Even a Stopped Clock is Right Twice a Day

Among the handful of people who did or said the right thing at the right time, and helped stave off either my demise or entry into another dimension--possibly a delusional one--Joel holds a unique spot because he continues to harass me and convince me I'm nuts.

And he's helped me in several scrapes, the nature of which vary greatly.  Not always obvious when I'm in a scrape.  Don't think it is not used as ammo from time to time.   Then again, maybe it useful to be reminded of how the road's been traveled.  There is progress, but that is after lots of opposite of progress.

The advantage here is that there are times when he is right, because I am sometimes nuts.  It always makes me think.  He may not use the word "nuts', but it boils down to the same thing.

Recently we had a conversation and he expressed a little skepticism regarding why I would be down.  There is no good reason.  That actually helps because even though I can't see it now, I know I could see that there are no compelling reasons for my lowest points during our conversation.  So, I know myself well enough to know that I am not viewing reality with a constructive attitude.   I'm wondering if it isn't an inner sense of place that is the problem.

I'm not so sure the place is of a geographical nature.

Where I work can be interesting.  Take the Hollywood actress; mostly B movie parts and rap-booty videos.  She's good looking, and apparently clueless.  She's really a concubine of sorts but thinks she's the number one girl of the faithful guy who owns the place.  He lets her and her entourage stay there on his dime when they want.  He's elsewhere.  Last week he was there with someone else.  She was elsewhere.

Booty lady's entourage consists of her mother and a few friends, and maybe somebody's kids.  Among the friends we have an allegedly homeless man who is some sort of in-law.  She says she brings him and the occasionally one of his colleagues because "they'd never get to know this kind of luxury", and it's her "way of giving back".

She has the house manager buy car loads of groceries and booze, all on the "john's" dime.  She and her mother then load up all that's left over---which is most of it---and cart it back to L.A.  She is paying for nothing, yet she uses that obnoxious phrase, "giving back", as if she's a saint.  Give back to what?  Uncle Waldo because you robbed him as child?

I guess he's a help when they load up coolers full of food and beer for the ride home.  I think they schedule visits when groceries run out.  They give back to their pantries and refrigerators.

And it is most charitable of them to give Uncle Waldo a lift.  Who knows, they may make him pitch in for gas.

That group leaves the place like a tornado hit.  Always expect the most unlikely things to get broken.  This time they broke the ping pong table, and some piece of a shower head set-up.  In these cases, as in most, the breaks are of a nature that leave how it broke a tricky mystery.  I can usually fix whatever it is, but I cannot always solve the mystery of how or why it was broken.

The table is a very solid attempt at making a fold-up ping pong table durable and idiot proof.  This residence is where I would test any new design to see if it can survive energetic morons.  Finally, the morons beat the table.  I will say it withstood some really stellar dimwits until now.  I can probably make it whole again.  Don't think I can make it Booty-actress proof.

The political person with whom these people rub shoulders very likely thinks spending the money of others is his way of giving back, too.  No wonder I'm down.  What seems fine to most people doesn't sit well with me.  But being Don Quixote is not the route I hope to take.  I didn't like him or his putsy friend.  Right as they may have been--about who knows what.

So, when is one exercising courage, doing the right thing, and when does one cross the line into tilting at windmills?   If the Revolution had been lost, would Washington and Jefferson and the like been seen as wild idealists without sight of reality?  I like them better than Quixote and Toto, or whatever his odd friend was called.

It is interesting that reality of the way things are, and what is right often collide.  At times those who stand on what is right are considered brave and courageous, and at times they are thought to be lunatics.  In both scenarios hindsight often, but certainly not always, renders the initial judgement wrong.

See? It gives you nothing solid to go on.  The whole deal is a self-doubt factory for those who care what is right, and about the well-being of people in general.  And who often find society a confusing place.
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Mt Laguna's on fire.  It is not that far and I go there all the time.  This is not good.

Phoning it In

So, a guy I haven't seen in about a year called me to ask if I'd play a block party in Poway.  That was today--Sat 7-6.  Or 6-7 if you are foreign.

