Machinist

Just looking up some DIY medical procedures and then the unwanted AI goes off the rails.

Found this broken piece in the creek bank. Southwest Pennsylvania. Farmhouse was built in 1922. Coalmining country.

Would have been about 18" in diameter. There is a rough coating in the glaze on the inside and outside of the bowl section. Abrasive enough that I figure it served a mechanical purpose. There are three grooves on the rim that aren't symmetrical to each other.

There might be a makers mark in the center of the glaze inside but I can't make it out. There is also a light blue/green stain on the bottom that might be a mark.

Any ideas?

Celeb_pics appears to be some bot posting from whoischic.com. Cluttters up /all.

The electric PTO clutch on my 1969 mini tractor is dead and discontinued.

Original winding is aluminum 18 gauge. Manufacturer specs were 2.88ohms, 237 turns. The manufacturer specs didn't quite physically match what I found when I took apart the old clutch. If I understand this correctly, the 2.88ohms is the most important part and will pull 4.17 amps.

I just attempted a coil with 18 gauge copper magnet wire. I made it to the max dimensions I can get in the housing with a scramble wind. I'm getting 1.2 ohms, which would pull 10 amps or so. Not good.

Was able to get 187 feet given the resistance.

If I go with 20 gauge copper, assuming I can get 235 feet (1.26 * 187) and I should get 2.319 ohms. Probably get a little more than 235 feet and get the resistance up a little more.

What does this do to the strength of the magnetic field?

Would I be better off putting a power resistor in series with my 18 gauge coil?

Any advice greatly appreciated!

Another before:

It's green Vermont slate, figured out that it was originally painted black and marbled. Victorian thing, faux marble mantels. Fireplace is also Victorian faux, red brick, would have had logs and a red light. I'll be putting in a gas insert at some point.

Started at 220grit, and worked up to 1000. Finished with a 50/50 mix of boiled linseed oil and mineral spirits:

Didn't realize slate could be this pretty and figured:

So, I found this stone mantel behind the garage of the 100 year old house we just bought. It was mostly buried in the dirt. Fits our mantel perfect. Some sort of green stone. Was painted black at some point. I'm trying to strip the paint and want to refinish the stone. Area is southeast of Pittsburgh. Father of the man who built the house was an Italian stonemason that immigrated.

Don't think it's slate, has a tight grain and rings when you knock on it.

What kind of stone is this?

Cishet male. In no way do I mean offense or have I tried to take advantage of lower functioning individuals, that's just sick. Best I can figure, I'm a typical. Maybe I'm a little crazy; but who isn't.

During a discussion about my son's neurodivergency, I realized I have a 'type' of woman. (Son is technically stepson, but he's my boy.) I tend to be attracted to high functioning women that are on the spectrum.

I've been in four relationships with divergent women, three serious and two extended friends with benefits. I've been in two serious relationships with typical women. Many flings with typical women. Figure that's pretty statistically unlikely.

In my experience, divergent women tend to have a refreshing openness in communication. Painfully honest. Direct. They have some weird stuff that can be alternately cute and irritating. When sleeping they either don't like to snuggle or like being an octopus. (My preference is octopus but my wife only tolerates some side contact.) They like to discuss instead of argue. Sexually adventurous and willing to work for satisfaction. They prefer precision in statements. I find myself writing in an extended way that I don't engage in with other people and try and pay attention to grammar and punctuation. Pretty sure this doesn't apply to all women on the spectrum, just my 'type'.

I dunno, just a strange realization, especially at this stage of life. It's not a fetish, just something that has occurred.

Like this is hitting me real hard. I can feel the sadness and the fight. They're good boys and and don't deserve what's coming down. They have some good religion. I'd like to be like these men. We fight for the ones we love.

Xpost from casual conversations. Delete if it doesn't fit.

In the final stages of moving from the deep south to a northern state.

I used to run a shop under a corporation. Long story, but I integrated the shop, and built something beautiful. I had to use a temp service to do a lot of my hiring, I hired lots of black folks because they were undervalued and I could give them a good environment and pay. Was just starting to hire women. COVID and Qanon blew it the fuck up.

Tomorrow I'll be having lunch with two of my former crew. One of them is the only man I've ever called brother. He was my neighbor and best friend for years. I would have trusted him to help me hide a body. The other feller was a kind and gentle guy, had a bad divorce but was a teddy bear, was on the road back up.

They both went down the rabbit hole real bad.

I miss who they were and the shop we had. It was fucking jazz. I protected all of them from corporate. We made shit happen. I fought to get them more money and got fucked over myself.

I've lost my parents, my grandfather, my aunts and uncles and cousins to the insanity. Thank jeebus my grandmothers and one grandfather are dead.

Tomorrow I'm going to hug my brother and tell him goodbye. He isn't really my brother anymore. I don't trust him. I love him. He's not the man I knew.

It hurts a lot. It broke my heart.

In the final stages of moving from the deep south to a northern state.

I used to run a shop under a corporation. Long story, but I integrated the shop, and built something beautiful. I had to use a temp service to do a lot of my hiring, I hired lots of black folks because they were undervalued and I could give them a good environment and pay. Was just starting to hire women. COVID and Qanon blew it the fuck up.

Tomorrow I'll be having lunch with two of my former crew. One of them is the only man I've ever called brother. He was my neighbor and best friend for years. I would have trusted him to help me hide a body. The other feller was a kind and gentle guy, had a bad divorce but was a teddy bear, was on the road back up.

They both went down the rabbit hole real bad.

I miss who they were and the shop we had. It was fucking jazz. I protected all of them from corporate. We made shit happen. I fought to get them more money and got fucked over myself.

I've lost my parents, my grandfather, my aunts and uncles and cousins to the insanity. Thank jeebus my grandmothers and one grandfather are dead.

Tomorrow I'm going to hug my brother and tell him goodbye. He isn't really my brother anymore. I don't trust him. I love him. He's not the man I knew.

It hurts a lot. It broke my heart.

*Edit

Lunch was good but rough. My son got to see me cry for the first time, afterwards, so I guess that was good.

Then my closest former friend came over this evening. Texted my girl:

"Holy fuck. Joe has some sort of grandpa weed that he he'd be saving. I hit once and I'm all fucked up. They smoked a whole blunt. Then I learned about how taking ivermectin was a good preventative and that Susan is actually a Mayan priestess discovered through astral projection."

Have lived in the deep south my entire life. Things went really badly during 2020 and we realized we needed to get out. Started saving and preparing, our plan was to move before the next election.

We have bought a 1920's farmhouse that still has 9 acres. 100 year old apple trees, blueberries, vineyard. It's amazing. Part of the land is industrial zoned with power and I'm going to build my machine shop there. We got a steal of a deal, it would be a $500k house and land here.

I bought a '98 Chevy box truck. The boy and I will be making our second trip tomorrow.