November 3, 2015

Yesteryear
One year ago today: November 3, 2014, on food prices.
Five years ago today: November 3, 2010, the callously wealthy.
Six years ago today: November 3, 2009, remember Whiskey River?
Nine years ago today: November 3, 2006, Violin Teacher Syndrome.

MORNING
           What’s this, a slight bump in the real estate market? I say bump, because I only find these once in a while when I half the price in my search criteria.. You kind of lower your standards, jiggle the handle, and see what floats to the top. Kind of like the way most women, if the truth were known, find their men on the Internet. Up came this monstrosity. The best thing about it, the location is a rather desirable area in the middle of the state.

           To me, it looks weird and unbalanced. Then, I got to thinking, I’ve seen efforts like this before. Whoever was doing this ran out of money half-way. Imagine that horrid blue paint gone and a carport over that driveway. On top of that carport, imagine a cedar deck. Ah, maybe it is worth a second look. The place has been abandoned about a year and the interior has been gutted.
           Thus, though listed as a three bedroom (including the upper) it could be anything you want, since there are no partitions and Florida building permits do not get updated until the property is next listed for sale. Quick, tell me again about the difference between a bedroom and an artist’s loft.
           Do not panic, this is still Florida and one has to wade through the sales bullsh to find out if it is really on sale or yet another scam. Those who say scams are illegal have never lived in Florida. Unless you go to jail, it is not illegal. Fines are just another cost of doing business.
           Anyway, I could afford this place cash. I threw in a low-ball and the guy didn’t refuse outright. It is near a library, but the nearest university is a good fifteen miles away. Still, it is the rare renter these days who goes to college and doesn’t have a car. Hell, it was so rare in my day, I’m the only person I ever knew who had to do it. What? That’s true, what you just thought, some walked--but they never HAD to walk. In most cases, their parents bought (not rented) them a house walking distance from campus. There were no “poor people” in university in my day. (Except me,)

           Meanwhile, take a look at this second property. The blue color is coincidence. Do I start calling this the coincidence blog, or is it that I’m just the type to hyper-notice coincidence when it happens? Dunno, judgment call. At nearly 1,500 square feet, the integral part of the structure is larger than Wally’s Folly. Also abandoned, I could technically afford both these places.
           Once more, stand by. The two biggest Florida scams are bad neighborhoods and condo-mobile listings that fail to mention the price does not include any land. (Then why is it listed as "real estate"?) There are no formal educational or ethical standards to become a real estate agent.
           Just think, if Wallace was still around, he could have his pick of either place, free. And if he didn’t like the town or something, flip it at a profit and move on. Plainly, his treachery cost me some time, but I’m completely back on my feet. I have a theory that greed causes short-sightedness, especially in one’s relatives.
           JZ would leap at this second place. He has so often mentioned what he wants that I know this would be his favorite. Huge lot out of town where he could plant the privacy trees and hedge like he did at dad’s place. And the university, in this case is only two miles away. Walking distance. This place is also stripped to the walls, but that is exactly what we were originally looking for.

           Here’s something. When checking the crime stats on the doublewide, I noticed most of the reports were for walkaways. It seems there is a home in the vicinity for runaway girls, and some of them are habituals. While I would disagree that the home should be using the police (public money) to track down their truants, I fully agree if there is one thing Florida police are good at finding, it is troubled runaway teenage girls.
           Followed only by illegally pocketing drug bust money, you might say Florida police have a real talent for the chore. Why, hardly a day goes by when driving along Federal Highway in Florida that you won’t see up to a dozen devoting their full attention to wayward young ladies. They seem to have given up on the older ones but hope springs eternal as they assist the ones who are not yet set in their ways. Thoughtful benevolence at its finest. For them, not you.

           Trivia. Today my documentary feed rolled over into “brass” and from over at my work station I listened to the development of the Gatling gun. I often just listen to the audio, as it is always more informative than stock pictures. But I glanced up and saw the catalog listing for Gatling ammunition prices. The bullets were $200 per thousand. So, at a moderate sustained rate of fire of 500 rounds per minute, it cost $100 per minute to operate a Gatling gun.
           So I thought why anyone would buy one. Well, to get men to fire muskets at that rate would take 250 men. So which was cheaper in the 1890s? The Gatling gun which cost mainly when it was in use against spear-armed savages and Boer farm boys, or 250 men who mostly stood around, grumbled, and had to be officered and fed?
           Further, I learned there was a misconception that longer gun barrels gave greater range. Oddly, any barrel longer than the limit of how fast black gunpowder could burn was impractical. After eight feet, the cannon shot was moving faster than the powder could burn. Hmmm, that’s go me thinking the longer barrel gave better accuracy, which led the gunners to conclude the range was better. Picture it and you’ll see what I mean.

NOON
           I got zero work done on the camper today. Not even the coat of paint I’d promised to slap on. Everything took twice as long, including picking up my scooter with the new tires. The photo shows the rear tire installed. Then a test drive all the way to up Stirling to pay my phone bill and inform JZ to get ready in case we have to build a carport. He is convinced those only exist to be blown away by hurricanes. He doesn’t understand I mean a real car port. And that metal roof.

