Never forget?

I didn't post a 911 remembrance this year. I was out at a small ceremony and didn't want to do it when I came home. I know a lot of people say "Never forget." But I think most of America has forgotten.

This is a photo of my father in law pulling a hose in Brownsville in 1971. The conditions we had in 1971 are back today. The Black Liberation army had shot down Officers Piagentini and Jones in their patrol car in an assassination as just happened in LA. The mutts applauded and celebrated then too. The black neighborhoods were in flames and the firemen had to go put out fires when they threw cinder blocks down on them from the roof. My father in law would tell stories about those days. About how he had to stop probies from rushing in to save people because they would set fires, then make holes in the flow and cover them with a sheet so the firefighter would fall and break a leg by falling down a floor. He had a ton of stories about how the animals acted back in those days. Those days are back with a vengeance.

Two kids on a high school football team carried flags honoring the thin blue line and the thin red line on to the field where everyone else had Black Lives Matters flags. They were suspended and thrown off the team. It only lasted a day because of the outcry but that is where the schools head is at. You can honor criminals who die of a drug overdose in police custody by looting a CVS and setting fire to a church but if you honor the fire department you get thrown off the team.

They tried to cancel the reading of the names but a private group funded it and got it done. That is what it is going to come down to if anyone is going to remember. The memory is fading. In time it will be like the dead of World War One. Something in a history book. A white mans history book if they even let us have that anymore.

Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it.

May the fourth hottest Lois Lane rest in peace.

Margot Kidder has passed. Most noted for playing Lois Lane in the original Superman movie with noted horseman Christopher Reeve she had a long and varied career. Also noted for one of the most spectacular flame outs where she literally went crazy and ended up homeless and on the street because of mental illness.

One of the things I found most interesting about her was what I read about her many years ago in the book "Easy Riders, Raging Bulls" which was a history of the early years in Hollywood with many of the famous directors who made so many great movies in the 1970's. She was part of a group of actors and film people who hung out all the time with Francis Ford Coppola, George Lucas and Stephen Spielberg. Spielberg was really in love with her. Hopelessly madly in love but she wouldn't give it up. So he turned to Amy Irving who baited her twat and caught him. Margot always regretted that. She would have been on Easy Street. Instead she ended up shit faced and in the bag.

Let that be a lesson to all you young actresses. Don't listen to that Me Too bullshit. Give it up. But make sure he puts a ring on it.

(Bonus question. Who were the three hotter Lois Lanes?)

What a waste!

"I don't understand. Why is everything so blurry?"
"Yes Mr Mason. We invited you here to our house for your advice. I would like to point out a couple of things to you."
"Yes I can see that my dear. But it is not going to help."
"Why not?"
"Because I am a faggot. I only like cock. So stop pointing those things at me and have Blondie close her legs. I only get excited by hairless Japanese boys. In fact I am going to move to Tokyo."
"Why are you going to live with the Japs?"
"Because I want to let the monster loose."
"Thats silly. We would all like to see the famous Perry Mason's lizard."
"Sorry babe it is not going to happen. Why not wait for that Ben Casey guy. I hear he is a real greasy Eyetalian. He will  slide right in. Gotta go. Della is waiting for me."

When is a leg not a leg?

When it is a stick. I was sawing leg blanks today and one of them fell off my workbench. My dog grabbed it and ran off - she thought it was a game. So I chased her around the yard and eventually she dropped it. Work and dogs make for a wonderful life.

What can I say, 1685 strikes again.

This story dovetails with the previous one...

Here are some not very good pictures of a bench I made years ago.

The first shows the basic form - three pieces of curly white ash, 2-1/2" thick, connected with two large dovetail joints. The dimensions of the bench are - 40-1/2" across, 13-1/3" wide and 17-1/2" tall. Ergonomic yet comfy.

The second is a picture of one of the dovetails.

The end pieces slope out at about 8 degrees, thereby repeating the angles of the dovetails themselves.

