Communal Space.

One of the many weblogs I scan daily is Freelance Switch, which has all manner of helpful hints and information for the sole proprietor, small business owner, and hired gun. One recent article that caught my attention was about a group of Philadelphia free agents who essentially banded together to create a communal design space, called Independents Hall. The inspirational part, for me, was the story of the guy who saw a need to create a community, and went out and did it. The paragraph explaining how he got people involved is a case study for building interest in, well, anything, really:

“I started with going to all these different meet-up groups and finding ways to bring them together and cross-pollinate them. I did that sort of physical outreach and then started a mailing list, which was just a place for people to converse about…whatever. It didn’t really matter to me at the time. As long as they were talking, it was good,” he says. Soon, Hillman and some friends and colleagues started face-to-face events of their own…

…The first meeting consisted of four brave souls who came out in the middle of a snowstorm. The next one was a little bit bigger, and the next one even bigger. It kept snowballing from there says Hillman. “That whole visibility thing was finally starting to go somewhere, and people said ‘whoa I had no idea how much stuff was going on in Philadelphia. I had no idea that my neighbor was doing x-y-z,’ and I thought, ‘finally, people are getting this.’”

On a related topic, I’ve often thought it would be great to share part of the house here with other freelancers in the area, or find a cheap space to rent, fill it with tables, haul in a printer or two, set up a wireless network, and put the word out. I imagine, like any other community-building exercise, it would be taxing to be the glue and the energy, but I bet the underlying guidelines would be much the same as other successful online communities, only with flesh-and-blood people and not screen names.

Wayback Machine.

I have a new friend sitting on my desk this week: a working Powerbook 160. I don’t know why this particular model struck my fancy—I suppose it was always something I wished I could afford back in my poverty days. Manufactured in 1992, it originally listed for $2,430, or about two months’ salary at the time. Last week, it cost me $10 in postage and a DOA powerbook gathering dust on my shelf.

It’s not small. It doesn’t have a battery, and still weighs quite a bit. The screen is tiny. But it feels solid—something my fancy color 520 never did. It boots up in about 10 seconds, running System 7.1. The keyboard is springy and tight. The trackball (remember those?) is smooth and fast.

There are applications for modern Macs which are supposed to aid in productivity—going so far as to black out the entire screen so that the writer isn’t tempted to check email, surf the internet, etc. My solution? I installed a copy of Word 5.1 and was writing within minutes. I can’t get the machine on the internet without a dial-up account and a lot of patience, so there’s no temptation to fool around reading the IMDB. I’ve already used it to produce some writing for work, which means it’s paid for itself already. Sometimes the simple solutions really are the best ones.

More Progress (Plumbing Division).

This afternoon, we’ve got two nice fellows down in the basement wrestling part of our heating situation back into submission, which will increase the standard of living at the Lockardugan Compound. When the good Doctor expanded his waiting room outwards to the enclosed front porch, he moved the radiator from the dining room out there so that his patients wouldn’t freeze while thumbing through Reader’s Digests. Because the whole porch is so poorly insulated, any heat released out there immediately gets sucked outside, requiring the boiler to be run at dangerously expensive temperatures. Our first year here, I turned the valves out there down to 0 and waited until we could afford to make changes, but it always annoyed me to know we were heating the front yard.

Additionally, when we gutted the kitchen, we made a decision to remove the radiator there to make room for more cabinetry. The upshot of this decision was that there was no heat on the west side of the first floor last winter, which made entertaining (and cooking) a chilly prospect.

This is the first of many steps to reclaim the front porch for a habitable space within the house—we have dreams of using the reception room and office for another usable living space, as well as the exam room for a TV room/den. Having the radiator moved back inside will not be cheap, but I think that in the long run it will make the first floor a better place to live, and it’s great to make a little forward movement.

Come In, We’re Open

The Mobile Chapel is parked at a rest stop in southern Pennsylvania, and it’s open for business at 6:30 on a Monday evening.

GTO

A beautiful Pontiac conveniently parked aross the street from my parents’ house yesterday afternoon.

gray window

Monarch

Taken in my father’s garden, upstate New York.

Afternoon with a Hudson.

I have a client inside the beltway who I have to visit from time to time. On the way there, I’ve spied a beautiful green touring car of 20′s vintage sitting in a nondescript gas station parking lot through sun, rain, and snow. On my way back from a meeting, I finally stopped to shoot some viewfinder pics of the car, and found it to be a Hudson sedan in reasonably good shape. At this point in time, I’m stopping to shoot every interesting car over 30 years old because of the ravages of Eastern winters on pre-undercoated and galvanized bodywork. This particular car looks like it was treated to a comprehensive overhaul sometime in the last ten years, and then left to its own fate outside in the elements. A grand car like this deserves to be stored in a climate-controlled garage, and then packed each weekend with suitcases, a picnic lunch, and a family, and then driven to scenic destinations—in other words, loved and used. It pains me to see rust bubbles on the sills of the running boards and spiderweb cracks in the chrome on a survivor as proud and dignified as this, because I’d hate to see it deteriorate past the point of restoration.

