It started out sounding like a digeridu whose player was on barbituates. Then, it sort of moved to half a dozen almost-people singing the theme to "Hamtaro" in Lithuanian. Now, it sounds like listening to a thunderstorm through a 50' long concrete sewer pipe while the insane dentist next door practices his drilling on his wife, the amateur organist.

Wow. I haven't liked anything this much since Metal Machine Music.

Curses!

Oh, no, it's just not going at all. First, the battery was entirely flat. Then, I recharged the battery, reattached the fuel tank, filter, and lines, sprayed some starting fluid down the gullet and cranked 'er over. There was a good 60 second sustained run in an evening full of trying, and then it started dripping gas out of the airbox. I think I've got a stuck float.
Also, trying to shut off the gas, I broke the handle on the petcock. argh.

So, I get to take the carbs off again, and possibly order that $70 replacement part that I really didn't want to need but now I do anyway. It's a real shame there isn't a good motorcycle junkyard around here anywhere. I bet I could even get a new gas tank. grr.

This weekend my parents are coming to visit. They are also bringing my 1991 Kawasaki Vulcan. I've missed it. Oh, how I've missed it. Only a leaking petcock stops me from tearing up the streets, crazed by the smell of asphalt and exhaust. I've spent many happy hours on that bike. I've also spent many hours sitting on a short stool beside it, cleaning carbs, replacing the fuel filter, etc, etc, etc. It has lurked in my parents' barn for 4 years now. Soon it shall return. Arr. As soon as I find a place to put it, there will be a picture.

 

Lately, I've become very interested in Mancala Snails. Anyone who wishes to challenge me may do so at fitzgepn (at) yahoo (dot) com.

Sawdust! What fun to make it. A little coping saw here, a chisel there... I could spend oodles of money buying bits and pieces and tools and widgets, clamps and scroll saws and all that good fun stuff. I'm working on simple things. First, I built a workbench. Now, I'm working on a mahogany shelf. Almost like a shadowbox, but with no glass. I'll be making some display cases for my wife's beads very soon. This may require a jig saw. (yay!)

Last weekend, we went to Kansas City for the grandparents'-in-law 60th anniversary party/family reunion. It was a singular experience. I met dozens of my new relations. It was sort of bittersweet because of Grandma's declining health. It leads me to hope that when I reach that age that my mental facilities arrive intact regardless of the state of my body.

I've also fallen in love with Eigenradio. An enterprising MIT student set up a pile of computers to take statistical averages of 20 radio stations, then piles the result into your ears.(They always do cool stuff. Why didn't I go to MIT?) It is wicked hot noise. If I had this when I was in school, I probably wouldn't have developed a taste for Paul Oakenfold. Beautiful. Right now, it sounds like a mixture of a glass harmonica and a sitar, and just a few minutes ago it had a really strong backbeat.

More posts to come.

Revisiting a topic I've dealt with before; what is the purpose of a journal? I am beginning to think more and more that it is less about making my thoughts available to others and more about contstructing them solidly in my own head. Detailing my inner workings in such a constructed way supposedly allows me better insight into said inner workings. Much the same way that my postcards to Neal force brevity onto a traditionally unbrief conversation, the journal format forces structure on thoughts which are generally better classified as rambling, unstructured, and haphazard. The process then becomes mental exercise to strengthen my thinking muscle. At the same time, it allows me a reference to previous structures and thoughts. Or so the theory would imply, anyways.

Perhaps putting it on the web isn't about allowing other people to read it, but more about a sense of responsibility to continue journalling. If I commit my thoughts to some publically available space, does the public come to expect those thoughts to keep coming? That train of thought leads back to the earlier "metajournalling" subject-- If I know someone is reading, I won't want to post. If I know that there are no readers, I have no motivation to post.

So, acknowledging that the action itself is for me, not my readers, frees me to do or not do it as often or as sparsely as I deem fit. But, acknowledging that the action does have consequence, i.e. someone is reading and may be affected by what I have to say, encourages me to keep coming back.

Regardless, my Berenger remains unfixed. I am starting a woodworking project which should tie me up for a week or so. I love the smell of sawdust, the feel of the wood's grain under my fingers. (but I hate sanding.) I have a lovely piece of mahogany which will become a shelf, I hope. It's been a long time since I made sawdust. No matter. I look forward to it.

I think I shall write about Turkey soon.

Last weekend, I went to Amana (Iowa) to visit a little shop that my wife just loves. The Herb Lady, it's called. In fact, I'm pretty sure she has a web site. It was, as always, interesting. She makes some very nice teas. The Herb Lady herself was not in, but it was late in the day on Saturday.

Tucked away in one of her cabinets, I found a Westclox Pocket Ben for sale. Imagine my surprise to find that it still ticked after a short wind. A little more research told me that this model is part of a class known as "dollar watches" because of its inexpensive, jewel-less movement. Opening up the back of the case reveals the manufacture date, December 1954, and a tiny inscription: "P 8-6-55". I am absolutely enthralled by the calm, steady ticking it produces, especially that it continues to do so after nearly fifty years. I've had watches which stopped working after fifty days!

