Doc's Place

Celebrate!  Celebrate!  Dance to the music!  Umm, sorry.  I become a little gleeful and giddy when I perpetrate vengeful acts upon objects, establishments, and even people who thwart me.  I gloat.  I even take sinful pleasure from planning and researching these acts of reprisal.  I shall elucidate.

When I got home and thought about how absurdly predatory the pricing of the previously mentioned USB cable was, I searched for anything I had in the apartment with a similar cable.  I actually found one the next day, which surprised me somewhat.  I’m not at all certain why they are used on the large capacity Maxtor USB/FireWire hard drives, but they are.  Once I knew I had a temporary substitute, I called the Circuit Place to determine if they would accept the return of an unopened purchase.  A sleepy sounding female voice said that they would.  It was the 4th of July, so I leaped upon the opportunity and went there immediately.  I had “neglected” to mention that I did not have a receipt.  Upon arrival, I went directly to Customer Service and apparently found the same young woman I had spoken to on the phone.  She was telling a co-worker how much she just wanted to go home and and take a nap.  We had started the refund process before she asked for the receipt.  I clearly stated, “Mumble, mumble, lost, mumble, didn’t get, mumble.”  She didn’t appear to care very much and simply refunded the price back to the credit card I had initially used to buy it.  It is quite surprising, really, how instantaneously the profuse “Thank you’s” in the store turn into wicked, elderly cackles of joy when one passes through the entrance door on the way out.  Gotcha.

I did not immediately go to the store where I had found the same cable for $17.00.  That is because I had found them on Tiger Direct’s website for $6.99.  I also found long stretches of Cat5e cable (50’ and 100’) for $12.95 to $13.95 to go around corners, over closet doors, and get to the desk in the next room.  I am still of two minds on that issue.  I could simply drill a hole through the wall and use a much shorter run, but the assistant manager of the apartment complex lives downstairs.  I’ll have to give that a bit more thought.  I recall that the lease said something about not having lengths of wire strung about the place, but made no mention of drilling holes through walls.  Likely another oversight, as was the failure to forbid building a ‘41 Willys C/Gasser in the living room.  Anyway – Gotcha II

I did find out further bits of intelligence while doing the online searching, however.  I found that Systemax is the parent company of Tiger Direct, and has very recently acquired CompUSA.com.  Ooh!  A larger stock and more goodies to cause me to drool on the keyboard. 

While searching online, it came to mind to look for book cases.  I found two four-shelf models which I liked much better than the overpriced three-shelf unit at Big-Box emporium.  Planked cherry or classic cherry colors are available, rather than the light oak color of the three-shelf unit I was considering.  All my other furniture type “stuff” is in darker colors.  And how far would I have to drive to get one of these items, one might ask?  A full-line retailer is located about 1/2 mile south of the Big Box store.  Though it was July 4th and the store was closed, I stopped to peer into their showroom window, at least until the police car slowed to have a suspicious look at me.  Definite potential Gotcha III.

Finally, I have two serious, heavy-duty “wants” bouncing around inside my head.  A good pocket sized digital camera, and a “good” PC.  I have found an acceptable Olympus Stylus for about $250 online or $300 at the Big Box.  Monday is “Seniors Day” at the Big Box, with 15% off on general merchandise and apparel items.  If electronics are considered general merchandise, the base prices would be within $5.00.  I can’t quite decide, however, because the online price would come with no tax or shipping and I could add a 2 Gig memory card and a second battery pack for a bit over $300 and, even with the senior discount, The Big Box one is over $275 with sales tax.  The Oly itself is a 10.1 Megapixel with 7x optical and 5x digital zoom.   I won’t even start on want number two, the computer, again.  My brain already hurts.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2008, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

“Old age and treachery will triumph over youth and skill every time.” – Proverb.  (Probably initiated by an old person.)

I try to be a good Green person.  I plan my shopping trips to make the best use of miles and gas as possible.  My only explanation for yesterday is that, for some unknown reason, the gods were pissed at me.  I got up early , showered, shaved ( a pretty good bleeder was produced, but nothing life threatening,) trimmed my beard, and put on clothing fit for public viewing.  I even got my dentures out of the little porta-potty looking thing and wore them.

