It was spitting all day long, so I made coffee and got into some deep thinking. May is near and that’s the start of the season they don’t talk about in Florida. That summer heat has never been better described than “brutal”. I’ve adapted to it, but never learned to like it. If it stays that hot all day, I’d rather be in Venezuela. Anyway, here is what I’ve come up with to avoid spending any of my remaining summers in Florida. Remember, this is only one example of what I’m considering.A summer Arts course at some crappy but state-funded university in the mountains, say. As a mature student, I qualify for subsidized housing, and have you seen the luxury digs on campus these days? I need only attend lectures four hours per week, the remainder of the time it’s scooter city, playing guitar, and dating teenage women again. Yes, I always get high enough marks to become a tutorial assistant in the privacy of my dorm room.
Sad news. Roger, who I knew because he rode his bike to Karaoke, has become another victim of the Florida rail system. At the Hollywood station, once you are inside the traffic barriers, there is nothing to stop you from cutting across the other set of tracks, even at the crosswalk. I know it is rare for both trains to be at the depot at once, but damn it, people, you have to check.
Another motorcyclist was killed in Ft. Lauderdale when, once more, a lady talking on a cell phone made a left turn directly in his path. I mention this because the Florida media has another disgusting habit whenever this happens. They report that the driver of the car is “okay”. As if anyone gives a bloody you-know-what about a driver who just creamed a cyclist.
But Florida reporters are thick in the head and sick in the head on this point. If I was in power, hitting a cyclist under such circumstances would be a mandatory twenty years in prison, and I felt that way long before I became a rider. Because there is no fine or other sentence, in the State of Florida it is therefore 100% legal (but mildly inconvenient) for most drivers to kill a pedestrian. You do, however, have to go to court and pretend you are most remorseful, yep, um-hum, indeedy.
Back to summer courses. I still have a tendency to live off campus where rules and morality are lax. So I looked at several a “student communities” in the Carolinas. These are complexes to where the university operates a shuttle bus. There’s always some group with an extra room who aren’t too age fussy, though that has never been a problem for me. I’d like a pool, parking, private room, and ten miles out of the nearest city. See below what I found for $344 per month.
Rent includes hot tub, tennis court, tanning room, and Internet. Could I live in this room for three months? (Gee, if it was in Florida, I’d call that an ensuite. Patsie, if you are looking for sympathy, it’s in the dictionary between shit and syphilis.) It would not be the first time I just walked into lectures and attended for free. I’d probably have 30 degrees if I had credit for all the courses I’ve attended. This room is available June 15 until the fall semester, so that would be around September 15. I find this plan extra attractive compared to how I went through university.I’ll tell you about that briefly. The first year I lived in an unheated shack during a forty below winter. That’s the year I turned 18, when my parents informed me they had no intention of sending me the money they promised for school. I lived under an electric blanket, and a band practiced in the front room. Outdoor plumbing. My third year, when I realized student loans were a lost cause, I lived in an attic firetrap. No car, wearing ten year old clothes, taking eight courses per term to get it over with while other students parked their Corvettes and strolled to their single humanities lecture after morning tea.
I’m only planning, so don’t say I said I was going to do it. Later, the weather cleared up, so I’m going to the Barn to read until dark. International relations. Yeah, that sounds like something I’d suddenly like to study.