This bench is strong enough to support my truck.

As for the surface appearance, where Kristina Madsen used chip carving to enliven her bench I selected a piece of highly figured ash for mine. Easy-peasy, no carving required.

But the real story is the philosophy of furniture construction, east coast versus west coast. Out west I was taught that only easterners use dovetails, westerners use every other type of joinery. These are the only dovetails I have ever made, and I made them here, east of the Mighty Mississip, but south of the Mason Dixon line. Maybe that is the explanation for why they exist.

One could write books about furniture design, influences, the help I have had along the way, but perhaps a song would explain it:

Where would we be without friends?

Ars Ingratia Artis

Overheard at Lem's:

I'd really rather not have eaten there. We've been there before. Whatever they make we can do better. And breakfast comes with our rooms. And I'd rather not eat that either. I'd rather not eat at all. I'd rather just go. But I did eat there. Because I'm being agreeable. Then later I wished that I hadn't.  

Lots of ranting at that link about good ol' American restaurant fare. Perhaps youse guys can relate to this:

That's a 6-panel piece I own called "Six Restaurants, One Burning." It depicts 6 different American fast food restaurants - Bennigan's, Bob's, What-A-Burger, Howard Johnson's, Black-eyed Pea, and a Pizza Hut. Here is some detail, upper left:

More detail, lower right:

The work is colored pencil on white stock and doesn't photograph well. But you get the picture. The artist is known for his detailed and intricate work, and so I hung this at the foot of the stairs where you can walk right up to it and examine it close-up.

KLEM AM

Dappled, non-stick photos of the 2017 eclipse from my mailbox:

I don't have any filters so I took indirect pictures of the partial eclipse we had here. 

Two of those utilize the leaves on my walnut tree to form multiple pinhole cameras, the other is a picture I took of the image cast by a "pinhole" camera I made using a scrap of walnut through which I bored a half inch diameter hole. 

Eclipse is over, as you were.

Photo by Sixty Grit

Photo by Sixty Grit

Photo by Sixty Grit

Question for Sixty: Are you going to butcher that walnut tree someday for its wood?

KLEM AM

The eclipse started early today...

Photo by Sixty Grit

KLEM AM

Photo By Sixty Grit

Related: Wal-Mart Applies For Patent For Blimp-Style Floating Warehouse

There are two disused wooden blimp hangars in Tustin, CA, which date from WW II. One of them is slated for destruction. What a publicity coup if one of the big retailers would refurbish, preserve, and use these white elephants.

link to original

@Sixty Grit: The hangars are made from Douglas fir. They look gray because of age and exposure. Can you just imagine the growth rings in that old wood?

KLEM FM

This 1992 song could be the anthem for Antifa today: Sonic Youth's "Youth Against Fascism." Another song from the same album specifically called out North Carolina.

 

link

I speak from experience:

Calling G. H.W. Bush a "war pig fuck" did not shock me in 1992. Nor did the obvious siding with Anita Hill against Clarence Thomas. What woke me (pardon the pun) was coming back to the States a year later and being confronted with PC language changes which began under Clinton. I trace all the the worst of these times to those times. Others will see the seeds of Antifa in 1960's rebellion (I'm looking at you, ed), but I think there was something particularly sinister about the Clinton years.

Full lyrics after the jump:

The Tao of Cliff

"So Coach what are you making?"
"A new Cocktail. It's called the Trump."
"Really what's in it? Lots of win I suppose? A Mexican? Maybe some gold leaf?"
"Nah nothing like that Cliffy. Why would you think that. What are you stupid? All you do is talk about how great Trump is all the time. Don't you get tired of that? I mean he is not the real leader that we need like Mussolini or Huey Long."
"Little know fact. Mussolini ate a couple of cloves of garlic every night before he went to bed. Said it was good for his heart. Didn't do much for his sex life though."
"Seriously Cliffy where do you come up with this stuff."
"By my voluminous research Coach. I am on the computer every day. So tell me what's in this cocktail?"
"Vodka for his Russian connections, corn for his corny beliefs and sugar to sweeten it so you will swallow it. Oh and a dab of bull feces because you know. He is full of it."
"Sounds Delicious. Pour me one. And one for my friend Norm."
"Hey I don't want that. I only drink beer."
"It's free."
"Send it down here Coach."
"See everybody wants something for free."

