[Author's note 2016-04-07: this is another calendar transcript, obviously I was in a cranky mood, which happens when you have to work every day. While it follows the order of events after I finished work, it's clear I was not happy. Ugly women should not invade my personal space when I'm like that. I have very low tolerance for certain people and that goes double when they think they have a right to get away with it.
I never did make it to Seattle in 2006. So here is a picture from 2006. It's a restored Supermarine Spitfire, an aircraft designed and built in Britain during a period they were supposed to be disarming. It scared the hell out of the Germans, who were the only country that signed the Treaty of Versailles that actually did disarm. The British and French kept expanding their military, thus breaking the treaty long before Germany began to re-arm. The British and French also signed an alliance with Poland, another thing they promised not to do.
Poland, thus bolstered, blockaded the German port of Danzig, thus beginning World War II seven months before the Germans finally attacked. The Poles initially laughed, thinking Germany would be crushed from all sides.]
The tires are on and that is another story, a somewhat expensive one. It is just noon and I’ve been all over town already due to things I put off over those tires. The need was there, I had the money but until I found a place open Sunday I could not spare the car.
I’m glad I did. Remember that camber problem I’ve documented over the last few years? How there was no specs from the manufacturer (Ford) to fix them? How the car ate a set of perfectly good tires every six months? Turns out it was not the camber at all. I paid a premium to get it up on the hoist, arguing that even if the problem could not be totally fixed, that getting even close would be better than the way is was. Sure enough, the camber was fine.
This fooled everyone earlier because the wheels were obviously slanted outward at the bottoms. Plain to see and no reason to look further. I still don’t have a scanner hooked up, but the computer printout shows a negative number well into the danger zone. They repaired everything and I tell you the car rides smooth as the Caddy right now. I even bumped into the G who wants me at the beach later today. Yeah, so he can play 15 minute lead breaks to the drumbox – guitarists are so predict able
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Anyway, some readers may be wondering why I wasted a picture showing my car up on jacks with the tires missing. This is Florida. Yes, but the difference is that I paid somebody to take the tires off. This picture is at the garage, not in my driveway. I hopped over to Coffeetime for a bagel and legs was in this morning. Why does such a beautiful woman not have guys hanging around all the time?
I finally took a mallet and knocked that rusted out planter thingee off the front of my trailer. It was hopelessly falling apart. The Home Depot dude says that deck lumber will work fine as a replacement. I’m also going to paint the lower half of the trailer Colonial Green. It is my mostest favorite-est color in the whole world and not only that, it was on sale for only $12.50 a gallon. Seriously, the whole trailer is painted a flat white, including the things that aren’t to be painted. Like the clearance lights.
I am really in no rush with this project. Give me credit for taking it slow, this is Florida. The system here is geared to punishing people who do things fast and I’m not referring to the way you drive. Out west, you drop something and it breaks. In Florida, they will trip you, it will fall and stub your toe, then bounce up and take out your eye, then fall and break. If you reach to rub your toe, you will bang your head on the open cupboard door, both going down and back up. You think I’m kidding, don’t you?
Looking for reasons not to study, I piled in the Taurus and went to the beach for Sunday jam session. It was okay except we did not play that long or that much. There was a disruption. In the form of two women that the G would die for. Myself, just say they didn’t fool me for a second, they were two snitty little losers flaunting what they had. Plus, they were trying to act like teenagers and it was too obvious from their mannerisms that their teens were well behind them. This ties into another mini-story here, so pay attention.
Okay, these broads were typical “I’ve still got it” types, wearing fashions far more suitable for a 16 year old, but with their womanly features bulging just a little too much here and there to fool anyone familiar with the trade. Here is a photo of them posing for Glenn and you may be able to see what I am referring to. The extra makeup, the stooped postures, the pendulous breasts. All this adds up to early twenties to me, and that is where the next story begins.
