One year ago today: March 23, 2016, Florida outback.
Five years ago today: March 23, 2012, just pick the pretty one.
Nine years ago today: March 23, 2008, Wallace’s former living room.
Random years ago today: March 23, 2007, no French music.
Do I have some good news? Not if you’re expecting some rich widow in my life, but medically we have the near impossible. Don’t nobody misinterpret this to mean I’ll be doing cartwheels. Today concerns the long awaited new that my condition has stabilized completely. For details, read the addendum. Meanwhile, let’s talk motorcycles. Here’s the latest project with my mechanic, a show bike with this futuristic frame.
For the rest of us, manifolds are those tubes that connect the carburetors to the cylinder chambers. Mine are experiencing air leaks and causing the motor to sputter. Close inspection shows that these seals are another item that had been amateurly patched up by the cheapskate. Say, according to the on-line dictionary, I just coined another word. “Amateurly” is not in the list. At this time, I again remind the reader that I rarely claim to be first at anything, or you’d get the impression I was an original thinker. Nope, I never said that.
What I am saying is when I point out certain things, is that the idea is INDEPENDENTLY DERIVED. I’m stating that to my conscious knowledge I have not copied or heard of or been influenced by any specific source on the matter. This holds true even in the instances where later down the line I find out it’s been done. That’s what I mean by independently derived. That, plus I know from my feedback that I’ve triggered similar ideas in my readership. That’s all.
Nanotech Bible.
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It was supposed to be a grand day of walking in the park down in Coral Gables. But I didn’t get out of my medicals until after 3:00 PM. Alaine and I were going to meet up at Peacock Park, you can find that on a map easily. It was not to be. I do not text (because it is slower than Morse code) so we instead had a meeting by this new device that Millennials may one day discover, called a telephone.
Right now I can tell you she is becoming unstressed from that restaurant, and I like to think I at least partially insisted on that. If she’s out walking and taking it easy, that’s one gal who deserves it. Plus the level of stress in her voice and demeanor just took a decade off her disposition. I think she should retire. She’s be first in the family.
Did I tell you I went on the same ride, but in virtual reality? Inside the pavilion was one of the egg-booths and I thought to check out how 3D is coming along. So for five bucks, I took the virtual ride. Whoa, not the best idea for folks with heart conditions. The graphics are still cartoonish as hell, but the sensation is being whipped around on the arms of the rotor. Did I just make another term? Cartoonish. Anyway, the ride is realistic enough and sitting next to me were two good looking gals. I told the booth operator next year, I want the ride that’s called “Swedish girls basketball team.” She laughed, well at least until she caught on. Which is even funnier because there is nothing to catch on to.
“Having insomnia has been a real eye-opener.”
Here’s shot of the pool table at Churchill’s. The only thing the place has left is the name, I’m surprised JZ even still goes there. He knows a few of the denizens but I’m never startled to hear it when he reports yet another one of these obscure people has died. If I’d kept track, it must be twenty of them in the past decade. But JZ is far more likely to associate with a bar fly than I am. Not that they are not individuals, but that they never seem to have anything interesting about them. Now myself, when I see JZ bomb out with some women I know he’ll never see again, on the way out the door I whisper to them asking if they knew the guy was a billionaire.
It was a nothing evening as well, I had zero energy levels. My random blog note says to talk about food at such times. But I didn’t have any appetite either. I’m in recovery mode without the benefit of having done any hard work. Food, let me think. Ah, I got something to report. It was me that showed JZ how to put evaporated milk in tea so it would not bother him like black tea does to so many people. He now likes it, despite his earlier reports of an aversion to dairy products. How can it be that the combination of black tea and evap don’t bother him? I say something is not diagnosed right.
And we drank tea. The day ended with a downpour. I slowly and somewhat foolishly drove the Rebel through the storm. I say that even though I’m experienced in this type of foul weather. Miami floods a lot and I more than once drove through puddles deeper than my exhaust ports. JZ doesn’t always grasp why it take me an hour longer to get in the door. You get that with these characters who drive around in air conditioned comfort. One day he will understand why I keep an emergency supply of hot chocolate in his cabinet. You don’t know what cold to the core is until you’ve rode a motorcycle like I have. Today, I made tea, but to really warm up after an hour in the wind blast, you need hot chocolate.
By the way, I’m beginning to suspect he is more like mildly allergic to certain milk products rather than lactose intolerant. Why? Because his reaction varies on a case-by-case basis and it varies daily. In fact, he can tell which days not to indulge. This time around, he polished off the entire roast chicken and the primary ingredient in my sauce is a quarter pound of butter. He thought I meant a quarter stick where I meant the quarter pound.
There, I did find a topic concerning food. Orange you going to congratulate me? It’s either that or you get more on the motorcycle—these are the dominant themes of the day. That reminds me, JZ bought a big bag of Persian limes on sale, such a deal. Until he go them home and found they were unripe green oranges.
ADDENDUM
Is this good news? You decide. This is year three of no heart problems and since the original goal was just to avoid behaviors that made things worse, I’m considering it more than good. Essentially, one of my prescriptions has been cut in half and two more are slated for cancellation. Both the latter are pills I was told would be required for the rest of my life. The other is for blood pressure—alas, the very pressure that put an end to my working career. Read my lips—I cannot go back to work, but I am again entertaining thoughts of doing something productive. I know my limits, though my medical team would probably not like where I set them.
JZ finally talked me up into meeting at the Church. The place has lost it’s draw once Dave sold the place. I only went because I was so weak from the testing that I thought it was a Friday today. The joint is deadsville on weekdays, never any women in there. Just scruffy looking men playing pool and glancing at their watches to no miss last call for Happy Hour. You know one of my pet peeves is Millennials who lock the door to the entire men’s room when they go in to take a leak. Is there any worse way for these wimps to signal to the world their lack of sexual identity? What gets my goat is that they must actually think anybody gives a damn about them. So they are locking the door to get attention.
Here is the door, completely covered with old style graffiti. You see, Millennials are so lackluster in the brains department, they cannot even come up with an original way to vandalize things. But, we are here to talk about my upcoming trip in two weeks. My best case outcome would be a clean diagnosis and the ability to pass that stress test. The treadmill test that’s given me so much trouble for over ten years so far. Ah, to walk again. Wouldn’t that be something?
So watch for this. This is important enough to me that I’ve scheduled a return to Miami for follow-up tests in just two weeks. Effectively that would drop the count of pills I take down by nearly half. And, it would again qualify me to undertake a weigh-loss diet without going to sleep hungry and waking up hungry. You know what I mean if you’ve ever really tried. I may even ask for an appetite suppressant, the one that actually worked last time around. But alas, the pills cost more than my monthly grocery budget. Ha! Remember that?
The medical testing system has tightened up with the loss of Obamacare. I don’t know the details, but I see the effects. Before, they used to had us calendars, zippered cases, and goodies left and right. Now, you get a cloth bag and a keychain with a rape whistle. I give those out to my buddies for when the old women find out we have money. But I mean, we don’t. Have money that is. I never said that. Or I mean I didn’t mean that. Or if I said it, I didn't meant to say it. Trey Gowdy, I am ready to be questioned.
Last Laugh
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