Here’s a photo of those yellow basketball thingees that return the ball to source after a basket. They must work, but this type of mechanical engineering is not my forte and in fact, is quite beyond my understanding. But I know that all plastic things are crap. I know that while they can make the plastic stronger than steel and make it last forever, they never do.
That does it for my shopping at the army surplus joints. I looked around, but everything was $30 or $40. I’m not blaming the shop owner but neither am I going to buy anything that isn’t an obvious bargain at those prices. It was all new, clean merchandise manufactured, I suppose, by the same contractors, but it was not really any kind of surplus at all. Shop at Wal-Mart.I’m not fond on nothing to do but I can’t start or finish any projects between now and the time to move. One reason people get bored and into trouble is they are stuck on immediate gratification. The problem with that is at some point in life they always run out of cheap easy thrills and it is too late. It is grim to watch such people try to develop a hobby after they are thirty. We get them in the shop every day. Some of them break down crying. Others, well, have you ever wondered where they model those howls for werewolf movies? That’s the pain from one of my brothers realizing how wrong he was about book learning. Notice they always howl twice? The second one is my brothers then realizing that to do anything, they have to cover all the things they called me down over. The pain! A-roooooooooooooo!
The legacy of the Jimbo’s sign goes on. It seems they do have somebody who said he would fix it. That was some years ago. Rumor has it they require a new ballast or some other expensive component. That brings things to a halt in a fast hurry. I think a new sign would do wonders for the walk-in business at that location.
Wallace is in Skagway, Alaska. I believe he said that’s 4,800 miles from here. In the wrong direction, too. He’s with a family group of six or so which in my experience means a major operation. It’s hard enough to get half that many people organized into a band. Then, where are they gonna hide on a boat? He mentioned something about Red Dog beer. I’ve never heard tell of it.
I’ve found an old 8mm tape of Venezuela, with Ivan and I heading with two cars full people toward Puerto Something-or-Other in the Caribbean. I burned it to DVD so we can see all the dry savannah, the crazy drivers and one of the cars breaking down half-way. I recall we had to turn around and go back to a closer beach for the day. The other car was not ours. Ivan had still not grasped the concept that we required two cars to run a taxi company with one driver. Him. That was 1999, and we were constantly surrounded by pretty women in those days, I had little idea how much I would miss the place. I can’t believe how young I looked just that short time ago. And how little I weighed.
It was Ada’s birthday, Ivan’s mother-in-law. There is a [very rare] clip of me hand-writing the journals in the old house over in Marjuanta, south of the Orinoco. We never did furnish that place and sadly, I did not buy it when it was for sale for $8,000. There is footage of a long trip through the Andes on one of those perilous roads with no shoulder or guard rail, but I can’t recall that trip and the next clip is me doing laundry on Calle Ocho in Miami. My commentary says that was January 9, 2000 and I was going to “travel east until I found the Atlantic Ocean”.
Home security is always a lively topic in Florida. The new place is even more secure than this one, with triple doors. That’s a metal inner door (standard issue, which like trailer windows, are far harder to break into than regular models), a middle screen door and an exterior metal grill door. And, we’re talking the heavy duty metal grill like you see on Mexican banks. Not the California kind where they slip a kid through the bars to open the door from the inside. Whereas I’ve had no trouble here, I always make sure my house is the hardest target on the block.
Thanks to a disk crash in late 2006, I’ve still got a pile of unlabeled DVDs I’m going through. There is a two-hour documentary of planning for a trip to Venezuela in 1997, complete with maps, time zone clocks and showing scenery around me that today would be considered a breach of security. There is one shot of me walking past a wall full of private certificates, that’s a duh. I’ve also got several DVDs of practicing over at the Hippie’s in early 2006, a good reminder of what a domineering little prick he can be, imagine, a guitarist telling me how to play bass! Cowboy Mike is there a lot but he barely plays or says anything.
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