It's no secret that I work in computers. And when I'm home, I play in computers. Unfortunately, yesterday was one of those days when I shouldn't have been allowed anywhere near a computer.
Didja ever have one of those days?
You know, one of those days where every key you hit performs a different, hidden function, of which you were not aware? It's definitely not you; it's the computer. Or software. Or operating system.
The day was actually a fine one until I decided that my phone (a Galaxy S3) needed to be rooted. I rooted most of my phones and tablets, so this one shouldn't be an exception. Since it's not a brand new phone, there were many methods available for rooting it.
This was my first mistake.
The first thing to investigate is if you have the right root for the right phone. Because there are a number of phone carriers, there are a number of phone models. A Sprint Galaxy is not the same model as a Verizon Galaxy. Having sorted that out, you search for an appropriate root.
Most of the roots I did were done via linux and went well. For some unknown reason, I decided to try it on Windows.
This was my second mistake.
After a few false starts, I got through process number one. And failed. I tried a different process, which also failed. A third process failed but in the background I could swear I heard it giggling at me.
It had started to be become obvious that this was going to be One of Those Days<tm>.
Investigating a few more, reliable methods, I set upon implementing them. These also failed. The failures were no doubt aided and abetted by my favorite operating system, Windows. People in the same room can always tell when I'm having a time with Windows. They get to hear phrases like:
Windows: it's not an operating system, it's a virus!
and
STOP HELPING ME, WINDOWS.
and
Stupid ($*#ing operating system.
People stop and stare, most with pity on their faces.
I finally allowed Windows and rooting to declare victory. Of course there were many methods to root the phone - none of them work. I'm not really blaming the roots - I'm sure I have some small part in this.
I finally received my usb dongle for tv. Before you continue pointing and laughing, it's a usb device that you plug into your computer to receive tv. There is a project around SDR (software defined radio) that uses the dongle to receive all sorts of radio, from shortwave on up past police and amateur radio. The best thing about this is that the dongle is about twenty dollars and all of the software is free. It runs on linux and Windows (and probably Mac).
After doing a little research, I plugged the device into a linux box and went to work. And when I say work, I mean trudging through the old tundra. There was very plainly no simple way to make SDR happen. The directions were long and complex, sometimes involving something called GIT, which translates to `GIT the hell away from this software, linux user'.
Three pieces of software later, I gave up. Yes, sometimes I get frustrated. One day I hope to be able to give back to the linux community.
Off to the Windows side, I figured this would have to be easier. Plug and play, you know.
More like Plug and Pray, actually.
Windows was nice enough to keep reminding me that there was no driver for the dongle - at ten second increments. If nothing else, the pretty blue light came on.
Three pieces of software later, I was in pain. One flat out refused to start up, then refused to close. Another couldn't find the right verson. The third program went in just fine and also failed to work correctly.
Cue more screaming and cursing my incompetence, ancestry and operating systems in general. Plus a lengthy internal dissertation on the value of dongles in impolite society.
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Why is It?
Private companies have made $385 billion from our government post 9-11.
Illegal immigrants will not have to pay back taxes.
Senate ok's tax-welfare benefits for illegal immigrants.
Yet there's a sequestration on, Obamacare is going to shoot our healthcare premiums through the roof and there's no money for anything.
What is wrong here?
Illegal immigrants will not have to pay back taxes.
Senate ok's tax-welfare benefits for illegal immigrants.
Yet there's a sequestration on, Obamacare is going to shoot our healthcare premiums through the roof and there's no money for anything.
What is wrong here?
Monday, May 20, 2013
Is That a Divot in Your Leg or Are You Just Happy to See Me?
Strange times have (once again) invaded the loony bin that is my house. They (whoever they are) keep telling me that I need to emphasize the positive, so I can verify that we have not been set upon by the IRS because of our libertarian, small-government beliefs.
Our names haven't surfaced in relation to Benghazi, nor have we ever heard from Hillary Clinton.
We have not heard anybody ordering coffee in the background while we're on the phone, so there's that.