He's a good guitar player/singer, and has a mandolin player that is a cut above the norm for mandolin player I've seen around.  But they play the kind of songs which do not have the most predictable of patterns, and I guess they draw only from the list of tunes I've never played.  Many of them I've never heard.

This was a good size neighborhood block party.  We were the first group, then they had another, more plugged in band.  I waited around a bit to see if maybe it would be a sit-in opportunity but decided it wasn't.

We played an hour and a half, and never once played anything that I knew or anything real loose.  It was a challenge but I think I filled some space, keeping the sense of what was going on.  The mandolin guy is a good person to play with.  That communication is there, and he's a versatile player.

I guess it went OK.  I hit the end of the regular saturday open mic/jam, which was at a new venue.  It was OK.  Mostly I just tried to go somewhere I wasn't.  Never works but it helps, maybe.

The most exciting thing was that I wasn't expecting to play because I was way late and not on the list.  They put me on anyway and when they were telling me to come up I didn't realize the case was unlatched. Twenty two harmonicas all over the floor.  I do have two C harps in the case, so there are actually only twenty one unique harps.  Several minor key tunings.

That was the excitement even though I think I did well in Poway.  Probably I am a little less enthused playing thing I would not choose for me if I could be doing whatever music I like best.  And I'm not sure what it is I'm after.

Maybe I'll cross paths with a drummer I met who seems conversant with world and caribbean influences.  I like a lot of that foreign stuff, even if some of them foreigners don't speak English.  I had a discussion with that guy and something could come of it.  In the world of musicians I encounter, though, it never pays to assume the outcome of anything, regardless what is said.

Musicians who don't have to wear a tux to play are generally unreliable, moody, and subject to odd behavior.  That is most likely why some people think I'm a musician---I have all the character trappings, even if my musical ability has fairly severe limits.  And I'm the guy who never attempts to put on "the look", and frankly am put off by those who do.   They look like musicians and I am squirrelly like one.

Then there are actual real deal musicians and I can't say more about that.

Another Idea

If we take the word "lonely" out of the dictionary, then there is no way I can be that.  A lone wolf howlin at the moon.  A romantic notion which is no fun at all.  Highly over rated.

I guess it beats being shacked up with a power hungry psychopath, or pathological liar, or whatsername. Or someone who likes what she thinks I ought to be, or could be, but not so much who I am.

So Hot

Man, I'm sweating like a creepy ass cracka on trial for self defense.   East county is a good 20 deg.F warmer than Pt. Loma on the bay, and the ocean.  And they are most likely freaking out because it is hitting 80.

Speaking of creepy ass crackas, what is that all about?   There are far more definitively racial murders which barely see a minute's time in the media.  The most egregious of these with which I'm familiar unfortunately involve the creepy ass crackas being raped, dismembered, tortured and killed by Blacks.  Even then, I say forget the hate crime, just enforce the laws against the crime. period.

But quit pretending.  And quit appeasing by setting up a de facto double standard which everyone pretends is not there.  That is not the way to mutual and universal respect.  

I can always tell when Mexican related BS is in the political discourse.  People who work at the resort or for landscape, etc. give me the evil eye because I do the work they won't do.  Or, in some cases, the work they think is reserved only for people from their tribe.  I just don't look all that Mexican.  And I don't look undocumented or like I'm a dreamer--whatever that means.

It's a chip on the shoulder thing.  Once they know me they have a hard time being quite so angry at me, but I can see that some of them try.

Maybe those who tell me most people are not very bright are correct.  I doubt I'd like Zimmerman very well, but it seems obvious that the only reason he's in this circus is because Al, Jesse, and others who jump on any trumped up racial bandwagon threatened riots.  It is not a good thing.  At this point it has little to do with reality, only how to pacify extortionists.

  I wasn't there.  Neither were the race professionals.  I don't think they realized George was genetically all kinds of races, with even some African blood, when they first got the lynch mob rolling.  If you haven't lived down there or in cities which include a majority of people that see nothing but race, then you probably buy all the pap you hear, and think anyone who calls them on it is a racist.

