One year ago today: September 21, 2015, a generic day.
Five years ago today: September 21, 2011, quadruplets.
Nine years ago today: September 21, 2007, remember the Emerson wildcat?
Random years ago today: September 21, 2012, somewhere near St. Augustine.
MORNING
Pickled beets. I happen to like pickled beets. I got up at 2:24AM with a craving and haven’t slept since. This is my brand of insomnia and it makes working for a living like being married with kids. As usual, I don’t sit around and try to sleep, I read difficult material. If I’m off perpenzontal for a day or two, at least, well, I won’t lose any sleep over it. Little joke there.
This honey comes from a farm that has only 15 hives and, like myself, does not allow the nasty chemicals onto the property. When you see the vendor pitting her own olives, you have a pretty good idea the food is healthy. What? You’ve never seen an olive pitter. Just you come on back here tomorrow and I’ll get a picture for you. It looks like a little pair of scissors.
I delved into the database challenge, where the mid-string search won’t correctly accept the values from other formulas. It wants real numbers, but I can’t do that since I’m parsing a URL. But I have to let you know there is progress, I’m not wasting the time. I’m certainly adapting to the comfort of owning my own home. This month is probably the longest stretch in my life that I have not eaten in a restaurant. Since JZ was here, really, so about three weeks.
Yes, I write about expenses. It worked for Thoreau. I don’t have to justify, budget posts are a popular thing in this blog. During August, it cost me $2,270 extra dollars to get here. But since then if you strip away the $1,078 I’ve spent on materials and tools, things are beginning to look fairly good. Gas budget has dropped by 67%, coffee by 52%, and entertainment is a pittance at $123 since the relocation. There are no movie theaters or foreign cinemas convenient to here, no place to fritter away the money. That helps.
If things hold, I’ll be spending a third less overall., there is an upswing in quality and mix. For instance, for the first time in years, I spent $60 on ink cartridges. It’s pork chops for breakfast and new shoes whenever I want. Another year of this and I might be actually see that Smithsonian. But don’t count on anything. Florida is one of those localities that can smell when the next guy is operating at a profit.
Years ago I told you about the similarity between unemployment benefits and being a housewife. That’s where you fall into a pattern of doing things you used to accomplish in minutes but now take hours. When I was working for a living, the laundry was two hours. During the wash cycle, I got all my grocery shopping done. During the dryer spin, I got the letters mailed and the car washed. Then I raced home and bopped the girlfriend before heading out to an all-night gig.
When steady money appeared, it began to take all morning just to do the laundry. I’m not only busy with just the laundry, but when it’s done, I’m exhausted. No, it isn’t old age. I discovered this effect when I was on unemployment for four months when I was twenty. You cannot increase your income by working any faster, so the Parkinson Principle takes over. Work expands to fill the time allocated for its completion.
Curves ahead.
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NOON
Everybody does it sooner or later. I’m installing a grab bar on the wall beside the bathtub. I’m thinking ahead to when I’ll need it, but it is more of a safety concern. The tub is old and doesn’t have that no-skid application on it. Slippery when wet, which was also my motto until I hit 35. Did you know that until I was 48, with one disastrous exception, I never dated a woman over 23.? And damn proud of it.
Since then, they have all been disasters, long before I arrived. You tell ‘em, Theresa. If you think somebody loves you, refuse to pay your rent. If they really love you, they’ll say that’s okay. In theory. As I said to myself, God, lady, if that’s how you treat people you think love you, you’re a basket case.
Let me explain something. Now that I know the floor can be repaired, and how to do it, the pace has slowed. I spent most of today finally moving in. Things will remain rustic until all the renovations are done. You see, until I was reasonably certain the place could be repaired, I never completely unpacked. When I bought, there was no assurance the place was even safe, remember, I got it for a song and a dance. I did not inspect the rafters.
For that matter, here is a snap of the corner where my bed will be. You’ll recognize it as the section already completely wired and that is why the insulation is temporarily unfinished. You can’t see it, but there are temporary light switches, fans, and a rug rolled up to cover the subfloor. This doesn’t compare with most bedrooms, but it is bigger and nicer than where I was raised. It will be very comfy, climate controlled, and soundproofed. A complete computer system, sound system, and an easy chair. The drywall goes up as soon as JZ shows up some weekend.
NIGHT
The evening was taken up with repairs. Mainly items that got damaged in the move. Such as my favorite reading lamp. Never fails. Not my stupid Wal*mart lamp, but my cherished lamp that got me through college and around 400 textbooks since. (Pssst, Ken, that’s 400 more than you.) How about this pizza pan? I think that’s what it is. I found it under the house when I was dragging away that old tire JZ found.
Earlier I had read up on how to squirrel-proof your birdfeeder. Even there, you have to discount the innate stupidity of Millennials who post idiotic solutions. Like why don’t you build a separate squirrel feeder at the other end of your yard—the easiest form of “advice” to give if you don’t mind being considered a retard.
I’ve decided to try the pizza plate, since a moment’s thought shows that if it is hanging loosely and can tip, any one segment the squirrel steps on will behave like a cone. To further complicate his day, I’m going to put an 8” section of PVC around the rope, loose so it spins if the squirrel tries to get a grip. This may not work, but it is consistent with the goal in mind. The rodent crawls down the rope, gets to the PVC, and slips, then hits the pan, which tilts and deposits him back on the ground.
Is the squirrel smart enough to chew through the rope? We shall see. It’s an old rope that’s been hanging there for years. From a swing.
ADDENDUM
I can’t recommend the book “The Lock Artist”. Its pace is made for the movies but overall, it doesn’t move ahead fast enough to interest those without an interest in picking locks. However, the rest of the story is realistic if not a little heavy on the coming of age angle. How he gets initiated into crime, and there is a matter-of-fact portrayal of teenage sex that most authors never capture. That’s because they are fantasizing instead of remembering. Plus, adults too quickly forget what teenage sex was all about as they turn it into the mechanical process of marriage and relationships.
About halfway through, the kid gets hired for a classic sting operation. They set this club owner up to think he’s going to get the drug deal of the century. The owner has a mansion near the club. Earlier that afternoon, they slip a guy inside, where he bypasses a patio alarm with a jumper wire—and waits. The rest of the gang go into the club that night and order drinks. The kid and the guy’s girlfriend head out to the parking lot for a quickie.
But instead, they zoom up the hill to the mansion, where the kid gets inside to find it is broiling hot. The furnace has been turned up to mask the second infrared alarm. In the sweltering heat, they crack the safe and make it out, taking care to set the thermostat back and yank the jumper wire. They walk back into the club and rejoin the party. Then ask the owner for the money for the drug deal. He leaves to go get the cash, comes back disheveled, and they fake a big fight about what a crook he is and stomp out of the club. What a classic, I hope you followed that.
Last Laugh
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