Power to the People

Six years later, another weekend of Cinco De Mayo loonacy at the camp with the construction-minded Loonatics.

Yep.  Cinco de Mayo and still snow remaining in the massive pile
that gets created when the weight of the roof drift
overcomes the friction on the north side of the garage.

Don't ever stand here.

Look at all that debris emerging from the snow.  Forgot all about having to take care of that.  In honor of Cinco de Mayo, and the brave and outgunned Mexicans who repulsed the French, that will be dealt with...mañana.

Pretty much sums it up.

Each of the Loonatics has received a fabulous team logo hat, which also features his camp name, so that death and destruction do not result from ownership confusion.  To be completely truthful, each Loonatic except Chowdahead has received a hat.  He whines incessantly about not having one, even though he did not join the fowl band until after the most recent distribution.  Perhaps patience will be rewarded in the future.  But is waiting with whining really patience?

The two you see adjacent the sign are for Thing 1 and Thing 2.  These are provided to honorary loons during the time they are on-site.  

We often joke, "A bunch of amateurs with power tools and beer in the woods. What could possibly go wrong?"

Now we know.

Don't stand here either.
Windstorms like the one we endured Friday evening
have a habit of knocking trees down,
occasionally with ill effect.

This is not a backwoods religious symbol.
See the ceramic insulator on the left end of the yardarm?
See one on the right?
Gone with the wind.

The windstorm took down the lines and the power went out for the weekend. The damage was not limited to this one little pole. Since we're near the end of a dead end road with very few residents, the power company elected to go to other poles of priority long before patching our pickle.

Since we're not Amish, we rely on electricity to work. And most of us drink beer, but that's just an evil side effect of electricity, as the Amish will tell you. So off went the provisioning party to petition the purveyor of impermanent power. The ride out of the hills was rewarded with a brand new Champion Generator from Tractor Supply.

Just moved the snowshoes to the garage last week.
This generator was the preferred model because it came with a free t-shirt.
Upon seeing the shirt, Mary said, "Let me know when you're going to wear that thing
so I can be elsewhere."

A fine addition to the wardrobe,
which contains much worse.

Though we had to do a bit of juggling to run power to multiple buildings, we powered tools and the fridge, so all was well. Except the for the pump in the well, but who needs a shower, anyway?

Make one of these, and all of your troubles will be over,
especially if you put your fingers in the wrong place.

Remember to flip the main breaker to off so that the double-male contraption above can carry the power from the generator to the panel and the house without trying to power the grid.  Or have the generator all wired in and automatically substituting for the grid so that you hardly even know there is a power outage.  Hah!  Where's the adventure in that?

The answer is that the adventure is in your bank account.  There have been enough of those adventures lately.  So this expensive wired-in, auto-switching, auto-cycling (gotta run every so often, too) solution can wait.  At least 'til some figurative mañana.

Since any generator can only create a limited amount of power, numerous opportunities for creative solutions arise.  One such solution is shown below.

This ancient radial arm saw was placed on casters
so that it could be rolled closer to the generator.
At 2 extension cord distance, there was not enough current to start the saw.
A single cord away, the blade lazily ramped up to cutting speed
in a few seconds.

Yes, of course, we could have moved the generator, but that would have meant putting the fridge on the long cord run, or not powering it at all.  Remember the part about us not being Amish?

And yes, certainly we could have skillfully placed the beer in the remaining snow, but that would have meant walking ALL the way to the back of the garage when thirsty.

And yes, unquestionably, we could have dug snow out of the bank and filled coolers or other containers full of beer, but that sounds like work.

And yes, undoubtedly, we could have purchased ice on during a trip to civilization, but that melts all over the refrigerator and makes a mess (it did).  And there was food in the fridge as well, although a secondary concern.

Both hungry and not Amish.
Also quite brilliant when that headlamp is on.

What else could go wrong?

Really not what you want to see when you're many miles from a garage.
Yeah, the spare did not look much different.

Thankfully, the generator-compressor combination
made the this problem less of an issue.
And since there were other vehicles around,
sloth and lethargy allowed this fix to be done without the generator.

