September 27, 2015

Yesteryear
One year ago today: September 27, 2014, being right isn’t enough.
Five years ago today: September 27, 2010, my “fat ass”.
Six years ago today: September 27, 2009, it was a trap.

MORNING
           I could have got free brekky, but decided not to spread my cold. I won a mini-bet that was too easy. See this lady? This was randomly chosen off youTube, the bet was could a lady with a husband or boyfriend talk for an entire minute without mentioning it?. Guys, this is a heads-up to a few of you. I bet you women are so egotistical on that matter that they cannot keep it a secret—if you listen.

           While first to cry the blues about not having a man, women cannot possibly shut up about it when they do. Stupid men only “think” women lie about having a boyfriend. These guys are not hearing what they don’t want to hear. In this video, she says “us” and “we” in the 17 seconds before she finally says “I”. Therefore, I win. (I usually stop her right there and ask who is “we”, than act like the answer makes no difference. It does.)
           For the record, every dating situation woman I have ever got to know in the USA has, within two days, in some way asked me for money. That is usually an instant drop. Gals, you wait at least six months before you pull that stunt on me. Otherwise that’s like telling me you could not support yourself and I know what that means.
           Avoiding the crowd, I went across town for breakfast. Also avoiding Nicki’s, the re-opened joint on Hallandale. The real story on that is they did not actually go bankrupt, as was let on a few years back. They were closed for health violations. But it turns out, Nicki owns so much property in the area that nobody at City Hall would dare to press charges. The real reason I don’t go there is their “specials” are not special in any way. The sign says $2.99, folks, breakfast at Nicki’s costs $10.00 and that is that.
           So you’ll know, everything at the Senor Café just went up a dollar this week. That’s two dollars per meal in the past year. Get used to it. Fact of the matter is that it now costs at least $600 per month in Hollywood to stay home and do nothing.

           Now, having the time to switch the subject, here’s a phenomenon I can’t explain. This is the new bird feeder. This is a proven design that I have used successfully for years. It is custom painted to a neutral tone and has subtle features designed to especially appeal to finches or wrens. It is even the recommended height from the ground.
           The keen observer may notice the vegetation in the background has been defoilated. But that should not scare away the birds. Yet they will not use this feeder. Even the feed is pure raw millet, which if you’ve ever seen budgies and parrots go after that, you know it must be like chocolate for them. The birdies will quickly gooble any seed that falls to the surrounding ground, but won’t approach this feeder.
           What have I got here? I mean, I would even settle for discovering some new type of bird repellent. This is bizarre, as I have the wild birds trained to come to my whistle and sometimes I will give them another favorite, salted sunflower seeds. These birds know me. What could it be?
           I’ll move the feeder to another location to check if it is some elusive instinct.

           I’m over the fever part of the flu, but every hour I get an explosive sneeze. That won’t stop me from going to Starbuck’s, because I’m in a Starbuck’s mood. You know, like I’m special and people want a chance to look at me while I make them stand in line extra-long while I chat up the nerdy counter gal and use the condiment rack as a prep table. Add a ¼ teaspoon of sugar at a time, taste-testing it while pretending to unknowingly block anyone from getting even a serviette until I’m good and done. And all the while instantly prepared to be mortally offended if anyone says a word.
           Don’t worry about contagion, I will choose a loose shirt and sneeze inside it. Hey, I live in Florida, I’m not from Florida.

NOON
           In the next photo, get a load of Pete, the Cactus. That is one healthy Florida flora, that’s for sure. Lots of people think cactus is ugly but they never really got to know Pete. I’m thinking of rooting some shoots along the west edge of the building. If you want how-to instructions for Millennials, always check eHow. Their directions for transplanting cactus are: 1) buy a small cactus at the nursery. 2) stick it in the ground.