We have no data in the cloud, so we're safe that way.
Now that I'm done emphasizing the positive, I can get back to my narrative.
Saturday morning Mrs. leftystrat hurt something in the shower. She limped to the couch and sat down. And when I say sat down, I mean she oriented herself south and threw her body at the couch, in a process we refer to as Elephants with Tutus. Or, as a friend says, Princess Grace.
The scream that ensued was not of this earth.
It sounded like she ripped something.
"It feels like I ripped something," she told me.
Five minutes later, when the screaming stopped, she discovered it was incredibly difficult to get around. Her normal clodding about became more of a stuttering clod, followed by something that sounded like "mrmmmph... OH."
I shrunk into my chair in horror.
Things were so bad that I had to drive her to her scheduled appointment. This is bad. I asked if it was Hospital Time yet and was told no in no uncertain terms.
Sunday morning, in the middle of a rather interesting dream involving a different Karen, a model and a lesbian from work, I was awakened.
Why, you ask?
Because it was Hospital Time<tm>.
Once or twice a year I drop my constant use of sarcastic replies and this was it. It took Yes Dear to a whole new level.
Emergency examinations are an exam apart from Regular examinations. Some distant relative of Hitler grabbed my wife's leg and asked her if it hurt.
No.
How about here?
No.
How about here?
AAAAAAAAH.
Good. How about here?
No.
It's not like the doc was looking for range of motion.... it's more like she was looking for all sorts of new ways to cause pain (for reasons only she and psychiatrists understand).
Finally one of the more alert doctors noticed what could only be called a divot on her leg. The diagnosis was torn something or other that sounded like Velociraptor. And the only relief would be motrin and staying off it. She left with a soft splint-thingie, which kept slipping down her leg.
Let me say another nice thing (who am I and what have I done with leftystrat?): the hospital was terribly efficient and we were out within ninety minutes.
NOW WHAT?
I can deal with all sorts of situations. I am a decent guy to have near you in an emergency: I only panic over stupid little shit, not the Big Stuff<tm>. I waited on my wife like professional staff. Since the docs mandated rest and relaxation, she was up the steps, down the steps and on the front steps to smoke. The real question the doctors needed to ask was if the injury was so serious it interrupted smoking. Because there's virtually nothing that can interrupt smoking (with the possible exception of death, but that's just a theory of mine).
The children were being more uncooperative than normal and a bit differently than normal. Usually Ren, the cat, is the difficult one. Lately they have switched places and Marshall, the dog, has become Hell on Legs.
I have described Cat Food Ballet before. This is the process by which the little monsters are fed in the morning. Unfortunately for me, things have gotten further out of control.
I go in the kitchen to feed Ren and close the door. I feed Marshall on the other side. In the midst of that, Ren opens the kitchen door and Marshall runs in, horfing up every last crumb of cat food. When he's done with the cat food, he stands up and raids the trash can. He's never done with the trash can. We recently discovered that both of them can flip the trash can over too.
While Marshall is in the midst of Trash Feast 2013, Ren has taken off to the dog food, which he is hungrily crunching up. When I scream "GET OUT OF THE DOG FOOD, REN," he reluctantly moves away; one of the few times he bothers to listen. Of course at this point, he moves away until he thinks I am done watching.
Most times after I yell at Ren, Marshall comes running, whining at Ren, and gets back into his own food.
I got so tired of watching these two lunatics running in and out of the kitchen that I finally put a ladder up against the kitchen door so neither of them could get it. This was followed by minutes of blessed silence, until such time I had to feed the cat again.
Ren stayed in the kitchen and I put the ladder back up. Unfortunately this didn't hold as well as last time and he kept ramming his nineteen pound bulk against the door, finally sending the leaning ladder over backwards. Right onto a picture, smashing the glass.
I'm quite surprised that the neighbors haven't called the authorities, what with all the strained-voice yelling "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU. AND YOUR LITTLE DOG TOO!" If my wife didn't smoke on the front step, they would be concerned that I killed the lot of them. Except for the crazy lady next door... she's mostly deaf. And very dumb.
