
<?xml version="1.0" encoding="iso-8859-1"?>
<rss version="2.0">
  <channel>
    <title>Greg Richter&#039;s Idea Dumpster</title>
    <link>http://gregrichter.com/blog/</link>
    <description>Greg Richter&#039;s idea dumpster</description>
    <language>en-us</language>           
    <generator>Nucleus CMS v3.32</generator>
    <copyright>©</copyright>             
    <category>Weblog</category>
    <docs>http://backend.userland.com/rss</docs>
    <image>
      <url>http://gregrichter.com/blog//nucleus/nucleus2.gif</url>
      <title>Greg Richter&#039;s Idea Dumpster</title>
      <link>http://gregrichter.com/blog/</link>
    </image>
    <item>
 <title>#OccupyWallStreet</title>
 <link>http://gregrichter.com/blog/index.php?itemid=84</link>
<description><![CDATA[<font face="trebuchet ms,geneva" size="2"><strong>What do they want?</strong><br />The protesters have no coherent message and they're really not supposed to have one.  That's what a protest is about -- expressing your displeasure with work done by the experts you entrusted.  If your mechanic overcharges you and your car still doesn't run, you protest the overcharge but it's not likely you'll tell him how to fix the car.  Same for chefs, surgeons, airline pilots and politicians:  we don't know how to do your jobs, but we don't like the results your getting.  Hence, #OccupyWallStreet -- Take it back, or burn it down.</font><p><font face="trebuchet ms,geneva" size="2"><strong><br />The Root Of The Problem</strong><br />It's not capitalism that's bad, its that the capitalist system has been hijacked with bribes and influence.  GE now has more people in China than in America and pays almost nothing in taxes.  Google and Microsoft pay very little because they shelter their fortunes in Ireland and other tax havens.  Exxon/Mobil paid shockingly little federal tax last year, but the Wall Street owned government wants to Tax The Rich instead!</font></p><p><font face="trebuchet ms,geneva" size="2">The top 10% of taxpayers in America pay 73% of the income taxes collected.  They're already paying almost all of it, and the Feds want more!  The bottom 50% of wage earners in America pay zero.  You read that right -- the top 10% fund the government while half the people collect checks.  On average, the bottom 40% make a profit from the government.  It's a just a vote-buying Ponzi scheme, no more, no less.  If you tax the top 10% any more they'll do what GE and Google did -- move their money offshore.  You can only tax people so far before they go someplace else.  America was built on low taxes, freedom from oppressive European law and ingenuity.  If we become like Old Europe, we'll just fund the migration of bright minds and big money to Asia, which is fast becoming the new America.</font></p><p><font face="trebuchet ms,geneva" size="2">A job is a better answer than a handout, but you can't hire people if you're taxed out of business and regulatory compliance eats up what's left.</font></p><p><font face="trebuchet ms,geneva" size="2">The root of the problem is the tax code has been used as a tool of social engineering and has become is too complex to administer.  It's easy to fix -- no payroll deductions, close the IRS, go to a national sales tax and duties on imports like we had prior to 1916.  No personal income tax, no corporate tax, no capital gains tax.  None of it.  We'll have a much smaller government that can't afford to go adventuring in foreign countries making enemies to fight later.  In short: Tax consumption, not income.  If I save my money, it can be invested and grow into a business to employ people and make things.  If I spend it, the government should get their 7% to defend the borders and maintain order under the rule of law.  The income tax provides about half of the revenues the government collects.  Cutting government in half would solve a lot of problems, and the explosion in economic activity will solve most of the others.  Double your salary?  Would it make a difference? </font></p><p><font face="trebuchet ms,geneva" size="2">Tax collection amounts to a bit over 20% of all economic activity in America, compared to 1960 when it was a bit less than 5%.&nbsp; Did we really need 4x more public works?</font> </p><p><font face="trebuchet ms,geneva" size="2"><br /><strong>The King Kills His Enemies</strong><br />While you may not agree with Anwar Al-Awlaki's politics, he was born in America and is an American citizen.  The US Government had him killed by a remote controlled armed drone, and people cheered.  You may not like his politics, but he was an AMERICAN.  Changing the names, would anyone feel different if Malcolm X, who also espoused violence, was killed by the government for his views?  No charges brought, no trial, just a bullet because he was a Bad Guy who incited people to do Bad Things?  When the government starts executing people without trial the rule of law is broken.  The King kills his enemies...</font></p><p><font face="trebuchet ms,geneva" size="2"><br /><strong>Weapons Free!</strong><br />America is responsible for just under half the world's military spending.  We're spend 15 times more than the next nearest military spender, China.  China has one aircraft carrier, bought from the Russians.  We've got twelve of the things, and they're nothing but missile bait if we got in a conflict with a major power.  It's not 1945 anymore -- carriers are sitting ducks covered with expensive airplanes.  We've got aircraft carriers, submarines, and a huge standing army that (except for Grenada) hasn't won a war since 1945.  We expend fuel, ordinance, and lives only for the politicians to give up and pull out  when the public gets bored.  It's an excuse to shovel money to the companies that make all the weapons and hardware, nothing more.  Eisenhower warned about this, and he was a General officer before he was President, so he knew. Our soldiers can win, but not if they can't tell you who the enemy is or why they're fighting.  It's just another bloodsport.</font></p><p><font face="trebuchet ms,geneva" size="2">The answer?</font></p><p><font face="trebuchet ms,geneva" size="2">Cut the Pentagon's budget 75% and we're still spending twice what China is spending.  It's more than enough to defeat the entire world should we need to.  It's not enough to police the world and make enemies to fight later, which is our biggest growth industry and our biggest problem worldwide.  Do we really need 600+ bases  around the world?</font></p><p><font face="trebuchet ms,geneva" size="2"><br /><strong>Have A Drink On Me</strong><br />Corn is another exercise in corporate welfare.  Big growers like Cargill and ADM buy corn for less than it costs to produce it, thanks to government subsidies, and make Ethanol with the stuff.  The energy balance of Ethanol as a fuel is debatable, it's so close to taking as much fuel to make as it's worth that scientists differ on whether it's a winner or a loser.  Without the government subsidies to grow corn, though, there's no question.  Ethanol is a loser, and a big one, and engineers are unified in the thought that adding corn whisky to gasoline lowers gas mileage and damages rubber and plastic fuel system components.  With the exception of Big Farma, everyone loses here.</font></p><p><font face="trebuchet ms,geneva" size="2">Why are we paying farmers to grow corn for fuel when food prices are skyrocketing?  Shouldn't we let them grow what they want instead, and let the market determine the price?  Central planning didn't work in Russia, and it's not working here.  </font></p><p><font face="trebuchet ms,geneva" size="2"><strong>The Wrong Answer</strong><br />It's not a Left vs. Right issue or a Democrat vs. Republican issue.  The established powers on both the left and the right want either co-opt or shut down the protest.  The challenge is to rise above party affiliation, which has little value, and come together to find workable solutions that have real value.  Conservatives will call you communists, liberals will call you sell-outs, everyone will call you names.  Doesn't matter.  What does matter is pointing out that the system is horribly broken, that it's been hijacked and the land of the free now spys on its own citizens, arrests them without charge, maces them, poisons them and in the case of some living overseas and espousing unacceptable politics, kills them.  </font></p><p><font face="trebuchet ms,geneva" size="2"><strong>The Right Answer</strong><br />Close the IRS, shrink government, slash the Pentagon, stop the entitlement pay outs and return to 100% reserve banking.  No more leverage, no more bailouts, no more billions sent overseas.  </font></p><p><font face="trebuchet ms,geneva" size="2">The real issue?</font> </p><p><font face="trebuchet ms,geneva" size="2">When one mega-corporation buys collateralized debt obligations from another mega-corporation while simultaneously selling put options on them on the open market and insuring them with credit-default swaps bought from a third mega-corporation all the while paying off the ratings agencies to make it all look good, and the deals go south, these companies should GO BROKE, not look to the public to bail them out!&nbsp; </font></p><p><font face="trebuchet ms,geneva" size="2">It's not that trading in securities is a bad thing; it's expecting the general population to insure the outcome of these adventures that's got people up in signs.&nbsp; Up in arms is next...&nbsp; The problem here is that Big Crimes go unpunished in much the same way that a man who steals a car is a thief but a man who steals a country is a king -- a big enough crime is no longer a crime but an act of a soverign power.&nbsp; No difference of course, but it sounds so regal that way.&nbsp; Question is when did AIG and Goldman-Sachs become nation-states worthy of US Aid? As Iceland has proven, there is little upside to debasing an entire nation to bail out a few high-flying criminals.