PICTURES DELAYED UNTIL
[Author's nore: Maybe delayed forever. I still can't find them in 2016. Meanwhile, here's a photo to liven this page up. It's called an "erg", a rare type of desert sand dune with no vegetation or rock outcroppings. Totally consisting of drifting sand.]
Ah, see that truck scooting around the corner? I can just make it out. JZ, who never drives out this way was caught pulling out of the BK parking lot. Where I just happened to be munching on lunch after a few more hours of cleaning up Steve’s place. What JZ did not know is that an older couple came over and asked me questions about the Su Doku puzzle on my table and Carrie, JZ’s ex-girlfriend recognized my voice. Or actually that it was me because I was “using big words”. Since I’ve only met her once five years ago from twenty feet away, but her recognizing me instantly may tell more about Florida than her memory.
Jay the disk jockey didn’t call until past noon, when I was already committed to working at Steve’s. You watch, he’ll call on Sunday morning, the one day I like to sleep in. A downloaded listing shows WEXY is part of a nation-wide family and Christian radio network. I was able to pick it up on the car radio while downtown. Sure enough, some revival material going on there.
Maybe it is okay Jay got lazy, as it gave us more time over here to plan what we want with this [unexpected] radio time. If I said I have not heard of any computer stores or thrifts that radio advertise, that could be a function of the fact I don’t do much radio-listening. Or as Cheech would say, “I’m not into AM.”
It was a good workout (heart rate up to a healthy 107 and totally aerobic). Get a laugh out of what I tell you next. All I did was take Steve’s clothes in three hampers, drive them over to my place and put them under a tarp outside the East wall. They smell funky, so into the tubs they go tomorrow. That was y’day. This morning I get into my car and yeow! Hundreds of fleas, like I was being attacked by African killer bees. You try to brush them off, but they are like a rash. Fortunately, I am equipped for such things.
I got out the fogger and my ant poison. Ha, fleas don’t stand a chance against ant poison, fleas are the wimps of the insect pest world. Eat this, garden raiders! I doused the car, then drove around with the windows open for an hour. End of problem. If only society could do this with politicians.
Speaking of chemicals, Steve had taped “Alcatraz” and left the tape running, so I have several hours of National Geographic. For those who are unsure of it, I am not a fan of NG on several counts. The worst is that they glorify “conservationalists” who are really trying to prevent development near their inherited wildernesses. Well, they did a show about Agent Orange, the Vietnam era defoliant. This reveals another thing I dislike about NG -- they get political without getting the facts straight.
For one, while it is well known a great element of the North Vietnamese “victory” and the US “defeat” was political (through media pressure in the States), NG was very one-sided about their presentation of the issue. The evil USA sprayed Dioxin on the good jungle. No mention was made of the Viet Cong hiding there. This bias is a regular part of their editorial. For example, I have never heard NG cover anti-war protests in North Vietnam. Surely there must have been some. What does that tell you? The dead don’t speak?
Anyway, it is always “American” bombing, never “anti-Viet Cong” bombing. Hey, while I’m on the topic, two other reasons I don’t buy their magazine are
1. If the author is over six foot two, he will mention it.
2. If the author is married, he or she will mention it.
These “facts” rarely add anything to the informational value of the article. Another magazine that has the same defect is Mechanics Illustrated. The sports car/cockpit/gangway is always “roomy, even for a six-footer”. Along on the cruise/safari/expedition is always the “first mate”, even if it took several divorces to get there. You follow my point on that one. Mention if the female is young, slim and sexually available, but otherwise, shut the firetruck. Sure I get cantankerous when my day starts with flea bites. It may have been bedbugs from a chair, I later discover.
No word from Jane. I will call her tomorrow but [if nothing] by Monday, I’ll be talking to Jeff, the guitarist. Oh, that band from Ft. Lauderdale is a Beatles impersonation outfit. They wanted to know if I looked like Paul McCartney. I insisted on a song list because I hardly like everything the Beatles did, especially their blues-jazz stuff or the heavy guitar work of later years. Like Blackbird. And other tunes whereby the Beatles lost their direction and began using their fame to plug overbearing guitar music.
A Beatles tribute, hmmm? The reply specifically mentions that they are working steadily in the Ft. Lauderdale area. Maybe I’ll email them or find out where they perform and go play customer for an hour. Check it out. The word is the band members average 50 years old and their last bass player died. Overwork? Overdose? It’s a rough trade.
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