46 F Feels Like 46
The temperature is right near the borderline of 43 degrees that I had established, way back in 2008 in Jacksonville, Florida, to be the point at which I start to feel a bit of stinging in the tips of the fingers that touch the strings; as the temperature descends.
38 degrees is the coldest temperature that I can remember ever playing in, and I can remember having had to switch the pick to a more solid grip between thumb and all four fingers and switch to the simple 3 chords of "Take It Easy," by The Eagles.
Also, the guitar has to be played constantly so that the bodies temperature and whatever friction is produced are enough to keep the strings a few critical degrees warmer than the 38 degree air. After pausing to, say, talk for a couple minutes, a return to the instrument reveals that the strings have become much more stinging to the fingertips.
I am planning upon going to Howard Westra's house Monday night to watch the Patriots game.
It occurred to me that donating plasma at the place that is about 5 miles from Howard's is something that can be done on a 38 degree day. A warm ride on the trolley and then on the warm bus, and just 2 miles of walking to the place, an activity that can warm the blood and prepare it to be siphoned out and then returned minus its platelets, is a good cold day activity.
There are likely to be an average of maybe 14 days per year here in New Orleans where the temperature would be below 43 degrees at busking time. A few of them would run consecutively in between perhaps stretches of unseasonable, 85 degrees in the middle of January, type of stuff.
So, I could sell my plasma a couple times and get 40 bucks to keep me in cat food and a shot of kratom every day.
The Bike
The bike, which Howard and his housemate Berta have said that they were going to get me for Christmas, could indeed be given to me Monday night, should they already have bought it, given my unpredictability in showing up for regular occasions such as Christmas Day. They might think that, if I don't make it there for the holiday, due to any of a list of things that might befall me, then they might not get the thing to me until I show up the first week of February, perhaps, to watch the Superbowl.
The bike will have an immediate impact upon me, financially.
The 3 dollars almost every single day that has been leaking through the dike out of the reservoir of my busking money, and into the coffers of the Regional Transit Authority, will become plugged. That's 21 bucks per week that I will be getting paid to ride a bike, getting shot in the face with paint balls, and exercise in the bargain.
I have pumped about 500 dollars into the trolley since my bike got stolen months ago now. I probably wouldn't wait until the Superbowl to make a trip over there to get the bike, now that I think of it. I could put it on the front of the 114 bus, pump the last $1.25 of my life into its machine, and ride over the bridge with it; getting off at Canal Street and then taking an 8 minute ride back to the apartment on it. I imagine that they will give me a good lock to go with it, because they have been in New Orleans for more than 10 minutes, enough to know to do so.
I don't think money is an issue with Howard. It's hard, without prying, to determine just how rich he is, but he has just taken a cruise to Alaska, and is now talking about another one, to see the foliage of Vermont next fall, or something.
The one time that I showed up at his house, broke because I had miscalculated the amount of plasma donations that I was up to in that particular 7 day period and couldn't donate, embarrassed, to have asked him for the 80 cents that I was short of for a bus ride back home; he had said "Oh, sure," gone into another room and then returned to place a fresh 20 dollar bill in my hand. It might have been a symptom of the "this is the smallest I've got" syndrome that the wealthy often suffer from.
It now "feels like 45" outside, according to Weather Underground dot com.
It's a bit after 7 PM.
I need to get cat food on the way back to the apartment and, I suppose I should get some food for myself.
Last night, I made rice cakes, seasoned with ginger, and ate them slathered in butter.
I had mixed wheat and rice flour with an egg and some coconut oil, added more coconut pulp, and a bit of pure cane sugar, leaving the bulk of the sweetening for the all fruit spread that I could douse the tops of the cakes with, to my taste, later; a dash of salt, and then ginger.
The ginger put me in the mind of a coconut milk and ginger soup that I used to make, which had "oriental" vegetables and also rice noodles in it.
I'm learning a lot, by trial and error, about the different flours, and things like why "wheat bran" muffins will be probably only one quarter wheat bran and the rest just regular flour.
The rice flour is similar, in that it burn at a lower temperature, so that a black bottomed cake, but with a gooey and not even done center, is a distinctly possible outcome. Some things are better off in the oven, so they can bake uniformly.