&nbsp; The Icelanders are doing just fine, thank you, and they did what was right and let the banks burn.&nbsp; We didn't and are sinking the whole world in valuless paper.</font> </p><p><font face="trebuchet ms,geneva" size="2">The kids with signs do have a point: The only thing too big to fail is We The People; the people without a voice who's money is taken to reimburse speculating plutocrats and who's children are taken to fight useless wars to make money for America's largest industry. </font></p><p><font face="trebuchet ms,geneva" size="2">The time calls for Diocletian or Marcus Aurelius, but we've got Rick Perry, with his 2.2 GPA and F in college economics and Barry Soetoro with his mysterious past and assumed name.&nbsp; I think we're in trouble, Toto.</font></p><p><font face="trebuchet ms,geneva" size="2">Sinclair Lewis said&nbsp;&quot;When fascism comes to America, it will be wrapped in the flag and carrying the cross.&quot; and I see most of the declared candidates for the 2012 election doing both, god bless them.&nbsp; </font></p><p><font face="trebuchet ms,geneva" size="2">If you can go protest, please do.&nbsp; Do anything, even if it's small, even if it's ineffective.&nbsp; Write a letter.&nbsp; Organize a sit-in. Close your bank account. Do something.&nbsp; Anything.&nbsp; Try to make it better and refuse to do business with those who make it worse.&nbsp; Just don't sit idly by and watch it all burn.&nbsp; Once we lose America, there's no place else left to go.</font></p><p>&nbsp;</p>]]></description>
 <category>General</category>
<comments>http://gregrichter.com/blog/index.php?itemid=84</comments>
 <pubDate>Mon, 10 Oct 2011 15:11:05 -0500</pubDate>
</item><item>
 <title>Achtung, Baby!</title>
 <link>http://gregrichter.com/blog/index.php?itemid=83</link>
<description><![CDATA[<p>One in two hundred Georgians is behind bars.&nbsp; If you count the people who got probation instead of jail, that number skyrockets to over  one in fifteen.&nbsp; That's 6% of the population ...&nbsp; The US has the highest  percentage of its people in jail in the  world. Hard to believe, but we even beat out free societies like Russia,  China and Iran.&nbsp; </p><p>One in fifteen Georgians are convicted criminals currently serving time. </p><p>I was about to become one of them.</p><p>I  drive a collection of aging Porsches that blow through the posted speed  limit in third gear.&nbsp; I do so unapologetically, and only on open  Interstates, but it makes me a target for Georgia's new  police-collected taxes.&nbsp; If you are ticketed at over 85 MPH in Georgia, you  have to pay your fine and then pay another $200 to the state as a Super  Speeder fee.&nbsp; It's taxation, pure and crooked.</p><p>The Interstate  highway system was designed in the 1950's to be driven safely at 70 MPH  by cars of that era. 1950's cars had solid axles, soft suspensions and  were nowhere near the competent road machines that the cheapest Korean  econoboxes are today.&nbsp; At club events, people pit their family sedans  against sports cars on the track and do just fine to well over 100 MPH.&nbsp;  It's in the 120-160 range where the Porsches, Ferraris and Jags really  start to show off.&nbsp; 160 MPH: not a drama Auf Deutsch, but I-75 isn't the  Autobahn.&nbsp; I-75 is wider, smoother, has gentler curves and much less  traffic.&nbsp; It's also populated by revenue collectors with guns. </p><p>Holly  Springs, Georgia is two exits of speed trap on the run between  Ellijay and Atlanta that's posted at 70 everywhere else.&nbsp; You see signs  for Holly Springs, you slow down because locals know the city balances  its budget on the Interstate.The cop who pulled me over was polite,  educated and clearly not in favor of his job assignment, but he had a job and he did it.&nbsp; He also told me to go to court and get it reduced.&nbsp; He signed up to  Protect and Serve and was clearly a little disillusioned collecting  taxes from people who missed the one sign indicating the speed limit  drops for no reason.&nbsp; I won't mention his name here since good cops are worth a  lot and his job is tough enough already.&nbsp; It doesn't help when people  see a police car and think &quot;shakedown&quot; because the people who put themselves  in harm's way to protect us are being press-ganged to collect unpopular  taxes thinly camoflaged as law.&nbsp; </p><p>My court date was an unexpected  circus chock full of surprises...&nbsp; Roughly a third of the people in traffic  court were illegal Mexicans caught driving without a license.&nbsp; The  aren't here legally, so of course they have no passport, no visa, no SSN and no driver's license!&nbsp; They pay the  fine, and go on about their business.&nbsp; Not a drama.&nbsp; Just a small,  quiet, very sucessful&nbsp; invasion. Since all but one of these folks needed  the court supplied interpreter, they all went first whilst we legal  citizens waited two and a half hours for the court to collect money from  them.&nbsp; No one was asked about their immigration status, of course.&nbsp;  This isn't Arizona.</p><p>Five hours later, when I spoke with the  prosecutor, he suggested I plead No Lo Contendre to keep the points off  my license, and that we reduce the speed by 1 MPH to avoid the Georgia  Super Speeder fine. If Holly Springs gets the $280 they want, I can  cruise.&nbsp; This is why we're here, after all. So, I paid up and took off.</p><p>All  was well until the note came in from the State of Georgia.&nbsp; The  prosecutor forgot to alter the facts and reduce my speed, or someone forgot to type  it in, and I now owed the state another $200!&nbsp; No recourse at this  point.&nbsp; What's done is done, and I've just got to pay it. Which I did.  </p><p>So: </p><p>I'm a criminal.&nbsp; I was made a criminal in my own state by driving past  an exit with a speed limit lower than the one before or after  it.&nbsp; No changes in terrain, visibility or traffic density.&nbsp; Just pure  greed.&nbsp; $280 is a pretty steep fine for speeding, but almost $500 bucks and a day of lost work?&nbsp; That's beyond insane, and isn't even a good value for the money.&nbsp; In Nevada you can be charged with Drunk and Disorderly for the same fine and, I have it on Unquestionable Authority, it's a lot more fun. </p><p>There's something inherently wrong with a system that  blurs the demarcation between law enforcement and revenue generation.&nbsp;  In Asia we see it and call it corruption.&nbsp; Here, we've come to accept it  as part of America, albeit not the America I grew up in.&nbsp; Holly Springs is both clean and pleasant, although the customary statue of Justice was conspicuous in her absence from their court building. I suppose they couldn't find one with her  blindfold askew and her thumb on the scales, but I'm sure they make them somewhere. </p><p>Organizations grow  until they become parasitic and have to be pruned back.&nbsp; Anyone who's  ever run a company of significant scope knows about the fifedoms that  grow around once small departments, and the evils of incremental budgeting.&nbsp; When government ceases to serve as  an organizing force in society and becomes parasitic it needs to be pruned.&nbsp; There's got to be a better way to collect revenue than extorting it from 1 in 15 of your citizens on various frivolous charges.&nbsp; Are they really THAT much more law-abiding in Vermont and New Hampshire?&nbsp; I think not. </p><p>I shouldn't have to be wary of random speed limit changes on a homogenous stretch of highway.&nbsp; </p><p>I  shouldn't have to waste an entire day sitting in front of a long-winded  judge who asked me if I could read and write. </p><p>I shouldn't have to wait hours while the State processes foreign nationals before its own citizens. </p><p>I really shouldn't have to pay the State another huge fine because the state needs money to grow its scope of unwanted services.</p><p>The  cop who pulled me over wasn't real thrilled with running a speed trap,  which is a good thing.&nbsp; We both knew that he was assigned to do a dirty&nbsp;  job, but we both knew he was going to do it. </p><p>What is the right and proper place of  government?&nbsp; Is it to extort money from its citizens and incarcerate an  ever-growing percentage of them?&nbsp; I'd say not, but at least we've got  something to be proud of:&nbsp; We're finally beating China at something.</p><p>&nbsp;</p><div align="center">Copyright @ 2010 Greg Richter / IFR Music</div>]]></description>
 <category>General</category>
<comments>http://gregrichter.com/blog/index.php?itemid=83</comments>
 <pubDate>Thu, 2 Sep 2010 11:01:08 -0500</pubDate>
</item><item>
 <title>Expectations, Questions, and A Common Meme</title>
 <link>http://gregrichter.com/blog/index.php?itemid=70</link>
<description><![CDATA[Life is strange, but she doesn't think so and said as much: &quot;Richter, you're the freak my man.&quot; said Life. &quot;All I'm doing is dishing out the karma, spinning the days into nights and the nights into memories of yestersomething. You're the one with all the expectations&quot; she said, blowing a smoke ring of something that was probably not hallucinogenic. Probably. But I was there with questions, and wasn't gonna be blown off by a dope-smoking, slightly cynical anthropomorphic personification of a common meme. <br /><br />Yeah, as if...<br /><br />Life asked what I wanted, so I told her. She laughed: &quot;You and the rest of the over-40 crowd, babe. Love, companionship, understanding, great sex and compatible interests. Surprise of all surprises ... You want fries and a Coke with that sweetheart?&quot; She laughed, blew another ring and smiled: &quot;You get what you ask for, that's the way of it. Thing is, when I deliver the goods, the women don't notice 'til the guy's long gone, and the men run like hell as soon as things look promising. Represent, brother! When you finally get what you ask for, say Thank You and sign for the package.&quot; <br /><br />Life shrugged in the Gallic manner, her eyes crinkled, and she whispered: &quot;There is no Justice, little brother. There's Just Us. We gotta do it all. The Fates can steer you but you don't have to listen. You can give 'em all The Finger, if you want, and do whatever. <br /><br />It's up to you, but when magic happens accept it, revel in it, live it. If you're always asking <em>What If</em> then the answer is always <em>No</em>.&quot; She smiled, offered me a toke, and went on: &quot;The best you can hope for, is the best that you DO hope for. Pay attention. I'm all around you, making it happen. Don't let her sit, brother. Tell her she's loved and _show_ her you love her. Every day babe, every damn day.&quot; <br /><br />Life might be a little cynical, and maybe a little stoned, but I think she has a point. Magic happens. I'll try not to miss out. Table for two, please.<br /><br />Copyright 2009 Greg Richter / IFR Music]]></description>