The Tao of Cliff

Cliff Clavin: [in comparison to a Jewish bris] The original rites of passage started with the jungle tribes down there in Borneo. 
Norm Peterson: Yeah? 
Cliff Clavin: When the young jungle tribal lad was on the brink of puberty, they'd bring him forward and take out this large sharpened clam shell... 
Sam Malone: Oh, no, no, no don't tell me... 
Cliff Clavin: ...they would fill it with dip, pass it around with the hors d'oeuvres... 
Sam Malone: Oh. 
Cliff Clavin: ...then they'd take these two big jagged rocks in there... 
Norm Peterson: Cliffy, Cliff, Cliff... 
Cliff Clavin: ...and bang them together to call in the tribes out of the hills, you know. Then the witch doctor stepped up with this long sharpened bamboo staff... 
Sam Malone: Oh, here it comes. 
Cliff Clavin: ...and shoved it into the ground, hung a flag on it and they danced around it, pretty much, until they dropped, really. 
Sam Malone: Oh, wait... When do they circumcise the kid? 
Cliff Clavin: What do you mean circumcize? There are no Jews in Borneo, you mook. 
Ricpic: Oy what a Schmendrik!
Coach Ernie Pantusso What's that? I don't know how to make that drink. And I know everything!

My Date With A Stripper

[continued-in-part from here]

Work on the stairs:

After removing both the rails and the metal balusters, I started to sand away the paint coating the lower rail. This proved slow going -- even with 60 grit paper on a new random orbit sander. So I went all chemical on it:

Stripper contains methylene chloride which dissolves practically anything (except wood). You just slather it on as a paste and wait for the paint to blister and then scrape it off- right onto the concrete floor in my case. I had to do a couple cycles of strip and sand because the paint was so durable. It's still unfinished because the sides are particularly hard to treat. But here is some real progress:

Bonus photos:

Recall the end grain detail from the rail:

Here is the end grain from the base:

And here is the end grain from a small decorative piece which is off to the right in the first photo:

That is a flat top rail adjacent to the steps. You can see a closet door knob for scale. The wood appears to be doug fir but its growth ring pattern suggests it's intermediate between the rail and the foot rail. Also note that it's made of two joined pieces.

I await Sixty's expert opinion.

KLEM FM

How young are you?

How old am I?

Let's count the rings around my eye

How smart are you?

How dumb am I?

Don't count any of my advice

linky

That is Peter Buck -- the reclusive genius behind R.E.M. -- on guitar. They say his sound was distinct because he didn't play chords but rather arpeggios. WTH are arpeggios?

Full lyrics after the jump

Thank You, Sixty Grit!

[this post continues in part from here]

From an email exchange with Sixty Grit yesterday:

Sixty: You may email me pictures of the railing wood and I might be able to see them better.
A close up of the end grain would be good, as will pictures of the long grain.

Me: [sends two photos]

Sixty: The piece that has been sanded looks like Douglas fir - straight grain, close growth rings - don't let a tree hugger see that - that is beautiful wood.

If you could sand whatever coating is on the end grain I would better be able to see what is going on there - just as there are standards for baluster spacing there are requirements for the type and quality of wood used in handrails - that looks like very high quality wood right there.

