( NEW) Incongruous and Disconnected Thoughts V2.0
- Thread starter Highbank
- Start date
Sat my shelf back up, got some new 1/87 scale diecasts. The Logano car is a liquid chrome scheme. While I sat there adjusting them, had some ideas to do 1/87 customs. Charger and Challenger come to mind.
"The train standing on platform 16 is terminating here at Central. Please alight here for your Gordon service."
...
<after we've all collected our bags and belongings and got off the train>
...
"The train standing on platform 16 is your Gordon service."
You've made us all get off the train, so that you could close the doors for 30 seconds and then open them again, so we can get back the same train again? Huh?!
...
<after we've all collected our bags and belongings and got off the train>
...
"The train standing on platform 16 is your Gordon service."
You've made us all get off the train, so that you could close the doors for 30 seconds and then open them again, so we can get back the same train again? Huh?!
Working on getting slot car racing started around here again.
Last edited by a moderator:
Yep! It's a 4x16 4-lane HO oval, with comptuer timing. Shaped similar to Trenton, with an inverted dogleg.
Supercars and Channel 10 with the help of Fox Sports, have decided to give a giant two finger salute to free-to-air television in Australia. This is all that people will see on TenPlay every time that there is a Supercars race.
NASCAR gives us a full replay by about Thursday. Supercars gives us 8 minutes of highlights.
View attachment IMG_20200308_180409.jpg
Restrung. DAD. 34, 48, 62.
Black No.5 absolutely yells.
Six strings is three too many for a gitty.
Restrung. DAD. 34, 48, 62.
Black No.5 absolutely yells.
Six strings is three too many for a gitty.
From Shoutbox:
I have to say that mailing cake is not a very sensible policy. What if they leave it on the doorstep and it rains?
This is doomed to failure.
I have to say that mailing cake is not a very sensible policy. What if they leave it on the doorstep and it rains?
This is doomed to failure.
To everyone who thinks that they aren't that good at a thing. Why is that a problem?
I made a one string Spamjo out of a can of Spam, a bit of wood, a tuner, some rivet eyes, and a bulldog clip.
There's no prizes for not doing anything. There is however the prize of hilarity for tinkering about with stuff.
I have a Fender Strat and a pretty neat sounding acoustic; but the two guitars that everyone wants to hear are my three-string cigar box guitar and my Spamjo. They're not pretty but they have the most soul.
BUILD STUFF - MAKE STUFF - YEAH!
I made a one string Spamjo out of a can of Spam, a bit of wood, a tuner, some rivet eyes, and a bulldog clip.
There's no prizes for not doing anything. There is however the prize of hilarity for tinkering about with stuff.
I have a Fender Strat and a pretty neat sounding acoustic; but the two guitars that everyone wants to hear are my three-string cigar box guitar and my Spamjo. They're not pretty but they have the most soul.
BUILD STUFF - MAKE STUFF - YEAH!
I TALKED TO A MAN TODAY . . .
I talked with a man today, an 80+ year old man. I asked him if there was anything I can get him while this Corona virus scare was gripping America.
He simply smiled, looked away and said:
"Let me tell you what I need! [pause] I need to believe, at some point, this country my generation fought for [pause] I need to believe this nation we handed safely to our children and their children [pause] . . .
I need to know this generation will quit being a bunch of sissies . . . that they respect what they've been given . . . that they've earned what others sacrificed for."
I wasn't sure where the conversation was going or if it was going anywhere at all. So, I sat there, quietly observing.
"You know, I was a little boy during WWII. Those were scary days. We didn't know if we were going to be speaking English, German or Japanese at the end of the war. There was no certainty, no guarantees like Americans enjoy today.
And no home went without sacrifice or loss. Every house, up and down every street, had someone in harm's way. Maybe their Daddy was a soldier, maybe their son was a sailor, maybe it was an uncle. Sometimes it was the whole damn family . . . fathers, sons, uncles . . .
Having someone, you love, sent off to war . . . it wasn't less frightening than it is today. It was scary as Hell. If anything, it was more frightening. We didn't have battlefront news. We didn't have email or cellphones. You sent them away and you hoped...you prayed. You may not hear from them for months, if ever. Sometimes a mother was getting her son's letters the same day Dad was comforting her over their child's death.
And we sacrificed. You couldn't buy things. Everything was rationed. You were only allowed so much milk per month, only so much bread, toilet paper. EVERYTHING was restricted for the war effort. And what you weren't using, what you didn't need, things you threw away, they were saved and sorted for the war effort. My generation was the original recycling movement in America.