 <category>General</category>
<comments>http://gregrichter.com/blog/index.php?itemid=70</comments>
 <pubDate>Mon, 27 Jul 2009 19:20:50 -0500</pubDate>
</item><item>
 <title>On Being The Bad Guy</title>
 <link>http://gregrichter.com/blog/index.php?itemid=49</link>
<description><![CDATA[Having been single for four years now, my long road of self-discovery has turned up a few real gems, and a few odd lumps of what I sincerely hope is just a form of sticky, black coal. I've learned a lot about myself, a lot about people, and learned specifically that there's no good way to break up with someone once you've been involved for more than a few months...<br /><br />Once you polish the newness off a relationship and settle into a routine of This Is What We Do, you either discover that things are grand, or that the relationship has a previously-unseen Expiration Date. The question is once you know that things aren't going to work out, what to do? Do you smile into the oncoming headlights and wait for the Big Argument? Do you speak up and say Thanks, But ....? <br /><br />I've been let down so easily I didn't notice at first, been shot out of my chair point-blank, and I've been through multiple cycles of Trying To Make It Work. From the receiving end, I didn't like any of it.<br /><br />On the transmitting side, I've tended toward the &quot;This isn't working and let's stop doing it&quot; conversation. You know, the old Peter Drucker theory of: &quot;If we weren't already doing this, would we start doing it tomorrow?&quot; If the answer is no, then why continue? Is it better to wait for everyone to get angry and upset together? I think not, but I could be wrong here. Been told so, in fact.<br /><br />My last relationship crashed due to a collection of personal incompatibilities and uncorrectable horrors that you discover over a period of months. No one thing that made me want to run, but a collection of small signals that added up to a large shock via superposition. Could it have worked? Absolutely. At great cost and at the expense of something better? Also true. This is Dating, and it sucketh truly.<br /><br />When a relationship goes into solution most adults either become distant friends of the &quot;Hi, how are you?&quot; variety, or become part of the historical record never to be heard from again until you run for public office. I've recently learned that there's another kind, though. A theatrical sort that seeks to bolster a damaged self-image by demonizing you and, in one case, endlessly blogging about it all to explain what a bastard you are to all and sundry.<br /><br />My last ex was, and is, a phenomenal woman with a lot to offer the world and a lot to offer the right man. We had significant cultural differences, and a boxful of other issues that looked a little daunting early on and didn't improve. They seldom do, but hope springs eternal and I'm an ever hopeful sort. She was convinced that I was dating a baker's half-dozen people at once, flying my jet all over the country playing a role somewhere between James Bond and a young Hugh Hefner. I wish I had that kind of energy, drive, game, or whatever version of the Right Stuff that kind of life might require, but I think it would tax the endurance of a 19 year-old Marine and require the libido of a porn star to pull it off. Which is to say it wasn't happening, of course.<br /><br />Aircraft and engine logs notwithstanding, and reality not supporting her conspiracy theories, she was, and is, a very suspicious sort which didn't mesh well in the life of a happy-go-lucky kind of Bear like me. Continuous surveillance is real buzz-kill, as is blogging about your relationship and your feelings, as opposed to, perhaps, talking to your partner about it. Just call me old-fashioned, but it set off alarms that my best source of info on her mood was her MySpace page. <br /><br />Dating is the process of running a Sort to see who might be a fit for you, and you for them. It's a lot like looking for a house in many ways. You know what you want, what you can afford, what you're willing to fix, and what you're willing to live with. I don't like spiral staircases, but if the place has a pool maybe I can live with the spiral. I'm not generally into fanatic anything, but temper that with brilliance, wit and some dazzling good looks and I can take a little jihad with dinner once in a while. Love and life are both engineer's approximations to drawings made by gods who forgot long ago that mortals have to go out and build this stuff from parts we can get locally; parts you can actually find.<br /><br />The Holy Grail of the dating process is someone that you fit and fits with you on all levels. It's a strictly mathematical construct, never to be found in the real world any more than a perfectly smooth infinite plane, an infinitesimal, or an honest politician, but still we look and hope to find the engineer's approximation to the Perfect Fit, that Grail of lovers, machinists and personnel departments. <br /><br />What have I learned? That there's +/- tolerances on everything and that I've got my problems too. I don't see them, of course, or I'd do something about them. Sometimes the mirror just smiles back. I've also learned that if someone gets burned badly enough and often enough, they may be able to love you, but they won't ever be able to trust you, and that's something they'll have to sort out with their mirror. Good luck, my dear. I hope you find the happiness you seek. I hope we all do.<br /><br /><br />Copyright 2008 Greg Richter / IFR Music]]></description>
 <category>General</category>
<comments>http://gregrichter.com/blog/index.php?itemid=49</comments>
 <pubDate>Mon, 2 Feb 2009 15:46:00 -0600</pubDate>
</item><item>
 <title>The Cookie Jar</title>
 <link>http://gregrichter.com/blog/index.php?itemid=64</link>
<description><![CDATA[I have small binder that I call The Book Of Secrets: Notes from the 1980s, small pieces of paper, six photographs, a Kamikaze headband from my first solo flight, an empty bag of popcorn. It has an embroidered heart, a small packet of Vibhutti, a Masonic emblem, two birthday cards and a Ben Folds ticket. There's a marker from almost all of the important people in my life; the Hams and mechanics, radio engineers and artists, bikers, pilots and the occasional mystic. <br /><br />Its an iconic list of markers and placeholders, things that remind you of who you are, where you're from, and what your supposed to become in case you forget. Icons of things lost and things found, of things learned and things forgotten.<br /><br />The only thing missing is the Cookie Jar, which is too big to fit.<br /><br />I grew up in Georgia, which accounts for a slight flattening of my spoken A's and I's and a penchant for spending time in the woods, but I was born up north, on New York's Long Island which is where the Cookie Jar is from. Shel Silverstein and Maurice Sendak, songs from Broadway shows, milk, cookies, potassium nitrate and sulfur, the smell of wet paint. My parents were always painting something if my memory serves, which it sometimes doesn't. <br /><br />But:<br /><br />All through the 1960s and 70's, though, from JFK through Jimmy Carter, the Cookie Jar sat in the kitchen, in the corner, always full and smiling, or turned around and frowning on the rare occasions when it was empty. It disappeared about the same time that I did.<br /><br />I wandered off to Georgia Tech for a while and became interested in girls, Porsches and electronics in essentially that order. Cookies were something I didn't really do for a while, although I think I may have developed a Biscotti affectation in the 90's when that was cool for a week or so. My folks moved from Milledgeville to Augusta, and the Cookie Jar went into hiding. Conspicuous in its absence, both from my folk's house and from the Book of Secrets, I wondered what had become of it. Nothing really matters until you notice that the world hasn't changed but you have, and that the world has moved slowly, in subtle but orthogonal ways, making it not only impossible to go home again but impossible to remember how to begin.<br /><br />My sister Sue's apartment is decorated well enough to grace the pages of Architectural Digest, with the occasional antique, the occasional family heirloom and, to my surprise, one Cookie Jar. I asked for it back. No dice. Finder's keepers.<br /><br />My Mom understands my feelings on the subject, but understands first asked is first delivered too. So she spent the better part of two years searching eBay, looking on the 'Net, shaking trees and antique dealers to find another Cookie Jar. Which she did, but which still doesn't explain the Christmas Picture:<br /><br /><!--age(20090528-Chistmas Cookie Jar small.jpg|512|524|Christmas Cookie Jars--><br /><br />Sue and I with nearly identical Cookie Jars. After some prodding from Marisa, my girlfriend (whose notes fill the Book of Secrets), Sue agreed that the Cookie Jar meant more to me than it did to her. So I got it as a Christmas present. Twice, since my Mom got me another one, complete with a wooden top my Dad made to fit.<br /><br />The only thing to do was to give Sue the new Cookie Jar, complete with Dad's custom top (signed and dated, no less) and for me to take mine and put it in the kitchen, in the corner, where it can smile when full and frown when empty. Which it does.<br /><br />You may not be able to find your way back through the forest to where you began, especially once you've planted a forest of your own, which is why it helps to have Icons from the Old Forest to remind you of who you are, where you're from, and what your supposed to become in case you forget. I have a Cookie Jar, which is smiling.<br /><br />Copyright @ 2008 Greg Richter / IFR Music]]></description>