Letting a rice flour pancake sit on the griddle at a medium low temperature
Sugar burns at its own temperature, independent of other ingredients, I find
And, as far as "leavening" and getting things to "rise," stay tuned; rising is over my head at this stage of my baking hobby.
There was a golden opportunity for me to have juice fasted over the 3 days that I was shut in; and I was aware of this.
The music I have been recording lately is on an entirely new plateau, due to my having been strict in following certain principles, such as knowing everything that I'm going to play before playing it; or not playing anything at all on a particular instrument at a particular time. There is no more "let me try these notes here and see how it sounds," going on. Unless I'm hearing something in my head and playing that, I'm just sitting there with the guitar in my hands, listening to the rest of the music.
I think I'm succeeding in laying down a bunch of guitar tracks that can later be sung over, as soon as I get in a studio environment and can brainstorm vocal ideas. Right now, all the songs have half whispered at 4 AM vocal tracks that just function as guides, so the rest of the instruments can know whereabouts in the song they are...
The GIMP studies are rolling along. I'm going to familiarize myself with as many of the bells and whistles of the program, by messing around with them, and then just sit back and wait for inspiration to strike and an idea come about what I can do with the things...can I make myself two dimensional, like Gumby and start a cartoon series featuring it? Maybe Chapter 12 of the "Learn The GIMP In 30 Days" book will tell...
So, on this 46 degree night that feels like 46, I suppose I have an opportunity to get something done artistically...
The temperature is right near the borderline of 43 degrees that I had established, way back in 2008 in Jacksonville, Florida, to be the point at which I start to feel a bit of stinging in the tips of the fingers that touch the strings; as the temperature descends.
38 degrees is the coldest temperature that I can remember ever playing in, and I can remember having had to switch the pick to a more solid grip between thumb and all four fingers and switch to the simple 3 chords of "Take It Easy," by The Eagles.
Also, the guitar has to be played constantly so that the bodies temperature and whatever friction is produced are enough to keep the strings a few critical degrees warmer than the 38 degree air. After pausing to, say, talk for a couple minutes, a return to the instrument reveals that the strings have become much more stinging to the fingertips.
I am planning upon going to Howard Westra's house Monday night to watch the Patriots game.
It occurred to me that donating plasma at the place that is about 5 miles from Howard's is something that can be done on a 38 degree day. A warm ride on the trolley and then on the warm bus, and just 2 miles of walking to the place, an activity that can warm the blood and prepare it to be siphoned out and then returned minus its platelets, is a good cold day activity.
There are likely to be an average of maybe 14 days per year here in New Orleans where the temperature would be below 43 degrees at busking time. A few of them would run consecutively in between perhaps stretches of unseasonable, 85 degrees in the middle of January, type of stuff.
So, I could sell my plasma a couple times and get 40 bucks to keep me in cat food and a shot of kratom every day.
The Bike
The bike, which Howard and his housemate Berta have said that they were going to get me for Christmas, could indeed be given to me Monday night, should they already have bought it, given my unpredictability in showing up for regular occasions such as Christmas Day. They might think that, if I don't make it there for the holiday, due to any of a list of things that might befall me, then they might not get the thing to me until I show up the first week of February, perhaps, to watch the Superbowl.
The bike will have an immediate impact upon me, financially.
The 3 dollars almost every single day that has been leaking through the dike out of the reservoir of my busking money, and into the coffers of the Regional Transit Authority, will become plugged. That's 21 bucks per week that I will be getting paid to ride a bike, getting shot in the face with paint balls, and exercise in the bargain.
I have pumped about 500 dollars into the trolley since my bike got stolen months ago now. I probably wouldn't wait until the Superbowl to make a trip over there to get the bike, now that I think of it. I could put it on the front of the 114 bus, pump the last $1.25 of my life into its machine, and ride over the bridge with it; getting off at Canal Street and then taking an 8 minute ride back to the apartment on it. I imagine that they will give me a good lock to go with it, because they have been in New Orleans for more than 10 minutes, enough to know to do so.
