June 30, 2025

Yesteryear
One year ago today: June 30, 2024, stolen by cellphone.
Five years ago today: June 30, 2020, begin building work shed.
Nine years ago today: June 30, 2016, the bathroom takes priority.
Random years ago today: June 30, 1982, 25 cartons stolen.

           After my shots, I stopped at the bank to learn due to new regulations my funds are not held 20 days instead of 10. As usual, my system will just flex to it as another annoyance. Is it the tariffs or crazy politics. I suppose “rich” folks like me who have foreign bank accounts can, in their eyes, wait my turn. I was famished by noon and took a recommendation on the fish & chips at Glory Daze Grill, over on Harden Road, where I rarely drive since my last band mostly died. It was filling but not all that legendary. The coleslaw was watery and the fries not crisp. Twenty bucks.

           I measured out more pieces for the T-Box, but that prototype is not likely to happen until I get some real chasing around done. The product will involve some angle cuts meaning I really need that radial arm saw in Tennessee. I’ve decided to reinforce my saw lean-to roof with 4x4” posts and make room for it, the space for it having proved very dry and surprisingly cool of the sunny side.

           Cost-saving is still in effect and I have decided to see if a better roller guide system will make my band saw at lease useable again. My kaput Kenwood is to become the work shed radio, replaced by the $200 emergency PA system I bought in St. Petersburg. It means I can operate four instruments as one, eliminating the need to have a separate bass amp in the office.

           Here is a video of the first brainstorming session of the T-Box. Yes, that is the club. Didn’t I mention Wilford is the bartender? Because I know I’ve reported that place is now so dead on Mondays that we have the place free for meetings and discussion. You can thank a bit of insomnia or steroid shots that this unit was completed in time for transport to Georgia tomorrow.

           A wait at the railroad crossing has our detective team breaking the case. The ladies Rape Club, as I call it, has board members who fly around in charted jets. That’s how our cop knows them. The club head honco is also a member and head of the police crime lab. There have been seven murders and finally, a link. The same rent-a-jet at four of the homicides was rented to the Club the same week as the murders. All the ladies have solid alibis, but one of the airport people remembers the pilots.
           Both ex-military, both with combat experience, who only flew together. And both flaming feminist lesbians who live at the same address. If it’s them, they were getting the dead case information from the honcho, who could claim innocence unless the cops trick/blackmail her. And I want to see the trick they use.

           I just got an email from Hermitage. Not next week, not this weekend, I am packing my suitcases now when I get home this afternoon. I know when the Reb is not asking for anything it means job pressure. And I need her in top condition, she records, I do no, and I know the pressure. Taking the dogs and keeping the house in order takes a huge chunk of that away. I’ve mentioned before she is more prone to trust likeable people than I am, a condition based on likeability. Or as I sometimes put it, they are nice but they are not family.

Picture of the day.
Peaks of Otter (Virginia).
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.

           Mercifully, the major pains began to abate after this morning’s round of shots. Mind you, the locations the pain still retain a slight tenseness and inflexibility to remind me they are resident, see addendum. So little happened, you get a jumble of the “top stories” around here. Top it off by losing my phone, which I never do. I don’t take it with me to appointments or banks, so I left it hanging by the door, I think. It was not there. I tore apart two vans, the silo, the laundry room both bedrooms and the workshed.

           It was by the door, but the wind slammed the door, knocking the phone off the peg and into the laundry basket and a couple shirts got tossed on top. I moved four convenient boxes into the KIA and parked it ready to roll. Alarm set for the most common time I wake up in my whole live, 5:30AM. In the process I found other stuff I needed so the trade-off it that stuff in now in boxes. It still a jumble but now I know where to look.

           Here is an example of how the WPMs, same as the old days, attract a log of attention. While the club is 90% empty Mondays most people that come in are old regulars who avoid the weekend shigga-booga. The meetings are held at the unpopulated end of the bar but the interest level is through the roof. I mean, what else ever happens in a club in central Florida of any creative or academic import? Shown here are two locals examining for ideas. One is the lumber yard guy and the other was on vacation in Mexico with his dad and found his way around with such ease when he realized, he was in Yucatan and was remembering my descriptions of the place many years ago. How about that?

           Fast forward. It is now 4:00AM and I may get away early. Sleeplessness from the shots means I have not slept at all, so why idle away any time. This puts arrival in Valdosta early, maybe Tonio and I can have a longer meeting. He is now the #2 idea guy behind Wilford, who has the inestimable advantage of seeing circuits, boxes, and other prototypes on a weekly basis. Here is a third look at the box, the premise being that somebody, somewhere will always need an good, strong, somewhat overbuilt wooden box.
           I have a variant theory on these sessions. You are going to get a lot of simple “dumb ideas”. I observe closely. Why? Because while not many of the ideas go anywhere, it is day later that some combination of those lights a bulb. The majority of most changes incorporated once a working model is produced, as shown here, is one of those combinations. I know the box has to be lined and one guy said glue pebbles. Too expensive, but did I not see a type of waterproof 3D stone wallpaper at Dollar Tree? And that is what I’m talking about.
           Hopefully, you also had a fun-filled June 30, 2025, except for the shots.

ADDENDUM
           The fourteen countries on Earth that have never been invaded by Great Britain. (They also have no oil and no central banking system.)

Chad
Mongolia
Guatemala
Bolivia
Sweden
Central African Republic
Paraguay
Ivory Coast
Belarus
Congo
Uzbekistan
Mali
Tajikistan
Kyrgyzstan

           Invaded here seems to mean uninvited British military showing up on your turf and acting like they own the place. Fast forward to the clinic this morning. I handed the doc a three-page printout of my symptoms and side-effects over the previous week. He took time to go over each (neck, leg, back), all of which are listed as possible, but noted most patients have one or two. He also remembered my original chart that explained I am sensitive to any drug including aspirin. Rather than the four customary deep shots, these were eight shallow jabs accompanied by many questions if I felt any “zings” or any pain elsewhere. Negative.
           The neck and leg pains are not enough to stop normal activity, they are enough to slow me down. We went over this for several minutes. Once he learned I could function, even with uncomfortability, his concern noticeably dropped a few degrees. I take it if you can move much at all, you are deemed a survivor.
           In lesser importance, my appetite is still wonky. I’m drinking twice as much water, easy to measure as I keep the big glasses Karla gave me chilled in the fridge. I never mind much as the Reb drinks even more than that a day and she’s the healthiest person I know. But, I get a hankering for juice and milk. I rarely drink milk and even then opt for chocolate Add two quarts of that per day and that’s what, 10% of my body weight? Did I just say “uncomfortability”?

Last Laugh