The answer is not appeasement and it is not to put more people in prison.  The answer is to make laws apply evenly, be sparing in the writing of those laws, and base it on truth.  We do not have equal enforcement or treatment under our laws.  Depending on the laws, you can be targeted if you are Black, or targeted if White or any other irrelevant factor based on tribe and politically correct non-sense.

And in conclusion, I think that is why we, as Americans, are experiencing a big heat wave, and why I'm sure that it is all the fault of technology.  and creepy ass crackas.

Damned, that phrase just brought images of Nancy Pelosi, Harry Reid, Lindsay Graham and some others to my mind.  Got to admit it, there are some creepy ass crackas around.  I do not know how to similarly label creepy ass ??? like Sharpton, Jackson, those guys I stood off pretending a harmonica was a gun in Greensboro,  Louis Farrakhan, etc.  If you be creepy enough, you are probably rich and sucking tax money or extorting normal people through non-universal laws--laws that aim to favor one group over another, explicitly.

The heat wears me down mentally.  I'm liable to just turn myself in to some law agency I despise and tell them I'm about to lose it, and that I'd consider suicide by cop,  except I really do have such a low opinion of the police structure and the vast majority of its employees that I wouldn't want to give them the satisfaction.   Really, one huge drawback to suicide by cop is that too many of them might enjoy it, provided they didn't get too hassled in the investigation.

Trudging On In Spite of Anti-Me: Coping Method

This new me phase really is a new ball game.  Although I can feel as blue as night, I am less overwhelmed by things that most people don't find so daunting.  Even when in the doldrums, like lately, I've continued to find projects and do work.

In the midst of doing these things, my mind is occupied with trying to work out better solutions or just getting it done.  The big difference is that I'm not stuck in so much second guessing that it takes me forever to start the task, whatever it may be.

The inexplicable barrier which causes me to almost fear getting started has plagued me for eons.  It could often be a case of over analyzing some simple thing forever.  I'm not sure.  Maybe I worry I don't know what I'm doing, it won't be good enough, or I imagine the task and lose sight of where and how to start and keep going.  Whatever it is, I'm not as much affected by it these days.

Part of it is that I'm doing things that I know the landlord would like to see done.  When all else fails, do something for someone else that neither demands nor expects it.  They are out of town, so having the goal of doing certain things before their return helps.

Then I am able to transfer that ambition, every now and then, to things I know I should want done for myself.  When it comes to my stuff, I do not have the same emotion and drive.  The transfer of momentum works for awhile.  Even though my own matters seem numbing and evoke no passion, switching into that lane while I'm on a roll results in a little progress.

All that may sound silly, but I think it is good to know in case a person has similar glitches and built in barriers to making the most of the ability and resources at hand.  How do you know you are intelligent if you don't use it to any obviously constructive purpose?  So, I put little weight on raw intellect.  It pays not to be dumb as a rock, which some people are.  No intelligence can be mitigated by a good heart, I guess.  Wasted intellect is just a waste, and not a very uplifting condition.

The important thing is probably a combination of process and end product.  Ends rarely justify means.  If the means aren't honorable, that is no good.  If the means involve force against the innocent, no good.  That is why I am opposed to big protests which stop traffic and damage property.  You have no right to impede the mobility of strangers just because you have a cause.

Anyway, there is a lot to be said for enjoying the process whatever the ends.

So, work, both that which pays and that which is done because it needs doing, is a good key to not letting the blues negatively impact your efforts to live.  There is satisfaction in seeing a job completed well, even if it is a small job.  Plus it slides you through time so you don't cuss yourself all day for being you.
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Think I'll go play at Lestats on Monday.  I played that once with the Orange Pickers.  This time a friend said he was going with a lady named M**** and that she would like "talented backup".  I found her on his facebook friends list.  I don't think I've ever heard her.  From photos of her on her page I can safely say I'm on board.  What a knock out.  Heck yea I'll back you up.  Is that shallow?