That’s where just about anything positive ended for the rest of the trip.  My first stop was at the same Medium-Box Circuit store where I had previously had a less than cordial discussion with the manager over a LCD TV.  At that time I had waited nearly half an hour for anyone to notice that I might want to buy something and wait on me.  On that occasion I left before “being helped” and called back when I got home, getting some personal satisfaction from biting the manager and getting a gift card for my trouble.  On this trip I went there first to use the gift card, only to find that a USB A plug to USB 5 pin mini-B cable was over $31.00.  I grudgingly turned in the gift card and used a credit card to charge the rest of the price of a damn piece of wire which I am certain was produced in China for under $3.00.

On to the pet store.  I got the boys their favorites, but when I got to the register, I was charged $2.00 more than I expected because a particular bag of anti-hairball food was priced that much lower on the shelf upon which it sat.  I also embarrassed myself by getting out the wrong store’s discount card.  Grrrr.

I finally went to the Big-Box grocery and general merchandise store that I usually patronize.  The first irritation was the discovery that a knee brace like the one I had bought there on my last trip was now 20% off.  Drat!  I don’t know why I do things like this to myself, but I wandered into their relatively small electronics section and found exactly the same cable I had purchased (rebranded) for $16.00.  Double drat!  I then looked for a filtered water pitcher that was supposed to be on sale for about $17.00.  All were sold and the ones available were over $30.00.  Foiled yet again.  Button batteries for a $2.00 LED flashlight and laser?  $6.49 – I think not. 

Then came an item that I had argued with myself about purchasing, a Barrister bookcase; the kind with a glass front for each shelf which raises and slides back above the books on that shelf.  I had discussed with myself whether it was a need, a want, or some combination of the two.  I had gone so far as to measure the available trunk height and width (just in case.)  I even took a tape measure into the store to be certain.  When I discovered that the price had risen by $20.00 since my last trip, “maybe need” was quickly lowered to the “only want” category, and I sullenly wandered on. 

I then continued to do my regular grocery shopping.  It was here that I found my only bargain of the day.  Pepsi was on sale at two cases for $9.00.  No more surprises.  I just bought my regular supplies and want home.  At least the car didn’t break down on the way.

Oh.  One more thought.  I either never received or lost the USB cable receipt, so I can’t return it.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2008, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

“If men liked shopping, they'd call it research.” - Cynthia Nelms

At some point in this post you will ask yourself, “What is this about and why am I reading it?”  I have no idea.  I’ve been drawing a blank on most of my usual activities this week, and have even managed to reverse my Circadian cycle such that I am working the night shift that I much preferred when I was working summers in high school and college.  

The week started with the deaths of two people I never met, yet felt close to for different reasons.  The first was that of George Carlin, known to most people, but who felt to me like a friend because the way our minds synchronized on many topics.  The other was a man who only drag racers were likely to have known before the picture of the fireball on the news for a day.  Scott Kalitta, age 42, died when his Funny Car exploded while traveling at over 300 mph and then hit the retaining wall at the far end of the strip because the drag chute did not open properly to slow him.  He was the son of Connie Kalitta, a man who was my contemporary in racing, though in a much higher and faster class.  I can’t even say that I knew him more than to exchange a passing greeting, but there was a personal tie present.

I never met Scott.  His death served to remind me that “the next generations” of racers are dying now, and how death was always “a given” possibility when one raced.  I was lucky enough never to have had a serious injury, but saw seven people either badly injured or killed at US 30 when a freak accident cut the steering and brakes to a car which then ran into a hot dog stand.  The propane tanks at the stand burst and were ignited.  It has had me wondering if the good old days were nearly as good as my memories of them.

Drag race slicks

Burning nitro fuel explodes

No chute deploy.  End.

How does one make a segue from a topic like this to the apartment complex and the behavior of cats?  I don’t know, but I’ve been trying to do just that, to get back into the present, for most of the week.  While pondering such life events as how and why I have lived as long as I have, done what I have done, missed doing things I have wanted to do, and arguing with myself about how I got here and where I am going next, I charged the batteries for my camera.  Yes, the expensive Olympus C-700 I purchased almost eight years ago with its astounding 2.1 Megapixel resolution and 10X optical zoom.  I found that I had a few pictures of cats already in the flash memory, so I proceeded to take another hundred or so.

