Another shopping trip that didn’t fly. Estelle came over, the new improved Estelle, now a brunette with ringlets. See what effect a man has on the scenery? She wanted to go up to Oakwood, but a quick inquiry shows the bus doesn’t run that late. After last day, I check. Many of the minor routes end at 8:00 PM, now I suspect the main routes as well. So we just got off at Young Circle and did the park stroll.Now, what have I said about women and romantics? There we were, doing the park under the stars, the whole bit. But these things have no romantic effect when you actually do them. What does that tell you? Not that I want any romance with her, but I assure you the things women say they long for don’t extend to reality. It was too windy, too cool, too dark, too quiet.
There was, at the west side, some kind of celebration. That amounts to a string of high-priced food trailers, as in $9 for conch fritters. Real food costs even more. And the wagons are professional franchises, in it for the cash, and rarely have anything to do with the event. In this case, MFLK Day. MFLK? That’s Martin Luther King. To you.
So we opted for Chinatopia, the ancient Chinese restaurant on Harrison. San Francisco cuisine at its finest. Darn good even by my standards, though they have no meals suitable for a single diner except around noon. I brought home enough for two more sessions. Estelle confirms the bus hours have been jumbled recently so we split early as I don’t need another marathon walk.
What do Estelle and I talk about? Nothing, we have no common interests. She is unversed in anything but raising children and became outwardly eccentric when that phase of life was past. It doesn’t bother me because I’ve seen it so often. But she is company and so am I. I’m the company that ordered the food in Cantonese. The new dark brown hair takes twenty years off. JP is a fool for not getting over here to meet her.
Which reminds me he still has no cell-phone savvy and calls a lot right you can’t take the call. I’m also out of reading material again. This time I am getting rid of nearly 70 books, many so that I won’t read them another time. Those who identify with this first-world problem, you got the right blog.
Hacktronics to the rescue again. My last order was delayed so they’ve included more free goodies. This works well for everyone but reaks havoc on any attempt at standardization. We have red, blue, and yellow displays. Since we build most everything from the ground up, no two of our circuits are the same. On the other hand, if anything goes wrong, we are quick to troubleshoot. Awfully quick.
What’s happening with silver? I don’t know, but it appears neither does anyone else. None of my standard ratios or sources has held up in a market that has become more complicated lately than I’ve ever seen. Nor do I understand the implications of the Euro crisis or quantitative easing, upon which the experts are basing so much. Rest assured, however, that everything here is in place and there is either an accumulation of product or funds to buy product. There is never “just nothing” going on with my future.
How tell if it is real silver? A kit where you place a medicine dropper of acid on the surface is available, but don’t ask me how that defeats silver plate. Or buy a postal scale, preferably the digital type you can set on metric. A troy ounce is 31.1 grams, not as I once reported here as 28.35 grams for a regular ounce. Keep in mind the weight is only approximate and it is a convention to ignore small variations of up to a twentieth of an ounce. Or do what I do: buy from a reputable shop and they guarantee the buyback.
ADDENDUM
Look at this get up. It is an ice pack with a vengeance. In the top photo, I’m pointing to some of the bruising and it is just surface, nothing in itself painful. The middle photo is the beer cooler, I call it. This is where you dump water and a few pounds of ice. See the blue hose to the right? Third photo is a special shoulder pad with water channels. The pump inside the lid keeps a steady cold on the area, reducing swelling. The instructions say to use a towel or pad, but to feel the real cold, it goes right on your skin. Fifteen minutes with this a day and you are good. It never develops those tepid areas associated with ice packs when you don’t constantly rearrange them. This apparatus does not abate any pain, so don’t buy one for that.
Third pose? That’s me in my natural state. The Florida room easy chair. This is where the thinking part all happens. Thinking like, you know how last week I published the song list of that band that wanted to start the “club”. Today another group began ads with much the same list. Nothing bit a bunch of old guitar players looking for people to “back them up”. The precise style of band that goes nowhere these days.
I mean, when your list contains “Dreams I’ll Never See” (Molly Hatchet) and “Train Kept A-Rollin’ (Aerosmith), trust me, you’ve been drinking the same brand for beer twenty years too long. My advice to such guitarists is get over yourselves and dump 90% of your material. Most of it was mediocre when it began. You dictate your list, but don’t even ask the others if they have one. I just watched a movie about master-slave relationships. Guess who always loses?
