One year ago today: June 27, 2015, cars & drone technology.
Five years ago today: June 27, 2011, stretch scooter.
Nine years ago today: June 27, 2007, Hydralux, another scam.
Random years ago today: June 27, 2014, my prototype robot finger.
MORNING
I got another WheresGeorge bill for the first time in years, change from the coffee shop. So I checked my account. That website continues to get worse over time. It has every symptom of Millennial-rot, that mentality that being a Twitter or Facebook addict makes a sub-moron into a power-user. It is now a time consuming ordeal to find your account and log on. Whereupon it takes you to some strange screens when it knows damn well you want to see the map of the bills you entered. And not much else. My, I’m off to a great start today.
Another quirk, you cannot continue updating while a different post updates. You must wait until the update is completed behind the scenes, or you cannot return to your working page. Just keep clicking, there is no way to tell by looking. This is undeniable proof that Google only hires assholes. Not just terrible programmers, but outright unmitigated assholes. With a gamer mindset about everything, including your business files.
See the picture. Here’s my new soundproof patio doors. They are destined for that wall behind the bicycle. The poor paint job is obvious, but the new sunroom essentially means the two exterior walls will become partitions. I will try to salvage the siding, which appears to be in excellent condition under that peeling paint. I’ve half a mind to restore those siding panels so my new work shed down the line matches the house.
It’s another broiler, so you’ll find me packing more things indoors. I believe in lots of small boxes. They are handier and if you need something back, you are not rummaging through big packing crates. I found my missing little green camera I though got left in the truck. Nope, it was under a flap in my old knapsack, the one I use when traveling on the scooter. Since I no longer use the scooter for more than a few miles, I never thought to search for the camera in that location. Yes, that is top news for the morning. I’m moving, not launching a crusade.
French leper colony.
NOON
My bass is up at the new place. Sure enough, I get a hankerin’ to play some. I’m SOL, so I read through the want ads for bass players in the Lakeland area. It’s not ideal, but at least 20% of the bands do play some country-related material. I do have a distaste for people over 40 who still play really old rock music on the juke box. I don’t dislike the music, I dislike the people. Or the crowd who play “teen” rock because it’s what their kids listen to after school. Or something.
If I recall, there was a music board at Jimmy Vintage, that’s the fancy music store we stumbled upon in Auburndale. Right out of character for such a small town, I say. That’s not complaining, you see, because as long as there is an upscale music store within 20 miles, I can always teach lessons so I’l never starve. Those seniors stocking shelves at Winn/Dixie need a reminder that I am a top-notch music teacher and I will never have to sink so low as graveyard shift when I’m over 65. Winding up there is not a tragedy as much as a slot on the useless scale.
No sir, to me graveyard shift means a gig that pays so much it can keep me up past midnight.
AFTERNOON
Lakeland needs a good used bookstore. That’s what you’d gather watching me pack today. Where do I get all this reading material? That’s easy, you live in one area for more than 15 years. It sneaks up on you, like the wife getting fat. Before you know it, you’ve got a few hundred pounds you hadn’t bargained on, but there’s no easy way to just get rid of it
Cozy is connotative. The trailer in this photo is probably cozy, but I need considerably more space to be comfortable. I took inventory of what I’m selling, and this place is even more of a bargain now than when I found it. I’m miffed at the annual rental increases, but they are subject to city approval—or that office would have doubled them by now.
He wants it asap, and you know, if he was to wave the cash under my nostrils, it might be vacate time in a fast hurry. I am exceedingly partial to cash. I wonder if he’s the same guy I heard was sleeping on the other guy’s sofa for the last year. If so, he’s found paradise. I know construction in this town and it doesn’t quite pay enough to ever get ahead. A cheap place to stay is an absolute requirement, and that’s not easy when you see what’s happened to rents since 2011.
For anybody who doesn’t know, here is the biggest tale from the trailer court. My “trailer” is a full length mobile home in great condition. I bought this unit to hole up (yes, I know it is hold up) to look for a better place. It is a small mobile home, but everything works except the pilot light. It’s not new but you will not find a more complete and comfortable place in south Broward or North Miami at a reasonable price. This is, by several hundred dollars a month, the best place you could possibly live for less than a thousand a month. My average cost of occupancy is less than $600—and I do not do without anything. There is not a scrap of boasting in what I just said. I would not have lived here over five years if the place was a constant headache.
There are further niceties not apparent at a glance. For instance, the place is regulated, so the chump in the office can’t double go crazy.. You will double your money because of that Arts Center going up next door. The neighbors never bother you and it is walking distance to most everything you need, certainly biking distance. The place even has a prestigious-sounding address, as all the private roads in here are named after big old forest trees.
Mayu Yamamoto:
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NIGHT
You’re lucky I didn’t head straight home and crash. I would have missed all the working class fun. Not to mention the bizarre combinations of food left in the fridge back home when one is relocating. Mini-toast, cucumber, SPAM, and duck sauce (leftover) can be quite appetizing at 11:00PM. Then again, I’ve always been a fan of late night vinegar snacks. Fewer calories. And I’ve been that way ever since I developed a parallel early taste for teenage Scandinavian women back in the pre-camel era when such remained a decent and reasonably productive undertaking. If you missed that, my first real girlfriend was a Norwegian redhead. Fun, or what!
ADDENDUM
Who else caught that article in the weekend paper put deep out of sight at the lower right corner of page 18? Once again, we have yet another holocaust survivor who only admits he was lying either on his deathbed, or after being cross-examined by a historian. For the record, this blog does NOT deny that the holocaust happened, but asks, if it really did happen, why do only the Jewish witnesses have to consistently lie about it?
So you’ll know, a total of around 8,000 Jews claimed to have survived the “death camps”. But they almost universally refuse to testify under oath—because that means cross-examination. To date, no Jewish “survivor” of a concentration camp has not been discredited. Take for instance, this 91-year-old Jew in the article. This asshole, Joseph Hirt, has toured the USA for decades, indoctrinating school children with his lies.
He was only caught when the camp records were made public and there was no mention of Joe. It was later found the number Joe had tattooed on his arm later belonged to a Polish chemist. Joe claims to have met Mengele, who did not arrive at the camp until years after Joe lied that he had crawled under the wire and escaped.
Again, my question is, if the event of the Holocaust is true, why do the survivors consistently lie? And why do the ones who lie only admit it after they have been caught? It is impossible to estimate the amount of harm done by bastards like old Joe, poisoning the minds of young people. Programming them not to ask questions. Forcing them to listen to only one side of the story.
And now we are finding out that side of the story is largely fabricated. True, a prison camp in WWII Germany was no picnic. But in case anybody hasn't heard, the Allies were not bombing the German armies in the battlefield. They were bombing the German cities. They were bombing food supplies and the distribution network. If there was a food shortage in the prison camps, you know who is at least partially responsible. Camp conditions were bad enough without liars like Joe Hirt.
Read this link before you believe Hirt’s defense that he was "just keeping history alive". Bullshit, he was receiving Holocaust reparations (from five different countries) and the article leaves no doubt if he had not been caught, he’d be around the country scamming money still. Long-term readers will recognize this blog has questioned such inconsistencies long before it was kosher to do so. I mean, how dumb do people have to be to not notice part of Anne Frank’s diary is written in ballpoint pen.
My opinion? Good job, Mr. Reid, now go after the rest. Why? Because Hirt gave hundreds of presentations over the years and every other Jew that really was at the camp would have known he was lying. Yet they said nothing.
Last Laugh
(Say, officer, is that your gun I see there?)
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