One year ago today: June 24, 2015, the mythical Pierre Berton (Canadian).
Five years ago today: June 24, 2011, early mention of “Broward Robotics”.
Nine years ago today: June 24, 2007, chasin’ women & such . . .
Random years ago today: June 24, 2010, please outlaw politics.
MORNING
Let’s find out how honest the Lakeland library is compared to Hollywood. I forgot my pen drive in the computer y’day. If I get it back, you’ll see the missing post for June 23, 2016. Today I left for south Florida at 10:00AM, taking the scenic route. Pulling an empty wagon gives me extra speed and time to think. Here is a better shot of the bedroom interior, showing the bare studs and framework. I still have to inspect the attic, but this picture is all good news.
This means those floors will be ripped up to get at the joists. If the floor is built as basically as the walls, the oak strips will be nailed directly on the joists, but lengthwise. Removal would mean working inside the building on the sand beneath the structure, which will be infinitely more fun that shovel work outside, I’ll tell you. You can see the 24” on-center framing and the angled buttress supports. I suppose there is a fancy trade name for them but who cares?
I also got the windows working again, including the one shown here. All the chips of broken drywall seen here will be defenestrated. The wood has been carefully inspected, and although there is termite damage, the core of the studs is solid. You test it by hitting it with the hammer claw. If it sticks, you are okay. There is easily another 30 years of good life left in this timber. The guy from Lowe’s said it was actually in remarkable shape and showed me a method to wet it down for insects before I apply the tarpaper.
The purpose of the wall is to make the dwelling protect against wind, water, neighbors, and lately to a frightening extent, big government. Tarpaper is normally associated with shingles, but in Florida most houses, including mine, don’t have adequate eaves. That means the exterior walls are as subject to wind-driven rain as the roofing. The tarpaper will be between the studs only; there are several schools of thought on whether the tarpaper should also between the siding and studs as well, but they’ll still be arguing the point long after I’m gone.
Driving back roads all the way to La Belle made the trip south into a seven hour pleasure drive through the country. The weather was perfect until south of the lake, which is quite normal for the season. I drove south through Bartow on the back road to Ft. Green. Find that on your map. It is probably still there although the town isn’t. Earlier this year, JZ and I took the same back road to find Mulberry, and another time, we drove past the rickity-est old roadside chow stand in Florida. Well, I finally stopped there.
The island of Fogo.
NOON
Meet King Fries, a slice of Texas in the Florida central highlands. You couldn’t find a more authentic place back in the Lone Star anymore. The screen door and the interior décor matches. Find a picnic table near the big fan in the corner and use your keyring to paperweight your sheet of Bounty. Open Monday to Friday, the hours are posted on the wall.
I had the fries with gravy and a triple cup of coffee I could not finish. They have only powdered creamer and you’ll have to ask for it. I gather it is mainly a pizza joint and if so, they would have no competition for a few hundred square miles. The batbike drew the customary attention. The food was priced right for a roadside stop, the entire clientele but for me were clearly working men on their noon break. The fare is mainly burgers and sandwiches and you can order ahead.
They are closed Saturdays, indicating it is family-owned. And of course, they are closed Sundays as are all proper American businesses. I’m saying you should stop at King Fries for the food and rustic setting. This is not your franchised clown stop. The mosquito netting surrounds the entire dining area except for some patches on the north wall facing the prevailing winds. But it keeps out most of the gnats and flies, as does the industrial blower in the upper back corner. You got your burger, your air conditioning, and your country charm, what more else do you want, city-slicker?
Keeping to the byways, I passed Arcadia, south toward Imokalee, but seeing the gathering clouds pushing southeast from the lake, I turned east on Old Highway 78. There’s a lot of farmland and ranches down that road that would make many places out west jealous. It’s along the north side of the St. Lucie canal. I did not see any river traffic other than fancy fishing boats.
I’ve crossed the frostline somewhere about then and had to stop for an ice-cold Burger King shake. And sit in the A/C long enough to cool my hide a few layers. I went a mile or two toward Imokalee hoping to outrun the storm, but I quickly backtracked and only got as far as Clewiston before I was forced to stop again to hydrate. The little ice-cream parlor east of town is the preferred stop nowadays. It is a Marathon gas station, but you notice the building is like a fancy log cabin.