And we had viruses back then...serious viruses. Things like polio, measles, and such. It was nothing to walk to school and pass a house or two that was quarantined. We didn't shut down our schools. We didn't shut down our cities. We carried on, without masks, without hand sanitizer. And do you know what? We persevered. We overcame. We didn't attack our President, we came together. We rallied around the flag for the war. Thick or thin, we were in it to win. And we would lose more boys in an hour of combat than we lose in entire wars today."
He slowly looked away again. Maybe I saw a small tear in the corner of his eye. Then he continued:
"Today's kids don't know sacrifice. They think sacrifice is not having coverage on their phone while they freely drive across the country. Today's kids are selfish and spoiled. In my generation, we looked out for our elders. We helped out with single moms whose husbands were either at war or dead from war. Today's kids rush [to] the store, buying everything they can . . . no concern for anyone but themselves. It's shameful the way Americans behave these days. None of them deserve the sacrifices their granddads made.
So, no I don't need anything. I appreciate your offer but, I know I've been through worse things than this virus. But maybe I should be asking you, what can I do to help you? Do you have enough pop to get through this, enough steak? Will you be able to survive with 113 channels on your TV?"
I smiled, fighting back a tear of my own . . . now humbled by a man in his 80's. All I could do was thank him for the history lesson, leave my number for emergency and leave with my ego firmly tucked in my rear.
I talked to a man today. A real man. An American man from an era long gone and forgotten.
We will never understand the sacrifices. We will never fully earn their sacrifices. But we should work harder to learn about them . . . learn from them . . . . . to respect them.
I talked with a man today, an 80+ year old man. I asked him if there was anything I can get him while this Corona virus scare was gripping America.
He simply smiled, looked away and said:
"Let me tell you what I need! [pause] I need to believe, at some point, this country my generation fought for [pause] I need to believe this nation we handed safely to our children and their children [pause] . . .
I need to know this generation will quit being a bunch of sissies . . . that they respect what they've been given . . . that they've earned what others sacrificed for."
I wasn't sure where the conversation was going or if it was going anywhere at all. So, I sat there, quietly observing.
"You know, I was a little boy during WWII. Those were scary days. We didn't know if we were going to be speaking English, German or Japanese at the end of the war. There was no certainty, no guarantees like Americans enjoy today.
And no home went without sacrifice or loss. Every house, up and down every street, had someone in harm's way. Maybe their Daddy was a soldier, maybe their son was a sailor, maybe it was an uncle. Sometimes it was the whole damn family . . . fathers, sons, uncles . . .
Having someone, you love, sent off to war . . . it wasn't less frightening than it is today. It was scary as Hell. If anything, it was more frightening. We didn't have battlefront news. We didn't have email or cellphones. You sent them away and you hoped...you prayed. You may not hear from them for months, if ever. Sometimes a mother was getting her son's letters the same day Dad was comforting her over their child's death.
And we sacrificed. You couldn't buy things. Everything was rationed. You were only allowed so much milk per month, only so much bread, toilet paper. EVERYTHING was restricted for the war effort. And what you weren't using, what you didn't need, things you threw away, they were saved and sorted for the war effort. My generation was the original recycling movement in America.
And we had viruses back then...serious viruses. Things like polio, measles, and such. It was nothing to walk to school and pass a house or two that was quarantined. We didn't shut down our schools. We didn't shut down our cities. We carried on, without masks, without hand sanitizer. And do you know what? We persevered. We overcame. We didn't attack our President, we came together. We rallied around the flag for the war. Thick or thin, we were in it to win. And we would lose more boys in an hour of combat than we lose in entire wars today."
He slowly looked away again. Maybe I saw a small tear in the corner of his eye. Then he continued:
"Today's kids don't know sacrifice. They think sacrifice is not having coverage on their phone while they freely drive across the country. Today's kids are selfish and spoiled. In my generation, we looked out for our elders. We helped out with single moms whose husbands were either at war or dead from war. Today's kids rush [to] the store, buying everything they can . . . no concern for anyone but themselves. It's shameful the way Americans behave these days. None of them deserve the sacrifices their granddads made.
So, no I don't need anything. I appreciate your offer but, I know I've been through worse things than this virus. But maybe I should be asking you, what can I do to help you? Do you have enough pop to get through this, enough steak? Will you be able to survive with 113 channels on your TV?"
I smiled, fighting back a tear of my own . . . now humbled by a man in his 80's. All I could do was thank him for the history lesson, leave my number for emergency and leave with my ego firmly tucked in my rear.
I talked to a man today. A real man. An American man from an era long gone and forgotten.
We will never understand the sacrifices. We will never fully earn their sacrifices. But we should work harder to learn about them . . . learn from them . . . . . to respect them.
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