           That is much too complicated for most Millennials, but they can always text their mom for help. Not that she can, but it will make them feel better. Myself, I redesigned the cPod trailer wiring over toast and coffee and decided to include a better test circuit. I will also re-route as much of the wiring as possible along the wagon frame. Right now, some of it spans open spots, inviting trouble.
           The photo was of the shrouded batbike, yet there’s Pete, approaching 11 feet tall in the background. Yes, I have been trimming him back, a haircut now and then you might say. Sorry I don’t have a before picture of his spindly look five years ago. That’s when I treated him to a precise formula of potassium rich fertilizer. Now look at him. That’s my boy.
           And if you like Millennial music, listen to this one by Green Day. And imagine the countless hours of work put into writing that intro. No doubt, they found it very challenging. But I’m not one to talk, I used to like the bass lines to Blue Cheer. But I could never be accused of playing old Eagles. That’s listenin’ music, not playin’ music. That’s why so many guitarists are hung up on it.

           The offerings at the foreign cinema are sparse again. The feature ("The New Girlfriend") is another of those detested fantasies from mentally distrubed screen-writers. This guy who likes to dress in frilly clothes falls for his dead wife’s best friend. I mean, how obvious can these frustrated bozos get? But check back, it is better that the Ninja Turtles or whatever at the AMC. I’d rather go spend the $14 at Harbor Freight and have something to show for it tomorrow. What’ve they got at AMC? “Everest”. “The War Room”. “Pawn Sacrifice”. Zzzzz……
           I woke up to Beyonce singing that spastic tune, “Drunk In Love”. Let me re-word that. Not Beyonce, who sings music I just don’t normally listen to, but I cannot take those McCartney style tunes that change tempo and motif several times in each song. Find a beat, stick with it. Her career reminds me of my ex-wife’s potential had she stuck with me.
           Anyway, another reason I don’t care for Beyonce is she tries to come across as a playful chick, but one look at her in those constrained stage costumes tells you this broad is a 30-something mother of one who really needs to invest in a ThighMaster.

           Do you like coincidences? I don’t. I found the perfect cabin. Two bed, two bath, on a lake, 1.9 acres of mature pine and oak trees, but did not immediately spot it was an out of state advertisement. I had specified north Florida, but you get these crooked real estate ads. Upon Mapquest, I find it is 148 miles through mountain passes from where my ex lives. I dropped my pencil. I never drop my pencil.
           You see, we did not part on bad terms. So even though there are Niagaras of divergence between us now, we are still kindred spirits. If I bought that place, within a week we’d bump into each other, that’s how it works for me. You’d think that distance is enough that we’d never cross paths. But I’d go to a swap meet or library or some such place she might set foot once every ten years, and she’d spot me from across the room. Twice. In the first minute.
           And she’d have pulled in there because some New Age horoscope told her to. You think I’m kidding, don’t you?

EVENING
           The planning for the new camper is not complete, I’m outlining it as things go along. So I had to revamp the entire back end due to a 4-inch miscalculation. That’s about right. I’ve abandoned the idea of solid or pretty. As long as it works, nothing I’m ever likely to spend [on this project] is going to come close to the rip-off prices of travel accommodation in America these days. I mean, can you imagine the entrenched exploitation that must exist in the system before anyone would consider $250 per night for a room as “normal”?

           There is utterly no reason why some astute operator in smaller cities and towns could not offer a clean, secure, sleeping spot along the road for $25 per night if they would only let him. Let the guest be responsible for more of his own stay, and allow the host to evict or sue the bad ones nationwide. I get a laugh about the “reviews” of people who stay in two-star hotels expecting to be pampered. The fact is, most hotels automatically provide more amenities than I have ever used.
           Let the guest provide his own flat screen (laptop) and rent a room with one single bed. There are lots of things that can be done to bring the prices down into reason. Leave the fancy hotels as is, but provide an alternative for people who really are on the road. Considering it takes an hour to set up a tent and bedroll, I doubt this new class of traveler would squawk over having to make up their own bed and provide their own towel. Services? Set up vending machines in the lobby. Laptops even let them provide their own entertainment. There's ways.
           And, as I’ve always maintained, require a real time sign on the front of the hotel stating the full price for the cheapest room available. If that room is not, in fact, available, the hotel must give an upgrade at that price. No more “guaranteed” prices which are based on a pre-agreed upon artificial high advertised “regular” rate. Time to offer a sleeping spot, not these $300 penthouse near-suites inside monstrous edifices and “convention centers”. Besides, "conventions", my eye.

ADDENDUM
           There. I’m done being grouchy today.


Last Laugh

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