When everything settles for more than a few seconds, Marshall starts whining that he has to go outside. Oddly enough, outside can mean anything from outside to "I want to get into the trash and check the cat food situation, Dad."
Recently we discovered that someone was eating at Cat Box Cafe. Guess who?
Marshall just got his summer haircut. Nobody knows why but after he returns, he spends every second physically in contact with me or my wife. He sleeps anchored to me, frequently on my pillow (in spite of my sending him back down to the other end - he just creeps back up seconds later). He's currently attached to my wife on the couch. He's like a large, squirmy back pillow (that farts).
This velociraptor tearing thing has to end. I simply don't have the patience to take care of Beelzebub's Bunch and my wife at the same time.
Our names haven't surfaced in relation to Benghazi, nor have we ever heard from Hillary Clinton.
We have not heard anybody ordering coffee in the background while we're on the phone, so there's that.
We have no data in the cloud, so we're safe that way.
Now that I'm done emphasizing the positive, I can get back to my narrative.
Saturday morning Mrs. leftystrat hurt something in the shower. She limped to the couch and sat down. And when I say sat down, I mean she oriented herself south and threw her body at the couch, in a process we refer to as Elephants with Tutus. Or, as a friend says, Princess Grace.
The scream that ensued was not of this earth.
It sounded like she ripped something.
"It feels like I ripped something," she told me.
Five minutes later, when the screaming stopped, she discovered it was incredibly difficult to get around. Her normal clodding about became more of a stuttering clod, followed by something that sounded like "mrmmmph... OH."
I shrunk into my chair in horror.
Things were so bad that I had to drive her to her scheduled appointment. This is bad. I asked if it was Hospital Time yet and was told no in no uncertain terms.
Sunday morning, in the middle of a rather interesting dream involving a different Karen, a model and a lesbian from work, I was awakened.
Why, you ask?
Because it was Hospital Time<tm>.
Once or twice a year I drop my constant use of sarcastic replies and this was it. It took Yes Dear to a whole new level.
Emergency examinations are an exam apart from Regular examinations. Some distant relative of Hitler grabbed my wife's leg and asked her if it hurt.
No.
How about here?
No.
How about here?
AAAAAAAAH.
Good. How about here?
No.
It's not like the doc was looking for range of motion.... it's more like she was looking for all sorts of new ways to cause pain (for reasons only she and psychiatrists understand).
Finally one of the more alert doctors noticed what could only be called a divot on her leg. The diagnosis was torn something or other that sounded like Velociraptor. And the only relief would be motrin and staying off it. She left with a soft splint-thingie, which kept slipping down her leg.
Let me say another nice thing (who am I and what have I done with leftystrat?): the hospital was terribly efficient and we were out within ninety minutes.
NOW WHAT?
I can deal with all sorts of situations. I am a decent guy to have near you in an emergency: I only panic over stupid little shit, not the Big Stuff<tm>. I waited on my wife like professional staff. Since the docs mandated rest and relaxation, she was up the steps, down the steps and on the front steps to smoke. The real question the doctors needed to ask was if the injury was so serious it interrupted smoking. Because there's virtually nothing that can interrupt smoking (with the possible exception of death, but that's just a theory of mine).
The children were being more uncooperative than normal and a bit differently than normal. Usually Ren, the cat, is the difficult one. Lately they have switched places and Marshall, the dog, has become Hell on Legs.
I have described Cat Food Ballet before. This is the process by which the little monsters are fed in the morning. Unfortunately for me, things have gotten further out of control.
I go in the kitchen to feed Ren and close the door. I feed Marshall on the other side. In the midst of that, Ren opens the kitchen door and Marshall runs in, horfing up every last crumb of cat food. When he's done with the cat food, he stands up and raids the trash can. He's never done with the trash can. We recently discovered that both of them can flip the trash can over too.
