One year ago today: August 13, 2015, cables, good women, drones.
Five years ago today: August 13, 2011, Miss Tuna-breath.
Nine years ago today: August 13, 2007, the strange tale of Suzie.
Random years ago today: August 13, 2010, I’m on his side.
MORNING
I’ve no news on the truck theft, but then, JZ doesn’t really have any way to call me now, does he? He regularly left the cell phone in the vehicle. We are thus down to one vehicle, and it is the scooter. Which is not much help because I’m the only one with the proper license. Shown here is the big reflector that was smashed. You can see how I just glued it back together, for that totally tacky look.
Call me speedy, but the new cane really lets me clip along. I’m still getting used to it, since I can’t use it like most people. I’ve learned to minimize the pressure to just the angle of hip swing that gives me discomfort and to push slightly outward. This gives the added effect that people can see there is something wrong other than age-related decrepidity? decrepitation? You know what I mean.
Be aware the cane is not a complete solution. The pain persists, but it is not enough to slow me down. So of course I like the cane, although I’[m past the age where any “quick fix” is just as likely to throw something else off kilter. I got a bunch of shopping done fast enough to go sit in Starbucks for the remainder of the morning. Not quite the whole morning, I got back in time to make up a couple of demo videos. I have never learned to defeat the Google block of videos in this blog and I’m leery of using YT all the time, since deleting the videos is quite involved.
What’s this, a knife attack on a Swiss train? That should be a lesson to you people who think neutrality is going to protect you from terrorism. These Europeans are very slow learners who seem to have forgotten there is a reason their ancestors kept the Islamics off European land for the past 2,500 years. How many more have to die? Sadly, it is so rarely the Liberals in their ivory towers who do the suffering.
The Great Thurston.
NOON
I’ve painted up better signs for this place, hoping to sell early next week. You can see how I’m the expert in rustic fonts. I call this one “Hillbilly Sans Serif”. I’m serious, I have no recollection of ever seeing this exact font and to the best of my conscious knowledge, I invented it to look like what I imaged an old hillbilly would put on his shack. It was invented to put signs on my sidecar and has now evolved into this. I’ll tell you why I think it is patentable.
Look at the sign more closely. It is very well-balanced and the operative word (SALE) is all in capitals. Yet the overall impression is that of non-planning. Sort of like the sign was made up by some “duh-hunk” Jethro type. Think of it as the revenge of the store-bought placard.
Now waiting at home in case the family calls, I read several accounts of British convoy tactics. It would seem there have been no major changes since the first implementation of World War I. Then I watched a couple of British documentaries on the convoy sent to Malta. Strange how it is well known they lost major ships, including an aircraft carrier, but not one of the newsreels showed anything but the destruction of enemy equipment. There’s your hidebound tradition for you. Only the enemy dies.
I’d like to see some sharp writer come up with a movie for the Boer side of the war in South Africa. It would make a great plot line with the Brits taking appalling casualties and only avoiding a rout because the Boer commandos did not have the training or discipline to follow up their successes. My guess is if the Boers had the means, they could have chased the Khakis all the way back to Cape Town.
Another aspect I’d like is to expose the English for their hypocrisy in political matters. They only “freed” the slaves when they proved impractical in England where the poor were already virtual property of the ruling classes. The bottom line was greed. The Limeys knew by 1890 that their Empire was running low on resources and being challenged, although this was not apparent until they entered World War I and ran out of money in eight months.
NIGHT
Here is a photo of the dash on the red scooter. It isn’t really red any more, as the paint has pretty much completely worn off. I still lock it up at night, since multi-cultural people will steal anything, including your Constitutional rights to sell your own house to whomever you want. Who was the Texan who warns that the feds now have the power to send men with pistols to arrest you if you step on the wrong snail. Anyway, this is the sun-bleached top of my scooter at 25,000+ miles.
I reviewed videos of my guitar act. My opinion is that it compares well with many I’ve seen, but that’s qualified. Most are better guitar players, but the suffer on the vocal end of things. And in two ways. They don’t really involve the audience and they sing songs they personally like. Don’t underestimate that factor. I take a lot of time to learn to like many of my songs, but at least I do so. Around a third of my song list I did not care for. Most singers I know won’t touch a tune like that.
So, what songs do I do today that I did not like at first. Cocaine Blues (about drugs). Here’s a Quarter (slow music). Honky Tonk Man (too old). Margaritaville (too stale). I further didn’t care for most of Merle Haggart and still don’t like most modern Nashville. I’ve cancelled the Ig Nobel section, but I still hear about idiots every day. Today’s sub-retard is Sheila Jackson Lee. This is the dumb broad who made an issue that not enough hurricanes were named after black people. She is the single stupidest, most vile, most uneducated, disgusting pig-person in America today. And you thought it was Michael Moore.
Sheila is the only person in Congress who sincerely believes the Apollo landing was on Mars and that Congress only has to pass a law to guarantee 100% employment. She also claims to be a freed slave. But getting back to the black hurricane names. Maybe she has a point that names like Trevon and Jamil are not closely enough associated with death and property destruction. Take it up a notch, Sheila.
ADDENDUM
Book Three and things are starting to move. After some typical English weather, the ship finally starts out. This portion, however, is mostly concerned with crew behavior, pointing out class differences, and getting all the personalities lined up for a long voyage in cramped quarters. There are interesting passages on what provisions are required. In port, the ship requires 74 pounds of fresh beef per day.
The treat for me was a paragraph on the chronometers. I once included as trivia here that the “Beagle” carried 22 chronometers. I thought this might have been normal at the time. Now I know how and why. In those days, many south sea distances were measured from Rio de Janeiro, and there was wide discrepancies as to its true longitude. Part of our ship’s mission was to nail down the exact location.
The chronometers (fancy clocks) were installed by an instrument maker in a locked room. They were each labeled for an alphabet letter, omitting I, J, Q, and U. Each rested on a bed of sawdust three inches thick as near to the vessel’s center of motion as possible. They were a mix of private, Royal Navy, and test models from hopeful manufacturers.
Only three people including the captain were allowed in the room, and each day, powder was scattered on the glass and examined by magnifying glass for the slighted amount of shock or movement. Nearby is a photo of a map contained in the book showing the route. This is a big and heavy book, you have to lug it around to coffee.
Last Laugh
Return Home
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