From Detroit Michigan, U.S.A. And don’t you forget it.

Even the accessories on this car have class. I could remove this from the car and use it for a high-class doorknob on the front of my house.

I love the green of the car contrasted with the red license plate.

This is a wee little running light right below the base of the windshield, about the size of a baby’s fist.

There’s only one brake light, high on the left side, about the size of a baseball. Don’t tailgate!

Again, almost the full address is printed on the hub. That’s pride.

This entry will be dead in a month

Gulp! DAMN. (1931 Ford Model A Coupe, with a bunch of good parts, in Baltimore.)

Credit Freeze information

File this one under “What-if:” TransUnion is now offering credit freezes immediately for a fee of $10. The way I understand it, a credit freeze blocks access to one’s credit report and score, making it impossible for an identity thief to open accounts in someone else’s name. The other two credit rating companies have not changed their policies yet. Here’s a page with info for each state, and here’s the Maryland information. (via)

Undercover

Undercover is a $49 MacBook utility that aids in recovery if the laptop is stolen. If the stories on the website are to be believed, the company is pretty involved in the recovery process—I wonder what customer service will be like with multiple thousands of stolen laptops. Related: Setting up firmware password protection via Apple.

US Route 40

Interesting. From an entirely different post on another weblog, I found a link to the Wikipedia entry on US Route 40, which (back in the day) used to connect Atlantic City with San Francisco. I left a comment about making a road trip out of this route, and I think the idea merits further investigation.

Sunday afternoon

This sunday we prevailed upon Jen’s sister and her boyfriend to help us with a little outdoor project. I’ve been wanting to get our woodpile up off the ground and split ever since we felled the tree, and we finally rented a hydraulic splitter to take care of it all this weekend.

The first thing we needed was a new cradle to store it in, so I built one out of pressure-treated lumber.

Meanwhile, Jen disassembled the old pile and got it ready for splitting.

With four people, we made pretty short work of the job. All the huge stump-sized hulks are now fireplace-sized bits, we have a full stack stored six inches off the ground, another pile stored under the porch, and we gave some to our neighbor as a show of goodwill. Addendum: According to this site, a cord of wood is 8′ x 4′ x 4′, or 128 cubic feet. The cradle I built is 12′ x 4′ x 2′, or about 96 cubic feet. Adding the pile under the porch, I’d say we split a cord of wood yesterday.

Of course, it’s hard to get manual labor without some kind of bribe, and in this case it was beer and a homemade dinner of brisket, fresh corn, mashed potatoes, cornbread, and stuffed jalapeno peppers from our garden, in front of a roaring fire. MMMM, home cooking and woodsmoke.

Skills Every Man Should Know.

Popular Mechanics recently published a list of 25 things that every man should know how to do, and this made me think back to a conversation I had with Jen about her skydiving experience and things we’d like to do before we die. She asked me what was on my list, and I could only think of a few things in the moment, which kind of disturbed me. I know I’ve got a bunch of things I still want to learn to do and experience, and I’ve crossed a couple off the last couple of years, but I haven’t edited The List in a long time. So I’m going to come up with the 2007 version this week and post it here.

In the meantime, I reviewed the Popular Mechanics list and noted what I’ve done and what I’ve not done, for your enjoyment:

1. Patch a radiator hose

I did this in the Scout with a couple of spare hose clamps and some duct tape until I could limp to a Wal-Mart and get a fixit kit. That was a white-knuckle ride home, lemme tell you (the spare was in my basement).

2. Protect your computer

Um, duh.

3. Rescue a boater who has capsized

If righting an overturned canoe counts here, I’ve had plenty of experience. If we’re talking about a big cabin cruiser, I’m throwing ‘em a life jacket and calling the Coast Guard.

4. Frame a wall

Done it, several times, over wood and concrete. Concrete is a pain in the ass.

5. Retouch digital photos

Are you kidding?

6. Back up a trailer

I actually did this today in the Jeep. I’ve also done it in a Ford F350 stakebody with no rear visibility on a county highway. Big fun.

7. Build a campfire

Come on. I smelled like woodsmoke every day from the ages of 11 to 16.