While Marshall is in the midst of Trash Feast 2013, Ren has taken off to the dog food, which he is hungrily crunching up. When I scream "GET OUT OF THE DOG FOOD, REN," he reluctantly moves away; one of the few times he bothers to listen. Of course at this point, he moves away until he thinks I am done watching.
Most times after I yell at Ren, Marshall comes running, whining at Ren, and gets back into his own food.
I got so tired of watching these two lunatics running in and out of the kitchen that I finally put a ladder up against the kitchen door so neither of them could get it. This was followed by minutes of blessed silence, until such time I had to feed the cat again.
Ren stayed in the kitchen and I put the ladder back up. Unfortunately this didn't hold as well as last time and he kept ramming his nineteen pound bulk against the door, finally sending the leaning ladder over backwards. Right onto a picture, smashing the glass.
I'm quite surprised that the neighbors haven't called the authorities, what with all the strained-voice yelling "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU. AND YOUR LITTLE DOG TOO!" If my wife didn't smoke on the front step, they would be concerned that I killed the lot of them. Except for the crazy lady next door... she's mostly deaf. And very dumb.
When everything settles for more than a few seconds, Marshall starts whining that he has to go outside. Oddly enough, outside can mean anything from outside to "I want to get into the trash and check the cat food situation, Dad."
Recently we discovered that someone was eating at Cat Box Cafe. Guess who?
Marshall just got his summer haircut. Nobody knows why but after he returns, he spends every second physically in contact with me or my wife. He sleeps anchored to me, frequently on my pillow (in spite of my sending him back down to the other end - he just creeps back up seconds later). He's currently attached to my wife on the couch. He's like a large, squirmy back pillow (that farts).
This velociraptor tearing thing has to end. I simply don't have the patience to take care of Beelzebub's Bunch and my wife at the same time.
Monday, May 13, 2013
The Little Old Band from Texas Plays New Jersey
Saturday night it was off to New Jersey to see ZZ Top. Family and friends got me tickets for a recent birthday. Really good tickets. When we got there, we were shocked.. we sat about ten rows back from the stage.
Since we don't spend much time in New Jersey (thankfully and in spite of being born there), our first stop was Mapquest. There's always an adventure with Mapquest; perhaps we like the pain. Here's a tip for anyone living in Pennsylvania who has to use I-76: don't. I-76, otherwise known as the Surekill Expressway, is a disaster. Any time of night or day, there is a traffic jam. There are several rolling traffic jams. There are sporadic traffic jams, as well as traffic jams just for the hell of it. The most special traffic jams are leftyJams. These are the traffic jams that pop up whenever I need to drive on the Surekill. They're the worst and they're a certainty, whether it's Saturday night at 7pm or Sunday morning at 4am.
The best thing that could happen to PA highways would be spontaneous combustion, followed by the building of real highways.
Crossing into New Jersey was a blast too. While the highways are less congested, the drivers could use a bit of spontaneous combustion. Some of their driving skills would be more appropriate for an Indy car race, others for a demolition derby.
The venue was the Revel Casino. I had never heard of it and didn't even know it was a casino until Mapquest. Funny thing about Mapquest: they gave street-by-street directions, which directly opposed the Atlantic City signage for the casinos themselves. We decided to go with signage, which proved correct, if not confusing.
The casino is nice. It must be, as a coworker said it's going out of business. The casino signage was largely nonexistent but we managed to tag along behind some other Top enthusiasts.
They started out with these folks projected on the screens:
The view was stunning [click for larger versions]:
The venue was just the right size. This is just behind our row:
Every tour the boys get new Custom Shop guitars. This year they were purple:
Billy's Les Paul (not the famous Pearly Gates) had a beautiful top:
The Reverend BFG holding court:
They played Legs too.
FAHN!
So how was the concert?
Well, if the pics are any indication, it was excellent. We were closer than we have ever been. I have seen ZZ Top once before but this was Mrs leftystrat's first time and she was pleased.
