This is not the school lab. This is in my apartment. If the school even has a lab, it is shrouded in deep secrecy. Notice the soft-shell bass guitar case in the left background.
Dang, I think I forgot Marti’s birthday again. Or is it April 17? They say a gentleman remembers the woman’s birthday, but not her age. Marti must be 21 by now. All of her sons by her third marriage are over 6 foot tall. This would also mean that Sean is twenty, and I have not seen him since 1987. Nestor, my godson in Venezuela is around eight, and I have not seen him since 1999. These are long and separate stories. Liz (John) must be over fifty and I have not seen her since 1998. Harry, since 1994.
Then, 2005 is not over yet and it is a year of change. The Hippie and I intend to keep up our regimen of power walks. Although I’ve lost only four pounds in six months, I sure feel much lighter on my feet [since a recent medical operation]. This morning I am reviewing directions on burning CDs. Somehow, the Win 98 SE copy I have has the product key burned into a separate file (102 files on the disk instead of the standard 101).Of course, I intend to find out how that was done. It certainly raises a few eyebrows [at school]. There are some things I can’t copy at all, which means I’ve missed something on the subject. This means more reading. I gave Don, the airplane mechanic, copies of all the charts drawn on the board during this semester. I noticed nobody else even writes them down.
The test exams are an eye-opener, and they mirror what I’ve said. I can consistently do 95% in the theory, but fail 50% of the troubleshooting questions. So I took a break. The Hippie and I walked over to Publix but as usual he cut things short to get back home. A two-hour walk became less than 45 minutes. [Exercise for me is not an option.] We talked about diet a lot because he reads up on these things. He talked me into trying olive oil again.
To me it is pricey and not that tasty, but a pint of oil lasts me three months so I’ll give it another chance. Diet books would have better appeal to me if they talked in ordinary terms all the time. Take canola oil (I caught The Hippie on this one). What the heck is a canola? A nut? A vegetable? A seed? Is there a big field of canola somewhere? A shady canola tree? When I knocked on The Hippie’s door, I saw these chest high cases of that Guana juice. (I bought him one the other day, making a big fuss about how he was worth the 20 cents. It was five for a dollar.) He liked it so much he bought the whole inventory. It tastes like a mild, medium sweet purple grape juice slightly fruity. “Delicate yet not overpowering, a piquancy all of its own.”
The intention was to make up for the walk later, but I got a call out to Pembroke Pines to set up a fax machine. Remember what I said about the companies no longer printing the manuals. Sure enough, it cost somebody $32 to get me to set their fax to answer on the first ring so Hewlett Packard could save on the $4 booklet. I guess I would not be so against this practice if the company offered to sell you the manual for another $10.
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