I find that I have no prejudice against pretty people.   I like it that some people are highly attractive.  Some people aren't so attractive and I do not hold that against them.  There are some relatively homely women who become plenty attractive once you get to know them.  But I wouldn't discriminate against beautiful just in case it makes less beautiful feel bad.   When beautiful is not nice or really dull then the looks aren't enough.

That's the way it is; how we've evolved.  I feel I have to give a big explanation and an implied apology for saying someone is stunning to look at.  It does not please me that I've been so conditioned that I'd do such a thing.

This one is probably way too young and not into whatever I am.  I still have some sense.  I talk a big game but rarely act on it, and almost never in a premeditated manner.

What a world. Only one I know.

When it comes down to it, I probably have no idea what I'm talking about.
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I vs I

There are times when I'm so blue, I don't know what to do.

But the new me is still alive.  Things get done on a more regular basis and in a more timely fashion.

But there is that Anti-Me that still thrives inside.  That's the one that often gets hold of moods and says, "You got nothing going on, and there is no happy or sad, just the exhausting state of being.  I have an idea!  Why not take a lethal dose of some pleasant opiate and drive off the edge of the Grand Canyon?"

I guess it is like matter and anti-matter.  Or something.

I know that anti-me mostly tells lies, and there are people who would get very angry at its general assessment of me and my life.  It is probably because of how I feel about those people that I continually make the effort to ignore the harsh inner critic and go through the motions of doing something constructive, like sanding things.  I can do mindless work while having a running battle between myself and anti-me.

You're a loser.
So?  You're annoying.
Wonder if you have any fun or pain when you're dead.
I think life is supposed to be both those things.
If you were good enough at it to even know.  You are the lousiest at living life of everyone in your family for maybe six generations.  Or more.
Maybe I'd be better at it if you weren't part of me.  I hate Anti-Me.
Too bad, because I'm never going away.  And I only have one mission--destroy you in any way I can.
You suck.
Racist.

I don't think throwing out a word like "racist" works when the dispute is in my mind between me and anti-me.

It isn't two personalities.  But it is a battle which involves somehow distorting the truth, or hiding it from myself.  Lots of people do that--lie to themselves and believe the lies.

Could be worse.  I could be someone who is really evil and a waste,  like those irs people, or Harry Reid.

The hell of it is, it is not like I can control how that internal destructor entity makes me feel.  Physically and to a large degree, mentally.  I just tell myself, "OK, you feel like you are trying to walk through quick sand.  You aren't.  Just try to do whatever it is at hand without injuring yourself or others."  Then I drive off or do whatever it is even though I feel like my head has been injected with cotton balls and wet socks.

Eventually it passes.  Unfortunately, so do the times when I experience moments of freedom from that constant weight.  Actually the best temporary fix is some sort of stimulant like amphetamines.  But it is no good long term, so I don't bother.  Besides my primary care physician is a retired veterinarian and they don't prescribe things like that.

No matter what, the organizing gains will not be reversed.  I will not backslide.  It is actually my deep, yet misunderstood, love for friends and family that prevents me from following a path of certain, imminent doom.

People don't get why I don't throw out I love you every ten seconds.  It probably means more to me than to them, but they don't believe that.  Guess that means I have great affection for some true dimwits.

Actions.  I've heard plenty of I love you as the soundtrack to some of my most devastating sorrows, defeats and betrayals in life.

I love you, sorry I can't pull your bleeding body out of the ditch.  Running late, you understand. See ya!  Luv yoo!  XXOO F***  Off

Save it.

An example of the odd detachment that comes with this sort of thing is how I approached dinner tonight.  I knew I should eat but couldn't say if I was hungry or not.  I considered what I had eaten and when, today.  I did eat some kind of breakfast.  I should have been very hungry hours ago.  So, I forced myself to fix something that I would fix if I were happy, hungry and on top of things.  It was good enough---everything I fix is.  But it held no enjoyment.  I can feel that my stomach is full.  I ate because that is probably what people do.  I often copy what it is people allegedly do to stay alive.  Basics, like eat, breathe, seek water.

