Lesson Learned - 7/11/12

On Yamaha trumpets that use a waterkey assembly where the saddle and nipple are integrated into the same piece, the distance between the saddle and nipple is different on the main tuning slide assembly and the 3rd slide assembly. In other words, you can't just take a MTS assembly, bend it to fit the curve of the 3rd slide crook, solder it on, and expect that the 3rd slide waterkey will fit on and properly cover the nipple. In reality the nipple will be just out of reach of the waterkey cork, though using a mushroom cork might fix that.


Have you figured out that I tried to do that very thing today? I didn't have any 3rd slide saddle/nipple assemblies, but I did have some for the main tuning slide, so I fit one to the 3rd slide, solderered it on, and only then realized that the 3rd slide waterkey was too short to reach the hole, and using a main tuning slide waterkey was ugly because the tail sticks out so far at such a weird angle. Through some careful bending I made the cork just b-a-r-e-l-y cover, but it wasn't a pretty job and I'm not especially proud of it. Although the saddle/nipple assembly did end up fitting nicely and soldered on quite neatly.

Lesson Learned - 7/10/12

I was going to write a post about something I've read about how a true man always keeps his composure and is in control of his emotions. This is something I try to keep in mind as I get frustrated at work, which always happens at least once a day to varying degrees. I was going to write about how well I've been doing with maintaining my composure under duress at work, then today I lost that control for a few minutes while battling a trumpet and let my emotions and language get away from me. It passed soon and I felt fine and got the instrument finished in fine fashion, but I should have been more aware of what I was doing when I started to get fed up so that I could take a step back and calm down.


Maybe I'll write more about it on another day when I'm feeling better.

Lesson Learned - 7/9/12

Today M and I both got in trouble by assuming that the other works like we do. Since we frequently help each other with projects or finish each other's work, this is a dangerous assumption to make. I got into trouble putting a trombone back together after Mike had taken it apart. The horn had an F attachment with ball joint linkage, and he left the linkage screw in the ball joint when taking it apart, so it was on the end of the trigger assembly.. The screw isn't held into the ball joint by anything – the screw threads into the stop arm. Without thinking, I picked up the trigger to put it back on the horn and promptly dropped the linkage screw. 5 minutes of searching later, I'd found it, but I wouldn't have lost that time if I'd been more observant when putting things back together. I always take the linkage screws out and drop them in a parts bin, precisely because I'm afraid of dropping them from the ball joint, but I shouldn't have assumed that Mike would do the same (although he helped me search for the screw and, realizing the frustration of the situation, will probably be a reformed man from now on). Mike got into trouble as well, putting together a trumpet that I'd taken apart. Maybe we should have each just finished our own projects. Anyway, he took the parts bin that held the valve stems and caps and started grabbing parts out of it to put the thing back together. He must usually mark the stems and caps to match them with their corresponding valves (not that there's usually any harm in mixing them up), which I do sometimes but didn't on this occasion. I just laid the parts carefully in order in the bin, 1 in front and 3 in back. Before I had a chance to tell him that, he'd already mixed up the parts as he searched for markings. He assumed I would have done the same thing he does (which, to be fair, I should have), and that assumption ended up totally negating my own organization system (but again, it kind of sucked in the first place).

When working so closely together, in a capacity where we often have to collaborate and finish each other's work, we can't afford to lose time by being careless and assuming things are set up in a certain way. When picking up another person's work, one must always remember what things can go wrong, even if we regularly take steps to prevent those eventualities in our own work. Giving a coworker the benefit of the doubt is necessary to maintain a respectful working environment, but being observant is equally important.

Lesson Learned - 7/6/12

Today's lesson is simple. Any Keilwerth saxophone stamped R.O.C. was made by Jupiter. These are all student model instruments, and I think they're all model number ST-90 regardless of size. You can't get parts for these from Buffet, which owns Keilwerth, but you can get them from Jupiter since the instruments they made for Keilwerth are pretty much identical to the Jupiter student line instruments.

Lesson Learned - 7/5/12

M and I frequently have problems with overexpanding flute head joint tenons. It's an especially frequent problem on Armstrongs, which have a pretty narrow diameter on the head joint tenon. Our shrinker is just a bit too big to properly shrink an Armstrong once it's overexpanded and that means we have to spend a lot of time lapping. The shrinker will grab then tenon, it just can't be closed far enough to press the diameter to a narrower size. Even with a tenon die that's supposedly sized to Armstrong head joints (.777” I think), I've still expanded a few head joints to the point that they don't fit, though I suspect that has more to do with problems in the socket.

Mike came up with a trick today, though, that seems to shrink these tenons a little bit when they're overexpanded, which at least makes for less time spent lapping. Like I said, the shrinker grabs the tenon tightly but just doesn't shrink far enough to permanently collapse the diameter. Mike put the shrinker on the tenon, then chucked it in a vise sideways (so the vise wasn't exerting any more shrinking force), then drew the tenon through the shrinker. It seems to have worked, and I think with a little paraffin added in to the mix for lubrication and space-filling, it could be a reasonably effective technique.

