March 17, 2016

Yesteryear
One year ago today: March 17, 2015, a counterfeit tale . . .
Five years ago today: March 17, 2011, ways to be broke.
Nine years ago today: March 17, 2007, Village People ain’t rock.
Random years ago today: March 17, 2009, a nothing day.

MORNING
           Some years ago, the conservationists won some measures to restore the natural outflow of Lake Okeechobee. By now, you are aware of the levee that surrounds the lake and also channels the water in another direction. This crane appears near Clewiston, and is removing a segment of that levee. While there are no posted signs, it would seem this is part of that rather large undertaking.

           But hope there are no floods or major hurricanes during the process. That levee was put there for a reason. Hurricanes can easily cause a surge of the lake water and there have been major drownings. You don’t hear about them much since that was the early nineteen-twenties when nobody knew how many non-whites were killed.
           This was not racist as some would like to make out, because the numbers came from records, not from body counts. Back then, it was not up to anyone to keep such records. Nor was it anyone's duty to count how many people were anywhere, and many, like myself, think it still isn’t. Therefore, it is hardly anyone’s fault if nobody knew how many non-whites died. It simply was not anyone's job to know.
           I can tell you one thing about the levee work. Unless they are planning a whopping increase in the number cranes and drains, what I saw as a puny effort toward repairing the natural waterways. Like the overpass on Tamiami, this isn’t 1% of what would really be required.

           One iffy thing about having blog rules is that the top story of the day may sometimes be nothing but gossip. Such is today, are you ready? Who should I run into at morning coffee other than Cancer Steve. Who is that? You wouldn’t know unless you were reading this blog around ten years ago. That’s the guy whose place I helped clean out when they put him in the slammer. When I got some of his stuff here for storage, that’s when I discovered Pudding-Tat had been a stowaway in his boxes.
           Did not recognize the guy at first. He’s back to looking human, apparently some angel paid his fines, got his driver’s license back (after nearly 20 years of suspension) and set him up in an auto detailing business about three years ago. I think, because he is naturally very guarded in what he says to anyone. He’s healthy, looks some ten years younger and is plainly off the funny stuff. He was so far back then that’s where he earned the sobriquet “Cancer Steve”. We all thought he was a goner.
           That’s your good news for the day. Why? Because I don’t really like the guy, he is still prone to harsh ways. But he repeatedly says that he’s found God. This blog has no index, but first mention of this character was September 13, 2006.

           In other news, I’m finding out what I already know. That when it comes to buying this property, I am totally on my own. People do not care to pay back favors unless it is convenient, and it seems that it is never convenient when the other man has a deadline. So far, I’ve gotten zero help on this project, so much so that if anybody tries to jump on the bandwagon now, I’ll decline. So they can’t say they helped out. Fine, since 99% of the hard work is done.
           As usual, if you leave any detail up to others, you lose. JZ was supposed to be here 48 hours ago. Another guy waited ten days to inform me a critical document had arrived at his office. The other guy sent me one big check instead of the two small ones, so I can’t cash it without one place finding out about the other. And on and on. I more than half expected all this, so I had backup plans and workarounds. I also have an exceedingly long memory.

           Trivia. When Richard Nixon toured Peru in 1958, he drove an Edsel.

Wiki picture of the day.
Spain’s ugliest building.
NOON

           ”Don’t watch violent television shows, and don’t buy the products that sponsor them.” – RHP

           Here’s a shot of the view from the pilot’s seat. This is roughly six miles north of Alligator Alley, on Highway 27. You can see the small clock and the extra mirror along with the gauges, the speedometer is not working. By the tach, I’m at precisely 45 mph. The mirror is non-functional, it is the mount for my next GPS, if I ever learn to trust those things again. Remember Birmingham.

