One year ago today: December 19, 2022, doggie fence.
Five years ago today: December 19, 2018, between cruise gigs.
Nine years ago today: December 19, 2014, $3,450 per month.br /> Random years ago today: December 19, 2012, in theory . . .
You’re never going to hear the end of this now (figuratively speaking). XP outperforms Win 7. Overnight power glitch reset my equipment and my latest and greatest, the HP Win 7 computer would not reboot. So, I hauled out my old 386 from the front office and fired it up. What a treat, all my old but perfectly working software back. I’m all for progress—it there is any involved and I have not seen that with the apps that appeared since 2006 or so. The same old software repackaged as new and improved. Not so, they are counting on the ignorance of the next generation not knowing what was there before.
First of all, anybody who said 30+ outlets on the wall behind my desk was excessive can kiss my rosy red. These critics were not here to help as I underwent the repair job. All outlets were needed unless I wanted to start unplugging gear I wanted working while I was. That would mean a third complete computer setup to access the net while I’m working on the 386 while I’m troubleshooting the Compaq 6005. And that’s another thing, go on-line and find the manuals? For every 6005 except the one I’ve got. I’ve determined it is the memory, so I went to reseat it. Not so fast.
These photos may be mal-formatted but I’ll need a moment to readjust back to the right way of doing things. This photos is artificially lightened, it’s still hard to see but all 18 outlets in this view are filled. Turns out the memory in the HP is something I’ve never seen before, and apparently neither have any of the illustrious millennial experts on-line. It has some fragile looking retainer clips, if I can’t find instructions, it may go into the shop.
But they still can’t beat XP. Everything works, even when I plugged in the smart phone. None of the hoops, it recognized the device and self-installed, bringing up all the photos in memory without any log-on bullshit. This includes 91 pictures that were supposedly permanently deleted. It also unlocked my contact list and messages without fussing with connect-the-dots. File that fact away for future use. It also plays all my tunes properly through the headphone port. Yes folks, computers for educated people peaked with XP. It has actually gone backwards since then. Here is a picture of me pointing to what I think is the memory card on the Compaq. Unless it is under the hard drive, which I would not put past today’s excuse for engineers, this is RAM.
While digging out spare parts to get this setup going, I ran across my missing set of plug cutters, a box of adapters I was once looking for, a couple of rare USB-B cables, and a portable battery recharger I thought I’d lost. All desks should be required to have a backing board so things can’t fall behind. Now I’m motivated to clear out that former computer corner in the front bedroom to see what else I find. Not today, however, she’s another cold one.
Sadly, this repair emphasized another fact. While I wisely kept all the software, I am now using up the very last of my spare parts. That’s it, I even had to revert to an older monitor as there were no video cards for the 386 to drive my wide-screen. Before anyone calls me an old foggie lamented a bygone era, it is not the era that I criticize. Computers were full of hope and promise until development became side-tracked by the Internet. The world is now full of Homers who think it was the Internet that invented the computer.
I lived through the transition from sophisticated user, through the klutz whiz-kid era, to now where computers are geared for use by semi-retards. I liken it to the bunch who can’t drive a stick-shift. So I must be careful here, since I don’t like stick-shifts, never did, and there are a tone of similar skills a traditionalist would say I lack—remember, in my crowd, I was the first with computers which was distressingly before there were any computer jobs. I was thousands of miles from Silicon Valley. I had to let the knowledge lapse and go work in a lumber mill.
I’m quite aware the 386 is a slap-together and that it will soon quit on me again. This event took half of today since you can’t rush computer repairs. I’ll pull that box of RAM I kept out of the shed and see if I can spruce up this desktop. It has my Movie Maker, which last worked right back then, the Word 2003 version that is most of this blog, and a host of cracking software and password generators that, after seeing how easily it hacked the smart phone, I will test to its limits. And before I forget, when XP goes on line, it is lightning fast. I gauge that by the library which tends to have the newest and latest. While the data refresh rates are okay on the newer units, navigating, searches, installs, and switching between apps are glacial compared to XP. Plus, you have the added ease of knowing XP is only doing what you commanded.
A 62-foot Atlantic wave..