Since misfortune tends to happen in threes, the triad of calamity was completed by the last minute scratch of one of the members.  As a responsible owner of commercial property in far away New Hampsire, Mr. Bud Lightnin' had leased a meeting-place building to a Church Congregation.  The Pastor had prepared a powerful sermon which brought to life the travails of Noah, who with his family and non-human friends, braved the cleansing flood of the earth.

So powerful was this sermon that even before its intended Sunday delivery, a similar cleansing flood inundated the building (via a burst pipe). Our own diligent Bud Lightnin' subdued the longings of his heart and dutifully remained where the citizens live moisture-free or die, cleaning the building after the flood, just as Noah and his family must have done for the ark.

But even with all these tribulations, a good deal was accomplished.

Basement entry door upgraded to a steel exterior door.
Fie upon the rodents and drafts.

Lovely flashing has been applied to the underside of the deck
to divert water elsewhere.
Now the space can be used for storing fireplace wood,
or for spreading out a blanket and singing the Drifter's,
"Under the Board Deck."

"This knotty pine in the garage upstairs room looks really great," said the blind carpenter...

...as he picked up his hammer and saw.

Shortly before all arrived, a matching metal insert was fashioned
to provide a finished look over the fridge.

And the leftover material provided augmented tanning capabilities.

All in all, a confusing and tumultuous but productive weekend.  The power returned just after all the work was completed.  Later, the tale of the triumph of the Loonatics was related to Mary. 

"Oh sure.  You get a generator for your Loons, but not for me during all those times I've suffered through outages."

"All you had to do was pick up a saw!!!"

Big News in Greece, NY

Recently, I've been notified that there has been dereliction in my duties.

"Since you cover such important events like the Women's March in Seneca Falls and MLK50 in Memphis, how could you possibly miss, practically across the street from you, the Greece and Rochester earthshaking Grand Opening of our area's brand new, very first Chick-Fil-a ?!???!"

I'm so ashamed.  It's the biggest thing to hit Greece, NY since Good Ole George W. Bush spoke at Greece Athena High School back in 2005.  Gosh, I miss Good Ole W.

But today, I drove by on the way to my Hairdresser.  Yes, he’s a hairdresser.  He has told me that he is not a barber, since that is a different license.  Probably has something to do with learning the proper techniques to bleed clients to let out infectious diseases.

It was amazing to see that the Greece Police were there, flashing lots of lights and making sure the traffic flow was optimum.  Access from busy Route 104, the main drag, to the street adjacent the establishment was completely blocked with cones and a car with lights a-flashin'.  Uniformed officers were making sure that all the cars entering were approaching by a circuitous route around the block.  My tax dollars at work!

 

 

Can't enter here!

So that we can focus on the issue at hand, let's completely disregard, for the moment, the gay bashing the Chick-fil-a founding family has done in the past.  One has to wonder what the tumult and long line of gas-wasting cars backed up around the block has to say about us citizens.  Here we are, willing to line up and wait in less than wonderful weather (mid-April in Western NY...stay away, it's always sleeting sideways) for a chicken sandwich, or some other non-beef concoction.  It looks like the biggest deal ever in the town of Greece, and the good and hungry citizens don’t want to miss it!

 

 

Clever logo, though in this crop, it could also be a fish splashing out of the water. 

What kind of lives must my fellow Grecians, and probably some legal alien Hiltowners and Spencerporters, have if a new brand of Chain Chicken Chow is the highlight of their current existence?  Unless it imparts fountain-of-youth benefits, one can wait at least a few weeks, at the very least.  Or maybe forever.  

 

On the other hand, this event is something us plebeians can enjoy.  When #43 was in town, only important connected people and the media were allowed to hear him speak.  The kids were locked in their school rooms.  Passers by could not pass by.  We unconnected were kept a safe distance away.  And W's visit was only a short portion of one day.  Quite a contrast to the Chick-fil-a fiesta, approaching a week, that we all can enjoy as long as we line up to buy!

 

 

Can't see it from this angle, but the line of cars goes 'round the corner and down the block.

