations due to the anesthetic and has to wear a boot for a while. In case you are wondering, the operation was $755. It goes without saying these animals seem to know their good fortune and are very protective of the Reb.

           I put seven hours into the yard and sheds today, lots of progress. This picture relates to last day when I mentioned that some rare vortex piles leaves onto my laundry deck. What you see here is one good windy afternoon and the cover is several layers deep. See photo below. And the leaves get into everything. I like to leave heavier articles to dry naturally and next thing there are leaf chips in the weave. I do not have the gear to time-lapse what is going on. Maybe I’ll tarp it to see, but that open deck is important at it was built in the shade so I would not need to cool the space.
           Next is a topic that may be recorded in writing, but not in the blog. Expect repeats if any of the old material ever makes it this far. It concerns how poor I was as a teenager and I fully understand some numbskulls will say they had it worse. I remember this incident today and want to make sure it is recorded. I was seventeen years old and the only work was a government job planting trees in the Rocky Mountains. I had to hitchhike since enough money to operate a car was still four years in the future for me. It was raining and a lady in a car full of children slowed down and saw my situation. They picked me up and drove me all the way to the town where the job was starting.

           By then, it was pouring rain and they saw I had no place to stay nor money for a hotel until the morning. This, folks, is what America used to be like. They took me home and let me crash overnight and made sure I had enough to eat. They knew what I had on me were my total worldly possessions. I had worked for a car or van I could sleep in, but my family stole the money. These strangers even gave me a ride to the government office in the morning. I could not thank them enough, I was headed into the bush for three weeks and would come out with a $300 paycheck.

           The story doesn’t end there. Three weeks later, it was a six hour drive into town and the truck kept getting stuck. We had to winch it ahead so often that by the time we got to town, all the banks were closed. This was long before ATMs and there I was, stranded with a paycheck. All the other guys had cars in the compound and drove to the city a hundred miles away for their days off. I had nothing. It was cold, and rainy again, and I remembered that family. No hotel would put me up on credit, I weighed 117 pounds and looked like I was 13 years old.

           I walked the seven miles to the house and knocked. They said no, it was just once to help me out, they rightly explained and they were not prepared to do more. However, in the few minutes it took to say I would never bother them by choice, the father, who I’d not seen before, was getting ready to leave for work. Apparently he left town for his job and all his baby children were crying and clinging to his clothes not to go. The mother and older children saw the dazed look on my face. They realized I came from a family where you prayed the father would leave and never come back. That I’d never seen children do that before. They put me up for the night. In the morning, I insisted I would walk back to town.
           I never saw them again. But they are in my will. If anything ever comes of it, the family name was Harps. Later this evening, I dropped into the old club. It was payday at the mines and boisterous as hell. I can’t really stand the fake laughter of women in their 30’s, I call that the “still got it” cackle. They want to be fun for their husbands or else. It’s a phase I never went through, or suffered. There’s a pattern, every second Thursday that somehow skips a beat. They are a noisy bunch.

ADDENDUM
           Another aspect of the band listings is, of course, that I watch the competition. Never kid yourself. Band playing is a cooperative venture, getting into the band is nothing of the sort. One huge factor is around 90% of all other bass players around here are much the same. There’s a common theme (other than bass, Glenn) that I can’t quite connect the dots. All their ads read the same and it is not a case of copying what works. Some of these guys ads date back five to seven years. That doesn’t happen if you are getting replies.

           They look the same, act the same, and blurb the same. See photos. I’ve spotted common themes but that does explain it all. For example all of them list bass as one of many instruments they play, the sure sign he’s a convert, not a true bassman. As soon as he starts listing his gear, that’s a guitar player for sure. Around two-thirds of these people are outright lying. The nearest bass player who uses a pick in these listings is in Minnesota. Folks, real bass players use a pick. If not, then some guitar player got to them first and they are now a clone for life.
           Two things you will never see me doing on stage. Wearing a do-rag and playing bass with a limp wrist. I’m a professional. To those who say the rest of the world plays bass with their fingers, I say be patient. They can't all take lessons from guitar center forever and eventually they'll catch up.

Last Laugh