One year ago today: November 14, 2014, lots of info.
Five years ago today: November 14, 2010, my birthday dinner.
Six years ago today: November 14, 2009, T-Rex omelet.
Nine years ago today: November 14, 2006, unresolved issues.
MORNING
You may have to go without this wonderfully addicting blog for a few days. All at once, or within a six hour period, the hard drive on this computer, the battery and charger on my ancient cell phone, and the mouse on the main computer all went bad. And this blog, sad to say, is not a priority. That back computer is XP, so I need to find compatible hardware and software, which isn’t getting any easier since computers are now sold at toy stores.
Lucky me, Big Lots had some old stock and I picked computer supplies. Good old USB mouses, no battery, powered by the cable. Man, I saw the gal of my dreams, but was well guarded by her mother and older sister. How closely guarded? Well, you don’t see a picture of her, do you. While talking women, I called Trent last evening and the guy was sound asleep. That means too much work and not enough play.
Hence, we are getting together today and I’ll see if I can introduce him to some gals. What? Hey, I know a lot of women, that is not any difficulty for me. How do I know one of these babes might not fall for a friend. Not every guy is like me and holding out for Ann Coulter. What? Sure I like Ann, and anybody who still looks great after all those years is age appropriate for me.
NOON
While uptown, I bought a selfie stick. I don’t even have a compatible camera and just wanted to know how they worked. I see, a switch connected to the headphone jack of proper design. That’s clever, The stick, not the concept, I mean, In my day, taking too many pictures of oneself was just as mentally unsound as now, but the average person at least tried to pretend they were normal. I’m aware the hipster mantra is to act like they don’t care, but in my dare, it was no act.
Here's picture of JZ at the seafood counter in Naples a few days ago. For the life of me I don't recall why I put this picture here, but it stays. While there is some doubt JZ could eat that many shellfish, there can be no doubt he would like to try.
And I just heard about the terror in Paris. Hey, while that’s a shame, it is pure proof that Liberals never learn their lesson. France has been letting in the non-European races since 1950 and now they will experience the outcome. These other races, for whatever their merit, do not have a two thousand year history of gradually granting each other the freedoms the white race finally came to recognize. And we all know how much people appreciate what they get for nothing.
One thing is certain, the Liberals will never accept the responsibility for these murders. France has, as a nation, been particularly sluggish in grasping what peril they are in. These immigrants do not want a better life, they want to destroy yours. To those who argue that there are placid individuals among the lot, I point out that even so, theirs is a culture which foments terrorism to the point where trusting the individual is practically suicide. They interpret any act of kindness as a weakness.
I know so much about the topic because, although nobody was killing anybody, I grew up in just such an atmosphere. Those who had nothing because they did nothing woke up one day with the ghastly realization their lifestyle and attitude had gotten then nowhere. They adopt the senseless point of view that those who have something must have done it while they weren’t looking. Why, if they’d only known the rules of the game, they falsely believe, they would have been the winners. They can’t turn back the clock, so catching up or parity is no longer good enough. Others must suffer.
Oh yes, I know that mindset and the early symptoms of that mindset, I can sense it beyond imagination. Europe will cease to exist unless they take harsh measures. But that means losing face, because look what they did to the last guy who took harsh measures.
As usual, the press is blaming everybody instead of directing the public on the individuals in the government who are responsible for these immigration policies. The politicians are already ducking the searchlight. The French President is already calling the attacks “unprecedented”. Nonsense, you bastard, you had it comin’. France has been asking for this kind of trouble for 65 years. Since Dien Bien Phu, the French don’t have victories any more. And now they can’t even afford their own Donald Trump. Like America, one will have to come along on his own.
Mark my words, the culprits will turn out to be home grown and well-known. Proof once again you cannot grant European-style rights to the world, their traditions don’t allow for it. We let these people study nuclear physics in our universities, and they have found out, like Europe at the fall of the Roman Empire, building frightful weapons is a hell of a lot more fun than camel herding. Now, because you cannot learn the lessons, they will do to you what you did to them, and round she goes.