 

Fortunate son and travelin’ man that I am, I’ve just returned from Memphis, where there was ample opportunity to chew a Chick-fil-a at multiple locations.  Almost as many as Dunkin' Donuts in Rhode Island.  Stop in anytime, no lines, and your sandwich is in hand in seconds.

 

But stop I did not.  

 

If I’m mobile and meaning to masticate meals of immediacy in Memphis, 

 

Central BBQ is where I’m headed.

 

 

 Maybe there's a franchise opportunity in Greece.  Our tax dollars will be there for you.

 

 

Who wants a self-driving car?

"Next Year," says GM.

Have you wondered who wants a self-driving car?

Drunks! Drink with reckless abandon and get home safely. The party never ends! Except perhaps the next morning.

The elderly will love the ability to maintain independence past the age where driving is safe. “Take me to my grandchildren, Bessie.”  You'll get to name your car, of course.  Just like your your forefathers and foremothers.

Parents of teens will be able to put their rebellious offspring behind the wheel in learn-to-drive mode where the car takes over when a really bad decision is made. But why teach them to drive at all when they’ll never need the skill? Did your parents teach you how to drive the buckboard?  To churn butter?

Moms with kids will find self-driving cars to be a godsend. “Take Suzie to her soccer practice," and, "Take Billy to school since he missed the bus, AGAIN!” Mission accomplished, the car returns home so Mom can go about her business.

Baby won’t sleep. Send him to Toledo and back. Callous disregard for the welfare of a child? Naw, the video feed will let you know if there are any issues. OK, Toledo may be an exaggeration. You only need to drive around the neighborhood.

Tired people. Get that extra hour of sleep while you are transported to work.

Entertained people will watch shows and play with a myriad of social media friends, both coming and going.

Over-achieving people. Complete that extra hour of work while you are transported to work. Another on your way home. Hours more per day than the tired or entertained people! The promotion is assured!

And me...As a drunken, elderly, mostly blind and deaf person with partial use of my limbs, I really need a self-driving car. All of you will be safer because I have a self-driving car. In fact, I think I’ll start a Go-fund-me campaign to help you help me keep all of you safe.

It will soon be a wonderfully safer world in which we will no longer shrug at 10s of thousands of highway deaths and say a little prayer each time we hear the statistics and remember that our children are out there on the roads. Humans are just too unsafe to be driving. Robots are sooooo much better. No distractions, no drowsiness, no aggressive robot drivers.

Still a few bugs in the system.

Somewhere down the road, we humans won’t be able to drive ourselves. Won’t be allowed. Not safe. You wouldn’t have an airplane without auto-pilot, would you? There will be private parks where aficionados will go so they can drive fully manual vehicles at unsafe speeds, which is anything over 3 miles per hour for a human pilot.

But we’ll have fun, fun, fun ‘Til Big Brother takes the T-bird away…

And the vehicles will be safer.  No need to make a car that can go 100 MPH.  And no need to drive at breakneck speeds if you can be checking Facebook's data-secure replacement while you're traveling.  And since you'll be facing backward in a comfy bucket, even an unusual and misnamed "Head-on" crash will be much more survivable.  With no expensive and dangerous air bags!

Eventually, we'll see new cities spring up, or old ones redesigned to take advantage of the new mode of personal transportation.  Red light?  What's that?  And what was it for?  Any time a junction is necessary, tight little rotaries will handle the job so much better.  But wait a second, who needs rotaries when high-speed cooperation is programmed in?  East and Westbounders will zip through intersections without hesitation, timing passage through the shared space so that large safety margins of a few millimeters are maintained from those vehicles moving north and south.  Even when traffic volumes become heavy, staggered alternating cohorts of vehicles will pass in a manner that maximizes efficiency. 

Steering wheel?  How archaic.

But it ain’t all fun and games.

"I'm going to keep driving my car, dammit!  I've been driving for over 50 years, and I don't need no robot to get me around. " You think so?  The "hive" of autonomous vehicles that can move their occupants more efficiently and with much less chance of mayhem will push you to the fringes, if not literally, certainly via legislation.