This 45-ish lady came in. Right away I knew she was a loser, but I didn’t know why. She gets out a guitar. The G is only too willing to let somebody else do his job, he grabs his guitar and heads out to the beach. The other two women were playing the “why, how old do you think I am” game with the male staff, a drunk and a passing pizza delivery clerk.
Essentially, the G left her with me for about twenty minutes while she played what I think was Joni Mitchell. You see, there is a Federal law that says if a woman over 40 plays a guitar, she must do Joni Mitchell, or at least I have proof that such a law must exist. God was she lousy. I emailed Cheryl later to say I’d found all those half measures that Brian kept dropping. The older lady was blonde and blue but otherwise not remarkable in any way. Especially not her musicianship, she was a little unclear on the concept that there is to be at least a slight mesh between the words and the music.
Anyway, when the G and I were talking just afterward, I pegged the ages of the two women as 23 years 6 months and 22 years 4 months. They had thick waists and muscular legs plus lots of other telltale signs of early womanhood trying to recapture the teenage look. Most prominent were their breasts, which they shoved in everyone’s face. The G always misjudges such things in women and I mentioned that they had both been pregnant at least into the first trimester.
The G is so unsuspecting sometimes, I pointed out to him that their breasts had already sagged away from the chest wall, a nearly sure sign of post-teenage pregnancy. I feel this tap on my shoulder and it is the 45 year old lady. She wants to know when I’d been in medical school. Doy, we have a winner. I informed her I had done a lifelong study of female anatomy.
To which she asks for my birthday. To which I replied “Scorpio”. To which she got miffed that I knew exactly where she was trying to go.
She says, “Oh, well then, that [being a Scorpio] explains it all.”
From there she went on about how I was “totally left-brained” and therefore analytical, unfeeling and uncaring while she was right-brained and artistic. Her choice of words indicated that analytical meant “maladjusted” and artistic meant pure and good. I asked her if she believed this as an absolute truth, to which she said yes, pointing out that Astrology was the “first science” and that all others “came from it”. Not 15, she was, but 45. Obviously this woman was out to insult me and prove me wrong for her own purposes.
Like, I need this? As I picked up my gear, I said to her that her theory did not, in fact, explain it all. She defensively placed her fists on her waist (akimbo) and asked just what she left out. I winked and said, “Why I can play a guitar a fuck of a lot better than you.”
If that sounds cruel that is too bad – she started it. You know, I’m seriously beginning to doubt that the G has a college degree. The G, and many people I’ve known, often get into the metaphysical and such to disguise the fact that they are no good at practical things. Like reconciling their own bankbook or doing their own tax return. The fact that he consistently meets up with this type of person is telling me that the classical sign of education, the increase in the probability of a response, is not at work here. An educated person would be aware of Astrology, but not embrace is as fact or call it a science.
I went directly over to JZ'z who was watching TV and eating chicken. We caught up on everything and lo, what do I see in his kitchen? A microwave. Not only that, he made popcorn with it. I’m a corrupting influence. Just in the last six months I’ve got him to get a DVD player, go on the Internet and now a microwave. Guess I must be totally left-brained.
We went to town and rented some movie about Eagle One, a waste of good money. Our consolation is that the rest of the stuff on the Blockbuster shelves was likely even worse. Eagle One is another tired go into the jungle and rescue somebody flick. Is it the SEALS, the Navy, the Army or somebody else who never leaves anyone behind, I forget already. Maybe the whole lot of them for what its worth. I will guarantee you that the scenery is the Philippines and so are many of the actors. This was a film on a budget There was not one original scene in the entire movie, it has all been done before. Many times over.
I got the Taurus up to speed, 75 mile per hour on the Palmetto. It sails smooth and true. Alignment, you say. The trip to Seattle is still in the works for June but this time I will triple check driving skills. How often do they change lanes, how far behind to they stay back and if they use the cruise control. The important things if someone is sleeping in the back. This is one major trip.
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