March 6, 2016

Yesteryear
One year ago today: March 6, 2015, a typical audition.
Five years ago today: March 6, 2011, missing my ex.
Nine years ago today: March 6, 2007, on entrapment. WIP
Random years ago today: March 6, 2001, a fortune being $1.5 million. WIP

MORNING
           I found a place that matches all my criteria except one. It is miles out in the zoolies. Remember the heck of a time we had finding JZ’s old summer camp? Yeah, well it is further out than that. But, it is nice for a mobile home and includes the land, quite a large lot. It is in the last of what they call “Old Florida”. I heard that. Somebody said if it is “Old Florida”, why does it have mobile homes? Son, all I can tell you is you don’t much know your Florida history. Here’s what the kitchen looks like.

           I’ll low-ball them tomorrow morning. The nearest town has a population of just 5,000 and it is 15 miles to shopping. If they’ll take a ridiculous offer, I’m ready to move like y’day. However, it would be an hour’s drive to Lakeland at least, and that’s assuming there is a road at least semi-direct between the towns.
On the upside, we have a large lot with many huge mature trees on a dead-end road. There are neighbors, but all at least 75 feet away.

           Say, did I ever show you my automatic paint brush cleaner? It’s the neatest thing. As you walk in the door of the shed, you just throw the paint brush into this yellow bucket. It is strategically located right under the rain spout from the Florida room, don’t worry, it’s gonna rain. This tumbles the brush around, stops any mosquitos from breeding Zika in the back yard, and kills any weeds that poke through my driveway. To any ecology buffs, it’s latex paint, so it is safer than any weed-killer designed for the same job.

           As a sign of progress, I pulled the trailer out of the back yard to the front, where I can work on it more easily with the smaller hand tools. The good tools are stored inside, with me, safe from rain, unauthorized borrowing, and people who invent projects once they find out you have the right gear.

           Remember my wagon? I’ve still got it, but the tires will just not inflate. That scumbag who sold me the wagon said they just needed air, which is theoretically true. But I should have known there was a reason he didn’t stop and fill them beforehand. You’ll find Florida is chock full of this brand of small-scale con artists. He knew I wouldn’t have time to check the tires, that’s why he had his kids in the truck. I’ll give it one more try. Failing that, the new [inner] tubes cost as much as the wagon, even at Harbor Freight.

Wiki picture of the day.
Jupiter.
NOON
           Here is the cPod model II at rollout. It has not yet been taken on a test run as shown in this (heavily censored) photo. That will happen very soon. Note the surprisingly compact size for a full camper. I can pick it up myself to set it into a parking space and such. What you see here is the travel configuration, not the camper opened and set up. Everything has been changed since the last unit, including the trailer base. It is not only smaller, but the tongue has been shorted to just below the point [where] it cannot jackknife at the maximum turn angle of the motorcycle.

           When “unzipped”, the camper has equal width plus 5” more headroom than the older unit. With much improved electronics, although it can never be as waterproof as something built in a single piece. The solar panels are missing until I find out the charging problem. The extra space will be converted to a “roof rack”. The metal tie-downs are not installed yet, the green color is the brand of paint that was on sale.

           Not visible is the bits of rust beginning to show through on the sidecar. It needs to be dunked or something. If not, the entire shell is held in by only four bolts and there are new versions of the “tub” now regularly available. Until the rust is more than just cosmetic, what you see here is the travel rig for the 2016-2018 travel season. The maximum speed for what you see here is 45 mph. And lovin’ every minute of it.

           There is more to this than meets the eye, so I think I’ll show you a little bit of it. I spent an hour cutting the iron for the roof rack, and the reason is that as far as I know, nobody makes a metal bit for a sawz-all that actually cuts metal. More like the metal cuts the blades down to a smooth consistency about right for slicing butter, maybe. It takes 80 pulls on a hacksaw to cut each angle iron. I may make the first trip without exterior storage racks for that reason—they require 16 cuts.
           Shown here is a tire pressure check. The recommended psi is 60, but that makes things pretty lively back there. The tires remain solid at 50 psi and that’s what is going on here. This check is mandatory, these and all trailer tires will gradually deflate, often without losing shape. Here is a handsome actor posing like he’s tending to the pneumatics.