The experience can only described as visceral, especially the sound. We were getting smacked in the chest by the low end. We got hit with every bass drum hit. In spite of having only three instruments to mix, we were missing the bass a lot. The quality of the sound was very high, though.
We would definitely go back to the Revel for any concert, assuming they stay operational. The Borgata is another excellent venue.
The Rev Billy was in fine form throughout, fronting like only he can. The boys pulled up a number of songs not heard live, such as Certified Blues from the first album. I didn't make a list but they did Tush, Blue Jean Blues, Heard it on the X, Gots Ta Get Paid, Chartreuse, Waitin' for the Bus, Jesus Just Left Chicago and ran for about ninety minutes with one encore.
Two young Asian ladies sat next to us. Oddly enough, I quickly forgot about them but the wife was most interested, being a people watcher. English was not their first language, perhaps not their second either. They were obviously not huge Top fans, as they didn't know the words or the songs. They seemed to watch everyone else for cues as to what to do. The one thing I did see was the repetitive taking of vanity self-shots. The crowd was largely thirty and up. All the way up.
No serious amps were visible but there were a pair of Magnatones on each side, most likely for show. All of Dusty's basses had reverse headstocks and a Tele-style pickup. This year's purple Fender Tele that Billy used had a humbucker in the rear. He also used the Les Paul, the Furry Guitar and an Explorer, which sounded slightly better than the rest.
Due to the nature of Billy's rig, whatever he plugs in is going to sound largely the same. If you go to Premier Guitar's site and check out his rig rundown, you will see that each guitar is equalized to sound just like his famous Les Paul, Pearly Gates, then run through a Marshall preamp.
I got the t-shirt, the wife got the keychain. An excellent time was had by all. We're ready for the next tour, fellas....
Extreme gratitude to my crew for the tickets.
Since we don't spend much time in New Jersey (thankfully and in spite of being born there), our first stop was Mapquest. There's always an adventure with Mapquest; perhaps we like the pain. Here's a tip for anyone living in Pennsylvania who has to use I-76: don't. I-76, otherwise known as the Surekill Expressway, is a disaster. Any time of night or day, there is a traffic jam. There are several rolling traffic jams. There are sporadic traffic jams, as well as traffic jams just for the hell of it. The most special traffic jams are leftyJams. These are the traffic jams that pop up whenever I need to drive on the Surekill. They're the worst and they're a certainty, whether it's Saturday night at 7pm or Sunday morning at 4am.
The best thing that could happen to PA highways would be spontaneous combustion, followed by the building of real highways.
Crossing into New Jersey was a blast too. While the highways are less congested, the drivers could use a bit of spontaneous combustion. Some of their driving skills would be more appropriate for an Indy car race, others for a demolition derby.
The venue was the Revel Casino. I had never heard of it and didn't even know it was a casino until Mapquest. Funny thing about Mapquest: they gave street-by-street directions, which directly opposed the Atlantic City signage for the casinos themselves. We decided to go with signage, which proved correct, if not confusing.
The casino is nice. It must be, as a coworker said it's going out of business. The casino signage was largely nonexistent but we managed to tag along behind some other Top enthusiasts.
They started out with these folks projected on the screens:
and the girl....
the girl show up prominently thoughout the show, as one would imagine.
The view was stunning [click for larger versions]:
The venue was just the right size. This is just behind our row:
Every tour the boys get new Custom Shop guitars. This year they were purple:
Billy's Les Paul (not the famous Pearly Gates) had a beautiful top:
The Reverend BFG holding court:
They played Legs too.
FAHN!
So how was the concert?
Well, if the pics are any indication, it was excellent. We were closer than we have ever been. I have seen ZZ Top once before but this was Mrs leftystrat's first time and she was pleased.
The experience can only described as visceral, especially the sound. We were getting smacked in the chest by the low end. We got hit with every bass drum hit. In spite of having only three instruments to mix, we were missing the bass a lot. The quality of the sound was very high, though.
We would definitely go back to the Revel for any concert, assuming they stay operational. The Borgata is another excellent venue.