 <category>General</category>
<comments>http://gregrichter.com/blog/index.php?itemid=64</comments>
 <pubDate>Fri, 26 Dec 2008 15:36:00 -0600</pubDate>
</item><item>
 <title>Yo! Czech It Out ...</title>
 <link>http://gregrichter.com/blog/index.php?itemid=44</link>
<description><![CDATA[Although you'd never guess it from their names, Jean-Francois Boudet is French and Premysl Sedivy is Czech.  They're both EFIS customers of mine and both were having difficulties with the electrical systems of their Fascination aircraft.  So, off I go to Prague to Czech it all out ...<br />
<br />
<b>Atlanta to Prague</b><br />
A quick hop on Brit to London, a delightful 12 hour layover, and I find myself in Prague.  Prava (Prague for us) is everything you need to know about the Czech Republic: part old Soviet concrete, part modern innovation, part beautiful past.  Just walk the streets and you'll see a thousand years of history alongside skateboarding punks with iPhones.  It's worth seeing, and I spent one night there before zooming off to the south.  I liked Prague.  It's a place you can hang out and wander around.  It's got a real pulse to it too, kind of a Paris in the East, but that's not what this story is about.  It's not about beer either, but ...<br />
<br />
<b>This Bud's For You</b><br />
Cesky Budovice is the name of a town known, like Plnz up the road, for beer.  Pilsener is the style of beer first brewed here in Plnz.  Budovice (say Bood-o-VYTZ-e) is home of, you guessed it, Budweiser.  The Czechs make a damn good beer, and lemme tell you the stuff THEY call Budvar is a one helluva long airplane ride and half a world away from the piss-of-the-weasel we drink in cans.  It's damn good, and I don't even like beer.  But despite what nearly everyone will try to tell you, I'm not likely to fly a quarter of the way around the world just to have a Tasty Beverage.  I had a job to do.  I'm a man on a mission.  There's an old MIG base in Cesky Budovice and that's where we'll be working, in a converted Cold War era hangar that used to hold a MIG fighter.  SWEET.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20080526-Czech - more brewsky.jpg">This bud&#039;s for you, comrade</a><br />
<br />
<b>The Soviet Oscilloscope and Stalin's Hangar</b><br />
I'd never met Predmysl, and he showed up looking more like a hacker than a banker.  He trades currencies, securities, and works in a bank, but the guy's a Dude.  Like me or Ross, except special-ordered in Czech.  He hacks computers, screws around with airplanes and showed up with some truly impressive triple shielded cable from some kind of video hardware.  The RPM indication on his Rotax was unstable above 3000 RPM, and he was positively skunked.  Now, the Rotax magneto system generates enough noise to be effective as an ECM platform, and I thought that was the basis of what was driving him nuts.  More RPM, more magneto hash, less useful RPM readings.  All I needed was a good 'scope to know for sure ...<br />
<br />
So, Predmysl talked with his airplane buds, but I have no idea what he said.  Czech sounds very little like German and a whole lot like Russian, and I couldn't pick out a single word I knew.  Must be what's it like for a Liberal Arts major to sit in one of my lectures, but a few hours later, one of my Czech EE- brothers shows up with a genuine Cold War relic wiggle scope:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20080526-Czech - fellow EE with oscope.jpg">Finest in all of East Germany!</a><br />
<br />
SWEET!  Joe Stalin probably had one of these on the bench in his basement, and no telling how many MIG radars this old 'scope had tuned up.  Speaking of MIGs, check out this East Bloc groove on this hangar:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20080526-Czech - hidden hangar.jpg">The hidden hangar</a><br />
<a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20080526-Czech - MIG hangar.jpg">A little closer</a><br />
<a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20080526-Czech - hangar doors.jpg">Gimme a hand with the door, willya?</a><br />
<br />
Reinforced concrete arcs bolted together quonset hut style, covered in earth and planted with trees.  They're all but invisible and could take a direct hit from a 500 kilogram bomb, they said.  I believe it.  Some poor guy probably had to try it and see.  Check out the monster concrete doors, and the old steel signs reminding you how to preflight your fighter to repel the invading hordes of, well, I guess that wold have been us at the time.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20080526-Czech - MIG preflight.jpg">Spin &#039;em up Ivan!</a><br />
<a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20080526-Czech - preflight detail 1.jpg">Preflight detail</a><br />
<a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20080526-Czech - preflight detail 2.jpg">Preflight detail</a><br />
<br />
This one really hit home -- in case of Emergency, here's what to do.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20080526-Czech - in case of attack.jpg">Here they come!</a><br />
<br />
BTW: If anyone can translate these, I'd love to hear from you!  Jean-Francois (we call him JF) speaks some Czech, but not enough to read this stuff and the guys who could read it didn't speak English, German or French.  Hey, we tried, you know?<br />
<br />
So:<br />
<br />
With Uncle Joe's oscilloscope and a cadre of very curious Czech mechanics, I watched three volts of noise confuse Predmysl's RPM circuit.  A trip to the local Radioshackski produced a trimpot, and I dialed the noise floor on the comparator up to 4.00 volts.  Problem solved and happy pilot on deck.  Pretty airplanes, horrible electrics.  Just as a reference, half a volt of common-mode hash is HORRIBLE.  Three volts may be a new world record ...<br />
<br />
Now:<br />
<br />
The local Radioshackski is the local electron-pushers palace.  Reminded me of Delta Electronics in Atlanta, or S&R in New York: piles of parts, drawers full of new stuff, piles of old stuff, and a guy behind the counter who knows the difference between a MOSFET and an IGBT.  JF was a little concerned since although his grasp of English is really a lot better than he thinks it is, his grasp of technical Czech is pretty shaky.  Our driver didn't speak English or French, and neither did the guys at the shop.  Lucky for me the phrase "DSUB, 9 pin, female" is exactly that in Czech.  I maintained that was the case since we arrogant Americans invented everything worth having since, say, 1960 while Jean-Francois was convinced that (whatever it was) it was first done in France, and we simply copied it like the Wright Brothers who ripped off Bleriot who flew _first_ as if there was any question.  We just had better advertising, he said.  Our conversation ranged from Jose Bove and McDonalds through why Canard aircraft are French too (Canard is Duck) and all the parts of the airplane are French (aileron, fuselage, empennage), but all the electronic systems are American (Radar, VOR, GPS), and found ourselves generally in wild agreement and somewhat amused.  Since I don't own a TV, won't eat at McDonalds, think two hours for lunch with wine is _civilized_, and have a taste for foie gras, Absinthe and good bread I'm nearly an honorary Frenchman anyway. <br />
<br />
Suffice it to say that Czech for MOSFET is MOSFET and buying electronic parts is a lot easier than getting directions.  In the end we ended up laughing a lot and me drawing the schematic symbols for what I needed.  "Ah, 250k pot" the guy says.  When he brings one and I indicate smaller, he asks "Trimmer pot?" and produces Le Trimmer, as I'm sure they say in Paris.  I asked for a ceramic disk capacitor and got one, although the European affectation for nano-Farads threw me for a sec.  This was all Big Fun and I loved every minute of it. Wandering down 12th century cobblestone streets with a bag full of electronic goodies and what I suppose is called Le Shrink Tube.  Yo, this ROCKS.<br />
<br />
Brief aside: Yo is Czech slang for yes or yeah, and made it's way into American idiom during the second world war.  Yo, Yo is like Si, Si in Italian, our "Yeah, man, chill a sec."<br />
<br />
Back to the story:<br />
<br />
JF's airplane was wired poorly enough that it wasn't (in my opinion) close to airworthy, so we had a lot of work to do.  The 12 volts showing on the battery dropped to 8.6 at the autopilot controller causing it to scream audibly as the switching supply failed to spin straw into gold.  The breakers were a soldered (!) together, everything corroding from the use of plumber's pipe flux (!) and, most importantly, the leads were so scary-small that we dropped almost four volts in three feet of cable.  Oh my sweet baby James ...  Jean-Francois was not so pleased, and a mechanic was summoned to appear tomorrow morning to do whatever the Crazy American wants.  Once I'd fixed Premysyl's spooky-weird RPM issue, my stock was selling at a premium so I got volunteered to fix the electronic propeller controller (Czech word: Konstantspeed) that had them skunked.  You could read it on their faces: let's see the smarmy bastard make THIS thing work.  <br />