I don't think money is an issue with Howard. It's hard, without prying, to determine just how rich he is, but he has just taken a cruise to Alaska, and is now talking about another one, to see the foliage of Vermont next fall, or something.
The one time that I showed up at his house, broke because I had miscalculated the amount of plasma donations that I was up to in that particular 7 day period and couldn't donate, embarrassed, to have asked him for the 80 cents that I was short of for a bus ride back home; he had said "Oh, sure," gone into another room and then returned to place a fresh 20 dollar bill in my hand. It might have been a symptom of the "this is the smallest I've got" syndrome that the wealthy often suffer from.
It now "feels like 45" outside, according to Weather Underground dot com.
It's a bit after 7 PM.
I need to get cat food on the way back to the apartment and, I suppose I should get some food for myself.
Last night, I made rice cakes, seasoned with ginger, and ate them slathered in butter.
I had mixed wheat and rice flour with an egg and some coconut oil, added more coconut pulp, and a bit of pure cane sugar, leaving the bulk of the sweetening for the all fruit spread that I could douse the tops of the cakes with, to my taste, later; a dash of salt, and then ginger.
The ginger put me in the mind of a coconut milk and ginger soup that I used to make, which had "oriental" vegetables and also rice noodles in it.
I'm learning a lot, by trial and error, about the different flours, and things like why "wheat bran" muffins will be probably only one quarter wheat bran and the rest just regular flour.
The rice flour is similar, in that it burn at a lower temperature, so that a black bottomed cake, but with a gooey and not even done center, is a distinctly possible outcome. Some things are better off in the oven, so they can bake uniformly.
Letting a rice flour pancake sit on the griddle at a medium low temperature
Sugar burns at its own temperature, independent of other ingredients, I find
And, as far as "leavening" and getting things to "rise," stay tuned; rising is over my head at this stage of my baking hobby.
There was a golden opportunity for me to have juice fasted over the 3 days that I was shut in; and I was aware of this.
The music I have been recording lately is on an entirely new plateau, due to my having been strict in following certain principles, such as knowing everything that I'm going to play before playing it; or not playing anything at all on a particular instrument at a particular time. There is no more "let me try these notes here and see how it sounds," going on. Unless I'm hearing something in my head and playing that, I'm just sitting there with the guitar in my hands, listening to the rest of the music.
I think I'm succeeding in laying down a bunch of guitar tracks that can later be sung over, as soon as I get in a studio environment and can brainstorm vocal ideas. Right now, all the songs have half whispered at 4 AM vocal tracks that just function as guides, so the rest of the instruments can know whereabouts in the song they are...
 |
| Yup, just rolling along... |
The GIMP studies are rolling along. I'm going to familiarize myself with as many of the bells and whistles of the program, by messing around with them, and then just sit back and wait for inspiration to strike and an idea come about what I can do with the things...can I make myself two dimensional, like Gumby and start a cartoon series featuring it? Maybe Chapter 12 of the "Learn The GIMP In 30 Days" book will tell...
So, on this 46 degree night that feels like 46, I suppose I have an opportunity to get something done artistically...
It's been cold here too. 40's even 30s over night.
ReplyDeleteI might need one of those plastic trumpet mouthpieces ....
A "day pass" on the VTA (which covers the buses in Santa Clara County as well as the light rail system) is $6/day. And they really encourage you to get a "clipper card" which is a little card with an RFID in it, so you put money on it at the kiosks at light rail stations or at the VTA office downtown, and it automatically takes off the fares but it's no more than $6 a day.
ReplyDeleteOf course this area is about 2X as expensive. I just had a tooth crown re-installed and online everyone seemed to be paying $150 and sure enough, I paid $316. Although I think I got a good deal because it needed some shaping to fix the original problem that caused it to come off in the first place (after almost 30 years).
You gets what you pays for I guess. I don't know how NOLA and San Jose buses compare, for instance, but we sure don't have black drivers not picking up white people just to spite them.
Dude if you get another bike, firstly, keep it *inside* just put a rug or something under where you'll park it. Secondly, get a good lock and use it. I'm using a huge-ass ABUS chain with a "pac man" lock, pretty fearsome (and heavy) set up, but around here it's what it takes.
ReplyDelete