When I was a freshman in college, I decided to build a pair of stereo speakers from scratch. With help from a book I bought, I learned the basic theory behind acoustics and drew up a checklist of parts required. While they were all available at the Radio Shack, I knew I wanted something made with more quality.
Looking through some audio magazines at the bookstore, I copied the addresses of the most local showrooms I could find, and then took the train down to New York City to visit every car audio shop on Canal Street to find a pair of 12″ bass speakers. With the spec sheet in hand, I did all the required calculations (yes, the guy who failed math in his junior year figured out algebra, proof that if one is motivated enough, miracles can happen) to get the correct dimensions for a speaker enclosure, and I cut the particle board by hand in my parents’ garage. Finding the correct tweeters was difficult, but not as difficult as finding the crossovers, little electrical capacitors that send the right frequency to the right speaker: this was before the internets, when we had to do shit like go to the library to look stuff up.
With a $8 soldering iron, several feet of dampening foam, and a cordless drill, I assembled the cabinets, sealed them up and plugged them into my amplifier. And to my surprise, they sounded good. Really good. It got so that I could crank them up to half my amp’s volume and they’d shake the windows without distorting—but, then, the speakers were built to lift the wheels of a car off the road. They came in handy for parties that way.
The only downside was that they are butt-ugly; unfinished particleboard is as aesthetically pleasing as wet cement. My hand-held circular sawing job now just looks like I hired a drunk to build them. So they sit in the basement, where Geneva has been using them as a scratching post (thankfully I have guards over the speaker cones). During the Great Flood, they got their toes wet and a permanent stain set in.
I saw this article on Toolmonger today about DIY speaker cabinets, and it made me think about my project again. I’ve wanted to buy some quality poplar and put my carpentry skills to use rebuilding the cabinets for some time now, but I’ve put it on the back burner. Perhaps after Thanksgiving, when I get the cabinet finished, I’ll take a weekend or two and show my speakers some love.
Ward Sutton takes on the deisgn of campaign logos in the New York Times. (via)
I’ve got a friend who has a lot of stuff. Before you tell me that you’ve got a lot of stuff, I should take a moment to describe the type of stuff I’m talking about: Surplus metal crates full of air tools. Ammunition in quantities I’ve not seen outside of a gun store. Welding generators. A fully refurbished, counterbalanced mount for a 50 caliber machine gun. 22″ CRT color monitors. Two Unimogs. Three years ago, he moved to the west coast, and last summer I helped him empty a warehouse and load a 20 foot box trailer. We needed an industrial forklift and several pallet jacks to move everything. He trailered the Unimogs separately and had them stored with the rest of his gear, somewhere in the wilds of Oregon.
Talking with him a few months ago, he casually mentioned that he’d sold the Unimogs on a whim—the right offer came along out of the blue, and he took it. Shocked, I asked him why he’d done it; after all, he had plenty of space to store them, he’d been talking about restoring them for years, and he’d already told me about his plans for them when he was done. “Made a snap decision the other week when someone showed an interest. Took too long to drive out to where they were; I wasn’t spending enough time enjoying them.”
This is also the guy who once told me, laughing, “Never get attached to any of your stuff. It’s just stuff.”
As he’s someone I respect and admire, I’ve tried to follow his example as much as I can in the last couple of years. I tend to hold on to things way too long, and I develop ridiculous ‘relationships’ with my stuff—as faithful readers of this here website know already. I’ve actually been pretty good about jettisoning some of my crap this year, inspired by his example and that of my wife, who is ruthless in culling the debris from her life.
With all that in mind, I made the decision a month ago to finally list the Scout on a few bulletin boards in an effort to sell it. The first few bites weren’t promising— a few online tire-kickers who didn’t read the parts that clearly stated “Does not run” and “Will need a new tub”. I had one acquaintance stop out to look at her, and he offered some money up as a parts truck. I was beginning to get discouraged, and started looking around for junk haulers in the local papers.
However, something odd just happened that reaffirmed my faith in serendipity. For reasons I can’t get into here right now (good ones, to be sure), the Scout will be going to a good home where it won’t get cut up for parts and left in a field.
→ This is a syndicated post from my Scout weblog. More info here.
This evening I stopped into the Forest Diner for a burger and a cup of coffee. There are fewer things I enjoy more than sitting at a counter and reading a paper with my dinner.
Jesus Christmas, I would have sold my everloving soul to Satan for this model when I was a kid. Some kook in Japan is building a model of the battleship Yamato in his living room, the ship that inspired my favorite show, Star Blazers. (via)
This afternoon, I decided to check out the Vespa I was threatening to buy a couple of weeks ago. In the time since I first saw it, it had been listed on eBay and failed to meet the reserve—which should have been the first hint.
The sales guy was helping some other folks outside, so I got some quality time alone with the scooter. It was quickly apparent that the photos on Craigslist did not really describe the condition that well. The chrome is all there, but the deck is bent on either side from several accidents. The “paint job” looks even worse in person than in the photos, and the previous owner decided to slap some dumb stickers over top of that. The seat only had a few rips, but there was a lot of rust evident in the bodylines and underneath the deck, and I’m not interested in battling rust again.
It was a nice dream, but I’m passing on this particular scooter. I’ll have to spend more money for a fixer-upper that’s got fewer fundamental problems, which is a lesson I’ve learned the hard way.
While I was out yesterday, I spied an older DeSoto sedan on the side of the road that I’ve been meaning to shoot for months now. Pulling a highly illegal U-turn, I stopped in and took pictures until the battery on my Canon died.
This particular model is a Fireflite, first released in 1955 as the flagship model, and cost $3,544 new. It’s a huge four-door sedan featuring a V-8 engine with a lever-controlled automatic transmission. With styling featuring a grille full of chrome and a beautiful hood ornament suggesting a pair of wings bent back in flight, DeSoto sold 114,765 of the model in 1955.
Unfortunately, the DeSoto name did not last beyond the 1960 model year, a victim of Chrysler’s machinations (it competed directly with the Dodge and Plymouth brands as a mid-priced offering) and the recession of 1958.
This afternoon I went out to take a look at a Kustom bass cabinet for sale down the street. Kustom was a company making musical amplifiers from the 60’s until the early 80’s, and their gear was known for its distinctive tuck-and-roll covering, as well as its powerful sound.
Built in Chanute, Kansas, The Bass 250 was available in black, blue, white, red, green, and silver flecked naugahyde, and put out 250 earth-shattering watts through two separate channels and a matching reflex ported cabinet (where a hole with a specially tuned tube increases the low-range frequency response). Unusual for their day, Kustom amplifiers all used solid state transistors when their competitors were still using tubes.
The seller fired the amp up after plugging in a keyboard, and he noodled around a bit while I tested out the controls. The amp shook my teeth at a volume of 2, so it’s a fair bet these go to eleven. The naugahyde is in fair shape, if not dirty, and the grille cloth is stained and has several small tears; the face of the amp head is suffering from some rust or water damage. And last but most importantly, while standing in front of the cabinet, I caught the distinct odor of cat pee. Further olifactory investigation was inconclusive—I couldn’t tell if the smell was from the big puffy amp or some of the other vintage gear laying around.
Am I considering this? You bet your ass. Do I know his asking price? yes, and it might be a little high. Some cash and a smile might change his mind…
Cricket legend seized in Pakistan. Listen to this NPR interview with Imran Khan from Monday—it’s the most damning description of our country’s misguided foreign policy I’ve heard in a long time. The more the US meddles with foreign countries, the more destabilized they become.