April 28, 2024

Yesteryear
One year ago today: April 28, 2023, one small box for me.
Five years ago today: April 28, 2019, a rat attack.
Nine years ago today: April 28, 2015, downtown Deland.
Random years ago today: April 28, 2014, 6-line poems.

           This morning’s news was a shocker. Tampa is known as a cesspool of liberalism. Every radio station, every newspaper, every TV program is fanatically anti-Trump. All is not as it seems. Biden held a rally there and ten people showed up. It was later revealed that was because they were giving away free donuts. Don’t laugh, they are $2.59 apiece in this state. The accompanying photo reveals Biden’s following in the youth, black, and immigrant communities. Truly random polls that ask simple questions are showing Trump will get 89% of the vote. Gear up for a big fight.

           Unable to shake this tiredness, I’ve decided to work through it. Starting at noon, I mean, in case the morning picks up. No, but I got into reading the in-depth history of The Who. I’m now up to the point where they have been picked up by professional band management, though not at all my style of management. My style is to have the band put on the best show in the best places possible with the given input. Their style meant cash bonuses and being boosted by “agents” who invariably had rich (and often musical) parents and contacts in the recording industry. To this day, I don’t know any famous producers or promoters by name.

           What’s struck me so far is that even when I was 15, I had this Who band pegged accurately. Allow me to explain that. I knew the same tactics would not work on my little band in the middle of nowhere. By that ripe old age, I knew all I needed about “experts” who never played anything or organized a dog fight. How they came out of the woodwork, cow pastures, and stump ranches to tell me the right way to do things. I’d already lived through their bullshit with the Beatles era, which for me began when I was eight years old. Over the intervening decades, I sometimes wondered if The Who had some quality I never picked up on. Yes, they were talented, but so were a lot of people who never made it.
           Now, I liked their top hits. Today I learned many were written by Townsend. I don’t see any special skill beyond that, as I know how bands revolve around a core of two members who tend to keep each other in check, allowing nobody else any real say. I was aware of the cranky lead player syndrome and made sure my guitar player, Tim, kept on his behavior, knowing his station was entirely dependent on my good good graces. That means I find it a laugh when Townsend flew off the handle so regularly. You see, I figure he would not have made it into any other band had he been canned.

           When I read The Who had many band arguments and members who came and went, I never followed along as it meant nothing to me by that point. I recognized the names of the core members but not much else, always mixing up Daltry and Townsend as to instruments and parts. Because I saw, in the end, they had basically gotten in on the ground floor in a territory of England that was ripe for new acts. I was definitely put off by tales of them smashing instruments on stage while my bands had to scrimp for pics and drumsticks. I saw it as the brain-farts of rich kids more than any novelty stage act—and the first thing your average moron could come up with. Same with “power chords”. Nothing new to me. Before we carry on, here is the van finally getting the headlights scrubbed. A cloud cover allowed me to work outside later, so I washed the van, noticing the car wash tore off parts of my roof rack. Back to The Who.

           As The Who gained momentum at halls and bankrupt ballrooms, I find very little that surprises me or that I might identify with. I know precisely what was going on and why. Simply put, I attached nothing like magical talent over their rise to stardom. They went through a stock and foretellable sequence entirely within my own imagination when I was maybe 12. I would not have paid money to see them and never bought any of their music. There was no aura of extra acclaim or repute about them, nothing much different than the tough haul I went through myself. Others worshiped them, I did not.
           The book is not changing any of that. As I read more, I hope to be impressed. So far, I don’t feel a thing. Just like any teen band, we too all wanted big and impressive amplifiers. They got them, we didn’t, and that is not cause for praise or even flattery. By the age of 18, I was already departed from mainstream behavior by liking individual songs rather than albums or bands. Note that to this day, every wannabe musician I’ve ever met who never made it into a band differs from me on that precise point. That is, I could name you 200 hit songs right now that I have no idea who played them, and The Who would be in there somewhere.

Picture of the day.
Fat teen nature walk.
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           Noon finds me still slow-moving, but I hear Howie outside. I got a text from Bradford, maybe I will go to the other jam. I don’t know about every rehearsing anything with Bradford, it would not be a good use of time. He is unaware that I’ve played in bands all around here for years because he’s only seen me here since a few months ago. I put myself in gear and started working. This is the peach tree and a month overdue, we have a tiny green sprout or two. Don’t hope much, these are in the notches, not on the ends of the twigs where the leaves normally grow.

           Next, I finished the exterior wiring in the silo, except for running a semi-permanent cable to the work station by the laundry. Because it proved tricky to make the cutout the correct size, this outlet took so much time I would have lost money on it. One day soon, the whole north yard needs raking, feel free to join in.

           I tested a 2-hour box, shown below. This does have a hinged lid, but no latch. I put a handle on the lid. This box is destined to hold those black metal clips, so I worked only to the time limit and stopped. The latches are another expensive and fussy item. They cannot always be installed on the finished box as planned. An alternative to regular hinges is to shop in the craft aisle for jewelry box hardware, just be careful as much of it is pretty flimsy. These are the lightest boxes I generally make. I’ve tried using magnetic latches but met two problems. I cannot find a glue that does not eventually give, and the weight of the boxes is just enough that the magnets can jar loose during ordinary handling.

           The box has a couple or more features I could have omitted. I used miter cuts instead of butt joints. The hinges did not have to be recessed. The handle is totally optional. The interior of the box is also clove-scented. This is unfinished pallet lumber. I’ve not yet developed a reliable way to measure and cut the floating panels and I have yet to cut any that fit right the first time. Where is the clove powder? It’s on the bottom inside. A light coat of low-odor spray glue, then a sprinkling of ground clove, shaking for an even bottom coat, shown here. What would you pay me for such a box?

           True, washing the car should not take two hours, but all was done by hand. I took Brillo pads to the yellowed headlamp covers. It works but is labor intensive. Closer examination reveals the missing and broken root rack parts were plastic. Unless I decide to play some bass, that’s a full day for me. Listening to some Who, one of the tracks spilled over into the old Stones hit, “19th Nervous Breakdown” and I can’t get the riff out of my head. The tune typifies why I was not a Stones fan in my youth. I don’t care for serious rock music. Country or Blues, sure. But at 13 years old, I didn’t want to even hear about “adult problems” like breakups, breakdowns, or love gone bad. That’s a lot of why I never liked Hendrix or Clapton either. They never could keep it light.            The gyrocompass. I’ve never seen one, but I knw the fancy ones were used on submarines. So I found some reading on it to discover it was too complicated for me. The concept is okay, how the assembly floats on mercury in a bulb surrounded by by springs and shock absorbers. I’ll take their word for it that it can find true north by itself. The action is clear, I watched several videos. The forces remain mysterious. I was more interested by the dead reckoning plotter.

ADDENDUM
           Let’s check the news. California’s latest minimum wage hike means up to 500,000 people will lose their jobs. Things appear to be heating up in Ireland, who have the right idea of where and how to protest and threatening to burn down any building used to house illegals. Resistance has to start somewhere, and Ireland makes sense. While prices have leveled off, my real estate filter still allows properties with total drops over $50,000. While these are still overpriced, there are now regularly over 70 per day, meaning they are not moving. We are reminded that real estate is a pyramid scheme and even a slowdown at the bottom can cause major woes.
           Pat-B found a property out near Live Oak for $32,000. I advised he check with the neighbors first. This is the road to Steinhatchee and through that marshland at sea level. It looks fine in the summer, but I’ve taken the sidecar through the area when the farmhouses were on little islands surrounded by a foot of water.

Last Laugh