One year ago today: November 4, 2015, by coincidence, the Honda Fusion.
Five years ago today: November 4, 2011, that big old catfish.
Nine years ago today: November 4, 2007, early mention of “veryatlantic”.
Random years ago today: November 4, 2004, hello from Thailand.
MORNING
Morning found me having biscuits and gravy downtown at the Downtown Diner near the Lakewire Inn. It’s under new management and they must make their own gravy—it is significantly superior to the mix from Gordon’s Food Supply. I took the batbike out for a run through the countryside, even passing through a place called Pierce, which seems to be a trucking supply depot. The trip took me from this café south to Mulberry, over to Bartow, then south through the backroads all the way to Plant City, then Zephyrhills. I can finally say I saw Zephyrhills.
Consisting of around a hundred houses, each on a treed half-acre, very quiet, and anything for sale is by owner. Acres of empty forest surrounding the town on three sides, no gas stations, no stores, no post office. They would drive into Mulberry for that. Located on a bypassed spur of Old Hwy 37, JZ or I have driven past it at least four times. You can barely see it from the new road since it looks like a few scattered houses. Not so, there are hundreds of people living back in there. I didn’t see any of them while driving around.
The total trip would be close to 150 miles. I stopped at a few Thrifts and picked up some household supplies. I would have got more, but I have still to reattach the ammo cans to the saddleback racks. Right now, the cans are in the bucket, so I have no room for much else. I did not see even one pretty gal on the entire trip but there were hordes of deplorables rooting for Trump.
I stopped near a city park and read a couple chapters of my detective story. The weather is much better than below the frost line toward Miami. That’s refreshing, but possibly I say that only because I miss the cooler weather once in a while. When I say cool, I mean below 80°F. The book starts to get better once you get past the “noble savage” blah-blah. The plot is centered on drug running on the Indian reservations and police intimidation tactics. There is a recurring secondary plot of “we’re just as good as you” toward America.
The majority of the day was casual driving. I didn’t really stop again except for gas. It’s great countryside and there are traffic jams of sorts. All the side roads are paved though not usually in good condition. Lakes everywhere that may be manmade and the small towns have all become decentralized by gas stations and malls along the highways just outside the city limits. In turn, this means all the old downtowns have been relabeled as historic districts with not enough parking.
Annual vintage flight across Africa.
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NOON
I stopped in Zephyrhills for most of the day because Agt. R says the area is what’s happening these days. I found it to be one of those cities like Miami, a lot of small towns that grew together. Expensive houses next to skid shacks. There is often a very active police car on duty. Less culture per square mile than most of Florida, with nothing to see or do for hours.
Now, later, you discover there are two libraries, and she meant the one out on Highway 540(?) that isn’t even in the Zephyrhills city limits. And don’t bother, because the place is blocked by this early voter bullshaw, and you won’t get in. Fortunately, there is a nearby Habitat, one of those places that sells excellent recycled building supplies. I found a 12-ton scissors jack for just $14.
The other library is new and near downtown. But before you get out of the Habitat parking lot, you get to meet the locals. They see the motorcycle, so they park on both parking spaces adjacent and ahead of me. This takes careful timing, but make sure when I get out of the store, go to your truck and don’t drive away. Just open the door and swing it across the path I obviously intended to drive ahead through.
Then, when I get off the motorcycle and start pushing it backwards in the noon heat, get that dismal “Whad I do? Whad I do?” look on your ugly face. Because I’ll tell you something, dickbreath, you may think you got the look right, but you will never in a million years be as expert at it as my brothers. They carried it to an art form.
The library, as usual, had massive floor space of untouched books, but a lineup for the limited number of computers. But they are not that fussy about ID and I was there nearly an hour. I helped the guy next to me who was getting flustered trying to figure out an on-line application form. The “hiring agency” scam is still alive and well, and the colleges have gotten into the act. You think you are filling out a job application? Nope, it’s the local rip-off college, who will contact you back saying they have a ton of great jobs awaiting, but to qualify, you are going to need some courses. This bait and switch tactic is not illegal when schools do it, obviously.
NIGHT
With the dark gathering on the eastern horizon, it was a rapid ride back to the cabin. I took the southern route through Plant City. That means I stopped at the Silver Dollar, where a 32-yr-old babe spent two beers checking me out. Blonde, blue, and a sorry excuse for a woman, it was still flattering listen to her tell me I could not expect to get anywhere unless I chromed the exhaust pipes on the batbike and repainted the sidecar. Shucks, I guess I’ll never amount to anything. At least not to bar bunnies in Plant City, Florida.
I ’ve got several phone calls from people who say they drop by, but I’m never at home. They must be here during the mornings or after dark until 9:00PM Danged if I’m going to put a sign that I’m at the library or at coffee. That’s anther small town habit I’ll have to re-learn. I always call ahead. That reminds me, buy some furniture. I still don’t have a real kitchen table. Just don’t expect miracles. Between early October and now, the extraordinary expenses were the trip to Miami, the motorcycle fan and tire repair, the tree felling, and the annual taxes. That was a $1,564 hit above and beyond.
Trent called, we are planning a day trip tomorrow. That might be the big trip for November, I’ve spent all my allowance.
I figured I’d loop around Bartow, then north to see that group with the 19-yr-old singer and her mother who everybody thinks is super. The situation is straightforward. Take away the teen and that band would not pass muster. And I ran into Ruthenia. I finally listened to her talk and she’s a write-off. She says she just moved here, but that was a year ago. She say’s she’s unencumbered, but she’s divorced. She say’s she’s free, but she has a kid. And she’s here because by court order she cannot live more than 50 miles from the father or lose visitation rights.
That, folks, is disgustingly what constitutes “single” in my age bracket. And you wonder why I have minimum standards.
ADDENDUM
I see the magazine Rolling Stone has been successfully sued for liel over that fake “campus rape” story of late 2014. The action was for $7.5 million although the award could and should be much greater. To let the establishment media know that we don’t care if your sources were lying and no, it is not good enough to publish a retraction four months later after the damage is done. I wish somebody would sue the police for this same practice.
Jackie” is the student who lied about the rape and lied under oath. She is still in the university and part of some sexual assault education program. She’s the one that should have been sued and further charged with perjury. From what I understand, she has never been charged. She probably would have been if she was male. This kind of selective reporting and justice should be probed. (Maybe she was charged, but if so, the media sure kept it quiet.)
Last Laugh
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