This big beast is a departure from the standard dial-and-knobs-on-front variety, which is one of the reasons I bought it. I was also drawn to the juxtaposition of the pseudo-deco/constructivist lettering on the dial and the sensuous curve on the top. The case was in perfect condition when I bought it, although it now features a 4″ crack on the right side thanks to my clumsy cat. It’s also one of the biggest bakelite sets I own by about 20%. It came with no back plate and no tubes, so I bought it on faith for $35 and saved up for the guts later. To my delight, after I got a set of tubes installed, it fired right up and sounds very good, although the reception isn’t as strong as some of the other sets I own.
This is someone’s quote for a “restoration” of an equivalent set ($110 is pricey in my opinion, for a handful of $5 capacitors.) According to this page, it originally sold (in 1946) for $28.85, and it’s one of 150,062 made. Here’s some more information.
This radio is actually wood, covered with something Philco called “Leatherette”. I understand many different versions of this model exist, including square cases, dark knobs, dark dial plastic, and versions with a handle on the top. I like this one best of all, because it’s got a streamlined appearance. I bought it for $40 at a time when that was a lot of money for me, but I couldn’t pass up the deal: this radio plugged in and worked, the leatherette is in immaculate shape, and the back is intact. And it sounds great.
This is a curious little radio I bought only a few years ago, because I enjoyed the lines. I don’t remember what I paid for it, but it was probably in the $30-40 range. It was manufactured by the Hardware Merchandising Corporation, and I understand it’s based on a 1947 or 1948 Crosley Model 58TL or a 57TL (via this site). I haven’t cleaned it up, turned it on, or done anything to it other than put it on a shelf, so it has a future date with some Brasso and a tube tester.
Regression Therapy.
I dare you not to sing along. Whoa. WARNING- Youtube link (via)
DIY Solar Power for $600.
Still out of my price range, but getting much closer. I like the idea of being able to power a laptop all day with this. I’d love to upgrade to a larger system, ’cause we have 8 hours of Southern exposure and a good-sized roof to work with… (via)
This is the first radio I ever bought. I found it in a funky little thrift store, in the annex room of a church, across the street from my apartment in college. It was dirty, and it smelled like cigars when it warmed up, but it’s one of the loudest and strongest of the radios I have. I bought it for $30 because I liked the idea of listening to the Big Band station that still existed here in Baltimore while I worked, and for that, it didn’t let me down. I’ve seen other variations on the model in stores here and there (most of them more attractive than this) but I have a sentimental attachment to this old beast, even though I don’t like the lines, the detailing, or the knobs. This radio makes me think of Lil Jon, not because it’s full of crunk juice, but because it’s all gold up in the grill.
This is one of a series of radios I rescued from a long-forgotten store in Fells Point called John’s Antiques. At the time they had a cavernous second floor filled with piles of old merchandise, arranged in some kind of organized fashion to be liquidated. I found, in a back room, a pile of radios covered in dust, and arranged to buy the best of the lot with the money I had. As I recall, there were three versions of this model, and I bought two because they were $20/apiece. This one cleaned up very well and has an excellent tone—warm and rich. Even though it seems to be a common design and plentiful on the market, I like this model’s lines because they remind me of an Alco FB-1, a common diesel train engine of that time.
Here’s a link to the wiring diagram, scanned into PDF format by a very thorough fellow.
I got the paper for my DIY light tent in this afternoon, finally, and after dinner I started assembling the frame. The roll of paper I got is 48″ wide, plenty big for shooting large objects, and I built a cage out of inexpensive lumber that measures 48″ wide by 36″ high by 48″ deep. There’s a plywood platform for the objects to sit on, and the paper hangs on a roll that’s part of the framework, so when it gets dirty, I just cut the bottom off and unroll some more. The diffusers are white bedsheets.
It took some time to set up the lights satisfactorally, and I’ll probably upgrade to something brighter than 60-watt bulbs, but in about 15 minutes I had decent shots lined up with Canon’s Remote Capture application.
My first subjects are the members of my tube radio collection, a hobby of mine that dates back to my first lean years out of college. I’ll start with one of my favorites, a Philco that dates to 1942. It’s smaller and more compact than the rest (although not the smallest) and the lines are beautiful and sleek. I’ll post more of a history of this set later (it’s 12:30 and I’m tired) but here’s a sneak peek:
I shot about 50 photos this evening. With some practice, and better lighting, this is going to work out well.
Update: WHOA.
I have these reoccurring dreams every couple of weeks, where I’m in a house that doesn’t look like my house, but I know it’s my house, and in order to get to the bedrooms upstairs, I have to crawl through incredibly convoluted passageways and tunnels that get progressively smaller and tighter. It’s kind of fun in a spelunking, let’s-explore-the-house kind of way, but also unnerving in a claustrophobic, poking-at-the-latent-fear sort of way. I don’t know what it means, or what my subconscious is trying to tell me, but I found myself living the dream at Port Discovery this weekend while following two preschool boys through a three-story jungle gym.
The chick at the front desk says that they encourage adults to explore with the kids (which makes sense, because the jungle gym spits out in different places on multiple floors, making it difficult to keep tabs on one’s children) but I suspect the guy who designed the jungle gym didn’t get that memo. Once you’ve crawled your 35-year-old body into the bowels of the gym—and let’s not kid ourselves here, the gym is the first thing you see after entering, sort of like a three story child vacuum—the twists and turns get progressively smaller and tighter, to the point where you’re simultaneously trying to keep up with your child, twist your body upside-down, avoid kicking somebody else’s kid who’s crawling directly behind your ass, and hoist yourself up through a hole the size of a toilet seat. Not for the faint of heart or weak of spine. The capper is that once your child has made it up two stories of vertebra-twisting rope and maze, there’s a freaking slide which ends up back down on the main floor. Jen and I quickly made the decision to play a zone defense, with her stationed at the bottom of the slide with the camera, and me in the second story of the gym to make sure our charges didn’t veer off to other sections of the building. (This was after two attempts at wedgie suicide following the boys down the slide.) This strategy proved wise, and we used it for the rest of the afternoon in various patterns—so successful, in fact, Jen helped another kid find his parents (who were still using obsolete man-to-man coverage and trapped somewhere in the cattle chute on Floor 2.)
Don’t get me wrong—it was fun, and that place is a good way to kill the better part of a morning until an hour and a half after naptime; I’m just saying from a personal-injury standpoint, there are a few places in the Gaping Maw Of Ropes And Piping that could be optimized for us parental units (or, stand-in parental units, as in our case.) Also, because it’s right outside the front door, you will not be able to get past the McDonald’s without a Happy Meal before you leave. They’ve got you coming and going, I’m afraid.
On the whole, our experience as stand-ins went very well. So well, in fact, that we wore those kids down to tired, cranky, crying nubbins by Saturday evening [puffs out chest.] A walk to the park, Port Discovery, a nap, some kite-flying in the park, and a trip to Opie’s for ice cream made it an all-American weekend. Plus, the boys got a younger brother in the bargain.
Sunday we contented ourselves with quiet, peaceful outdoor activities; Jen hit the garden and I started rehabbing the windows on the south side of the house, followed by Easter dinner on the grill and some cold beers. I can’t remember the last time I slept more soundly. And, I didn’t have any dreams about climbing in confined spaces, which was good.
Boards Of Canada Video.
Hm. Starts out interesting, and ends up a surf highlight reel. FYI, The footage in the beginning is of Col. Joe Kittinger, who made the highest-altitude parachute jump, in 1960, from 102,000 ft. (via)