Houseboating isn’t going to, well, float for me unless those 1974 prices come back. Wow, has American industry turned rafting from a Finn-esque adventure to a completely regulated pastime for the leisure class! Not many hobos can spend $91,000 on a 28-foot floating shack. Or $2,495 per month for a slip. Yet I’m still reading the book for its two amusing aspects. First, the pictures of real women back when they still existed. You know, white, real blonde, with no tattoos, no breast implants, no crimped hair, not too skinny, not too fat. The fashions and hair styles do seem quaint, but ah, what I call the last generation of virgins, so nice to look at. (Thanks to me, the world has 13 fewer of them; how many guys get even one? I know that’s macho and chauvinistic, but answer the question.)
The second reason for reading is the author is yet another of those air-heads who, like the previous boat book I’ve read, very carefully tiptoes around the topic of how he could afford to leave his hated “9-to-5 self-imposed wage slavery” and go live on a boat. I’m amazed because the writer, John W. Malo, is either a genius or naïve. He can do contortions worthy of a Chinese acrobat to avoid telling us where he got so much cash. I dislike his brand of hypocrisy, advocating a luxury lifestyle as if he is clever and others have, despite his good example, foolishly opted to work for a living. It is like listening to married types tout the joys of matrimony—you just know they are lying about most of it.
Remember the guy with the expensive motorhome, my new neighbor. The guy who dragged down all the cable TV wires and clipped off the corner of the office eave. The one who was going to pay me $25 per half-hour for guitar lessons. I thought he owned an ash-tray factory, that’s how bad my French is (“machiore bucales”, ash trays, right?). He was a dentist. He’s dead. They took him to the hospital in Canada and one hour later he was a goner. I wonder if he was waiting on line for his free medical.
The boys are knocking over vacant properties in the area next to the casino. An exterior A/C unit disappeared, so did a lady’s washer from her Florida room. Nobody has seen nothing, but our area is covered by video cams. The problem is, some crooks don’t care about cameras because they are under 18. At any rate, don’t leave your property empty for too long or you’ll be missing your fridge and stove at the least.
Gold is regularly dipping below $1600 for the first time in months. I gave the scooter shop a spare laptop transformer in exchange for a tuneup and a brake setup. It is kind of okay to hang out there in the heat of the day but sales are not that great anywhere. There is talk of a second recession, but only from people who think there has been a recovery from the first one. Think about it, if you’d bought gold at $300 you would have only made five times your money in ten years. Even bingo pays better than that, and you get out more often.
I was at the bookstore for the hot afternoon, but I still fatigue easy every day except in the brain department. In case anyone has forgotten, I’m operating at an estimated 45% of my former energy levels. No more marathons for me indoors or out. Dave-O has been calling for two days to come and get his DVD recorder, but has not showed. This late summer hot spell is making everyone unreliable.