<br />
The Pro's From Dover are back on the case!  Soviet oscilloscope in one hand, 200W board-torching 240 volt Czech soldering gun in the other, all I needed was a cape and Fedora.  Tomorrow, we'll throw down with this thing, but I'd had about enough for the day, so it was time to go to the castle.<br />
<br />
<b>The Castle</b><br />
<br />
<a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20080526-Czech - cesky krumlov castle.jpg">Cesky Krumlov</a><br />
<a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20080526-Czech - cesky krumlov.jpg">Old school wall - Cesky Krumlov</a><br />
<br />
This is Cesky Krumlov, a UNESCO-recognized historic site with a really cool town square to wander around in, killer restaurants, shops, romantic bridges to gaze off of and castles.  Castles?  Yeah we got castles ...   The streets are all too small for anything but foot traffic, or maybe horsecarts.  Think fifteenth century: All Medieval, All The Time.  It's charming, delightful, and full of Japanese tourists packing serious optical firepower. After a wonderful dinner of roast pork stuffed with eggs, bacon and cheese, red cabbage, potato pancakes and vegetables all washed down with a half liter of dark, dark beer (Greg goes native), we crashed hard on our funky Czech beds.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20080526-Czech - bed in krumlov.jpg">Bed in Czech Penzion</a><br />
<br />
The Czechs don't go in for the whole sheets-and-blanket thing we do in the US.  The pillows are LARGE and flat and you sleep between two blankets.  Works well for a cold climate, and was actually a nice change.    The bed was more futon than Western springs-and-mattress thing, and was really quite comfortable. Reminded me on my college days.  The place where we stayed was a Penzion, a Bed and Breakfast kinda place.  Breakfast was good, and the bread really _is_ something to write home about.  See?  I'm doing it now.<br />
<br />
<b>The Evil Ground, Redux</b><br />
Next morning, I went for a ground loop.  Not in the plane, but in the plane's electrical system.  After all my ranting about grounds, ground loops and "just use two wires already!" there's always some guys who don't get the word.  JF's airplane had a collection of ground terminals, busses and bolts that would take a team of cryptographers to unravel.  I elected to just upsize the leads to the avionics buss to #12 from the #20 they were both to avoid voltage drop and potential for fire, and upsize the ground leads to the autopilot and EFIS to make sure.  <br />
<br />
The shop has great mechanics, but horrible electricians.  This autopilot installation is the absolute best work I've ever seen.  The nasty, gobblety soldering mess of a breaker buss some of the worst.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20080526-Czech - ap pitch servo.jpg">Autopilot pitch servo installation</a><br />
<a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20080526-Czech - nasty wiring.jpg">Nasty spaghetti wiring</a><br />
<br />
Changing the lead sizes and moving the prop controller leads to a single ground buss, stabilized the EFIS, fixed the autopilot (which now had 11.88 volts instead of  8.6 to work with) and now the prop controller worked.  The Czech mechanics do very good, craftsman-like work, and their technique is good (most of them) but the guys at this company need leadership; someone to organize the work.  They know how to do, but not what to do, and it warmed my engineer's heart that having taught just a little, the techs picked up fast how to work the "American Way" with lower heat, no plumbers flux, washing the joints, shrink tube, etc.  No wonder they hate us in Europe.<br />
<br />
Current score:  Smarmy Bastard 1,  Buggered Airplane 0<br />
<br />
The Manifold Pressure was connected to the Static system which was wack enough to be funny, and the RPM interface was still installed comfortably in the box it came in.  The engine pod, designed to live on the firewall for ease of maintenance, was installed instead behind the panel with no access at all, which is why it took two hours to connect the three wires for the RPM interface and hookup the Manifold Pressure tube.  Now it all worked, though.<br />
<br />
Smarmy Bastard 2, Much Less Buggered Airplane, 0.<br />
<br />
The magnetometer, which senses magnetic flux of the earth and forms a beautiful 3D compass, was mounted in the floor next to the STEEL parachute cables and was at an angle that was not very close to being on the Level, as we Masons say.  One of the really good Czech mechanics fabricated a fiberglass plate and mounted it as I requested in the tail and without the steel bolts they wanted to use.  Steel is a bit of a problem for magnetic sensors.  Previously, they never could get heading to read within 20 degrees of truth, and now it reads so close to perfect JF wants to correct his other compass to match!  No compensation required, perfect right out of the box nearly to 1 degree, as best we could measure it.<br />
<br />
Smarmy Bastard: Game, set and match.  Airplane: Just about fixed.<br />
<br />
JF and I taxied out, me in left seat and him in the right checking the compass (perfect) the GPS (perfect), the RPM (perfect) and the Fuel Flow which needed a bit more damping.  A call to Ross got a software tweak done, and that was that on the Fuel Flow.  The software hack was not an easy thing to get, since the Penzion (sort of hotel/restaurant/guesthouse) where we were staying had no Internet and, amazingly enough, no working phone.  We finally climbed the control tower, another Soviet relic, and met the very sweet controller lady who insisted on us having coffee and some of the coconut cake she'd made.  We did, of course, the cake being very nearly a confection with condensed milk and coconut which I absolutely loved.  She spoke quite good English, and she and JF discovered that they were both Captains in their respective Air Forces.  Her job was to get the MIG-21s off the ground to intercept JF in his Mirage along with his NATO buddies in their Tornados and Tomcats.  Times change, of course, and now we're all sitting in the same tower (a Soviet design for the arctic, of all things) talking homebuilts and microlights, drinking coffee and bullshitting.  If the rest of the world would get along as well as the pilots, we'd be in a much better place.<br />
<br />
Day two came to an end with another great dinner with another great beer, and some wandering about taking pictures like these:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20080526-Czech - roadside.jpg">Roadside</a><br />
<a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20080526-Czech - yet another church in prague.jpg">Prague</a><br />
<a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20080526-Czech - the evil empire.jpg">The Evil Empire</a><br />
<br />
This is work.  I am on a business trip and I am working.  I worked on airplanes all day.  I am not just cruising around the Czech countryside tasting things, drinking dark beer, hanging with ex-fighter jocks and cold war forward air controllers, looking at glass and antiquities and trying to learn jokes in French.  I'm working.  This is work.  Some days, you know, I just love my job.<br />
<br />
Day three came to a close with everything working but the autopilot disconnect, which we couldn't solder in the high density connector with the soldering iron they had.  Probably made for bodywork, or something.  It was HUGE, and melted everything it touched.  I loaded up my bags into the plane, and JF dug out the charts and frequencies so we could fly to Prague.  Except ...  The radio didn't work.  I added a counterpoise to the whip antenna (which is made for metal planes) and that worked a treat.  Later when the airplane rolled off the ramp and into the grass snapping off said antenna, they replaced it and broke the BNC connector.  Not so good, and never tested.  So, instead of a 50 minute flight to Prague, we get to drive two hours.  After three days and going from nothing working to good to go and ready to fly, JF is close to homicidal and I considered helping him.  How can you screw up putting on a BNC?  I think they used gas pliers ...  We leave the plane in the hands of the mechanics who vow to find a BNC connector somewhere, and have it ready to fly tomorrow.  They might even test it, they said.  Argh!<br />
<br />
<b>Back to Prague</b><br />
My last night in-country was spent at the Tranzit Hotel near the Prague airport.  Not as interesting as the Penzion in Ceski Krumlov, but only 100 meters from Terminal 1.  JF knew this funky underground joint we tried for dinner, and after the frustrating days with the airplane it seemed appropriate:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20080526-Czech - hells menu.jpg">Hell&#039;s menu</a><br />
<br />
Dinner in Hell?  Sure.  Not too shabby, although the foie gras with plum sauce and almonds was a little gnarly.  Turns out both JF and I are food snobs, him in the French way me in the American.  I was wearing my Absinthe - Le Fey Verte shirt, so the waiter thought I was French.  We immediately corrected him as to who was the French pilot and who was the American engineer.  We told him backward, of course.   Here's a few shots of the Hell Restaurant, deep underground in a 12th century cavern that was once a wine cellar.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20080526-Czech - dinner in hell.jpg">Dinner in the catacombs</a><br />
<a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20080526-Czech - bar in hell.jpg">Hell&#039;s bar</a><br />
<br />
