March 3, 2004

           I see the signs, Calle Ocho. I’ve been meaning to get over there ever since I got to Miami. Can’t remember why I did not go last year. The newsreels look like carnival in Rio, or Mardi Gras in New Orleans, except it is real people and not faggots in drag.            Thousands of people. JZ says his sisters go every year, and report things like young women taking their clothes off. (Well, if his sister says so, we will have to check it out.) It must happen for his sisters to mention it. The parking won’t be a problem, because if we are within taxi distance whether we park at home, his place or Quizno’s. He doesn’t work Sundays so I’ll bring up the plan next time we need something to do. Cally Ocho means “Eighth Street” and that is 8th SW in Miami. They block off the street and make a free for all.

           JP has mentioned it is really a Latin festival with roots rather than just another street party. Good, we could both use some Spanish practice. The fact that it is plainly so much livelier than South Beach means there have got to be tourist women there. I know, at my age I am dreaming, but dating over forty is a lot like playing the stock market. You have to be out there over the long term before you can get a windfall. Too many people think they can do nothing and suddenly win. I know JP wants to meet some decent women, but thinks he doesn’t know how, he does not know they are not really out there. Seriously, would you date a fifty-year old woman if you had any other choice?
           The Caddy is over at the shop. The tradition of my home state of issuing both a front and rear license plate has saved me a fortune in tows and cab fares over the years. This time is no different. It gives me plenty of time to read, and I am returning to that horrid thousand page Queue manual for the fifth or sixth time, the one written by that egghead Jennings. He jumps all over the place, refuses to use practical examples, over-dwells on stuff you never really use, and has no clue how to talk to a beginner.

           Still, once you do a lot of trial and error for which you do not need him, and go back and translate what he is saying into English, parts of it make sense. That’s not a compliment, because he is marketing these books to beginners who would never have that kind of patience. Jennings will casually use a phrase that requires months or years of academic struggle, and assume you know what he means. Example: normalization. Every database manual should have the first hundred pages on that topic alone. Jennings mentions it once in chapter five, one sentence stating it is a good idea, in an offhanded way.
           I’m falling for a TV ad campaign. Indirectly, but still. A few of my friends have said these new strips and pastes for whitening teeth work well. Further, they report it is true that it makes you look younger, in some cases up to ten years. The prices were throwing me, ranging from $14 to $40. A quick exam of the labels show they are all about the same thing. The active ingredient is hydrogen peroxide, so you are really bleaching your tooth enamel. My teeth have always been dingy, and not bright, even when seeing the best dentists that money can buy. I think you cannot bleach your teeth without feeling pain, but I intend to give it a try. The one that says your teeth get “seven shades brighter” what ever the hell that means.

           Rhonda asked me why I don’t switch to contact lenses as well. Can’t, I tried that for years. Soft contacts, extended wear, all of them made my eyes itchy and uncomfortable. They never fit so I could not tell they were there. They all gave me night halos. I could not, as they claimed, sleep with them in. This dried out my eyeballs, and no way was I going to use eyedrops every morning. I also never perfected the trick of putting them in without a mirror, and it became a hassle whenever I traveled. Remember the two Norwegian gals in Venezuela who had to keep their contacts in until I got a driver from 300 miles away to find them a pharmacy open that national long weekend? Oh, don’t worry, they made it worth my while.
           No eyedrops for me. That is some kind of chemical solution, and your eyes are telling you not to just cover things up. Eyes are kind of important to me, like. Same reason I rarely use nose drops. Except nose drops don’t work, I just keep thinking the new brands might have something, but neither sprays nor nasal pills can clear my clogged sinuses when I get something. I have to live it through.

           Last for today, I must do my taxes this weekend. Quotas are far below minimums in some areas, such as work equity. I wonder what Frank would have said if he knew I had $4,000 equity in the toothpicks, rather than the $2,000 he thinks was there. Before you say not honest, remember that Frank could and often did cost problems that cost up the amount of money he thought you had. Even now, there are things wrong with the station wagon that I am only discovering when I have to use them. Many of them classical Frank problems, like forcing plastic parts past their design limits to “see if they can take it”, and that includes the plastic ignition on the Taurus. Honesty has to be informed, and Frank himself did not say he had this problem, and it could be possible he does not even know it is a problem.
           [Author’s note: this is about retirement money, and should be interpreted as planning years ahead rather than doing any calculation on the numbers. I plan all my investments well into the future.] Now, I could easily switch that equity into bonds or something, because it is sitting useless. But Plan 81 is sworn not to do that. No former equity unless it is found money. I know that twenty grand is doing nothing, losing to inflation, and there is no way I could pretend I found it. I would like to get it into a pension plan, indirectly by using my 20% cap on wages, but that could take years. Sorry for the misnomer, there are no real pension plans left, rather I now have a far less reliable 401(k) plan.