Me:

I think you're right about the bottom being Doug fir-I've worked with it before. The rail is more fine grained. Both woods are soft and can be scratched with a finger nail

Sixty: That looks like old growth vertical grain Doug fir. That is beautiful stuff, unavailable these days. The true tell is the aroma - since I can't see color too well - are you familiar with the distinctive smell of Douglas fir? I would say fill and envelope with sawdust and mail it to me, but we would both end up in jail if you did that. Perhaps a trip to the local big box wood store might be in order - they might have some Douglas fir in stock and you could compare and contrast.

As I say, that is high quality stuff right there - well worth refurbishing and keeping.

Me: The growth rings are much tighter in the railing wood.

Sixty: Indeed they are - I guestimate at least 30 rings per inch. Check the smell of both of them - if they smell the same then the railing was made out of old growth stock.

Me: They do smell the same.

Sixty: Well there you go - high grade vertical grain stock used for the railing itself, as required by code, lower grade used for the non-crucial application. I like it - sounds as if the mystery is solved. Well done!

Tales of New York

So today is a beautiful spring like day. I was walking to the store and I saw a beautiful New York Scene. A little bit of a cliché but still a Tale of New York.

You see there were four motorcycle cops lazing around and joking and laughing. In front of a Donut Shop. I had to immortalize it without getting arrested. Of course they were so lazy they didn't even notice.

Listen there is nobody more Law and Order than me. No not the commie TV series but the fact that we need to keep the knuckleheads under control. But that doesn't blind me to the faults of the police. The biggest of which is that they are just lazy bastards.

The motorcycle cops are supposed to be the elite. Better trained. Used for special details. I bet they were protecting someone who was eating in the Marco Polo restaurant. Or it could be that they are just lazy bastards.

Still it isn't that often that you get to see a living breathing walking talking farting belching cliché in action. I had to immortalize it for posterity.

Churchill Returns To The Oval Office

I never realized that it looked like a man craved from crude oil -- even in higher resolution. No wonder Obama kept it out of sight. Anyways, it's good to have him back in spirit.

They Might Be Giants...

...but they sure like their ursine talisman.

The New York Giants' offensive line are taking their good-luck teddy bear to Lambeau Field for the NFC wild card playoff game against the Green Bay Packers on Sunday. link

The bear projects an image of rugged masculinity for several players, including Elisha Manning. First given to the team in 2007, the bear is credited with the Giants' victories over Green Bay in 2007 and 2011 at Lambeau Field.

We deal in lead.

Chris: There's a job for six men, watching over a village, south of the border.

O'Reilly: How big's the opposition?

Chris: Thirty guns.

O'Reilly: I admire your notion of fair odds, mister.

Chris: Just one thing.

O'Reilly: What's that?

Chris: I get to shoot Richard Benjamin in the balls. I hate that bastard.

(The Magnificent Seven, 1960)

Whose that author?

This time, the plane landed with only a couple of slight bumps and came to a halt where and when and in the manner it was supposed to. Gretchen was still relieved when the plane finally came to a stop. Even the short period when it was driving across the tarmac on wheels under its own power made her nervous. For some reason, Eddie called it “taxiing” even though the exercise had no relationship Gretchen could determine with the famous postal service of Thurn and Taxis.

She hadn’t like flying the first time she did it, she hadn’t liked it this time, and she didn’t imagine she ever would.

That said, they had gotten from Dresden to Magdeburg in about an hour. It would have taken her several days on horseback and longer if she’d walked.

“Thank you,” she said politely, after Junker helped her to the ground. “The trip was very… uneventful.”

Eddie grinned. “Not pleasant, though, I take it.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think I will ever…” She broke off, seeing what looked like a small mob headed in their direction.

“What’s this?” she wondered.

“Your greeting, I imagine.”

Gretchen frowned. “Why are this many people coming to meet me?”

Eddie studied her for a moment, with a quizzical expression on his face. Then he grinned again. “I will say this, Gretchen Richter. It is perhaps the most reassuring thing about you that you really don’t know the answer to that question.”

Her frown deepened. “That makes no sense at all.”