One year ago today: February 23, 2015, I hack College Humor.
Five years ago today: February 23, 2011, bees prefer stupid.
Nine years ago today: February 23, 2007, 40¢ and self-published.
Random years ago today: February 23, 2009, mostly concerning music.
MORNING
The books are done [for the trip]. Other than what JZ spent on his own, this trip to the interior cost $164.00. That includes $51.45 for gas, $27.00 for food, and $35.00 I spent at Goodwill. We split the motel, but otherwise, it was a no frills trip. I may make the next trip in the cPod camper, since I want to systematically comb the entire stretch between Brandon and Kissimmee. Travel costs other than gas on the cPod are trivial. Meals and gas. Hey, that sounded funny.
We’ll consider anything to get us established over there and this picture is a defunct plumbing supply office. Too bad it is zoned industrial and the seller wants ten times what it is worth. Sure, I’d live there, just get rid of that parking lot and put in some lawn. With a gazebo. Everybody like a gazebo.
This drew me away from my plan to spend the day at home with a book. You can pull up Trulia.com and look at the same properties by just setting your upper price limit below $36,000. Unlike a lot of America, you’ll quickly find there are no vast farming or wilderness areas with old farmhouses or barns. Miles of farms with no houses, not even a storage shed. Crops I don’t recognize.
Knight’s Tour.
NOON
Trent came by and we got up to MAE, a music store in Ft. Lauderdale with a ton of guitars. It’s a far more active music store than Guitar Center and that means you can bargain better. Trent is in with the owners so we got to sample everything. For the first time in my life, I punched a few notes on a stand-up bass. I was right, those things are massive pigs that contribute little to the art of bass playing other than looking cool the sort that consider themselves aficionados. Or something like that.
I was at the motorcycle shop, caught in the rain for a few hours. With a rather odd-looking saleslady, the sort that is pretty enough as long as you allow her that extra hour in the morning. It was an interesting encounter, but there isn’t much you can get away with in a repair shop full of men. By the time we decided getting together was probably a good idea, she had to head back to her office and I was late for supper. She was selling those newish chip credit card readers. The next layer of entrapment.
EVENING
And I must begin giving credit to Mel, the lady who has been helping immensely with the real estate searches. A former paralegal, she is a whiz at uncovering all manner of deep information on the properties before I schedule an inspection. It has become indispensible to know someone like that, I’ve learned. Take a look at this nice little summer cottage asking $31,000. What could be wrong with that?
Or the other place that had been sold for $70,000, then dropped to $40,000 within three months. Since then, it has inched downward to $25,000. The real estate ads don’t mention history beyond a certain limits, so you need the country records and that is where Mel really sparkles. She enjoys peeling the cover off these phony ads and seeing the little man (that’s me) win against the system.
It’s working a bit both ways, for instance, she was unaware of the problem in that area of disconnected electrical service. And, of course, we can provide first-hand information of which areas to avoid, information absolutely unavailable from any other reliable source. It is a mystery what the government hopes to gain by suppressing this knowledge.
Over to the club for a couple, it’s too bad the juke box was monopolized by the over-40 crowd desperate to ensure all present gets to hear enough metallica. The theory is that if you play the latest trash music on a juke box, nobody will begin to consider you to be actually old. The women in Plant City last Saturday, they were definitely actually old. But I never said anything about it.
I didn’t get my quiet afternoon at home and I’m grumpy, though that is partially because I can’t wait to get this place in the country with a private workshed. No, I’m not going to build an ark or pound metal, I want to tinker. Like put a timer on my battery charger to remind the user to check the status every hour. Meaningful projects like that. Maybe I’ll now have a quiet evening. Can I have that?
ADDENDUM
Good news, I found and fixed the problem with the new coffee maker, it now works fine. However, that does not let off the deadbeat mentality of those who “donate” defective products to a thrift. That stinks, like the Englishman mentality behind it, that “poor” people should be incentivized to make repairs. Hey, if these people had the wherewithal to fix kitchen appliances, they wouldn’t be shopping the thrifts.
More good news. As Trent and I took the detour around the Dixie rail lines, what should we find in the old Office Bunker premises but a spanking new Harbor Freight Tools. That’s walking distance from here. And you can kiss any monthly savings goodbye because the only reason I haven’t been in there dropping a few hundred bucks is because the other store out on Taft and University was just too damn far away.
JZ has to do some banking tomorrow, so guess where we are heading directly after that. You know, you think you know somebody after years of chasing women and gallivanting around, but then guess what I find out about JZ? He actually doesn’t care for biscuits. I thought he was a biscuit hound. Turns out, he just likes the sound a fury when opening the frozen dough package. You heard me, the dough. The guy is seriously planning on marrying the next gal who like him.l I'm recommending separate kitchens.
Last Laugh
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