damn near thermionic content

I haven’t spent enough time on the actual topic of the blog, thermionic emissions.  This simply refers to vacuum tubes and the way they operate.

Two weeks back I attended a hamfest outside of Philly.  For the uninitiated, this is sort of an electronic flea market for radio, audio, and computer people.   It does not refer, in any way, to pig or pork products, even though that’s what my wife thought the first time I mentioned one.

What is alarming every now and then is to notice attendance dwindling, whether we’re talking about sellers or buyers.  This is a fun hobby for people  and you never know what you’ll find - from some ancient boatanchor of a radio to exactly that part you were looking for.  Maybe even some tubes.

I picked up a tube my friend asked me about but there was nothing that struck my fancy.  Nothing, that is, until I remembered something I `needed’ for a long time: a tube caddy.  The Department of Literal Translations would peg this as a very large car with tubes in it.  I don’t have a problem with this at all, as I love very large cars, but in this case I’m talking about a large case that tv repairmen used to carry around with all sorts of tubes and tools.

I have tubes coming out the wazoo.  And no, it isn’t anywhere near as painful as it sounds.  We stopped making tubes in the US many years ago because we weren’t using them.  It would be all but impossible to manufacture them today, due to EPA regulations (although I’m not sure which ones).  So we’re left with whatever is hiding in basements and what we can import, primarily from Russia.

I bought a lot of the tubes that I use so I ‘d have lots of spares.  Like a person with alzheimer’s, I kept buying certain ones, oblivious to the fact that I had bought more the day before.  I now have more of a certain preamp tube than I can possibly use in one amp in my lifetime.  Some people would be embarrassed.. I just say this means I need more amps that use that tube!  (I know, it’s like a woman buying shoes).

A little while after the tube caddy mysteriously popped into my head, I spotted a lone, aged red box at the end of one vendor’s table.  This was mine.  I asked what he wanted.  It was the princely sum of one dollar.  He stumbled over his words because he insisted it would be two dollars; one for the red one and one for the yellow one sitting next to it.  There was no way he was going to lug them both home.

Satisfied with my killer deal of the day, I lugged them home.   Now I have a proper place to organize them.  And I can use my ammo cases for something else, like to build tube amps in or yet another way to frighten the neighbors.  I haven’t been able to make the neighbors blink since I put sixty feet of slinky in the yard as an antenna.  The pressure to outdo myself is horrendous.

My wife was out of commission that day so she didn’t get to go with me.  In the approximately five years I’ve been going to hamfests, my wife has never been able to make this particular one.  It’s almost mystical in its implications.   In any case, she was most envious of my treasures.

At this point, you’re probably saying to yourself, “You sound like a loon.  You covet stuff that’s older than you are and you are all excited over a very old wood box with vinyl(?) covering and electronics logos on it.”  All I can say is that you had to be there.   Ask your wives and relatives about flea markets and yard sales.   My best friend’s wife practically furnished her new house with yard sale finds.  Nice ones.

So the wife has some pretty weird fetishes.   Her love of pens is legendary, as well as shoes and boxes and organizers (under the theory that if you buy enough organizers, you’ll become organized).  One tube caddy was more than enough for me, which left me with a spare.  You should have seen all the eyes poking out, peeking, and commenting on what a cool storage box that was.  Art supplies!  An organizer!

So I gave it to her.  What a happy crew.  And a pretty nice day all around.   Now my tubes will be organized in an authentic tube caddy.  This is the first (and no doubt last) proper organizational and visual storage item I have ever owned.  I’m not exactly color coordinated.  Or neat.  Or organized.  Or particularly pleasant to look at, but these are my better qualities.

After trudging around during morning hours that were best left to birds, I went down the road a piece (I always wanted to say that) to the Philly Guitar Show.  But that’s another blog entry…