One year ago today: November 29, 2015, shoes, clocks, & drills.
Five years ago today: November 29, 2011, I taught myself, Eddie.
Nine years ago today: November 29, 2007, the trailer in 3D.
Random years ago today: November 29, 2002, early digital photo post.
MORNING
Here’s an item of good news. Now we know why my yard stays high and dry even when the street floods. There is a perceptible slope from the back of the yard toward the street, but the actual gradient was obscure until I measured it. The challenge was my laser appears to only have a twenty foot range. After that, the stripe gets fuzzy. So I had to hire this good-looking old guy to hold the furring strip I used as a pole.
Did I score a book for my dollar. “Improbable” has been written with more than a rudimentary knowledge of physics. I’m only on page 80 and it’s the best tale containing technical material I’ve read in years. Heavy on medicine, physics, statistics, creationism, determinism, and also a damn good detective novel, I recommend it already. This morning, I read the passage where Tversky, the researcher, argues that because Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle can be shown to support the Second Theory of Thermodynamics, it still deals with probability. That, he points out, does not necessarily prove the process is random.
This should not scare away anyone who dislikes such topics. All this “science” is skillfully tucked into the plot line. You can just read past it all and still follow the mystery. I’m only saying I’m engrossed by the knowledge required for a book-writer to have gotten that far. We are in the age of the specialist author. The lady into forsensics, the military expert, and the lawyer writer, but physics—that’s another category altogether. This book stays with me daily.
In another move of sheer stupidity, the Liberal sympathizers in government offices are revealing themselves by opposing needed reforms. Today some of them are up in arms that Trump said those who burn the American flag should be jailed or stripped of citizenship. That’s true. The Libtards are screaming it is an executive order, but how come they were not screaming when their president pushed through equally unpopular law on the same boat? If I was Trump, I’d be carefully noticing who these mouthpieces are, let them come forward. And record their names. Civil servants should not be taking sides when it comes to doing their jobs.
I talked to JZ on the phone, there is minimal chance he’ll be heading this way during December as planned. Unless he gets some unexpected Xmas funding, there is not much hope he can afford both a new truck and a trip out here. I usually reimburse because he helps a lot around the yard, but that’s not viable this time. Dang, together we get the women. You just never hear about it much. This blog is PG-13.
You know, I brushed off a gal at the furniture store y’day. Not the one I was talking to, but another who followed me out the door. I figured she was parked near my rig, but two things said no. One, she was parked the other direction and because of a panel truck, you could not see the batbike from the store. So she was following me to see what kind of vehicle I was driving. She expressed interest, but I simply replied the standard facts I’d give any onlooker. She was just not my type, not even twenty years ago. Too skinny, the type of lady I’d be more likely to put the squeeze on her daughters. She would not have been quite pretty enough even that far back. I didn’t tell her to hop in and I’ll take her anywhere she wants to go.
Sri Lanka.
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.
NOON
It was a perfect day for work but I didn’t get any done. There’s a tendency to forget I’ve have many of the same things to contend with besides the new house. Like my primary computer breaking down. I’ve got it working, but that’s the whole sunny part of the day gone. It’s in five pieces and I don’t know what the problem was, but it boots. The problem is, that is my last best XP computer and if it goes, I’m stuck with the appalling post-XP Windows operating systems. The Windows versions after XP that took computing back into the Stone Ages. Have you ever tried to use their search function?
I couldn’t resist trying this copper knife that claims to never need sharpening. It would not slice cucumber, but works reasonably well on other food. Then I went for coffee, noticing that the shop had to take down one of the little buildings in the Xmas display. The had a store, a library, a train station, and a church. Some Muslim complained and they had to remove the church. They apparently forgot the Libtard rule:
If their religion offends you, you are a racist.
Dang, you conservatives, why can’t you ever get that right? Mr. Trump, what’s the hold-up? These people need to be taught a lesson they will never forget.
I caught up with the blog and took the rest of my library time to review what Ann Coulter has been up to. I regret never met anyone like her when I was in university, but then again, I didn’t exactly make into any ivy league venues. I see she has finally begun to directly confront people who try to topple her research by quoting personal examples. She’ll say immigrants who go on welfare are the wrong kind of immigrants, and you’ll always get some fat beaner broad claiming that’s not true because she personally isn’t on welfare. Ann’s replies are now taking on the nature of, “Lady, one example does not change a statistic.”
And I’ve always agreed with the contention that no illegal immigrants, not even one, should ever be on welfare. They’ll burn the flag, but not their welfare checks.