8. Fix a dead outlet

Heh, I got a whole house to show you. I also have the remains of a circa 1935 two-prong bakelite outlet which crumbled in my hands as I pulled it from the wall.

9. Navigate with a map and compass

This one is on my list. I have an idea of how it works, but I’d like to get educated.

10. Use a torque wrench

Another one on my list. I know how it works and what the theory is, but I’ve never used one myself.

11. Sharpen a knife

I’ve done this poorly several times, but I know how it’s supposed to work. I’m assuming one needs to practice.

12. Perform CPR

I want to take a class in this. Never done it.

13. Fillet a fish

No, I’ve never fileted a fish. I’d like to learn how.

14. Maneuver a car out of a skid

I can both bust the rear tires loose and get them back under me again.

15. Get a car unstuck

Which do you prefer, snow, mud or sand? I’ve dug out more cars from the snow than I care to remember, and unslogged the Scout from both muddy fields and Assateague sand. Given the choice, I prefer snow.

16. Back up data

Do it every week. Don’t you?

17. Paint a room

If I had a nickel for every room I’ve painted, I could put myself through grad school.

18. Mix concrete

Done this a bit; I even got my future wife to mix it with me, bless her heart.

19. Clean a bolt-action rifle

I don’t know how to do this, but I very much want to learn. Also a revolver and an automatic.

20. Change oil and filter

Yep. A VW bus, Nissan Sentra, Mazda pickup, Honda CRX, the Scout, and the Tortoise. I’ve never changed the Jeep’s oil, though.

21. Hook up an HDTV

*sniff* I don’t own one, but I’d like to practice.

22. Bleed brakes

I did this once, reading from a shop manual, and was very nervous about it. But I’m still alive, and the car stopped when I told it to.

23. Paddle a canoe

Yep, I’ve done this quite a bit too, and sunk them as well (see above). I’d like to own my own canoe someday, too.

24. Fix a bike flat

Many flats been changed, both in the woods and in the city.

25. Extend your wireless network

Is this for real? I can think of so many other things that are more important than this. For example:

What have I missed?

The Smell of Change

There’s a certain scent in the air today. It’s something I associate with the age of ten or eleven, when I lived in a big house in the Connecticut woods and spent most of my time outside exploring. At the time I had a fascination with hunting, the army, the woods, and survival in the elements, so I built forts and bunkers and tree stands with my buddies, who shared the same interests I did (and who also lived on multi-acre plots of land like us.)

We’d stay out in the woods until the sun got low and filtered through the low-hanging leaves, and the temperature would drop, bringing out a particular earthy fragrance from the forest floor: The rich, loamy smell of leaves, heated and cooled, mixed with rich, moist earth, and a touch of fresh-cut grass, signalling the shortening days and cooler nights of fall just around the corner. It usually meant we were wearing jackets and jeans instead of shorts, school was back in session (so we were ducking schoolwork as long as we could) and we stayed out of the wetlands so we wouldn’t freeze as the sun went down.

Around the time dusk fell and we smelled woodsmoke through the trees, which meant that parents were home and settling in for the evening, we’d gather up our gear and say our goodbyes, then scatter our separate ways on well-worn paths through the forest. Days like this make me think of that brief, magical time of my life when afternoons lasted forever, Intellivision was my religion, Duran Duran were the biggest thing on the radio, my three best friends lived within walking distance, and the world was ours to explore.

Ghost Fleet of Mallows Bay

From Metafilter this morning: An excellent post about the Ghost Fleet of Mallows Bay, which is the largest concentration of wooden steamship wrecks in this hemisphere. Here’s the history behind it—some things never change.

Buran

Tweaking my dual interest for airplanes and abandoned equipment, here are some photos of the Soviet space shuttle Buran, abandoned since 1989 at the Baikonur cosmodrome in Siberia. Here’s a little more on the subject. (via)

Galaxie 500

A boxy mid-60′s Ford spied at the gas station on rt. 40 yesterday. It was gone this morning.

Lunchtime

After shooting the Buick on friday, I stopped in at the Forest Diner on rt. 40 for a burger and some photos. The food isn’t the best in the land, and I can do without the preponderance of Betty Boop statuary, but I’m a sucker for lunch at a stool in an original Silk City diner car. Plus, the local diner chain™ is parked right next door, and I like to boycott their bland food whenever I can.

Hula Buick

On the way out to Ellicott City, I spied a green ’50 or ’51 Buick Special by the side of the road with a ‘For sale’ sign in the window. Along with my recent resolution to get off my ass and write more, I’ve been trying to be more regular about photography, and again it paid off: I had my camera with me and filled a memory card with pictures.