NIGHT
           I gave all exposed or newly patched drill holes another coat of paint. This color is now dubbed “fungicidal green” and I have lots left. There are five to six coats on the surfaces exposed to direct rainfall and I still have a third of a bucket left. Stir that paint, and stir it again. And the name is valid as this is a paint that inhibits mold, which is a fungus. You don’t suppose they purposely made it green so you couldn’t tell? That’s a joke, kiddo.

           The bike is again using [battery] power when turned off completely, which means a slow short somewhere. Or that bad starter. The bike will not start unless you rock it in gear to exactly the right spot. That’s not a recent thing, the guy told me about that when I bought it. It is electrical, and the battery was low when I went to start it this morning. It could be the circuit that lights an indicator on the speedometer when the bike is in neutral. It may not be going out when I put it in gear to park.
           Shown below is the BCC. “Battery Convalescent Center”. I don’t give up on a battery just because it fails once or twice. Batteries get a better break around me than divorcees and single mothers. The battery charger here is the one I’ve told you about being heavily modified, but it still has trouble with certain situations. I’m taking another day to search for the source of the electrical problem, but I’m itching for a road trip, and I mean a real road trip.

           As usual, I had the radio on. One of the programs I listened to dealt with child stars who lost their charm and fortune once they grew up. They dwelt overlong on the pressures of “lost childhood”, but these commentators never examine the other end of the spectrum—children who are condemned to childhood boredom. It won’t surprise anyone to know I only recognized a few of the names. That McCauley brat from “Home Alone”, crazy Miley Cyrus, and Michael Jackson, King of nothin’.

           These radio shows have to plug what sells, but they could once in a while maybe stick their necks out and produce a half hour on something a little less knee-jerk than the tired old line that celebrities have their troubles, too. Yeah, some of us would like to have such troubles. I suggest these shows are giving the wrong message anyway. They think it is about human frailty, like what, that is supposed to deter you from getting rich. In case you can’t handle it, or some stupidity like that.
           Because it is stupidity. Most people I know who want money is so they can escape from the zero lifestyle they’ve trapped themselves into. (That’s quite a different reason than why I would like money.) Instead, the meaning that’s coming across is not about failed careers, but that if these people with money, fame, looks, and talent can’t make a go of it, what hope is there for the rest of their generation. Not highly inspiring by any means. These sort of programs about who failed were designed, I think, with a 1950s audience in mind, when the average listener actually though there was such a thing as a “normal” lifestyle.

           Yet radio is so terrible nowadays it serves to cheer me up. There are gads of people out there so messed up that I don’t have a thing to complain about. Or put another way, those people are their own worst enemies, while my enemies tend to be external. In fact, let me categorize my enemies for you. These classifications represent around 90% of the people I do not like because, stay with me here, they do not like my “leave others alone” attitude.

           A) Liberals, especially Liberals who believe that “we are in this together” and “we have to make this society work”. Whaddaya mean “we”? (My definition of Liberal is a person insists everybody put their tax money in a big pot and let the Liberal decide how it will be dispensed. You can't help because you aren't "nice enough".)
           B) Uneducated types, especially ones who think that having the opposite take on a given set of facts fools anyone into thinking they are operating on a higher moral plane. Can’t stand New Agers, the worst of the lot.
           C) Non-elects who behave as if they have authority. Never did like meter maids, bank managers, traffic cops, retired air force personnel, valet parking, librarians, personal secretaries, feminists, and salesmen, period.

           Say, you wouldn’t by any chance need some green paint, would you? I have extra.

ADDENDUM
           I got an adult joke for you. Male adult joke. You’ve heard this, but it’s worth recycling because it doesn’t use any naughty words. This older couple get married and on the honeymoon, begin to disrobe for the first time. The man takes of his socks and his toes are all mangled. The wife gasps.
           “Dearest,” he explains, “that’s from TOES-ILITIS. It’s like tonsilitis, but you get it on your toes.”
           That’s fine, she says. Then he takes off his trousers and he has the most misshapen kneecaps you have ever seen. She gasps again.
           He say, “It’s like measles, but it’s KNEE-SLES, honey, you get it in your knees.
           That’s fine, she says. Then he takes of his shorts.
           “Oh no,” she gasps, “SMALLCOX!”


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