November 21, 2025

Yesteryear
One year ago today: November 21, 2024, comments on Canada.
Five years ago today: November 21, 2020, batches off 600,000.
Nine years ago today: November 21, 2016, lumberjacking.
Random years ago today: November 21, 2002, Project 21 gets mentioned.

           My record of November 20, 1984 in India has generated a lot of activity. Those are word-for-word what I saw at the time. I issued those warnings and complaints long before any of you ever heard of the problems now in Canada and the USA, so don’t go saying I was influenced by any of today’s political events. And if anyone thinks I was lying forty years ago, get stuffed, because there was no motive. My detractors (yes, I have a couple) easily forget this journal is written for my remembrances, not others.

           I did at some point have many pictures of these days, but it is impossible they still exist around here. I strung out the compressor and cleaned the T&C for sale if anybody still wants it. I kept the super nice jack, got all three of my gas cans out for a rinse in fresh stock. I drove into town for gas and found an excellent pallet on the say, excellent for a couple of easy boxes. This takes me past Agt. R’s place, he’s not living there any more. It’s become a hillbilly hangout. TMOR, in this blog, “hillbilly” is not a derogatory term, but more a music style.
           This is a recent photo of the vacuum tube stock. How is that back in focus? Easy, it is because of the kitchen stove. Huh? The stove section of the floor is permanent and I can get other things back on schedule. These tubes have to go. I have the database mentioned whereby I can cherry pick the best tubes for eBaying, the rest can go for fifty cents each if I can get it, after all, it is the database that is the value here. Most tubes retail for less that $7 and sales have been disappointing. The shed space is also too valuable and I need it for stuff taken out of the old van, which I have now listed for sale.

           Back home, I got the Hyundai moved, it still has that slow tire leak. It has everything except insurance, so I took it to the car wash. It was scruffy looking as it is parked under camphor trees which shed year round. The beauty of a $220 battery died in it, a sign of our times. I’ve had batteries last 8 years in storage, but now it is all junk. New wiper blades are $18 each. Here it is sitting in the yard, awaiting any future transportation problems.
           Speaking of junk, the latest youTube anti-ad block measures are a joke. They spent a lot of money and simply reinstalling your blocker defeats it. Folks, I’m not saying all advertising is wrong, but in-you-face advertising deserves to be blocked. Time after time, the public shows it would rather have less or worse content instead of intrusive ads. And for on-line idiocy, nothing beats these jokers who say chemtrails, Gates, and the Ruskies are trying to blot out the sun. To what end? Aren’t there cheaper ways to kill themselves? Or is there some hidden message?

           Before noon, I managed to water all the plants and stock the birdfeeders. Around here, plants means anything that will grow, which amounts to two cactus varieties and that Devil’s backbone plant. That’s enough, I got inside for a break and watched a video on Saringapatam, you don’t know this place. It’s where Wellesley, later known a the Duke of Wellington, got his start. A local sultan holed up in his fort on an island in Mysore, it’s in southwest India. All that’s not important as I was studying tactics, not any particular battle.
           This one was interesting because it’s one of the new times the local armies applied European tactics. In this case, the Sultan had hired French instructors. The British liked to lay siege with cannons, which have to be brought within range of counter-fire mounted on the fortress walls. That’s what I knew of the battle up to now. The Sultan’s sharpshooters were using their elevated perches to pick off the English artillerymen. This was lively sport, but I learned today the approaching monsoon meant the battle had to happen fast.
           The Sultan’s luck was bad. More like terrible. His rocket supply blew itself up and some defensive mines set to seal a breach prematurely exploded and made the breach bigger.

Picture of the day.
The Tehachapi Loop.
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.

           I dismantled the pallet and cut two boxes, both off square. Hey, that’s what they are for, to keep junk organized. Far from being bothered by my compressor, I think my neighbor uses the sound t get out into his own shed. He hired a handylady, since there are no handymen in this down who make house calls. She showed up and rebuilt his front porch using just a saw and a router. Wait for pics, it is a sharp looking piece of work. She’s been to carpentry school.

           For a break, I threw on “Josey Wales”, I’ve never seen the whole move. Talk about cheap sets, all filmed in ghost towns and studio lots. The extras were adequate for the roles but he could have done way better with the leading lady, but she was his real life girlfriend. Kind of mousey looking if you ask me. The audiobook “Paris Echo” is now purposely leading the reader astray to set up some retarded gotcha moment. That’s why I’m reading it, this brand of propaganda can be very slippery, it seems to purposely re-emerge every generation, almost like somebody has been doing it a very long time.
           Here’s a pose of the Hyundai that carries a message. It would be too easy to write this off as American opulence, an entire functioning second vehicle, kept as a pet. Hasn’t been driven in months. The future will probably tag this as a mark of wasted resources. Yet, the reality is almost the opposite. America makes owning a second vehicle in reserve cheaper than almost any alternative. Anybody tells you different probably lives off their credit cards.

           That budget router table is still in the shed, it is actually more like a router countertop. After reading a number of test results, it would appear the much-maligned rabbet joint is one of the toughest. I like this table but the design means it takes five minutes to change the bit, working upside down. It finally gets another look.
           My fiscal year-end often involves updating ancient files and I ran across a phone number from 1973. It was a young married couple who recognized my plight as I showed up to work at a local lumbermill without even money to last until payday. The lady used to bring me extra coffee in her thermos until I got back on my feet. I did not know this forced break in my education would last 8 long years and shunt me out of my own demographic. Both her and her husband worked at the mill, before long I learned they were childless.

           After a few months it was obvious I was recovering financially. We stayed friends for a few years until they moved out to Seattle, where we gradually grew out of touch. That’s how I know they finally adopted a small boy, and sure enough, you know the rest. She produced a family in no time. Imagine my surprise y’day when ran their original phone number through a system that had not even in the day—and the phone number confirmed it has not changed in 51 years. I’ll try for contact tomorrow morning. This is a shot in the dark, the Internet is full of outdated information and while the post had y’day’s date, who knows when the information was acquired
           Here is a photo of their house that they sent me in 1988. I’m hoping, since I know by now their kids would be in their fifties. If I re-establish contact, they will immediately go on the personal letter list, as that puts them probably in their 80s by now. I’ll try the number, but an old phone man like me knows that is a 30 year old land-line number.

ADDENDUM
           This day in 1984 is the time I brought the cup of tea to the haggled bureaucrat at the visa office in Delhi. I know I’ve written the tale before, but not when or where. Here it is for you to enjoy again, as I remember it.
           To visit Agra, the site of the Taj Mahal, it was necessary to get a rubber-stamped visa. Turns out, much local travel (the Taj is 90 miles SW of town) needs visas to even leave Delhi city limits, so the lineup was hours long. Same with most lineups in India. There was one poor guy, maybe 30 years old, at a desk, processing each application.
           As my turn neared, I paid a boy to go get me two cups of tea. When I sat down, I said to the guy in the turban, you know it takes you 12 (I think I remember) minutes for each form, and he glared at me like what the hell was he supposed to do about it? So I said, for my 12 minutes, I brought you a cup of tea, glaring behind me for anyone to dare complain.

           He took the tea, and leaned back in his chair, just leaned back and sipped his tea. India, by the way, makes the best tea, I will guarantee you that. The silent minutes went by, then he took his free arm and swept the mountain of paperwork off his desk onto the floor. Then he took my application without looking at it and affixed the rubber stamp. And I was off to Agra.
           If you have heard this story anywhere else, and I have, yes, that was me, on November 20, 1984. I never returned to India. The place is a disaster.

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