Lesson Learned - 7/3/12

Today's is another life lesson. While on our trip out west, Steph and I spend several days driving down the Pacific Coast Highway from Seattle to San Francisco. Along the way we listened to a few podcasts in the car, and I was particularly struck by an episode of The Nerdist featuring an interview with Rainn Wilson. The whole interview was over an hour, and I could hardly do it justice by trying to summarize it here, but the part of the discussion that stuck with me was Rainn's emphasis on the need to live in the moment. Here's a link to the podcast: http://www.nerdist.com/2010/10/nerdist-podcast-39-rainn-wilson/. I know that I am personally guilty of trying to live in the future, or less often the past. I constantly find myself whistfully thinking about leaving a particular moment, looking forward to something in the future that will surely be better than right now, and will bring me fulfillment and happiness. Then later, when that thing I've been looking forward to finally arrives, I'm still looking forward, excited for some other thing that I'm again certain will bring me contentment. I almost never stop and realize the absurdity of my mindset, of my whole condition, the state of being perpetually on the edge of climax and never being able to stop and appreciate the value of now.

Rainn Wilson made an excellent example of this flaw by pointing it out in how many people eat. We anticipate a meal, then anticipate the specific food we will eat, then anticipate that first bite. Our excitement becomes more and more focused until it's down to a single moment that we know will bring the joy that's always just out of reach. But almost instantaneously, as soon as we reach that moment, our brain shifts. We start looking forward to dessert, or the next drink, or happen after the meal, or maybe something further in the future. Suddenly the food is gone from the plate, the course is over, our stomachs are full, but we have at best a foggy recollection of the meal, of the tastes, the conversation, the atmosphere of the whole experience. We seem unable to even take the time to enjoy each bite or to take in the flavors of the food, even when that food has been something we've looked forward to. Maybe this is an American trait, a flaw in our desire to always improve our lives that ultimately causes us to never be happy with what we have, or perhaps it's a greater human trait. Whatever the case, it's something I'd like to work on, and the food thing seems like a good place to start. Lately, as I eat, I try to take a few bites and really savor them, analyze the flavors and textures, and appreciate the complexity of the food, what it took to get to me, and how many things had to conspire to lead to a single moment in which I bite, chew, and swallow. Inevitably when I do this I also try to internalize the entirety of that moment, not just the food, and take pause to envelope myself in all the trappings of that specific instance in time. It makes me slow down, sometimes just for a few minutes, and it seems a very good way of reminding myself that I must live the time I am in right now.

As Rainn said "Enjoy your burrito, America."

Lesson Learned - 7/2/12

Today's lesson isn't about BIR. It's more of a personal life lesson, or more accurately a lesson I'm trying to teach myself. BIR happens in my life, though, so it's really not that far off point, is it?

I returned on Sunday from a vacation with my fiance out west. While there we stopped in San Francisco for a couple of days, and during that time we went around the city with a friend of hers who I'll call Tori, because that's her name. My interaction with Tori had been limited in the four years that Steph and I have been together, mostly because she moved out to Florida shortly after we started dating, and then on to San Francisco. In the brief time I'd spent around her, though, I'd rather presumptuously formed an opinion of her that she was prone to flights of fancy and maybe even a bit self-absorbed. I guess I saw that she's the kind of person who does what feels right and what she wants to do, and I interpreted that as being inconsiderate. Of course, I was wrong about that, which became pretty plainly evident in the few hours we spent with her in San Francisco. I should have been more self-aware and realized before then that it was ridiculous of me to form a critical opinion of her with so little time spent together.

Beyond that, though, I realized that Tori had an important lesson to teach me. Beyond doing what is good for her, she seems to be uniquely at peace with others doing whatever is best for them. She sees people doing things that I might internalize and get upset over – little things, mostly – and just doesn't seem to care. Not that she's indifferent in a bad way, but the attitude she exudes is one of “you're doing what you do, and that is of no consequence to me.” Whereas I get angry when a person fails to use a turn signal, or drives by my apartment with their music too loud, or uses profanity in public, people like Tori see those same things and it doesn't even seem to register on their radar. Perhaps that's because she's so driven and focused on whatever thing she is doing in that moment that she doesn't have time to notice. Perhaps it's because she just knows how not to take things personally, especially when those things have nothing to do with her. I tend to have the opposite problem.

One could take Tori's lesson of acceptance to an extreme and not ever hold others responsible for their actions, but I can't see that type of indifference in her. One must be able to distinguish when the actions of a person directly affect us (or affect others) in an immediate and negative way, and when the actions of a person have no consequence. If they have no direct personal consequence, then there needs to be some other reason to intervene. Maybe to speak up on another's behalf, for instance. The point is to not take someone else's actions as a direct affront or sign of disrespect when they clearly arent't. That's something I've been guilty of a lot in the past.

Even when another's actions do directly affect me, there is a line to be drawn when holding someone responsible can serve a purpose (see 7/10 post), and when the effort of holding them responsible for something minute is greater than the impact one could hope to have by doing so. In other words, you need to pick your battles. And sometimes you need to not concern yourself with what others are doing, because if you got angry at everyone who you ever saw commit a wrong or break the rules, you'd either go hoarse or have a heart attack. It's a nuanced thing, knowing when to get upset and when not to, but I think a good rule is to remain calm and let things go more often than you get get to you, and save your energies for when you may actually need them.

Worry more about living your own life than about how others live theirs – that may be the best way to summarize what Tori taught me.