The Rev Billy was in fine form throughout, fronting like only he can. The boys pulled up a number of songs not heard live, such as Certified Blues from the first album. I didn't make a list but they did Tush, Blue Jean Blues, Heard it on the X, Gots Ta Get Paid, Chartreuse, Waitin' for the Bus, Jesus Just Left Chicago and ran for about ninety minutes with one encore.
Two young Asian ladies sat next to us. Oddly enough, I quickly forgot about them but the wife was most interested, being a people watcher. English was not their first language, perhaps not their second either. They were obviously not huge Top fans, as they didn't know the words or the songs. They seemed to watch everyone else for cues as to what to do. The one thing I did see was the repetitive taking of vanity self-shots. The crowd was largely thirty and up. All the way up.
No serious amps were visible but there were a pair of Magnatones on each side, most likely for show. All of Dusty's basses had reverse headstocks and a Tele-style pickup. This year's purple Fender Tele that Billy used had a humbucker in the rear. He also used the Les Paul, the Furry Guitar and an Explorer, which sounded slightly better than the rest.
Due to the nature of Billy's rig, whatever he plugs in is going to sound largely the same. If you go to Premier Guitar's site and check out his rig rundown, you will see that each guitar is equalized to sound just like his famous Les Paul, Pearly Gates, then run through a Marshall preamp.
I got the t-shirt, the wife got the keychain. An excellent time was had by all. We're ready for the next tour, fellas....
Extreme gratitude to my crew for the tickets.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Told You So
It almost hurts to say this (no it doesn't) but I told you so.
Are all telephone calls recorded and accessible to government?
Of course they are.
I've been saying this for a long time.
But never mind old leftystrat - he's a crazy conspiracy nut. He sees the NSA in every cloud outside (not to mention every cloud on the internet).
Now that it's out in the open, all that's left to discover are the trivialities, like whether it's the NSA or other similar letter-agency. We knew about Echelon years ago.
Why do you think they're building huge new datacenters? Because they like to sign contracts?
What else might they be up to?
Now that this information is leaking big time, what do you plan to do about it?
I'd rather be a crazy conspiracy theorist, actually. This is one time I don't want to be right.
Are all telephone calls recorded and accessible to government?
Of course they are.
I've been saying this for a long time.
But never mind old leftystrat - he's a crazy conspiracy nut. He sees the NSA in every cloud outside (not to mention every cloud on the internet).
Now that it's out in the open, all that's left to discover are the trivialities, like whether it's the NSA or other similar letter-agency. We knew about Echelon years ago.
Why do you think they're building huge new datacenters? Because they like to sign contracts?
What else might they be up to?
Now that this information is leaking big time, what do you plan to do about it?
I'd rather be a crazy conspiracy theorist, actually. This is one time I don't want to be right.
Monday, May 6, 2013
Weekend in Review - or Why Did I Leave the House?
So it's Monday. It's usually Monday, moreso at this time of the week. It is, in fact, rather early for a Monday, but there we are; it's Monday.
So what rhymes with Monday? Hyundai.
And why do I mention Hyundai? Because it has been a wonderful experience owning an almost new car. And because it has been a wonderful experience, the Hyundai has obliged by overheating.
A quick trip to the mechanic diagnosed the problem as bad hoses and a thermostat (which should have been replaced when the dealer rebuilt the front end after the Deer Incident<tm>). Naturally the parts had to be ordered and wouldn't be in for a few days. The universe is funny this way.
Somehow we made it out last weekend.
Let's start with the Musicians Flea Market at the New Hope Winery. I made several assumptions which turned out to be totally incorrect. My wife was on point and we got proper backup directions. And where were the backup directions? Back up at the house, where we left them.
The Winery is a few miles past Peddler's Village. You can't miss it (although we almost did). There is the winery and the events building. It there appeared to be more cars in the lot than people attending the event. Apparently this room is routinely used for national events - it's very nice. We were charged a door fee of five dollars and went off, exploring.