Those things rarely feel natural.  It would be natural to eat once then have it out of the way forever.  Wash once, etc.  It feels like ritual more than necessity.  But reaon tells me these things are necessities.

And that is the blues.
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Generally Speaking, out loud thinking, trust issues

Maybe I am missing something.  I'm sure the minute details of various constructs and rules elude me, and/or cause me to glaze over.  I focus more on what I consider to be principle.  Often the details beg the question of whether a particular entity has right and justification to even address the matter at hand.

I think it was Nancy Pelosi who recently stated that we need to find the balance between privacy and security, indicating that people like her would be the ones suited to decide just how intrusive the state should be.  After all, if you have done nothing wrong, why resent unwarranted surveillance, search, seizure, whatever it takes?

If you are one who buys that line, welcome to the plantation.   You may even work your way up to trustee.  You can help us prevent escapes and make sure everyone does what he is told.  And you are off my Christmas list.   Allah willing, we must draw the line somewhere.

OK, so in order to be safe and secure, we need to accept being monitored for out of the way language, calls to the wrong people, just a general documentation of such things.   Not like a full blown wire tap.  Unless it is deemed useful by whomever is authorized by the state to deem.  Trust the government that is allegedly of the people to do the right thing.

Give them power to be the custodian of your privacy.  But don't tell anyone if you discover they are spying on citizens, political friends and enemies.  Their job is to monitor the public, and no citizens have a right to monitor the activities of the state.

Bottom line; the citizenry is not to be trusted, and they must regularly prove their innocence at road blocks, by the nature of their calls not being considered out of line, and in many other ways, but any part of government, even secret courts and agencies, is to be allowed full discretion over how much they monitor the public.  Public= potential criminals who can't be trusted to conduct their own affairs without state guidance.  Government= trustworthy and always functioning ethically, honorably and with the highest regard for our well-being.

As usual, I think Nancy either has her head up her ass, or is not a person of integrity.  I suspect she has a personal motive.  In the details we find many questionable links between Nancy and what she pushes.  Usually some cronies and family in the mix.  But why go into politics if not to get rich?

 Blaming Bush won't work even though I think Bush 1 and Bush 2 are firmly in the camp of an elite ruling class with way too much involvement in the citizen's life.  And way too much involvement in the affairs of other countries.  The school of thought that America's duty is to bring democracy to the world is a crock in so many ways.

For one thing, we are not a democracy.  It's a fine point but jut plain democracy is a dangerous thing.  It subjects the individual to the whims of the majority.  Washington warned of the error of getting entangled in the affairs of other nations, particularly in the matter of involving ourselves and taking sides in their disputes.  No one is really dumb enough, who has the power, to believe that spreading democracy bunk.  But they'll say it anyway because it sounds better than singing the praises of chaos, fear, and subjugation.

It's a trip keeping abreast of some things.  It reminds me of a woman who was caught cheating, and then went on the offensive claiming the person pointing out the facts had a sick mind.  That's the show these days.  It so obviously is not working, but people are still clinging to their team the best they can.  Ignoring the obvious is tough to do forever.

Clearly, I do not trust every time they claim some intrusive measure is for national security.  Arm people, then fight them, then arm someone else and wonder why armed lunatics are haunting you, Oh yea, be sure to only arm full tilt psycho nutjobs.

Perhaps I'm a sucker for edgy soap operas.  Like the British version (original) of Shameless.  The writing of that show is phenomenal sometimes.  They have different writers, all good, but I have a couple of favorites.   I have to go back and find her name.  She wrote some episodes that were as good as anything ever.

We've got some demented writers scripting the "big picture" these days.  It makes for a roller coaster of a soap sometimes, like these times.

Current events bring to mind one phrase from a lengthier passage in a Shakespearean play. Mid Summer's Night Dream, I think/ Probably wrong.  They line ends with "...a tale told by an idiot."  That says it all.   Forget making sense of it.  Just appreciate it and enjoy life.  And women should all be easy and go for old guys who have no money.

