One year ago today: August 23, 2025, me, evening school, 11 years.
Five years ago today: August 23, 2021, damn good company.
Nine years ago today: August 23, 2017, soundproofing, meh.
Random years ago today: August 23, 2007, my best hat ever.
So much for the dire warnings of fiery crashes. I crawled under the Hundy this morning and I’ve been driving without a rear passenger brake for years. No apparent degradation of the braking performance, but the whole assembly needs replacing. I will try to release the piston with a clamp, and old farm trick, but that thing is not moving without serious effort. The only station coming in is “FLR” (I think), the one I call the Samantha Carpenter station. Where, if you can identify mystery sounds like changing the batteries on a remote, you can win a free tattoo. And a humanoid robot just broke the record for the 100-meter dash.
Here is my kudzu canopy, it finally figures out I want it to grow across the top and shade the birdie area. I’m not sure if the birds will take to that, they may prefer open flight paths. So far, they could care less but you can see the vines are just beginning to form an over head on the wire mesh you can’t see laying atop the swing set. One of the boxes today was to hold the pneumatic chisel, I chose to leave room for accessories. The rain trapped me in the scooter lean-to a while, where I found that by very careful attention, it is possible to cut a lid from a box without a special saw table. It takes too long, but I got it. A box build for my wire stripper.
Boxes with floating panels were never a big item, so it’s no surprise I ran out of panel material. This is part of a general clean up of old lumber. I can now glance at a plank and see what box to build. Will I make a small K-box from the smaller pickets. Nope, turns out those are virtually identical to a generic fake box, which I already have prepared jigs. The same radio station was clearest on the shop radio so I just had my brain rattled with several hours of rap music by what I am sure are manic depressives. I’ve got two sick vehicles in the yard and some raspy-voiced lady wants me to care that she wants to live in another part of the city or kill herself, she can’t make up her mind.
Then a good search for vector graphics turned up nothing. I don’t want fancy eagles and 3D bookmarks. Just some interesting designs because vector print so rapidly. I need a stock of standard easy patterns that print in seconds, not minutes. I don’t want to create an account or sign up for air miles. The problem is, again, the misuse of the word “free”. I locate the files, suffix SVC or DXF but when downloaded, they are HTML format. I see several references that PDF files are vectors, but no instructions.
The web sites were quickly flooded with A.I. generated images but I have yet to see one that shows any real originality. I managed to download a PNG file, but they take just as long to print. I never understood why these web page people can’t give straight answers. The dominant click-bait site is Vecteezy, rhymes with sleazy. The license is free, if you want anything they advertise, it’ll cost you.
Rusty’s Roadside.
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.
There’s the wire stripper tool in its box with the nearly perfect lid. Thinking ahead, I picked up extra rations of Columbian coffee. Now settled into my office chair, where is that documentary on the rotary aircraft engine? It was quite the machine of its day and now I want to know why it needed an odd number of pistons and such.
There is no magic, I’ve told you many times how, if the place has no potential, I will take out my booklet and write a letter. Last evening, JZ and Hersh got updates. I learned 40 years ago this activity is very highly conspicuous to females. I have a theory on that and it is what you’d expect. 100% of women quickly learn that 99-1/2% of men are goofs—and that is a conservative estimate if they are in a bar. Yet, if you don’t go to clubs you won’t meet any worthwhile men at all who aren’t taken. From experience, I can tell you most women have never, and I mean in their lives, ever seen a man write a letter.
If you assume I would truly push this to the extreme, you are wrong. I usually find a quiet corner, which has the secondary effect that to approach me, the lady must walk over. And last evening, seven of them did. Years ago I’d say just curiosity, but it is pretty plain it is a letter. Do not do this, guys, if there is any hint you are scouting. You really have to be writing a letter or you will make a fool of yourself. I’ll tell you why in a moment. This is one of those points where you have decide if I’m lying or not—because most cannot accept that I do not do this to pick up women. You heard me.
I do this for myself and the notice the consequences. I’m not blind. It is another foolish man who underestimates what it takes for a woman to approach a solitary man and ask what he is doing. For most men, it would be a unique experience, both the approach, and doing something interesting in the first place, Ken. I know it takes roughly 45 minutes for the bravest one to be first. If there is no potential, my cover story is I’m designing a chicken coop. For the others, I tell them I’m writing a letter, at which point they comment I have “very nice writing”.
I’m fully aware that because I restrict my on-line presence (which often entails curtailing idiots) that I have (in some lower order circles), a reputation for secrecy. One good laugh is men (it is always men) who think I’m paranoid, guys, a fellow who is paranoid does not post his daily history on-line. Anyway, to all those detractors, here’s the next step. I let the lady read the letter. By the second paragraph, they are somewhere between happy and crying and in love.
So, am I lying? Did seven gorgeous (but un-single) women really approach me last evening? The last three were after I brought the house down with my rendition of “These Boots”, so it is hard to say specifically. But to most men, any such contact is a hit, so yeah, I was hit on seven times. More than the rest of the bar put together. By my reaction, you’d think I’m used to it. No, Wallace, these were not bar bunnies by any standard. I understand the tendency to say I’m exaggerating, got it. We both have ten fingers and ten toes and put our trousers on one leg at a time. The tide raises all boats. But if I was making this up, why write it down? What’s the motive? To invite flak from the peanut gallery?
ADDENDUM
I was up late, catching up on current events. Carnival Cruise lines, it is rumored, has banned rap music, minors, and something called “hand fans”(?). Blacks are screaming racism, go figure. They don’t want their own bicycle. They want yours. (If you hear that quote, I coined it in 2020.) The new Apple speaker is watching you, you must click on “OK” to make it work.
Rumor has it the EBS will be activated. That’s the Emergency Broadcast System. It is supposed to issue warnings and keep working after a nuclear war. It also regulates every cell tower and communication satellite. For years, the Democrat Deep State controlled the media, throwing people in jail and unaliving whistleblowers. But they forgot to control the broadcast system and now Trump apparently has the codes. Whatever stunt the left has planned can only work if they can spread the disinformation to cover it up.