See that big green spooky-looking bottle?  THAT stuff is Becherovka, the Czech answer to both Absinthe and Calvados, an herbal-bitters kind of preparation that you either love or hate.  They mix it sometimes with tonic for Beton, which is Czech for Concrete!  I believe it.  No matter where I go in the world, there's always some local version of "Drink this, dude, it'll kick your ass" and I always have to try it and see.  I admit the taste took some acquiring but, like Benedictine, once you get used to the odd flavor it really is quite good.  This had nothing to do with our run-in with the Prague police, with whom we simply differed on the theory of appropriate vs. inappropriate places to park.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20080526-Czech - JF gets busted.jpg">JF gets busted</a><br />
<a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20080526-Czech - oh shit dude.jpg">Oh shit, dude!</a><br />
<br />
After squaring up with the local Five-O, JF had to haul back to Ceski Krumlov, and I slept like a lost anchor thanks to a bottle of Czech wine and that Becherovka stuff.  The car we hauled around in is a Skoda, which is yet another Czech joke.  Not the car, which is a very nice variant of the Volkwagen Passat.  Outfitted with a very smooth Diesel engine, it got nearly 50 MPG.  Take that Detroit!  The joke is that "Skoda" also means Pity in Czech.  As in "Pity I can't afford Mercedes" as they say.  These guys are FUNNY.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20080526-Czech - skoda.jpg">Skoda Diesel</a><br />
<br />
Next morning, my ride to the airport turned up a bit of Prague-style road rage as the hotel bus driver ran a guy off the road in the round-about and nearly crashed us as well.  The other driver gave chase to the airport and, even with the shaky grasp of my maybe 20 words of Czech, it was clear my driver was about to get his ass kicked in a thoroughly craftsman-like manner.  He talked his way out of it, barely, and with appropriate apologies and a very red face, the driver dropped me off and I eventually made it on the Brit flight back into Heathrow, thence to the US flight from Gatwick, an expensive hour's cab ride away.  There's always something, huh?<br />
<br />
It was good to get back to  Atlanta and I smiled and thought how things have changed in the world and what it means to be able to travel so freely to places Americans couldn't go at all.  While working in Czech I met two other MIG drivers, a retired General who flew the MIG-21 and an older gentleman that flew the MIG-17.  Both expansive, happy people who love fly.  I find them wherever I go ...  JF explained that he flew the French Mirage for the opposing team, but "He is not fighter anymore."  The General smiled and said "None of us are fighters now", which is as it should be.  We're more Builders and Seekers these days.  The luckiest of us are Finders, too.<br />
<br />
Copyright @ 2008 Greg Richter / IFR Music]]></description>
 <category>General</category>
<comments>http://gregrichter.com/blog/index.php?itemid=44</comments>
 <pubDate>Mon, 26 May 2008 13:06:41 -0500</pubDate>
</item><item>
 <title>Guacamole</title>
 <link>http://gregrichter.com/blog/index.php?itemid=40</link>
<description><![CDATA[Most of the recipes I've got for Guac are either too simple, too complex or just plain nasty.  I feel that you should be able to do anything with an avocado you want in the privacy or your own home.  Let's go!  Makes a big bowl of the stuff to pass around.<br />
<br />
Material:<br />
<br />
Six avocados<br />
Two limes<br />
Half a small onion, finely diced (about half a cup)<br />
Pickled jalapenos, chopped (about a quarter cup)<br />
1 teaspoon sugar (more if the limes are very acidic)<br />
A large handful of cilantro, chopped fine, no stems<br />
<br />
Procedure:<br />
<br />
Peel the avocados and mash with a potato masher, trying to leave a few pretty chunks here and there.  What we want is a rough-and-ready, chunky sort of look, not a uniform green splooge.  Mix in the other stuff, and toss two of the avocado pits on top to keep the stuff from turning brown in the 'fridge.  Yeah, it works.   <br />
<br />
The sugar, in case you're wondering, doesn't add enough sweetness to notice, but it DOES cut the acid from the limes and brings out the onion flavor.  Sneaky, huh?  Makes a huge difference.  Guac is MUCH better after sitting in the fridge for an hour or so.  Don't try to keep it overnight, though.  It get ugly in there.<br />
<br />
Variations:<br />
<br />
A tablespoon of finely chopped dried tomatoes adds color and interesting bite, and a little crushed red pepper never hurt anything.<br />
<br />
In case you don't know the Avocado Trick, here's how you peel one: With the avocado on the board, take your chef's knife and slide it in along what would be the equator all the way to the pit.  Rotate the avocado on the blade making a nice equatorial cut, then lever the knife up to push the top half off.  If you're really cool, you can take the pit out with the top half, all in one motion.  Easy, clean and it looks like you know what you're doing.<br />
<br />
Copyright 2007 Greg Richter / IFR Music]]></description>
 <category>Recipes</category>
<comments>http://gregrichter.com/blog/index.php?itemid=40</comments>
 <pubDate>Wed, 19 Dec 2007 13:27:36 -0600</pubDate>
</item><item>
 <title>Greg&apos;s Most Excellent Thai Adventure</title>
 <link>http://gregrichter.com/blog/index.php?itemid=39</link>
<description><![CDATA[Sawasdi! <br /> <br /> My bud Wayne lives in Phuket and I thought what a lovely place to go for a well-deserved bit of Rest and Reorganization.  Some things happened, some things didn't, and I once again returned to Atlanta only to find the place hadn't changed a bit.  So, here's some of it.  Not all, but some.  So come with me for a moment.  Let me tell you a story. <br /> <br /> Thailand is the original peaceful kingdom by the sea and Phuket is an island paradise with friendly people, awesome food and weather and scenery that makes Malibu look like Macon.  Really.  Here's the 'Bu, and here's Patong beach:<br /> <br /> <a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20071123-malibu small.jpg">The &#039;bu</a> <a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20071123-patong small.jpg">Patong beach</a><br /> <br /> Malibu may have the Porsches and Bentleys, but Phuket's got everything else.  To put it in the current American vernacular, Thailand ROCKS.  Everything is also so shockingly cheap you've got to constantly recalibrate your mind to the world in Baht.  A thousand Baht is roughly $35 US but, like poetry, prices don't make sense in translation:<br /> <br /> Breakfast for two, 175 Baht<br /> Two skewers of grilled something, 20 Baht<br /> An hour of Thai massage, 250 Baht<br /> Chivas nam, 150 Baht<br /> <br /> Saying breakfast was six bucks for the both of us, lunch was 70 cents and an hour of twisting, popping and squishing was ten bucks with tip just doesn't make sense, so I had to get comfy with what things cost in Baht, and tip by percentage.  Chivas nam, by the way, is Chivas Regal Scotch and water (nam).  At five bucks, this is no deal.  Anything brought into Thailand is subject to a withering import duty, but they don't have an income tax.  SWEET.  I'd rather pay more for imported Scotch and get all the good local stuff for cheap cheap.  Scotch I can get anywhere ...<br /> <br /> <br /> <strong>Wandering About</strong><br /> I don't want a tuk-tuk, suit or massage, thanks but no, and people are constantly hustling you for all of the above.  A polite wave is all it takes.  Never had anyone get even slightly aggressive but it IS a bit annoying to have to wave 'em off every ten meters.  Once you get used to _that_ silliness, Phuket is AWESOME.  Avoiding the cheap knock-off crap, local Thai shirts, silks and wood-carved products are all very good.  I picked up half a dozen nice shirts for about $10 bucks each.  Good eats abound at street vendors selling everything from fruit (incredibly good) to barbecued chicken (same) to fish balls (tasty, if mysterious)  My body may be a temple at home, but it's a full-up amusement park when I'm on vacation.  I ate the squid, the fish, the chicken, the sausage and whatever else they had out and available.  Fried rice, coconut curry, hell I even wokked my way through Thai culinary school.  This stuff is GOOD.  I avoided the tap water since I'm not a complete kamikaze, but everything else was just fine.  Don't worry about the ice, the tea, or even the iced tea, and if you haven't had Thai iced tea, try it.  Wonderful stuff without the cream they insist on using stateside.   My bud Wayne is a child of the American South and drinks American-style iced tea which the Thais wisely serve with sugar syrup.  There's an idea for ya' --instead of trying to dissolve sugar crystals in cold tea which ain't gonna happen, how about putting out a creamer of syrup that will?  Crafty, these Asians ...<br /> <br /> There's a BUNCH of places with iced fish, lobster and godzilla-size prawns on display at street level where you pick what you want, spec how you want it, and in about twenty minutes you're eating it.  Wayne's a vegetarian and he introduced me to vegetarianism in the early 80's, a path I followed for some 20-odd years.  I've since taken another path and relaxed a bit, but Wayne-O is still on the Green Wagon and watched in shock and awe as I munched my way across the landscape:<br /> <br /> &quot;Lobster's a freakin' bug, man!  They're bottom feeding fucking bugs!  Please tell me you're not gonna eat that shit?&quot;<br /> <br /> &quot;Damn skippy, dude.  Pass the prik nam pla.&quot;<br /> <br /> <a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20071126-Fish display small.jpg">Take yer pick</a><br /> <br /> Almost everything is Thailand is served with fermented fish sauce and chopped chilies (prik nam pla) and you'll be absolutely revolted by the smell of it.  Once you growl that back and actually taste it, you'll find out why sixty million Thai's eat it every day.  After a week in-country eating this stuff I was well on my way to developing a real substance abuse issue.  It's Good.  Very.  