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The Portal

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  "Dude, In-N-Out is the fucking Bob Dylan of burger joints." "Bob Dylan?" Sanjay asked. "You know, like how people are all obsessed with Dylan? It's not that he isn't a talented songwriter—he absolutely is—but there's this whole fanboy subculture that's developed around him with an outsized impression of his talent and his contribution to the art form that no songwriter could ever hope to live up to. You see the parallels?" "I guess. I just thought In-N-Out sounded good. You got anything else in mind for lunch?" "I dunno," Colin said. "You pick something." "I think I just did." They both laughed. "Okay. I think I have an idea. It's not great, but we haven't been there in a while." * * * The house was a corner lot, perched on a hillside, with a commanding view of the town below. The only ranch style on a street of two-stories, its corner location in an affluent neighborhood unfortuna

Best. Activation. Ever.

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  Let's get this out of the way first. It was the most challenging Parks on the Air (POTA) activation I've ever done. Challenging to the point of unpleasant—dare I say, pain in the ass. For starters, it took an inordinate amount of time to find a combination of antenna and tuner setup that would get the SWR under 3. Once I got on the air, responses to my QRP CQs were slow in coming, so much so that I was facing the very real possibility that darkness or a dead battery would set in before I reached the requisite ten contacts. After a few contacts, I noticed that my lightweight, entry-level straight key that I take with me on backpack-portable activations felt funny. I took a closer look at the key and realized that a stress fracture had developed in the arm between the tension spring and the contacts. What was making my key return when I eased up between dots and dashes was not the tension spring, but the memory in the arm, its tendency to return to its original molded shape aft

Standing Watch

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 " PAN-PAN PAN-PAN PAN-PAN. This is sailing vessel SERENE HORIZON. I am taking on water about five miles outside Two Harbors and might need assistance." I barely had time to settle into my desk chair at United States Coast Guard Station Los Angeles/Long Beach. The latte that I grabbed on the way at Common Room Roasters is still nearly full. The scratch paper that I'll be taking notes on doesn't yet have a mark on it—at least not on the side that I'll be using. I'm using a couple of repurposed log sheets that I took to Dockweiler State Beach on my most recent Parks on the Air activation for scratch paper. The flip side of each sheet contains the call signs of twenty or so amateur radio stations that I worked the previous weekend. "Vessel in distress, this is COAST GUARD SECTOR LOS ANGELES. Say again your vessel name and the nature of your distress." I'm getting it all down—more neatly than I usually do—on an otherwise pristine sheet of scratch pa

Open Your Golden Gate

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Legend has it Francis Ford Coppola sometimes lets himself into the kitchen To make himself a pizza. There's a strip club across the street And an adult novelty shop next door. The pasta is sublime And the wine's not to shabby either. The hostess knows most of the customers by name. This is Old San Francisco. The San Francisco of Bullitt And Dirty Harry. Before the nouveaus showed up. When it wasn't called venture capital; It was just money.  We share a bottle of wine And a cannoli And go book shopping at City Lights.

An Open Letter

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  I'm pretty sure I saw you. My radio was set up, as it is so often, on a camp table in my parking space where I was doing a Parks on the Air (POTA) activation. I was right next to the boardwalk, on the beach that is the last bit of land between the airport and the Pacific Ocean, the beach that I've flown over countless times. You were out for a morning walk on the boardwalk, effectively doing the same thing I was doing: enjoying an early Sunday morning by the ocean. Neither of us could honestly say we were there for the peace and quiet—the roar of departing jets every couple of minutes removed that possibility—and so yes, I was speaking into my microphone at just a little above a conversational tone, calling CQ and phonetically identifying my station as whiskey six kilo sierra romeo. As you walked by, I smiled pleasantly and tried to make eye contact. Your non-verbal response was a little different. If looks could kill, I'd be silent key, everyone shaking their heads, sayi

RF Exposure

I'm not a lawyer. Or a physicist. Or even a real engineer. This isn't legal advice, or a step-by-step guide to how to perform your RF-safety evaluation. This is just one ham's story about something interesting that came up in the course of trying to make sure his station was safe.   Earlier this month, the FCC's new rules regarding the need for amateur radio operators to perform a radio frequency (RF) safety evaluation went into effect. The specifics of the regulations, their purpose, and how to comply is a topic that has been well covered by people who have expertise on those subjects. This article won't be a deep dive on any of that. Instead, I'll summarize by making three points Exposure of human tissue to RF energy results in energy transfer that has the potential to cause skin burns, eye injuries, and other adverse health effects Most amateur radio activity occurs on frequencies and at power levels where those adverse health effects are negligible Because o

Something Quite Peculiar

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What makes enigmatic music enigmatic One in a series that we'll have to see how it works out I must've come home late after a night of goofing off with my friends. There were a lot of late nights goofing off with my friends. Not yet ready for sleep, I flipped on the television and put on USA Network's Night Flight , an eclectic collection of short films, music videos, and cheesy old movies, all tied together by some cool  (for the time)  graphics depicting an aerial view of a nocturnal urban scene. On this early spring night in 1988, it was mostly music videos. The presenter was over the moon about a new (to her) Australian band who were sure to be the Next Big Thing.  Just four bars into the intro I found myself sharing in the presenter's enthusiasm. The key of A minor, but with a modal feel, an E minor seventh chord for the dominant rather than the more conventional E7. A bass line that never seemed to want to settle into root position. An unassuming vocal in a comfor