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Two hours, but the lean-to roof is sheathed and has a triple layer of foil barrier. Should have taken less than an hour, that’s part of getting as far as I have. I even threw a lift of shingles up there in case this afternoon isn’t so windy. Blog says mention food, so I’m indoors taking a break with garlic cheese muffins in the oven and a small order of chicken gravy on the only burner left. It’s more like a sauce than gravy, halfway to beef stew. Did I ever mention the kid in my scout troop who could not stand the sight of beef stew? I warned the rest of the guys because I had seen him get instantly ill at both ends at a church picnic.
Now that I’m inside, put on the coffee. Shingles are heavy, but I did life them above my head, see photo. The price is now that I sat down, nothing wants to move. I’ll opt for a siesta, since this is Festus Tuesday and I don’t like falling asleep with such great acting going on. The patch of ground where the glass shattered y’day has to be completely peeled away as that is a walk area. The shards are too small for my shaker. I got all the big pieces but they aren’t the danger. I measured the OSB sheathing and discovered I guessed the dimensions wrong. It won’t fit the lean-to without cutting into smaller pieces than planned.
Here’s a picture of the foil backing. Yes, it’s that blinding but I moved fast and got it done an hour before this was taken. It was still cloudy at noon, you can see the shingles in the far back, these are the remainder of the free Tennessee packs. I suspect they were thrown out because the corners are warped, but they flatten right out nice in the hot Florida sun. My motion in the yard attracts the cardinals, which are noisy feeders. This in turn brings other birds in the wake, one of which is a new female downy woodpecker. The rare ones, but not so rare in this back yard.
We also have a squirrel, just the one so far, and he just showed up this morning. Them newbies always have a go at the bird-feeder until they learn. All they accomplish is announcing their presence. And I still have no built my squirrel catapult. I would, if computers would quit malfunctioning and the yard didn’t need so much attention. If you are reading this, that’s an hour down the drain as even reactivating old programs takes time.
Much later, there was some progress, but I was foolish. I woke up in time to catch enough sunlight that I humped the second lift of shingles onto the lean-to roof. They’re up there, though not fastened, so the big job is done even if I went past my limit. If shingles are still 91 lbs a square I got just under two squares and I will not be lifting much again for a while. The bright side of that is I was not winded and both shoulders behaved. It’s muscle strain, I’ve got this concept holding up the electric bass on stage isn’t as much exercise as it used to be.
The, the picture frames. Reserve judgment until I have a couple repeat items. The first one is done (except for any paint he may want to apply and I’d say it is okay. It could be better and here’s how that stands. He won’t or can’t pay for the frames downtown and I know they get expensive. He’s hinted that he was paying up to $45 each. That could be why he has such a nice saw. Anyway, I worked with my equipment and I don’t have any of the correct saws or blades for such fine work. I had to sand and shape each corner. However, I know which tools would be needed and I have some experience with them—ordinary Harbor Freight modeling saws.
He’s also hinted his price per frame would be $15, he supplies the trim moldings. Five minutes with a calculator tells me if he would buy 6 at a time for $100 I should consider it. Eight cuts, 14 brads, eight staples, and some glue. It’s labor intensive and he does not paint that many pictures. He’s recently discovered modern art. He makes more money painting than I do playing.
Later, after Festus Tuesday and one of the more dramatic Gunsmoke episodes, I’m going downtown for a few beers. Catch me tomorrow for any wrap-up but my shoulders are not going to let me play any music, I mean I could, and be sorry later. Tomorrow is jam session and with bands, there is always some conflicting pressures. Twice now, the Prez has said he’d be happy to just play the jams on Wednesdays, I had to remind him my ad was for a working partner. You’ve heard me say bands that don’t make money break up. Don’t presume I mean money is all-important, that would be childish of you. It works like so, if there is no money incoming, sooner or later there will be a situation where one band member has something better to do.
Usually it is a family thing, a birthday for instance. Why should he miss his kid’s birthday to play for free? Aha—without realizing it, he just made it a money issue. For the lack of money, he lets down the team. Now, if he can make $50 and get his kid a nicer present, couple that with the realization that the rest of the band will be out money if he balks, you add it up and money applies a good measure of the weight that keeps bands together. That’s also why you rarely see people who “aren’t in it for the money” playing out anywhere for free. They are hypocrites.