I timed that right as the air temperature fell around ten degrees as I finished my pint of milk, making the remaining run into Ft. Lauderdale pleasant in the light traffic. Under ideal conditions, it takes just an hour and twenty minutes to get here from South Bay. But you will get those conditions maybe twice a year.
Howard Stapleton: Peace, 2006. Howie has perfected the “Mosquito Repellent”, but quite frankly, I’m on his side. You had better read the whole article. Play the ringtone. I can’t hear a thing.
NIGHT
This is a picture of the kind of porch that I want. I dislike the ones that are too narrow to hold a rocking chair. You’ve seen them. More like a walkway. Same with balconies. When they are too small, they become outdoor storage for bicycles and old Xmas trees. This is some real estate office I passed in La Belle, a once booming canal town on the way to Ft. Meyers. While this porch is a little rundown, it has the elements I want.
The trip back took up the entire day. Seven and a half hours to make a three and a half hour trip, but there is no rush. I could not find any packing boxes, so who knows what I’ll take out on the next truckload. But I am fed up with south Florida. Too many predictable inconveniences all the time. Anyone who tells you there is nothing stopping you from getting ahead has never really tried—and you should not be listening to them. That includes your parents, kiddies.
Let me tell you the facts. The entire concept of getting ahead by ambition and hard work is bogus. It is brainwashing. If getting ahead required only those two factors, there would be a constant turnover of who is rich in every generation. We know this is not the case. The system is rigged so that those who are already rich get to keep it in the family.
There’s always an exception or two, but you and I are not one of them. You cannot get rich in your own lifetime except by luck or by finding a loophole. (Joining the Mafia is a combination of both.) The most socially acceptable type of luck is having some marketable talent, like Miley Cyrus or Wayne Gretzky. Those two are living proof having the brains fold cheap toilet paper isn’t a requirement.
A few of my sharper readers will ask how this meshes with my “five years to get rich” plan. Well, okay, maybe I should explain. The system I just described, where the rich must manipulate the laws in their favor to prevent upstarts from getting too big a slice of the pie, has many variations. The two that concern most people are the poor, who have only their labor, and the tiny number of motivated go-getters of each generation. Those entrepreneurs often produce a surplus of capital or occasionally a good idea that can be stolen or manipulated.
Hence the rich will target the labor of the poor or the youthful ideals of the bright-eyed kid who wants to succeed. These are the only two qualities the rich value in others. The poor must be kept in the factories, working only for a living. The upstart youngster must be made to fit into the system or quashed. Those who fit are the Zuckerbergs, those who don’t are the Teslas. Now stay with me here. You can be “rich” by avoiding being either a laborer or by not being the type of individual from whom the already-rich want to take anything. Are you following along?
I am neither a laborer nor an entrepreneur. The system can’t steal my time since I won’t work for nobody but myself, and they won’t steal my house since it isn’t worth it. (Meaning not worth exposing themselves to do it. The house is fine.) If all the money that comes my way is mine that is a form of rich. I won’t go further because I’m miffed. Why? Because. Did you know that Wednesday this week was the lowest number of blog hits in ten years? That’s correct; only 18 people read that beautifully-crafted Wednesday post.
ADDENDUM
Needing some down time, I watch this video of the highly-touted CIWS or R2D2 Phalanx Gatling gun shooting at a go-fast boat. The video is supposed to impress us how great this cannon is, but watch the last half of the video. That boat just keeps on coming. And last I heard, the Iranians have these boats galore. If that distance in the video is accurate, a couple of old guys with shotguns could probably do a better job. Especially when you consider the Navy is highly prone to showing its best performances.
Worse, the video shows the bad guys that the weapon is loaded by hand by what looks like a crew of three, feeding the ammo belt into a port. I’ll presume the Iranians are too dumb to circle around until the magazine is empty, and presume the Navy has enough of these things to cover each other. If there is any authenticity to that video, the phrase “sitting duck” comes to mind.
Last Laugh
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