One year ago today: March 3, 2022, battery anniversary coincidence.
Five years ago today: March 3, 2018, interesting footnote on violence.
Nine years ago today: March 3, 2014, I can’t play guitar.
Random years ago today: March 3, 2013, my top supplier folds.
Another slow morning, I baked another cake and listened to the windstorm. It’s up near 90° but a 25 mph wind from the south makes it easy to get around. Alas, I can’t find the energy. Fridays are always great for blog hits and this morning we got 1070. Odd that many people find what I do interesting enough, if only that would happen with my music, ha-ha. If we get some cloud cover this afternoon, I may be out there but y’day I got sunburned on my right side, so I have to smarten up.
Here is a rare picture from before I began keeping a journal. I estimate this to be around 1978. These are two guys I worked with at my summer job as a carpenter’s helper, a job that involved very little carpentry. That’s Dan and Ken, we were at a rifle range west of town, in a deep river valley. There were few restrictions on where you could shoot as long as it was safe. I can’t identify the rifles, but they were small caliber, so we were plinking.
These guys were okay to hang with but they were painfully shy around women, a defect I never suffered. I’ll wager both these guys wound up in regrettable marriages before they discovered women were just other people and you don’t worship other people. Now, this could have been as early as 1976 so Ken was probably along because Dan & I were too young to have guns without an adult present, so maybe 1978. We didn’t call them river valleys, but “coolies” and look at that stand of evergreens that grew on the north side of any hills that gave enough shade.
That was Bradford on the phone, we are slated for Sunday “after the ball game” which gives you an idea of the guy’s priorities. Now, I see his view, the musicians he deals with 99% of the time are the same. You meet them and they are the kewlest bunch of aging hipsters who’ve never made it to stage that you’ve ever met. That’s harsh, they have been on stage, but I mean they lost money. I mentioned my surprise Bradford’s dad is around and now it turns out he is a big Dwight Yoakum fan. Hmmm, this could be part of a lucky day. You see, old Dwight uses a different bass player every time.
Brad likes to jam but I’ve never found an acoustic bass that’s up to par. My old tailgater is on it’s second battery. Say, that reminds me where I have another, the old back up battery for the scooter I gave away. Anyway, I priced out the latest tailgater, it is virtually identical but now prices $80 higher at $159. There’s a project for this afternoon. It looks like the clouds won’t arrive, plus I’ve always meant to put a decent carry handle on that amp. The built-in type are useless, it requires two hands to carry one small amp. Damn millennials.
Here is work being done on the old tailgater. I got some electronics work on it but that was later this afternoon. This shows the carry handle modification. You can see through the plastic piece because I cut the entire back piece away. It was shallow and prevented your fingers from getting inside the box for a good grip. Now, it works just fine. I had time to water the plants, tidy the yard, put in two shelves, and get in some target practice. It’s the rifle, but I can get 4” groupings, nothing to brag with a scope because I could do better with open sights in my day.
Near Hickory, North Carolina.
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.
I took the tailgater to the shed and sure enough, the batteries are fried. In itself, no big deal but as I hauled out my other four backup batteries, three of them brand new in the boxes, they were also dead. These sealed batteries have an initial charge and are not intended to require an initial boost. Deader than a doornail, they will not even complete a circuit. I have one battery left, it has never been even filled with electrolyte. But, if they are going to see just sitting in climate-perfect storage, I have nothing to lose seeing if it will fire up. It is too large to fit into the battery case of the tailgater. If I absolutely need power, there is always the Yeti.
Gladly I report again working past dark. I may distract from my overdue renovations to add more electric to the red shed and scooter canopy. Most of it is already run in, I need to drill holes to the breaker panel is all that’s slowing me. I’m now surrounded by radios set to the same station so one easily loses track of time. It was two hours past dark before I closed up. Then, into the van and out to Bartow, where the place is dead after their monthly sidewalk event, but makes for the quiet time I’m seeking now.
Bradford talked me into meeting up for a couple at the old club. Lately, their entertainment is best described as “budget”. The guy is from Tampa and he’d probably do well in a coffed-house if there were any such thing any more, much less the people who would go there for entertainment. The best explanation is that he must undercut everybody. When I first moved to this area, they had five-piece bands in that joint. Actually, there is a coffeehouse in downtown Bartow, that is, if you consider something like Starbucks to be a coffeehouse. I most decidedly do not.
Noon is when I’m least likely to be around that area, but the must do a booming business. They are still there, with a big radio ad campaign. I’ve never seen anybody in there. I was just once a customer, but I found the atmosphere sterile, they had no provision for singles, and their prices were too much. That singles mention isn’t frivolous, I don’t like places that only have tables for eight. America is too “diversified” to chance having strangers at your table.
ADDENDUM
The new silo quickly filled up with stuff that didn’t need to be inside the house. Over time, I’ve been going in there and organizing. A conclusion has resulted. Supplies. There is a certain amount of prepper gear and food in there, including my backup coffee supply. All foodstuffs deteriorate and mine are on the highest shelves, making them tricky to rotate. It’s not called the silo for nothing. Well, time to remap the philosophy. Nobody can predict what food will be right for the time, so I’m considering an alternative. Trade goods.
Instead of food, the majority of the stash could probably do better if it was something that could be traded or bartered. It is unlike, for example, that there would ever be a vegetable or fruit shortage in this vicinity and everybody around here is a week away from planting their own garden. So instead of 4-1/2 feet of shelf space now taken up by coffee, Carnation, and soup which I would only eat in an emergency, why don’t we think of something small and valuable that would be in high demand that we could turn into food? I know, that’s tricky because you would be letting outsiders know you have such goods, but I think by now we can have some faith in my ability to shake a tail.