The best Nam Pla is made from prawns or anchovies, depending on your tastes.  I like 'em both, but you knew I would.  Thai food is simple, quick, and healthy if you  go easy on the coconut milk.  I haven't cooked much of it at home, but I'm gonna do it now.  French knife-work with Thai ingredients and Italian style.  Yeah, this kicks ass ...<br /> <br /> <a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20071123-chef greg small.jpg">You want Thai with that?</a><br /> <br /> <strong>Chivas nam / Nam Shiva</strong><br /> Paradoxes aabound on this trip, and I'll lay out just one of 'em:  Wayne spends a lot of his time at Sai Baba's ashram, and one of the things they do up there is Bhajan, singing the various names of God throughout the ages, he says.  Nam Shiva invokes Shiva, one of the Hindu trinity.  Chivas nam is Scotch and water at a bar in Patong.  Shiva is the destroyer aspect of God, according to the Hindus, and Chivas will do just about the same given the chance.  There's some serious industrial Truth here, but I was far out of my depth in grasping it, so I switched to drinking Russian Standard with a crew from St. Petersburg and made some cryptic notes for later meditation.  The Russians were cool as hell to party with, and I found out that Phuket is a premium destination for Europeans who pretty much own the place: Germans, Dutch, Swedes, Aussies, Russian Mafiya.  Rock on Stazi, wherever you are.  You people party like there gonna outlaw it tomorrow.  <br /> <br /> <a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20071126-banana club small.jpg">Banana club</a><br /> <br /> With absolutely no explanation offered, here's a pic of Wayne with an ape I sang with:<br /> <br /> <a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20071123-wayne orang.jpg">Wayne and his new girlfriend</a><br /> <br /> Here's him actually singing, although I didn't make it into the frame.  Yes, those are elephants.  Pratchett fans will note I didn't call him a monkey.<br /> <br /> <a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20071123-singing orang.jpg">Play that funky music, white boy ...</a><br /> <br /> A few more pics of why Phuket is such a righteous place:<br /> <br /> <a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20071123-boats patong small.jpg">Boats on the beach</a><br /> <br /> <a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20071123-doorway small.jpg">Doorway</a><br /> <br /> If you'll note in some of the pics, I'm sporting a sunburn that can only be described as AWESOME.  Wayne's head roasted, hat or no, and the tops of my feet got grilled through my Diesel sandals.  Phuket is pretty close to the equator and the sun there is much stronger (varying as cosine latitude in case you just HAD to know).  I swam, dove, attempted to surf a bit and generally just loved the place.  The beaches are mostly empty, and someone probably ought to tell the Euro girls to put their tops back on.  Trying, like the Thais, to be tolerant of other cultures I didn't think it was my place ...<br /> <br /> <br /> <strong>If you meet the Buddha on the road ...</strong><br /> Riding our bikes through the mountains, Wayne and I stumbled across several Buddhist shrines, temples, and ruins of both.  I had to stop in at a few, and ended up lighting incense and placing three wands each in front of four shrines.  I'm not sure what the tradition was, but the monks took it seriously so we did to.  We both prayed for enlightenment, prosperity and a somewhat lessened hangover.  Buddhist thought has a huge influence in Thailand, and I spent some of the evenings reading the Buddhist tracts you could pick up at the shrines and some of the material Wayne keeps lying about from his travels in India.  There's a lot of good thought here, and quite a lot of it resonates with my thinking: choose your own path, seek within.  How all this deep thought and wisdom can coexist side-by-side with the action in Patong is hard to grasp, but it certainly does.  Ah, mystical Asia.  I donated some Baht at one temple, and got the most elegant calligraphy carbon-copy receipt.  Sweet.<br /> <br /> <br /> <strong>Bikers on the Beach</strong><br /> Asia runs on old Diesels and small displacement motorcycle engines.  A  BIG bike there is 250cc, with most of them 125 or 150.  Gasoline is about 30 Baht a liter ($4 bucks a gallon) which isn't outrageous, but there's a lot to be said for not spending Big Baht on gas.  Considering that 300 Baht at the market gets you enough fruit, rice, vegetables and fish for two people to eat well for a week, 120 Baht for a gallon of fuel is a chunk of change.  The concept of Currency really hit me on this trip -- an egg costs about the same all over the world in terms of the hours of labor required to purchase one, but labor rates and costs vary wildly.  Wages are low in Thailand, but the cost of living is low too.  Rather than gold, or the fantasy of a fiat currency, I think I'd rather see the world on the egg standard.  You can't eat gold, and my US dollars dropped in value every day I was in-country.  I'd rather trade in eggs or, failing that, Euros that aren't plummeting in value every week. <br /> <br /> Back to the bikes.  Here's a typical parking area outside a shop in Patong:<br /> <br /> <a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20071123-bikes small.jpg">Bikers rule</a><br /> <br /> Nothing but bikes, and small displacement engines all.  Of course, there's still plenty of people Bringing It Old School:<br /> <br /> <a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20071123-bikes2 small.jpg">Bikes and old school dude</a><br /> <br /> I know I've mentioned the eggs more than once, but they're freakin' amazing.  Hard shells, orange yolks you can scramble with a spoon and flavor like I can't tell you.  Here's a few pics from Greg Goes to Thai Culinary:<br /> <br /> <a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20071123-curry paste small.jpg">Curry paste materials</a><br /> <a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20071123-damien doing old school curry.jpg">Damien crushing the curry</a><br /> <a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20071123-red and green curry.jpg">Red and green curry paste</a><br /> <br /> You know, I was halfway through eating lunch before I remembered to take a picture.  Pad Thai, Massaman curry with tofu, mixed rice.  Simple, fast and GOOD.<br /> <br /> <a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20071123-pad thai, massaman tofu.jpg">Pad thai, Massaman curry</a><br /> <br /> Sporting a serious sunburn, here I am in a small kitchen by the sea.  You know, if this only paid better ...<br /> <br /> <a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20071126-sunburned chef small.jpg">Sunburned and happy</a><br /> <br /> <br /> <strong>Why Delta Airlines Sucks</strong><br /> Since I was flying Business Class, I got to hang out in the Thai, China Air and EVA Air lounges which were nothing short of amazing.  A spread of food worthy of a cruise ship, free drinks (Chivas nam!), free Internet and a staff that was courteous enough to make you feel like, well, King of Siam.  Thai and EVA even had showers and a room for you to clean up.  Delta?  These guys are Third World.  The Delta Crown Room lounge at LAX was packed to standing room only, which they say isn't unusual.  The Dim Sum and Thai buffets of Asia became peanuts and coke at LAX, just like on board their sad little airline.  Even the ubiquitous free Internet connection costs ten bucks in the Delta lounge, although you can usually connect to one of the decent airlines free wireless networks.  Talk about Cheap!  Hey, I'm from Atlanta and it pains me to say it, but Delta has turned into Aeroflot.  OK, that may not be fair.  From my dealings with Russian biznessmen, I'd expect Aeroflot to be pretty deluxe these days. <br /> <br /> EVA Air was fantastic, Thai was outstanding.  Delta flat-out sucked.  Third world service, nickel-and-dime charges for things everyone else gives away, in-flight service featuring inedible plastic food and service that reminds me of scenes from <em>The Book Thief</em>.  Take the hint boys: get better FAST or you're gonna be history. Sawasdi, Delta, goodbye.<br /> <br /> <br /> <strong>Back To The Good Bits</strong><br /> <br /> <a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20071126-jungceylon shrine small.jpg">Jungceylon mall shrine</a><br /> <br /> There's a lot to be said for the Thais: they're tolerant, happy and very easy to get along with.  They're very happy to show you their language, their food, their culture and their beautiful country.  Mostly Buddhist, every building has a shrine outside which most Thais bow to, hands together, as they pass.  It's a nod to Thailand's animist origins, and they've got to be the most tolerant people I've ever seen:  Hindus, Buddists, Jews, Christians, Muslims and Sikhs all getting along.  They even put up with me and Wayne.<br /> <br /> Looking across the straits to Indonesia I think about the thirteen thousand islands I'll never have time to see and sit at the edge of some Great Truth that I'm not quite getting.  Watching the locals smiling and laughing and working so hard for very few Baht I think that, like Lao-tse, they've stopped worrying about the answer and have settled for asking better questions.  What's for dinner?  Where are we going?  What shall we do today?  It was good to come home to my woods and my mountains but equally wonderful to know there's still a peaceful kingdom by the sea and that they know there, for sure, the right questions to ask.<br /> <br /> Copyright 2007 Greg Richter / IFR Music]]></description>
 <category>General</category>
<comments>http://gregrichter.com/blog/index.php?itemid=39</comments>
 <pubDate>Mon, 26 Nov 2007 10:09:00 -0600</pubDate>
</item><item>
 <title>The Tub Redux</title>
 <link>http://gregrichter.com/blog/index.php?itemid=35</link>