I don't mind paying: I pay for the Philly Guitar Shows twice a year and it's worth it. The Philly Guitar Shows have hundreds of vendors. The Winery had approximately six. This is where I start to mind paying.
Still, I wanted to support this concept, hoping it would really take off. Unfortunately the approximately six vendors took up the large part of the room, leaving little if any room to grow. When I think flea market, I think lots of tables and vendors. Not so much here. And we got a coupon for ten percent off wine purchases that day. This is ironic, as I don't drink.
Sadly, it was a bit of a wash. I hope the vendors did well.
Peddler's Village was in the midst of its Strawberry Festival, which was a real boon to those who like strawberries. In a bit of flawed logic, I suspect that people who like Strawberries are large, slow and grossly inconsiderate of others trying to walk near and around them. I needed a cow catcher to get from shop to shop.
My wife wanted a fresh lemonade. In front of us was one party of about five people, which seemed to be completely monopolizing the party of five people working at the stand. Every they finished ordering, someone came up with another thing they needed. After about five minutes of waiting for lemonade, I gave up, leaving my poor wife to stand behind these idiots. I procured a smoothie in the time it took her to get her lemonade and walk to the next stand. They kept adding one more thing, like a really bad version of Columbo. And the people who worked there were so stunned, no one thought to ask her if she wanted anything.
On the plus side, it was a beautiful day. We got cotton candy. There was a jazz band on the lawn, with a really interesting drummer. On the way out we saw a band doing Jimmy Buffet-type songs in the gazebo.
Sunday was the MARC Hamfest, starting at the ridiculous hour of seven in the morning. We got there by eight. It was very well-attended, moreso than we have seen in quite a while.
I didn't see anything that thrilled me, aside from a $600 R390 boatanchor tube receiver. Having left my $600 bill home, I was forced to leave the R390 at the hamfest. The silver lining is that the receiver is so heavy, I watched the vendor having to get help removing it from his trunk. So I saved some of my vital parts<tm>.
My wife did quite a bit better, as usual. She runs through vcrs and dvd players like I run through soda and she purchased one of each for ten dollars. You never know what you're going to find at a hamfest. The table with the greatest title was the Guilt Table, where buyers were encouraged to buy candles for their wives/girlfriends. Naturally my wife scored there too.
I may need to rethink this hamfest thing.
So what rhymes with Monday? Hyundai.
And why do I mention Hyundai? Because it has been a wonderful experience owning an almost new car. And because it has been a wonderful experience, the Hyundai has obliged by overheating.
A quick trip to the mechanic diagnosed the problem as bad hoses and a thermostat (which should have been replaced when the dealer rebuilt the front end after the Deer Incident<tm>). Naturally the parts had to be ordered and wouldn't be in for a few days. The universe is funny this way.
Somehow we made it out last weekend.
Let's start with the Musicians Flea Market at the New Hope Winery. I made several assumptions which turned out to be totally incorrect. My wife was on point and we got proper backup directions. And where were the backup directions? Back up at the house, where we left them.
The Winery is a few miles past Peddler's Village. You can't miss it (although we almost did). There is the winery and the events building. It there appeared to be more cars in the lot than people attending the event. Apparently this room is routinely used for national events - it's very nice. We were charged a door fee of five dollars and went off, exploring.
I don't mind paying: I pay for the Philly Guitar Shows twice a year and it's worth it. The Philly Guitar Shows have hundreds of vendors. The Winery had approximately six. This is where I start to mind paying.
Still, I wanted to support this concept, hoping it would really take off. Unfortunately the approximately six vendors took up the large part of the room, leaving little if any room to grow. When I think flea market, I think lots of tables and vendors. Not so much here. And we got a coupon for ten percent off wine purchases that day. This is ironic, as I don't drink.
Sadly, it was a bit of a wash. I hope the vendors did well.
Peddler's Village was in the midst of its Strawberry Festival, which was a real boon to those who like strawberries. In a bit of flawed logic, I suspect that people who like Strawberries are large, slow and grossly inconsiderate of others trying to walk near and around them. I needed a cow catcher to get from shop to shop.