I’d left autoplay on and got into these dating sites, sort of. It was more like youtube posts of women complaining about the type of men who respond to their dating ads. That was worth the laugh. Ladies, at 35 who do you expect is going to answer except 60 year old men? Wake up and smell the coffee. Christ, the last thing a man wants at 35 is to date some lady his own age—unless she has something going for her besides that winning smile, which, by the way, is now missing 4.7 teeth. According to emerging norms, after 35, “single” means you have not been out on a date in two years or more. To me, it still means you have never been married or shacked up.
However, the men were not that much better. To a one, they fail to realize that women view divorce differently than men do. They know the same is true of marriage, but mass divorce seems to be too recent a development for this difference to become popular lore. I’ve said how I’ve never yet met the woman who admitted she was responsible for the breakup and how they don’t learn from experience, but extend that now to the attitude of women toward divorce. (I’ve also never met a man who divorced a woman who was a good wife and companion.)
Every man is familiar with the woman who squandered her youth and charms, but divorce tends more toward older women who cannot be excused for being naïve on the details. After a while, divorce becomes formulaic. You nag the guy, you don’t do the wild thing any more, you spend all the money, gals, the outcome is predictable. I noticed when I turned 40, if you ask a gal if she knows any single women, she immediately starts to think of her divorced friends. Now what kind of shit is that?
It’s impossibly tricky, whether you are either single or divorced at 40, to tell such gals that the last thing you want right now is some broad who can’t hold a relationship together. Ladies, that’s the attitude I mean. If you don’t know any young, unencumbered, sexy women, the answer is “No, I don’t know any single women.” I know how hard it is to change after 40 because I’ve done it. To sum it up, I think older women treat divorce the way teen women treat sex. Sort of “oops, that wasn’t fun” and on to the next one. Hardly a long-term plan for success.
In that sense, divorced women are like guitarists with no band. They fancy themselves the perfect bundle and never understand why the rest of the world keeps failing to do things their way. Again, I’m not saying most men are any better, but that is a different topic. As I’ve said before, when somebody comes along while I’m young a pretty and hands me all the sex, food, and money I could ever want for free, then I might look at things altogether differently.
AFTERNOON
Now that Blockbuster is history, the Thrift stores are getting a lot more donations of DVDs with their [the Blockbuster] label still stuck [on]. Today I watched on called “Eulogy”, it’s about a whacked out family whose grandfather dies. It’s kind of bad that the only term to describe these types of relatives is “dysfunctional”. We need a whole new vocabulary to label people like this. It’s a comedy, in this video the characters are merely incompatible and close-minded, not downright malicious. I know the difference.
I had a Blockbuster membership for years and rented regularly until one day they demanded to “update” my file and I didn’t want to do that. They would not budge although there had never been any problem with my “account”. I walked out, never to return. I always paid cash, so my current address is really none of their business. What if I steal a movie? Hey, innocent until proven guilty and beyond that, let the person who wants my money assume 100% of the risk of doing business. Unless I ask for credit, my personal info doesn’t enter into it.
That’s the US mentality. Because a tiny percent of the customers might rip you off, keep files on every customer. Fine--until the banks and government get involved.
NIGHT
It’s now dark, and I mean inky dark, beyond anything that can be experienced in Broward. While still dusk, I took the red scooter for a tour of the northeast section of town. It’s bigger than I thought, but as dead as it gets. There’s the ghetto part and just past that is the working class, or what’s left of it. The neighborhoods where people bought them in 1970 and actually lived there after 1990 when they paid the place off. We’ve seen this before, the place is not worth a lot on paper, but there is nobody to see it to. The last two over-educated generations don’t want to stick around these small towns and cities and the highest paying jobs available don’t qualify for the prices being asked.
Before I forget, here’s one for the books. I pulled up my beautiful place on the real estate review and found it was the lowest priced piece of property bought in the good side of town in 2016. Places that were barely habitable sold for twice what I paid, including run-down joints on the wrong side of the highway. Even better, I’m well on the way to recovering from that massive drain of cash. Soon as I’ve got a reserve built up again, the real bargain this place represents will start to tell. Why, here’s another opportunity for not to say, “Smithsonian”.
Some trivia:
√ The typical owner-occupied home was built in 1976; the typical renter-occupied home was built in 1973. The typical home size is 1,500 square feet. The typical home owner is 55 years old, and has lived in the current home for 14 years.
√ The typical real estate agent is a 53 year old white female homeowner with “some college”.
√ Only 1% of houses (52,412 out of 5,250,500 sold total) in 2015 sold via ads in newspapers.
√ The average agent makes $39,114 per year. (But there's over 2 million of them suckers.)
Last Laugh
Return Home
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