It brought me new enthusiasm for trying to repair my much newer watch, a very new Berenger with a japanese 17 jewel movement. The crown wheel screw fell out while I was winding it, causing the gear to come loose inside the watch. I have not been able to successfully pry the back off yet. If I could, repair would be easy. Otherwise, the watch is in excellent condition, since I only carried it for about two weeks before it broke. It's certainly not a "luxury" watch, but it has a very clean look and keeps excellent time. And it was a christmas present from mom.

I'd also like to get my Pocket Ben looked over by a professional; oiled, tuned, and serviced, etc. So many things to do, so little time!

Just as suddenly as I took interest in it in the first place, I have now lost interest in journalling again. I feel as bad as the Brunching Shuttlecocks' Apathetic Online Journal Entry Generator. Except with more apathy. The more I think about actually writing something, the more it feels like egotism. Why are my bits more important than anyone else's?

The answer is, in short, that they aren't. And they aren't even important to me right now. Now for some coffee, which is more important.

This weekend, I'm taking my wife to Sioux City to see Tori Amos. The original plan was to see David Copperfield's magic show here in Cedar Rapids. It turns out that it's actually cheaper to get tickets for Tori than it is for David Copperfield.

I have, as of last night, returned from my trip to Turkey. I am quite tired, and don't have much to say for right now. I will have a more detailed report from the trip in a few days. In the mean time, you can all officially stop worrying about me now.

In a little more than a week, my employer will be sending me on a visit to a far-away nation. (No, my employer isn't military.) Unfortunately for me, the small-ish nation to which I am going shares a border with a member of Bush's declared Axis of Evil(tm). Now, regardless of whether or not I agree with his war, it seems pretty clear to me that the country in question is fully willing to respond in kind to any attack. I would expect nothing less; a country which does not defend its own sovereignty is no better than France. </sarcasm>

In any case, trans-continental travel of any sort worries me. But, there are other consequences. First, I will be extremely busy for the next week preparing for this trip and getting my affairs in order such that things will continue to run smoothly in my absence. Secondly, I will be out of the country, on the other side of the world, in a place that I don't really want to be in, for at most two weeks, starting March 11. I very seriously doubt I will be able to post anything to my journal during this time. If I am able to post, it will most likely be brief and lacking in panache. Expect a trip report when I return.

"The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation."

Once, a while ago, I looked at this quote and figured out what Thoreau really meant here: "Everyone else lives their life of desperation quietly, yet you complain about it all the time. Shut up, loser!"

I need to learn to stop complaining, and instead just bury my desperation deep inside. There it can fester and burn and calcify, until there is nothing left of me but a bitter, hollow, angry, disappointed old man. Yes, that's what I should do.

This defies description. My mind cannot seem to wrap itself around the situation described therein. I have read it twice, and I think I shall have to go back and read it again.

This is what I will refer to henceforth as an update for the sake of updates. I have nothing new or interesting to write about, as it has been an intensely boring week. So, I am forcing myself to put something here so that my readers will know that I am not, in fact, dead. Just bored. I'll write some more when I have something useful to write about.

Blah.

I find myself deeply fascinated with the thoughts of large amounts of silly putty. The more I think about getting my hands stuck in a five pound mass of dilatant compound the mode I want it. I want, I want, I want. More confusing still is that I have no idea why it fascinates me so. I've even found an alternate supplier. Crayola seems to have the best price, but you can only get increments of five pounds at $12/lb. Thinking putty is available in one pound increments, in a stunning array of colors, but costs more per pound ($20-28). My wife asked, "So, what exactly would you do with five pounds of silly putty?" I still don't know, exactly, but I know that I really, really, really want it.

Why? What earthly purpose would I have for that quantity of silly putty? Then I found out that I can order 100 pounds of it directly from Dow. Apparently, if you order it in that quantity, you can get it for less than $8/lb.

Okay, maybe 100 pounds is too much. But still, having a five pound block absolutely compells me. I am enthralled by the possibilities, without even knowing what the possibilities are. Did I mention I want it?

If anyone wants to go in for part a 100 pound shipment, leave a message. I'm willing to pony up for 20 pounds of the mass. (US residents only- international shipping and money changing is such a pain). Heck, maybe CmdrTaco will put this on the front page, and find a few dozen slashdotters who want a piece.

Found on fark, here.

George Bush upgrades the nation's alert status to Orange, meaning high risk of terrorist attack. Farker JonathanChance responds:

Great. Number Six is trying to escape AGAIN! Does this mean we'll be seeing a whole bunch of these going up and down the coast?

Honestly, I nearly did a coffee|nose spit take on that one. I love watching The Prisoner. I am not a number. I am a free man!