It’s time to repeat the joke about the new French tank. It has a loudspeaker than can say “I surrender!” in ten languages. And six of them are now Arabic.
AFTERNOON
Ah, a quiet time, just me and some instant coffee. What, instant? Yes, I got a taste for it when traveling in the far east, where often that is the only coffee you can get. For years now, I don’t make a whole pot at home because I have coffee at the bakery every morning. There is good reason to think those who don’t like instant coffee don’t know how to make it right. Hint, most of the time they are making it too strong. Instant coffee is not meant to be that way. If it smells acrid or bitter, it is.
EVENING
Trent & I met up at the beach, in this instance, Hollywood Beach. Our lady friend canceled her gig due to a whipping 35 mph wind coming off the Atlantic. It was tepid, so not uncomfortable, but I put on a jacket. First stop, the Walkabout, from where we decided to tour the Margaritaville resort, a little over a mile to the south. Quite the hike for me, but on the way, who do run across playing the Riptide but good old Johnny D. The traveling troubadour. That’s the thing, I thought he had left town.
I instantly like the new resort. For some reason, I kept thinking of it as a gambling joint, but it isn’t. (The Bossier City location is a casino.) Instead it is a hotel with all the amenities. Consider it a portent of what the city has in mind for that entire area. Right now, the majority of the waterfront is tiny motels and apartments. Most of the area is still residential, looking like the 1960s. The downtown bureaucrats must be in agony over that. Imagine, those insolent people going to live when they knew darn well the land could be used for hotels so expensive nobody could live there.
Margaritaville is upscale, what the columnists would describe as “well-appointed”. It is landscaped to look like Hawaii and we saw six restaurants or clubs, all on the ocean side. Very nice, my kind of place. And not bad prices, really. You can usually rule-of-thumb it by the cost of a bottle of Budweiser. (That’s Budweiser, not that dreaded “Bud Lite”, which isn’t even beer as far as I’m concerned.)
This photo-like rendering is accurate. This shows the “back” of the hotel, facing the Atlantic on the left. Note the refurbished beach walk, called “the broadwalk”. The structure on the beach at extreme right is the Hollywood bandshell. At left the lighthouse structure has a small balcony on the second level, where the most delectable of the woman in the place was trifling with some rich boys as I struggle not to stare at her upper thighs. The grounds are landscaped, even a fake waterfall. That’s Ft. Lauderdale on the horizon and the Walkabout tiki bar is at the far end of the Broadwalk.
Earlier in the day, Jimmy Buffet had showed up in person, I saw only the aftermath. The operation is still new, so you had plenty of posers and BPs (beautiful people) strolling around. Nice looking women, or what, that is my kind of place. It drew the yacht crowd despite the fact there is no mooring or piers unless you go back inland to the waterway. It was amusing to see the ultra-rich slumming it, but best of all were those women. You know the expression: nice rich girls don’t get tattoos. Or need to.
The advertising says there is lots to see and do, and you bet your tush every last square millimeter of the property is designed to extract your dollar. The blurb says the rooms have a 42-inch TV and Internet to keep you connected. Question—how do you “get away from it all” with things like that in your hotel room? (I’m aware that hotel operators often put useless features in the rooms to avoid “low price guaranty claims”. Why, the other room didn’t have a free ice bucket, you see.)
They also make it difficult to find out what a room actually costs until you book into the place. I suspect few people book two rooms at different hotels to compare prices. Either way, your cheeseburger in paradise is going to set you back at least $200 per night. Plus any taxes they tack on, taxes that hotel guests were never asked if they wanted in the first place. The premises is nice, but American-style nice, you know, the very finest plastic.
What I could not find was a small lounge bar, but the resort is not really fully open yet. We stopped at the Landshark, and Chills, but these are yuge (not a typo) Canadian-style beer-drinking emporiums. Hundreds of tables and chairs. Most surprising and unexpected aspect of the place: an almost complete lack of old people. Very youth oriented. And only three miles from my place.
Last Laugh
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