Thoughts, mostly depressive, have been bouncing around in my head to the point that I haven’t even wanted to blog, and am now doing so more out of a feeling of obligation than for pleasure, as is the usual case.  I can afford it, but I don’t even seem able to just go ahead and buy a bookcase.  I don’t want to start projects or even go out to buy a USB cable.  I believe the pleasure center of my brain went on vacation and didn’t take me along.  Oh, well, I’ll add a few pictures and write more when I have something to say.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2008, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

“One cat just leads to another....” - Ernest Hemingway.

Counterculture comedian George Carlin, age 71, died of heart failure at 5:55 PM PDT on Sunday.  He performed as recently as last weekend in Las Vegas and it was announced last Tuesday that he was to be awarded the 11th annual Mark Twain Prize for American Humor.

From his character as “The Hippy-Dippy Weatherman,” to the “Seven Words You Can’t Say On TV,” to his current cynical take on society and religion, in general, I listened.  My feeling about his work came as close to hero worship as I have felt about any living show business celebrity.

May He Rest In Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2008, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

“I think it's the duty of the comedian to find out where the line is drawn and cross it deliberately.” – George Carlin

“The reason I talk to myself is that I'm the only one whose answers I accept.” - George Carlin

“Inside every cynical person, there is a disappointed idealist.” - George Carlin

I enjoy both the process pleasure and the goal pleasure from activities and objects.  As a personal example, when I flew Cross Country RC model sailplanes, I enjoyed both the process of designing, planning, finding sources for exotic materials (kevlar “string”, carbon fiber string or sheets, titanium rods, etc.,) finding ways of combining materials and design considerations such that the entire model, ready to fly, weighed five kilograms (11.023 pounds, an international standard,) or less.  “OK, if I use titanium wing rods to hold the wing panels together, rather than steel ones, I can just barely save enough weight to add an airspeed telemetry downlink.  Let’s try it,” and of course, building them.  Add to that an altitude gain/loss sensor and downlink, chrome reflective mylar tape on the leading edge of the wing, and a mechanism that could slightly alter the center of gravity in flight, and you had the basis for a fair amount of off season fun.  My commodore 64 and a pin printer could even produce a fairly good rendition of a specific airfoil, given the right formula and a great deal of patience.  A mixture of process and goal pleasure came when, in a contest, I could know how fast the model was traveling, whether it was climbing or descending, and when all of us in the pickup truck lost sight of it, it could usually be found by simply turning 360 degrees a few times and watching for the flashes of sunlight strobing off the wing’s reflective leading edge.  One could even tell which direction the plane was turning by watching the direction of the flashes.  Even the wings of models with 16 foot spans and 12 inch chords tend to “disappear” when they pass beyond about a mile from the pilot.  Fuselage and tail sections disappear much sooner, at 1000 to 1500 feet. 

So where was the pure goal pleasure in this?  I’m not really certain, because this was a series of activities and produced both kinds of pleasure at various stages along the way.  After designing and building for 700+ hours, having the darn thing fly and land in one piece marked the attainment of a large goal.  Learning from the first several flights that it required a more frontal center of gravity and was not a stable flyer with the length of the original fuselage led back to process of adding about a foot more length to a fiberglass fuselage, re-balancing, and flying again.  Ah, much better!  Intermediate goal achieved.  Talk it over with friends and enjoy the process.  Fly it in international competition and not come in last – definitely goal pleasure, although the process of “having fun” at this level of competition required several milligrams of Valium.  Winning an award for “professionalism” in our contest behavior was purely surprise goal pleasure.  Dropping that trophy on my left great toe following my move to this apartment was a painful stimulus that produced memories of both types of pleasure involved in the winning of it.  Even writing this post is a process pleasure and seeing pictures of our Cross Country team and my toy, a pleasure from recalling the past goal.  Some goal pleasure was mixed with goal pain – landing at the 45 mile mark on a 47.2 mile closed course, for example.  Coming that close yet not finishing was painful, but it was also a personal