           Another “top story”, my air compressor setup. Ah, you stop and say, why is a compressor the topic? Could it be because my buddy, who said he would show up at 8:30AM did not show up until 3:40PM, by which time we missed the bank by one minute. What makes this more cutting is that not that long ago I had used this scenario as an example to warn the guy that this is the type of thing he was headed for—missing important deals at the last minute No, I’m not going to pay for the gas for the extra trip he now has to make out here tomorrow. Then we went for coffee.

           One good thing is this gave us time to go over the contract page by page. Strange it was how stock legal phrases, like “effective date” and “notwithstanding” can be taken 180° out of context by people who have never had a basic course in business law. On the other hand, my pal often blurts out words that I know came from his family, who are decidedly not a bunch of lawyers. Then again, he tends to tell them all kinds of information that I would never tell my own family. Like where I have money buried.
           You see, I am fully aware of the mentality of some people that the ONLY reason somebody else would bury money is because they are up to something illegal. I, on the other hand, can think of a hundred reasons why somebody would hide money—the least of which is distrust of the banks and the government. Other people blindly trust the authorities, and they are always the majority until too late.

           Therefore, I sent my pal home from the bank and decided to walk back here myself. I stopped at the Russian market for some ginger cookies, and then on to the café for a coffee and a strawberry pastry. With plenty of time to think, I’ve decided I’ve learned enough valuable lessons on this purchase so far that unless something I’ve no inkling of arises, this is probably the one. But I just know the seller is going to insist on a few conditions that don’t apply to anyone who pays cash. Therefore, I’ve decided to meet those unnecessary provisions just in case there is some small-minded bozo over at the bank.
           An example is “proof of funds”. It is not enough to show them the money. They want some other bank to show them the money. It’s a helluva situation, since it is tantamount fo a standing accusation that your cash is not as good as some bank’s word. We discussed in some depth how to deal with this, and I am sorry I did not establish a trust years ago.

NIGHT
           Here’s a shot of the wall art at the Plant City Dunkin Donuts. Back when America knew how to build a real car and gas was a reasonable 15¢ per gallon. Because there was so much of it, nobody knew what to do with it all. And fortunes were made at those prices. Did you know the guy who invented putting a pipe into the ground to stop salt and mud from seeping into the drill hole didn’t patent the idea and died a pauper?

           I walked home. Two hours, that’s how long it took me to walk the two miles. Stopping for a rest an every other bus stand. Eventually, I opened a jar of olives from my stop at the market. People driving past would occasionally toot, which made me wonder if my fly was open or something. Nope, I suppose I just looked the essence of the old guy who was enjoying a walk home. That is rare enough in Florida to be an explanation here.
           Upon returning, I filed all the documents and though only wanting a single cup, I made a big pot of tea. Because I was thinking about an old girlfriend who likes tea. Not being all that sentimental a sort, I sat down and looked at all this tea. Then it hit me. She always did like the architectural quality Texas farm houses, and I had just this morning sent her twenty pictures of the place. Yep, it does have that kind of shape about it. So, if you would like any tea or green paint, now is the time to ask.

ADDENDUM

A day in the Arctic. I’ve seen this kind of thing in person.
           Just a wee bit more information on finances. Some 13 months from now, I will have gotten more money back on my retirement than I had ever planned. Bear in mind, I was dying when that plan was formulated. It is not a fluke I need to buy a house now. The real need is to prevent paying rent in my old age, should I ever grow old enough for that to become a factor.
           Hence, while a house has always been in the planning, I really began looking in earnest 35 months ago when my condition improved. Ha, you might say if I get a place soon, it will be the house the phone company bought me. Except unlike the other hundreds of thousands of employees who could make that claim, I did not work there for 40+ years.

           Then, last August or so, along comes the man who will change the nature of America. The man who single-handedly killed political correctness that was killing America, the man who will get 43 million Americans, some of whom have never voted before, to the polls. Who could have foreseen this? Not me, as I never followed politics before.
           Trump, win or lose, is going to cause change. I have no idea if that change will be good or bad for my situation. But it adds an incentive for me to have a place of my own for stability when he arrives.


Last Laugh

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