My wife wanted a fresh lemonade. In front of us was one party of about five people, which seemed to be completely monopolizing the party of five people working at the stand. Every they finished ordering, someone came up with another thing they needed. After about five minutes of waiting for lemonade, I gave up, leaving my poor wife to stand behind these idiots. I procured a smoothie in the time it took her to get her lemonade and walk to the next stand. They kept adding one more thing, like a really bad version of Columbo. And the people who worked there were so stunned, no one thought to ask her if she wanted anything.
On the plus side, it was a beautiful day. We got cotton candy. There was a jazz band on the lawn, with a really interesting drummer. On the way out we saw a band doing Jimmy Buffet-type songs in the gazebo.
Sunday was the MARC Hamfest, starting at the ridiculous hour of seven in the morning. We got there by eight. It was very well-attended, moreso than we have seen in quite a while.
I didn't see anything that thrilled me, aside from a $600 R390 boatanchor tube receiver. Having left my $600 bill home, I was forced to leave the R390 at the hamfest. The silver lining is that the receiver is so heavy, I watched the vendor having to get help removing it from his trunk. So I saved some of my vital parts<tm>.
My wife did quite a bit better, as usual. She runs through vcrs and dvd players like I run through soda and she purchased one of each for ten dollars. You never know what you're going to find at a hamfest. The table with the greatest title was the Guilt Table, where buyers were encouraged to buy candles for their wives/girlfriends. Naturally my wife scored there too.
I may need to rethink this hamfest thing.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Philly Area Events of Note
This Saturday, 5/4, is the New Hope Winery musicians flea market.
I hear good things about this flea market but have never attended. If you haven't been to New Hope, you should go and bring the spouse/significant other. It's a really `quaint little shopping village'. Nice place to spend the day. They have all sorts of interesting shops you won't see elsewhere and good places to eat.
This Sunday, 5/5, is the Warminster Hamfest
This is my traditional first hamfest of the season. It's a great location, albeit a ride. Warning: the mere presence of a hamfest at this location on this day tends to produce rain. You never know which way it's going to go. But a great time is usually had by all.
For the uninitiated, a hamfest has nothing to do with ham, pigs or potato salad. It's a flea market for amateur radio and electronics nuts. You can also find a bit of stuff for computer people and musicians.
I have no financial interest in any of these places or events. It's just nice to get out of the house once or twice a year.
I hear good things about this flea market but have never attended. If you haven't been to New Hope, you should go and bring the spouse/significant other. It's a really `quaint little shopping village'. Nice place to spend the day. They have all sorts of interesting shops you won't see elsewhere and good places to eat.
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This Sunday, 5/5, is the Warminster Hamfest
This is my traditional first hamfest of the season. It's a great location, albeit a ride. Warning: the mere presence of a hamfest at this location on this day tends to produce rain. You never know which way it's going to go. But a great time is usually had by all.
For the uninitiated, a hamfest has nothing to do with ham, pigs or potato salad. It's a flea market for amateur radio and electronics nuts. You can also find a bit of stuff for computer people and musicians.
I have no financial interest in any of these places or events. It's just nice to get out of the house once or twice a year.
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Funny story about New Hope
Last time there, we located an adult shop. I was having a fun time holding things up and saying, "Hey Honey, look at this!".
While walking to the next area, my wife asked me if I noticed that guy.
What guy?
The guy in the adult shop.
No.
You didn't see him looking at you?
No, why.
He wanted you.
Excuse me?
You really are oblivious, aren't you?
Completely. I don't notice women coming on to me.
Or men, apparently.
I stopped cold in my tracks and considered what she said. As we continued walking, I started looking around and really noticing. Uh-oh. I was apparently way more popular than I had ever thought possible (and I am not a good looking guy). I swore, at that moment, I would never objectify women again. I felt like a piece of meat.
As it turned out, New Hope is a rather gay place. While I am a huge supporter of gay rights, I do not participate.
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