What will those traffic camera companies do?  The communication between the self-driving cars and the global traffic database will supplant their function with millions of cameras and sensors, and at the same time, ruin a fine revenue stream for municipalities.  No more nasty little tickets in the mail for running the red light.  No more flashing lights in the rear view mirror.  No more traffic control employment for State Troopers.

How many body shops will each city need if there are almost no collisions?

Insurance premiums are based on one's driving record, and that of the same demographic.  It's quite likely that Google or Uber or Tesla's driving records will be better than any humans.  Will states continue to require insurance?  Will your agent be able to feed her children?

Google's Waymo shows that self-driving cars can also be stylish.

Get me to the church on time?  Not if you started too late.

Truck drivers? Get in line with the railroad firemen and telephone switchboard operators. Coast to coast with no rest stops or bathroom breaks. Optimum speed for minimizing fuel consumption. Robot mechanics on call along all the interstates, never more than a few miles away. Right at this moment you might want to think about selling your rig to some unsuspecting fool who dreams of the freedom of the open road.

Uber drivers? Collect your meager money now...your days are numbered. Who needs you when there is a fleet of lower cost self drivers out there? And no discussion of tips, ever again.  Do you tip vending machines?  I didn't think so, but I must admit there have been times when I've tipped the scales.

UPS and FedEx will still exist, but the entire human workforce for the US of A will fit in a self-driving city bus. After the roboplane is unloaded by robotic fork-lifts, and your parcel is inserted into the proper bin that will be loaded into the robotruck, the self-driven truck will pull into your driveway while a short range autonomous robot will hop out and unceremoniously dump your package in some inappropriate place and then ring the doorbell. Unless, of course, it was placed in that same inappropriate spot by a computer controlled drone. But that’s OK, because your self-aware home will know exactly where the package hid itself, and will train the cameras and laser branding tools on it, just in case. But I’m getting ahead of myself here.

Car thieves no longer need to jumpstart the car. Just hack in and drive it directly to a new location. Strip out the tracking and start anew!

Self-driving cars are a bonanza for those with problems with the prevailing ideologies of society. No need to convince anyone they will be serving God by blowing themselves up... Robbie Robot will do it with full compliance. Does Robbie know or care if that's a cake for Grandma or a box full of explosives? Just send him to the location and push the button. And if you need a human in the car to enable the trip, just grab anyone, duct tape him into immobility and send him off. 

Need other options? Terrorists need only hack the guidance system and send the truck into the mass of humanity at the public market. Or the elementary school recess. Or the line at the release of the newest Apple device.  

An astute non-terrorist friend has suggested that the explosives and murderous routes may be unnecessary.  Just program a few trucks to stop in unison on any highway in any major city and the disrupted flow of traffic will have ill effects far beyond any little bomb.  I-95 anywhere from Richmond to Boston?  401 in Toronto?  California's Fabulous 405? 

But those long lines of traffic, and that long line of iPhone purchasers will become shorter and shorter as time goes on, because most humans will become irrelevant. And when you’re irrelevant, you can’t afford the latest Apple device. Or a self-driving car.

Many thanks for the valuable input and perspectives 
of Roland Schindler and Ed Covannon. 

All images used without permission.

The Pothole

 

This satellite photo does not properly reproduce depth

Mary entrusted me with the task of going to Wegmans Market for elements essential for dinner.  There were enough items to necessitate a half-size cart. 

Shopping complete after surviving the usual “Stranger in a Strange Land” emotional trauma resulting from negotiating a grocery store, I pushed the cart swiftly over the macadam toward the car, which rested peacefully where it had been parked beyond the crowd.

The cart stopped abruptly when the right front wheel descended into an unseen pothole. Had our progress been only a tad more rapid, my head would have gone over the handlebar and into concussion protocol.  Instead, I was able to sidestep the cart and even manage to avoid crushing any of the groceries that spread out across the parking lot.  As another distractible-yet-athletic klutz once said regarding his own misadventures, “A lesser man would have been killed!”

Two young women nearby rushed to my aid.  “Are you OK?” asked one as they helped me rebag the pudding, berries and celery, among other items.