           This harks back to his conviction that a building is not habitable unless it has everything, including walls. Well okay, that is the only type of structure he’s ever lived in. When I was 17, I lived in an abandoned car.
           Hence, today if it has running water, indoor plumbing, and potential, I’m undaunted. I can live there until the amenities arrive. Suppose the cost of throwing up the partitions and such is cheaper than the discount I can get from the seller? I mean, all my labor is free and in any case, I can build walls. Maybe I’ll put in an ensuite, what do you think?
           The thing is, I’ve run numbers on such a place so often that I don’t need to worry whether it can be fixed up into a very nice little place to park my ass. I can have the place (the interior I mean) redone in marble if I feel like it. And the place is cheap enough that it would only put a dent in my plans for a fancier joint. One thing to keep in mind is there is no mortgages involved. If I choose to fix it up and flip it, no pressure. I can use it for a winter cabin if that pleases me.
           So, keep an eye on this development. For any newcomers, the agony here is the choice between something adequate now because it would be instant security for me, or chance the future where I’ll have more money, but prices are nearly certain to inflate. Alas, chaps, there is nobody who can assist in such a decision. The lynchpin is again money, it always is. How often it is you buy and a week later along comes the bargain of the century?
           But, but, I got Wallace the bargain of the century. And he crapped all over it. What a schmuck, listening to his greed daughter who could not wait to get her hands on that money to “look after” it for him.

NIGHT
           Burger King has good coffee, so I stopped by to find they were out of it. So I had tea. They do not have good tea. It is Lipton, but it tastes like it came over on a clipper ship. Or maybe they just used sawdust, what does the average BK customer know about tea? But I need you to appreciate how hard I’m working to keep posts diversified right now, when the days are dominated by the camper and the property search.

           Here is a product I’ve wanted a while. It is supposed to be an artificial fresh cream flavoring. It wasn’t cheap, and you may have to look for it. The small bottle just to the left of my grapefruit and celery. It either does not work, or so much has to be added that it becomes prohibitively costly. This $5 bottle, at this rate, would last maybe ten cups of coffee. Just not worth it.
           I stopped at the Thrift for reading material and picked up the small paperback, “The Pearl” by Steinbeck. Since it was recommended reading in eleventh grade lit, and I attended a Catholic school (my religion had no schools beyond ninth grade (sixth grade where I lived)), so it must be one of those moral lesson tales. Instead, I chose other books from that list, like Moby Dick (a dreadful error, but what did I know).
           Then I found one of those wireless indoor-outdoor thermometers, which I would never waste money on retail. It was blue tag half price day, so I got it for $1.50. Again, it was another item from that particular Thrift that was old, but brand new in the box. Whaddaya think? Have I discovered another Jerry’s, where the regular clientele is so thickly out of the loop they don’t know electronics when they see it? You tell me.
           Here’s another picture just to give today some color. This is part of the process of making waterproof wooden matches. You melt old candles down to a liquid and dip the matches. Here is a my dipping jar, showing two different candles melted and poured in at different times. They don’t mix so the result as this colorful and aromatic sight. You like it? The first candle was lemon, the red color was cinnamon.

           These artificial scents are released equally well by melting as by burning, This photo barely made it past the censors, since it shows a wealth of items, but since each one has at some point been published individually, here is my private work station, mentioned earlier. The jar is resting on my band saw table, which provides a very convenient platform at the right height when I am standing.
           To the extreme right, you see the “sewing machine” saw, at a seated level. Visible also are the 22” fan to keep all fumes and dust away from the work area and a couple of home-made plant containers. Peeking just over the top of the green “xmas” can above my hand is the semi-famous “broken drill-bit sculpture”. The white object in the orange container on the scroll saw is a very loud motion detector.
           You see, that is quite a lot of meta-data out of ostensibly a photo of old candle wax. You can tell a surprising lot about somebody by examining their work area. Nobody would give a hoot about mine, but it is best to keep all information reviewed before release these days.

ADDENDUM
           For those who read last evening’s ghost story, the answer is yes. It is true. There were eight shirts in the closet, hung open after last coming out of the dryer. I have no explanation how they got all buttoned up, and ironed perfectly. I could not have done this even in a stupor, because I cannot iron shirts worth a damn. This is a true story, of which I have no logical explanation.
           And my pot lid and knife are indeed missing. The only connection is that both were bought on the same day in Hialeah in 2003. But why would anyone steal a pot lid and leave the pot?
I’ve finished reading “In Harm’s Way”. I liked the book, but I cannot recommend it because it toes that fine line between documentary and authorative military character. Too many people don’t like that for me to say sure, it’s great. There are gory parts, but these cannot be omitted in a work on this subject. For example, some of the wounded above deck fell where they were and could not be rescued. They literally fried to death on the searing hot metal of the deck in view of their helpless comrades holding empty fire hoses. The torpedo took out the emergency water pumps that could have saved them.


Last Laugh
(Explanation tomorrow.)


+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Return Home
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++