One year ago today: January 27, 2015, Colt 45 Model 1911.
Five years ago today: January 27, 2011, Berners-Lee, half an inventor.
Nine years ago today: January 27, 2007, State Champion sleeper.
Random years ago today: January 27, 2010, is that a Studebaker?
MORNING
This photo is proof of the level of sheer mental defectiveness that is considered a norm in the State of Florida. Applying logic, anybody wanting to sell anything should probably want to make the process as convenient as possible on the buyer. Particularly on big ticket items like houses. But no. Florida standards have sunk so low that being an idiot has become a case of “everybody’s doin’ it”. And real estate tops that list. You know, if I had time, I’d publish a web site concerning real estate simply stating whether or not I’d live there. But that’s probably illegal.
I’m assuming here that the real estate listing services have some say in whether or not they list a property. How sad that America prevents people from selling dangerous drugs and dangerous cars, but any low-life can sell you a house in a dangerous neighborhood. Housing has become the ultimate case of buyer beware—by making it illegal to even try to find out.
It was another fruitless day on the listings. So much garbage for sale, you’d think there would be one outfit smart enough to weed out the bad listings, or at least place the mobile home fake-outs in a separate category. Listing a mobile home without the land is not a “single family dwelling”. It is like rental property where you have to buy the structure as well as pay rent on it. Only making the practice illegal would have any chance of cleaning up that nonsense.
I passed my quarterly medical in fine time this morning and wound up at the American Thrift. I’m a great consumer of used books. I found a complete book of piano concertos for 99¢. Turns out I amused the bystanders in the checkout line. Without realizing it, I was reading the notes and subconsciously started tapping my toe. Hey, that Wolfgang will get you every time.
Vancouver Island cannibal, 1914.
NOON
“The best thing about living at the water’s edge: You only have assholes on three sides of you, and if they come this way you can hear them splash.” – George Carlin.
A January trip to the interior is out of the running. They do get winter in that part of Florida and it appears some tornados have been touching down. Myself, I’d go in a car, but I’m not the problem. It is the average Floridian who is a completely unprepared idiot. That’s who is going to flip his car into your path on an icy ramp, or step on the gas instead of the brake while aimed at a laundromat or fast food joint. And that is who is going to get off in court for killing you by telling the Judge he is sorry. So sorry.
If you notice the green shield symbol, I’m including it to see if it makes any difference. This site would be, I feel, rated a mild PG-13. Even that is adults, not anybody who is actually under 13. Hell, only an adult would think somebody under 13, oh, well, never mind. I couldn’t stand such adults then any more than I can stand them now. They make me want to live at the water’s edge.
But I disagree with Internet rating services on blogs but only because they have never asked for permission. True, if they did, the bad blogs would never grant it, however, that is a different subject altogether. Keep in mind, that is the same service that reports the value of this blog to be $397. If everyone who read this blog gave me a dollar, I’ve be living in a Houston penthouse.
Here’s some trivia, but I decline to quote the source. It states that 88% of women using social media will judge a date by his grammar. My god, on that criteria, the entire hipster generation just went sterile. Grammar rates higher that confidence (at 84%), meaning I just might have a fan club out there somewhere. I also happen to know women like men with a very large vocabulary. (Um, I do tone this blog down a bit, but that’s for readability only, not to appeal to lower caliber of reader.)
NIGHT
My Meet-Up feed is an amusing distraction. In the previous, say, six months, I’ve noticed an incredment in the number of women’s meet-ups. The themes are the typical pseudo-feminist empowerment material. You know, where the women all talk tough but scatter the instant a real challenge arises. Today’s e-mail included a nerdettes club, the premise is that this group will write software. What caught my eye was not the women so much as the claim that they intend to develop “beautiful” code.
Whereas I very muchly appreciate that kind of code, and I’ve published some of my work here, I need to see. I ponder if this group and I have the same definition of beautiful. They claim to have 53 chapters, which they further claim is “diversity”, but I’ll be watching for this beautiful code. Why? Because at this point, I don’t think this assembly has utterly any friggen concept of how writing even the simplest computer code is going to bite into their time available for makeup application. Nope, no concept whatsoever. And don’t be calling me chauvinistic, I know exactly what I’m talking about. You can’t have it both ways.
There is a term for having more than two programmers working on a single module of code. The term is “cluster-f(you supply the verb)”. This terminology did not arrise for no reason. Sure, there are large teams writing code. MicroSoft, for instance, and we know how flawless their products are. Their last good idea was somewhere around 1995, but nobody’s going to mention it.
Having said that without sarcasm I might add, I may attend one of their meetings. Why? Because the male-dominated meetings are even worse. The “tinker tank” seems a repeat of the Nova waste of time robot fiasco. Their upcoming meetings concern drones and building a 3D printer, topics that are already outdated and stale. Plus, we’ve learned most people show up at these meetings to see if they can scoop TNBT, do a Zuckerberg. (Sorry, Ken. TNBT = The Next Big Thing.)
Folks, flying a drone is a hobby club, not leading edge technology. If you can’t build it—and I don’t mean assemble a kit—assembly work is not innovation.
ADDENDUM
Here’s some traditional Brit humor. I’ll have to tell it to you without the accent. Okay, this dour lady reports that a local workman had “turned to drink”. When asked how she knew this, she replied that she herself had seen his wheelbarrow parked in front of a tavern for some hours the day before.
The workman, never said a word in his own defense. However, over the next night, he did leave his wheelbarrow parked in front of the dour lady’s door.
Last Laugh
Return Home
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