Well W brought back the jeans I loaned her due to unusual circumstances at a party full of rednecks and psycho banshee-women a couple of weeks ago.   I have no idea why I like her, but I do a little.  I don't like how she handles a lot of things, she has more of a victim outlook on life than makes sense.

Some people think life is some sadistic master.  Life happens to you, according to that school of thought.  I think life just is, and since I'm alive I'm part of life.  Pain is not inflicted upon me by life.  True, I wouldn't feel it if I weren't alive.

It really is surprising how long it can take to come to certain realizations.  I imagine there are those, like my nephews, who achieve that kind of awareness fairly early in life.  It has taken me quite a bit more time.  But that is my nature.  Some things I'm on top of and way ahead of the game, but some things perpetually elude my understanding though they be basic and simple.


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BallisticTour's Day Off

For the first tine in awhile I hit the saturday open mic.  Cliff was there and it worked out well.  I'm still fond of the Suzuki Pro Master C harp I discovered in a recently unpacked box.  Maybe it was the one with the one black shoe and a router table.

Much of the time I don't have my eyes open so I don't see what people are doing and how they react.  I've started looking around more.  Narcissist that I am,  I kind of like it when I see people holding up their phones, video recording.  Or when they just take your picture.  I always wonder where it ends up.

Maybe some of them are domestic spies or private investigators.  They obviously are not Hollywood scouts or I'd be in a beach front mansion by now, wearing a smoking jacket and an ascot out on the veranda, smoking some sort of cigarette in a long cigarette holder.  But no.  I've heard nothing.

So, I guess those people are government spooks, messing with the enemy--people who mind their own business and don't want anything from them.

We did not play as long as I would have liked, but it felt good.  Whether I was as free and on it as it seemed is doubtful, but you never know.  PR-wise, this was probably a good thing.  Don't satiate them if they like you. Leave them wanting a little more.

It may be time to shop the studios.  A number of musicians have wondered why I haven't already done that.  Wasn't in the mood.  Am now the new me, by accident I think. Wasn't playing that well.  Lazy.

Actually, I'm reluctant to involve myself in any effort which requires dealing with overly groovy, hip people and music people in general.  Playing in settings in which there are no expectations is one thing, actually trying to work with musicians in most project oriented situations, like recording, is another.

Lately I'm more interested in other pursuits and ideas.  Of course, life and playing music are not mutually exclusive.  At least in theory.

Soooo Sorry, It'll Never Happen Again; mea culpa fad & sandpaper

The apologies aren't even entertaining any more.   Last one I heard almost sent me over the edge.

Over the edge, in this case, would entail hooking up amplifiers, cranked to 11, pointing it outside and screaming every word that is never said, but indicated by referring to it as "the [letter] word."

"F word F word F word!  N word N word N word! C word C word C word! R word R word R word!" etc., I'd scream.  And if I had the guts, I'd refuse to apologize.  If I was famous, it would be a good way to get air tine; apologize dramatically, yet unconvincingly.  The game is played such that everyone pretends to believe some and not others, and not based on anything tangible, like believability of the apology.   For now, I refuse to say I'm sorry for uttering forbidden words or thoughts.

Can't even allow myself to formulate an expression of thoughts when it comes to the ruling structure, key players, and various attitudes around the country.  Can't go there.

I do want an apology from 3M because their sandpaper, which they claim lasts 7x longer! than 'conventional' sandpaper, is a pain to remove from a sander.

It sure sticks to the unit's pad 7x longer.  Maybe 700x.  I've been using the sanding dust collected in the little bag attached to the power tool to rub on the sander pad and the back of the sandpaper.  It helps, but is no guarantee that pieces won't stick and tear off when you try to remove the paper from the sander.  3M made S-word sandpaper--Sticky.  There I said it.  The S word!

