,MNBVCXZ

I finally found the problem. Didn't Edison say that success is built on failure? Well, I failed multiple times yesterday to fix this keyboard. The map below is the bottom membrane of the keyboard. The bottom is the space bar and the next level was the one not working. Why? Well, see the screw hole in the bottom right hand corner? That had some rust on it and that rust affected the graphite or carbon circuit. That alone was a eureka moment for me huddled in my van with the wind blowing outside Churchill falls. But how to fix it? I videoed several attempts involving dielectric spark plug grease pencils and finally, in a stroke of genius and creativity that has my step a stone lighter than it was yesterday, I cut a piece of circuit from the redundant number pad and glued it over the damaged circuit only barely covering half the center dot since one half worked and the other was corrupt. But glue isn't a conductive, right? So I didn't glue the circuit, I only glued along the edge to keep the bridge in place, then I cut a piece of surgical rubber off a guitar wall hanger and glued that on top of the bridge so when I screwed it all together the rubber would press down and bridge the circuit. It was only that one dot that was bad. It's the one where the comma is and since that is where the rubber shim now sits sometimes the comma is stubborn and I'm not going to go back and fix it, dig?
Let this be recorded in the history of bush engineering as maybe the most delicate repair ever. Allen's transmission repair on his sailboat when an internal bolt sheared off in Panama still stands as the most labor intensive and complicated fix but I challenge anyone to fix a computer keyboard in wild Labrador with super glue, nose hair scissors and a guitar hanger.


Just because I can't get enough of seeing myself in print.



Yes, I know I'm not represented as Oggy Bleacher from the future but despite my rehearsals when it came down to the gun I could not say it. The whole point is to have it on video and this would require my getting the tripod out starting the camcorder and asking a reporter to hang out in the rain while I don my silk shirt and 70s polyester bell bottoms so I could state I'm from the future and looking for the arctic wolf. Not only would the reporter not hang around or give my mission actual coverage but she'd call the police and I wouldn't get anything on film. That's why this whole thing needed a cameraman so I didn't do it all myself but because the world is full of cowards and excuse makers who would rather sit in front of their computers and television watching spooks dance in shadow ecstasy I am alone in Labrador and the documentary on a time-traveler is nearly impossible to make at the same time as I am fixing computers.
I love typing again. My venomous resentment toward the world is so much easier to communicate with ten fingers than with the single letter entry method.