March 15, 2026

Yesteryear
One year ago today: March 15, 2025, the damage was extensive.
Five years ago today: March 15, 2021, the net is a right.
Nine years ago today: March 15, 2017, a motherhood roll.
Random years ago today: March 15, xxxx, WIP

           Pancakes at 5:30AM and another low-activity day begins. I won’t waste the time, I chose to read on up on sensors. I have some, infrared and motion, etc, but my old habit means once I know how they work, I have not connected any. Depending on core energy levels, I may see if I can find where I put them. My interest began much earlier, during the late part of the Vietnam war. Many magazine articles revealed how American tech was beginning to remove the traditional communist ability to hide in the dark. I was fascinated by the scopes, radar, beams, and sensors. The one I liked best was mechanical. Just beads that popped when stepped on, like bubble wrap. America dropped them on jungle trails and listened. Good morning.

           It’s gloomy out at dawn, so let’s examine our latest box production Relax, just a quick look, here are two “rejects”. They are good boxes, but have some defect I’m addressing. These have knots which cause splits. You can see how standardized this design has become. Sales are still zero and the best boxes are given out as gifts and samples. It is not lost that of all the shed hobbies I’ve got, these are still the only item that has any chance of finding a market.

           It is still fence picket lumber, the top box is from one piece, the lower box showing a difference in weathering from assembled pieces. One finishing touch is the staples. The Z-box requires 1-1/4” staples and I’ve discovered the best joint is when the crown is across the grain, even if this sometimes causes chip so near the edge of the wood. There is no pretence at fancy, the emphasis is on utility. Four of the five staples are seen, the other is behind my grip. The joint is also glued. Boxes any bigger than this don’t have the strength to resist cupping.

           Not much else this morning but I read for hours. Here’s something that interests me if I ever get some strength back. This is a pathway made of baggies and cement. Yes, sandwich bags. Scoop the compound into the bags, each will be a bit different. Then place them in a form of your choice, then flatten them a little. I like the concept, as it fits my yard layout, where paving stones have always been a poor fit.
           Once the concrete hardens, you take a blowtorch and burn way the plastic. I’ve already thought of a shallower, flatter frame that could be used as a small foundation or retaining wall. One reason I don’t care for remote control models is the terrible response. I’ve crashed every drone the first day because the lag time is too great. Then I watched a video of the same models being controlled by A.I. Pretty impressive.

           I first saw micro-control on a train set in Colorado 13 years ago. It was so realistic I stared to see. Then I saw A.I. coupled with some toy speedboats. I could spot each boat behaving, but as a fleet, that was something else. Should I have built something when I had the chance? Not really, you see, I recognized for me it would have amounted to taking on a new career. And did I not warn 25 years ago that most resumé services are bogus? They exist to market your personal information. I discovered this in 2002 when none would accept my resumé without references. I specified I would only supply such information after a job interview, since only the employer had any need for such information.

           NASA continues to foot-drag and stall. More leaks and bad space suits, technology that was in use more that 40 years ago. While I like sci-fi movies about colonies and such, I also have fatigue with all the pre predictable character drama. I want to see non-humanoid aliens get blasted, not an AIDS epidemic on Pluto. It seems to me that the criteria for a spaceship crew would weed out most known abrasive or problematic personality types. You don’t send feminists, queers, libtards, imbeciles, and sub-Saharans to colonize Mars. You just don’t.
           Nor can McDonalds find skilled enough labor to fix their ice milk machines. Today I wanted a shake, but had to settle for a kind of crushed ice coffee thing, a coffee slushie. Here it is, Mocha Frappé, $4.80.

Picture of the day.
Portable sundial, circa 950 A.D.
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.

           Chase Bank just cost me a half-day delay and ruined a surprise I had planned for weeks. It’s the branch in Winter Haven. The ATM is in an entrance hallway, I’ve told you how they moved in large Amazon locker system and began locking the hall at night. Today I arrived to see the tiny note they are now closed on Sundays. So, the doggies at the pound starve until I can get up that way again and instead of a 20-mile round trip, I had to drive 68 miles via Lakeland. This delay means I missed the phone payment by five minutes (meaning another trip to town), only half my shopping is done, and I got caught in the afternoon rainstorm. Up yours, Chase.

           Worse, the rain means I could not stop for small fence pickets, meaning I did not get home in time to build a box I had intended to surprise as a gift to Laurie, the therapist. But that will now not happen and who knows when will next ever be in the area, certainly not before she has forgotten who I am. Up yours again, Chase, you and those stupid lockers, you cheap bastards. You put up a sign, what more do people want?

           The rain meant an hour’s delay, so I listened to more of “Bullet”. It gets interesting later because she gives unplanned details as she talks about herself. I did not know about police “comparison bullets” or that doctors regular video unusual operations without asking. She is on about how these are inconveniences but as the plot moves along, it adds up to and interesting sub-plot. What gives when a cold case is re-opened, and even some insight as to when the police are lying.

           Here’s the story at the moment. Our bullet lady goes to the crime scene of 30 years ago. She discovers some old people who know things, like her mother having affairs, and the possibility of a will, as an only child. The house had sold for $90,000. The bullet in her neck is now wanted by three crime departments, she’s trying to bed her doctor, her department head gives her keys to a Paris apartment, and her medical chart has been stolen—and she barely escapes a break-in. At all times, the story emphasizes, she was wearing proper clothes and sensible shoes.

           Here’s a meme that appeared on Gab, followed by the replies I liked the most.

• it's not like you have a choice.
• I don’t date manatees, so we’re even.
• A beluga whale couldn't find that G-spot.
• Looks like you eat them.
• At least wait till you deliver those octuplets.
• Looks like her head is on backwards.

ADDENDUM
           Following the voyage of the Sarimanok took my interest mainly for the things that went wrong. Even I know all rope lashings will eventually come loose out in the ocean. And some crew member will have forgotten to mention an old and chronic medical condition. The boat is now somewhere near Christmas Island. There are other unspoken rules for these crossings. Do not take along any spare parts or make any of the sleeping quarters waterproof. Do not take along any native boatbuilder and do not anticipate big problems. Otherwise, what would there be to make videos about?
           You should also realize any storms will be the worst you’ve ever seen and that way out on the briny, things like hepatitis can be fatal. They finally haul out the sextant to get medical help on some islands whereupon I notice they have the identical sextant I do. Except mine has been banged around for years without being recalibrated.

Last Laugh

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