Here we have another cool summer day and the streets are still deserted from the fake hurricane warnings. Everybody is complaining how the media blows thiese things out of proportion a little worse every year. Now they are spreading panic up to a week before the storms get near the coast. Your chances of even seeing a hurricane are about once in ten years and even then, you are unlikely to be caught in the vortex.So I’ll quickly recount the day. I looked at Eric’s hurricane shutters and he just needs new wing nuts and some fender washers. I biked downtown to get a new flea collar and drops for Pudding-Tat, who acts like I’m attacking her when I try to change the thing. That’s another ten bucks that cat cost me. Are you sure you don’t want to adopt her? She is friendly, jumps right up on the book you are reading and goes to sleep.
Ah, here it is on my files. Rose, from November 2, 2007. Anyone remember her? I keep a journal, so I don’t have to remember, but she is the hefty broad that got miffed when I would not let her use my computer for free a second time. You can look up the blog for the details. She has been back in the shop apologizing to Fred and Mike and wanting to be friends with me again. Really? Wasn’t she supposed to put me out of business by publishing in the newspaper that anyone who could resist her “charms” must be a faggot?
My bike speedometer quit working, so I reviewed the manual to discover I had the setting for a tire smaller than correct. The larger outside diameter means my rim was turning few than 769.3 times to cover the 63,360 inches in a mile. Therefore, I have traveled 2,112,00 more inches than recorded for a new total of 19,537,400 inches. That means I’ve put 3,701 miles on that bicycle, over 400 more than I thought. That’s lots for most athletes.
I put another 316,000 inches on the bicycle picking up supplies to make a chili feast. Wallace and I had mini omelets for breakfast, produced in the new Italo-Alaskan frying pan and were in no mood for more turkey. So it was gourmet chili with all the trimmings. There’s a tub of it left if you want to help yourself. Before I throw a few cups of cubed turkey in there.
Arnel called and wants to drop in on Friday. To listen, not to play. That means I had to do a major practice today and cover all my best material. I’m rusty on the intros and parts I’ve modified. Wallace does not care for the tunes that have electric guitar so he took Millie-Belle out for an extended walk.
Last, I’m nearing the end of the book on the potato famine. It was actually just one of many famines around the same era, but it was particularly bad because of the blight. I’m now reading how the Queen came over for a visit in 1849. The book glorifies the event, but I suspect it was one of those spectacles that are enough to make one ashamed for the participants. The houses along the route were painted and the broken windows replaced. Was every monarch of the day stupid enough to think they would be allowed to actually see how the peasants really lived?
I find it embarrassing to read how the Queen wore “a silk dress with shamrock patterns”, carried a parasol and “set an example to her sex that was worthy of all imitation”. There is no evidence she fed or helped even one person, yet certainly less than a mile away children were dying of starvation and it is impossible she was not aware of it. I view all such pageantry as the equivalent of a third-rate circus staged for the slightly retarded.