“You’ve done this before,” I replied, impressed at the rapid manner in which my groceries were reassembled.

“We work here,” said the second, smiling.  “Is there anything else we can do?”

“You can tell management to fix the pothole.  Thanks for your help.”

I made it to the car without further mishap.  The bruises on my ego had already begun to heal.  As I stepped on the gas and made my escape, I realized just how lucky I had been.  The upended cart had been uncharacteristically devoid of bottled beer!

This is Curling

Every 4 years, there is a huge upswing in interest in curling.  Coincidentally, this never happens during years when the world watches the Summer Olympics.  

Curling is the greater of the two well known games invented by the Scots.  These games have at least 2 things in common.  Though you may play on a team, you are really competing against yourself, which is incredibly frustrating.  The other commonality is that one can drink while playing.  “What’s the point of a game without a wee draught?” asked one of the originators, while carrying his rocks to Pond Stirling early in the 1500s.  

The lesser game, called Golf, was anticipatorially invented to pass the time when the ponds were not frozen firm enough to support stones and people.  This game has been banned several times, but continues to re-emerge in outbreaks likened to influenza.  It may be that acceptance of the lesser game is preferred to widewpread despondence during times of no curling.

Rocks were of many different sizes and shapes at the beginning.  After 100 years, handles were added for ease of use, and ISO 9004 standardized the stones used to 42 pounds or thereabouts.

But enough history.  

Though the game seems to confuse uninitiated observers, it is really not all that difficult to understand.  To start the game, the Lead gets in the hack and looks to the Skip to learn the desired weight, and if an in-turn or an out-turn is desired.  Then the stone is cleaned and delivered at the broom, usually with a push delivery in favor of the lift-delivery, which is not totally extinct.  The Lead slides out past the T-line and releases the stone, being careful not to release past the hog line, or to hog the stone.  The sweepers attentively accompany the stone down the ice, waiting to spring into action when the skip bellows the command to hurry hard, or whenever they feel the stone is light.  Sweeping affects both the arc and distance the stone will travel, so on the occasion of a plan B, sweepers must be at the ready even though the weight appears good.  Once in the house, and behind the T-line, a single opponent is allowed to sweep the stone or any to which it imparts energy.  

Then it’s the opposition’s turn.  Shots alternate between teams, with each member taking 2 shots alternately with their counterparts on the other team, first Lead, then Second, then Vice-Skip, and finally Skip, until the hammer is thrown.  At the completion of the end, all the stones in the house of the same color, which are closer than any opponent’s stone, are counted.  Just like Bocce.  If that game is also a mystery to you, ask anyone of Italian descent.  All Italians are required to understand Bocce scoring by the age of 5.

The Italians are also in the mix in international competition.  However, the Canadians are generally the teams to beat if a medal is your goal.  This is due to an inbred affinity for ice.

That’s about it.  Pretty simple, eh? (“Eh” is Canadian lingo meaning “huh” in this case.)  On the very small chance that you don’t completely understand even after reading this, you can learn more by going to the open house at the Rochester Curling Club.  http://www.rochestercurling.org/?q=content/open-house

They may even explain why curling is the only sport where:

• Men are actually effective in using a broom.

• A man can tell a woman she is wide and heavy without being in danger of bodily harm.
• Pebbles on the ice actually improve play.
• A little nipping is preferred (ask the Iceman).

Thank You, Humans.

Actually, thank you, Mommy and Daddy.  It is, of course, appropriate to call you that, since you are my adoptive, cross-species parents.

I want to thank you for taking me to the frozen place.  Living in Memphis, TN, I've often wondered what all my fur is for.  Now I know.

Lots of fluffy white stuff here.

It blows across the solid lake.

It drops down onto the trees.

But the osprey in the treetop doesn't care.

The geese don't care.

And like the osprey and geese, the Mergansers don't care, 
as long as there is still some open water.

The skiers don't care.

 

 

In fact, they like it.

Just like me.

So thanks, Mommy and Daddy, for bringing me here.

"You want me to do what?"

"Seriously?  In the car again?"

"But this place is so much fun!"

But my frozen fun must end.

Until next time.