The 3m paper is fine for hand sanding, but the sticky aspect is hardly a factor, or a help like they claim.  It is a nice thickness and all that but I find it no better for hand sanding than the stuff they made when they called it Norton, and it didn't stick to the sander and make trouble.

I miss Norton, but they claimed to be only 2 or 3x longer lasting.  I think this stuff is 3.5 x and the old stuff is 3x longer lasting. 7x is a stretch, good as it is.  Must be Jack Lalanne's wife writing the copy.  "Clean up is just a snap!"  The woman is not prone to tell the truth as it appears in reality.  Nice enough juicer, that Jack Lalanne one, but clean up is no snap.

Another helpful tip: wearing a dust mask and ear plugs is something you won't regret when sanding a bunch of wooden things with a power sander.

My good reviews of Milwaukee's random orbital sander, and Rigid's finish sander still stand.  Both of these items have stood the test of many hours.  I must admit,  I have two identical finish sanders.  I bought the Rigid sanders when I was using a helper at the other place.

We'll call this place Tesla-land, since the owner owns a Tesla, and the other place should be called O-land.  Since he knows the O word person.

The way all this new behavior and organization of surroundings is affecting me, I may actually start some other enterprises to earn income which involve less boredom and labor.  I guess I don't mind labor when it isn't boring.  Mindless activity is only good in moderate to small doses. In excess, it becomes a mental torture trying to do the mindless thing without going nuts.

I've had more than my share of practice at that since I was very young.  Lately I find myself doing things, or starting things, with much less internal roadblock and hesitation than I recall experiencing maybe ever.  Certainly most of my life I have had an internal block of some kind that made it nearly impossible to function well.  It is better than it was. All of a sudden.

I feel left out not apologizing, so please call me on the carpet for using the S word so I can try my hand at thespian remorse.  I'm thinking a Shakespearean twist.  Maybe an "out, out damned spot" sort of thing. (MacBeth--the lady was pissed at her dog, Spot.)  I'll read up on Hamlet.  I think someone told him not to be a borrower or lender.  I can express my regret and remorse while hinting blame on ghosts. 

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Itinerant Work Tips and Product review

Most importantly, even though it is rather weak, and not suitable for the needy cases, Behr cleaner/brightener is being helpful when they suggest wearing rubber gloves.  If you don't, your fingers will look like they do when you've been in the water for an extended period of time.  They will look like that for a week, and will feel like leather.  Not the soft, pleasant kind.

Another tip:  If you have a big piece of sandpaper and want to tear it into quarters, fold it with the paper side out.  Crease it well, then fold it the other way.  If you do it with paper side in, it is much tougher to get the grit bed to break up so that the tear is straight.

That new stuff 3M makes that Home Depot sells is good as far as performance, but this new backing that is non-slip sticks to the pad of the sander and is hell to get off.  I think the backing is heat activated or responds to friction.  I've tried rubbing it in dust first, wiping it with alcohol, rubbing in on cement.

What possessed them to screw with their great Canadian made sandpaper is a mystery.  It is not like people don't buy the job packs with power tools in mind.  Still made in Canada by Minnesota Mining and Mystifying.  Still in the same sort of box with slightly different writing on it.  Only now it doesn't also say, NORTON, which denies me the excuse to imagine Jackie Gleason barking at his pal, Naughton! in my mind.

If it relates to a visual, one can say, "in my mind's eye...".  I've never heard that expression altered for aural applications.  "In my mind's ear...".  Maybe it works.  I used to grab the box, see the word Norton, and simultaneously Jackie Gleason would shout, Naughton!

The product does perform well.  There is a huge difference in different brands of sandpaper.  But this sticky bit has got to go.  I hardly works if you are hand sanding, which is its purpose.  But on the sander, it is clingier than clingy.

Oh.  I picked up a pack of two things called Helping Hand at CVS.  They are a plastic tool which holds a single edge razor for scraping paint and such.  When not in use you can reverse the blade so that the dull rounded back edge is exposed.  Works great.  I recommend it.  I'm glad they had a warning which warned that the blade is razor sharp.  It's a razor blade.