I’m tired. I thought, why wait until Spring, I’ll do all the windows because it is such a nice day. That was a workout, that and riding the electric bike downtown to find the electrical problem. It was the battery not seating right on the connecting rods. So while there, I sunk $40 into a tuneup. Ebikes are not cheap and have to be well-maintained, particularly the brakes which experience harder demands. So that’s 10% of the purchase price sunk for a vehicle just over six months old.
Here’s the ebike chained to the scooter. The generally better condition of both vehicles is becoming evident as shown here. It isn’t increased vigilance on my part, but rather the foreknowledge that these are not expensive or rugged, so keep them up or be walking. I have to smile when I think of where these vehicles would be if they were back on the farm. Trust me, my family did not believe in preventative maintenance.While downtown I had coffee at the place that took over the Rainbo Café. It’s alright, the staff is very Polish. It’s evident to me when other cultures arrive in America, they see the restaurant industry as easy picking. But I sure miss a good old diner with stools at the counter where you could grab a quick coffee. Even Denny’s has changed and I wasn’t ready for that.
Last evening, we got through the dreaded fourth practice. It’s a band-killer if you don’t make it past that rehearsal. Let’s glance at the recent past. Only six out of twenty-two try-outs made it that far, and of those, only three made it to stage. It is, for unknown reasons, a difficult barrier. It isn’t due to the amount of new material, it seems more based on how long it takes for musicians to disagree on something. Anyway, we got through it and things get easier for a while.
Did you catch that item about the nuclear scientist killed by a car bomb in Iran? That was no ordinary bomb. It was a shaped charge affixed to the door by magnets. The blast is small, it kills by spalling. That’s when a small hole is punched through the door metal, causing shards to act like shrapnel. It otherwise makes no outside flash and has a quiet report. Suffice to conclude that bomb was not made in a cave.
The scooter mileage has dropped 25%. My guess is the Chinese carburetors eventually show they don’t like ethanol. My mpg is now around 62, but that’s a real number, not Honda advertising. Coming back along Taft, one of those ForTwo Smart cars pulled up alongside. It was only a few inches longer than the scooter. They claim 38 mpg, causing people to forget it costs the full amount to register and insure a car. When the true cost is tallied, it costs 11 times more to drive a car the same mile as my scooter. That’s 55 cents versus 5 cents.
I then met a new fellow, DaveG who has hair glued on his scalp. I did not know they did that. It was his own hair, so it looked real enough. Until he tried to run a comb through it. This is news to me, give me time to investigate it. He’s a regular at the coffee shop. There’s another new lady, she reads the coupon sections of the newspapers discard by others. Kind of sad to see.
Today’s paper also had Dear Abby pointing out that pornography gives men “an unrealistic expectation of how regular, normal women look and act.” Now, just a gol-darn minute there, Abby. Show me somebody who fantasizes about regular, normal sex and while you are at it, don’t you have a few words for regular, normal women who have unrealistic expectations in men? Or have you even noticed? Or is Abby being unfair to men who can’t stand regular, normal women because they bore him half to death? Er, or so I’ve heard.
She also states that addiction is behavior that is compulsive and out of control. My word! I’m addicted to music and half my other hobbies. It’s true, I will often not eat or sleep until I finish a project. This raises enormous questions. Is being regular and normal always a desirable thing when one is capable of better? Do we quash hope in the human breast? Are those who excel candidates for ostracism? Fear not, regular, normal women. Finish those bonbons and do your nails. Dear Abby will go to bat for you.
Face it, I’m no champion of the ho-hums in this world.
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