<description><![CDATA[OK, so I mostly built a concrete Ofuro at Shoal Creek, and had gotten rather used to the whole idea of a nice, hot soak after a long day of helping loony airplane builders: <br />
<br />
"Dude, I've got an electric eel for a power supply, an RV-6 with forward-swept Cano winglets and 400 cycle inverters to run the wing-warping system."  Oh my Sweet Baby James ...  <br />
<br />
How about a nice hot soak and a Tasty Beverage?  So off to the local Hot Tub store to buy one ready-made and easy to install, right?<br />
<br />
Aw, c'mon.  Like there's any way I could buy something cheap and ready to go when a truly outrageous Goat of a project lurks right here in my own backyard.  That'd be like seeing some dude at the edge of the dance floor with a copy of Modern Bride in his hand, scanning the crowd for volunteers and not even asking WTF.  Some things you just can't let go ...<br />
<br />
So: <br />
<br />
As always, beginning involves concrete:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20071003-tubform.jpg">On the level and by the square ...</a><br />
<br />
A simple form, on the level and by the square as the Masons say, with steel tied per some ASTM spec that I looked up and promptly forgot.  We'll just skip the part about Cajun dog rolling in the 'crete, and me washing him off and using two bottles of conditioner to get him all happy again.  That hound ...<br />
<br />
Then:<br />
<br />
Since he was so helpful with the last project, I made a quick call to Art at <a href="http://www.almostheaven.net/aho/ahpsprcs.htm">Almost Heaven Spas</a>, and 500 pounds of CNC-machined Canadian Cedar appears at the house, looking a lot like this:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20071003-tubparts.jpg">Looks like a Falco kit</a><br />
<br />
Hey, this is a kit!  Precut and prefab.  Any yahoo can build it in a less than a day.  I figure since I've got all the right tools and precision measuring equipment it couldn't possibly take me more than three.  It ended up taking six hours and lots of precision tapping with the handle of a five-pound engineer's hammer.  Didn't want to dent the pretty woodwork, don'tcha know.  A double wrap of masking tape around the top kept the staves from falling in as I worked around the outside and, with the tension bands in place, "Houston, we've got a TANK".<br />
<br />
<a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20071005-tubtank.jpg">Look Cajun, a bathtub!</a><br />
<br />
The common wisdom with hot tubs suggests soaking in a puddle of Clorox until your Blonde friend's hair turns Elphaba green and my (only slightly) greying locks bleach white.  Keeps the bacteria out, and all.  Healthy, they say.  As usual, I had to give this a large Think before committing to parking my Heinie in some heavy duty solution chemistry.  <br />
<br />
A little research turned up a nifty ionizer that uses sacrificial electrodes (does that sound sinister, or what?) made of both silver and copper to kill the buggies, and an ozone generator to burn off the body oils, makeup, hair glorp, Botox and whatever else people slather themselves with these days.  Even olive oil.  Ah, yes ...<br />
<br />
Ozone is an O3 molecule of oxygen (the stuff we breathe is O2) and is highly reactive.  It literally burns up the spoogy bits while the ionizer keeps the water clean and crisp and bacteria free.  So far so good, and no nasty chlorine smell.  As you'd expect I added an automatic water make-up system, and a simple drain and drywell system to dump it all should I need to.  One thing I've learned in homebuilding is Plan For The Goat.  The day you need to drain and refill the whole tub is NOT the day to be hassling with siphons, kinked hoses and an inconvenient  lake of stinky water.  Consider it a hot ejection seat for the tub -- pull the handle and Wooosh it's all gone!<br />
<br />
Pumps and filters are standard COTS stuff (someone asked me where to get COTS-brand since I use it so much) and four trips to Lowe's turned up all the PVC pieces I needed and a potential flying bud and fellow biker.  Lowe's ROCKS.  Add a little deck around the outside, a pair of Yukatas on hooks for style points, and we're done.   Start to finish?  Six days of work in the evenings.  Not bad, even for a rank amateur.  Try it!  Like they say at Home Depot:  You can do it, we can laugh.  Good thing I had Bob Gray do the deck.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/media/1/20071013-Pic_0020.jpg">Decked and done</a><br />
<br />
The Ellijay Apple Festival opens next week which is a sure sign that the evenings will be getting cooler, and that I'll be needing my heavy jacket on the Moto Guzzi for the ride home from work.  I look forward to a season of crisp, starry mountain nights with wood fires and jazz, to which I can now add a well-deserved soak and a Tasty Beverage.  Come to think of it, I'm gonna do that right now ...<br />
<br />
Copyright 2007 Greg Richter / IFR Music]]></description>
 <category>General</category>
<comments>http://gregrichter.com/blog/index.php?itemid=35</comments>
 <pubDate>Sun, 14 Oct 2007 12:03:00 -0500</pubDate>
</item><item>
 <title>Old School</title>
 <link>http://gregrichter.com/blog/index.php?itemid=33</link>
<description><![CDATA[I write about relationships for the same reasons I write about flying: it's something I do, enjoy, and don't completely understand.  My flying is usually uneventful.  It's my relationships that tend to crash and burn and, if you've read much here, you'll see I do my best writing while completely heartbroken.  <a href="http://gregrichter.com/blog/index.php?itemid=22&amp;catid=2">A Bikers Tale</a>, for example.<br />
<br />
But this isn't a love story that stalls, spins and heads for the trees.  This is about my folks.  Mom and Dad in Augusta, headed for a 50th anniversary and still acting like kids on their third date hoping to get lucky.  I get my sense of optimism from them both, and I've got my dad's sense of humor, which I boosted off him somewhere in the early 70's.  He wasn't using it anyway, and didn't notice I made off with the damn thing until mid-1985.  I look like my mom.  Nearly exactly, down to our eyes and the space in my teeth.  We both cook and although she can draw and I can't, we both have musical leanings.  She plays the piano, I play the radio.  Hey, it's a skill ...<br />
<br />
So:<br />
<br />
How do people stay in love long enough to pay off a house?  Beats me, so I thought I'd ask.  Learning from your elders and all that.  I can almost hear the Old Man snickering but, hey, it's worth asking.  Not like I'm making any of this work, right?  So as you'd expect from anyone related to me, they told stories.  Stories from last week, stories from when Eisenhower was president, the Cuban Missile Crisis still off in the future somewhere.<br />
<br />
"Like the Suez Canal?" my Mom says, bringing up a scene that made my Dad actually snort with laughter.  "Yeah, wonder if she ever found it?"  Seems that my Dad was dating some chick who was actually named, appropriately enough, Dotty.  She wasn't sure who Nasser was or wasn't and where or what the Suez Canal might have been.  Those two names were, at the time and now in history, indelibly linked together.   Short version is my Mom blasted Dotty out of the running by not only knowing where this Arab Ditch was, but what Nasser's position was on it.  She had an Opinion too, and was willing to defend it.   Not a big deal in 2007, but in the 1950's this wasn't typical female behavior, I'm told, the whole Having Opinions thing.  The guy who later became my father was really taken with the whole deal, which brings up another Bookmark:<br />
<br />
He once quipped to my Mom that bookmarks are for Retards that can't look at the book, remember the page number and simply pick it up later, be it a few minutes or a few years later.  He laid this on thick enough that my Mom remembered page numbers for the better part of 40 years, and I even took to doing it since that's how I thought It Was Done.  Only last year did he confess in a cascade of laughter that this was some of his best, absolute pharmaceutical-grade bullshit.  He's been yanking out collective chains for decades, and never said a word!  My Mom busted him for using a bookmark and now, at 76, he figured it was time to let her in on the gag.  "I wondered how long you guys would keep up with this crap ... This is priceless."  He's right, that IS priceless.  Hell, I actually had my girlfriend doing it, thereby passing some of our best-quality family bullshit along to the next generation.  Fact is, I remember page numbers and don't use bookmarks to this day.  <br />
<br />
My Mom is convinced that it's this sort of joking and screwing around, laughing at old rivalries, playing long-standing jokes, generally being kind and good-natured about it all, that keeps them going.  My Mom is the family Ph.D, and she teaches on-line.  She's one of those endearing psych majors that don't try to figure you out so much as try to help you along.  There's a kindness there, and that's what I think keeps them holding hands long after the tube amplifiers got replaced by XM.  Hey, I've have my influence too.<br />
<br />
As I've noted elsewhere, it takes a much bigger man to negotiate and give, than it does to pick a fight he knows he can win.  What the folks show is that it's not about the winning.  It's about loving for the long haul, or the long flight, or the long run, or the long whatever.    They travel all over the world together, and watching my Dad open doors for my Mom shows he took the whole Love, Honor and Cherish thing seriously.  Which is as it should be and, yeah, that IS Old School.<br />
<br />
Copyright 2007  Greg Richter / IFR Music]]></description>
 <category>General</category>
<comments>http://gregrichter.com/blog/index.php?itemid=33</comments>
 <pubDate>Thu, 6 Sep 2007 21:58:19 -0500</pubDate>
</item>
  </channel>
</rss>
