One year ago today: December 23, 2015, the poverty was imposed.
Five years ago today: December 23, 2011, I paid my bills.
Nine years ago today: December 23, 2007, Jimbos Jamboree.
Random years ago today: December 23, 2008, boy, was I wrong.
MORNING
Ha, that was dumb, thinking I could drive 33 miles in three hours. I arrived 40 minutes late for the eye exam, so it now has to wait until next round. The eye doctor had left. It was the old Miami back the cement truck onto the road to block traffic at rush hour game again. If they give you a little red flag, by all means, use it to inconvenience people. Why, that’s your job.
Here’s the Rebel next to a stretch of good old Florida swamp. The trunk on the back shows just how willing I am to lash down any suitcase I can find and head out on the road, half-prepared. That’s how I ride. Less obvious is how little these Florida back roads can be above water. Usually the vegetation is solid enough to prevent a view into the bayou, so I had to hunt around for this clearing. This is around 28 miles west of the Miami city limits, deep in the cypress swamp. You can barely make out the new windscreen.
I had to keep calling ahead to tell JZ I’d be another half hour late. Finally, I took the cut along 40th Court, knowing there was a lane I could drive past the stalled traffic along the roadside. Just be careful, for some reason this is illegal, even on a motorcycle. The lane is there, it is just not wide enough for parking so it is always clear of cars.
Again, those people I cut off were antsy. Hey, I’ve driven in Caracas, Bangkok, and San Diego. Ain’t my fault the other guy is frustrated. I could just barely hear these people yelling at me, but they must have thought I was Cuban. Because they kept calling me “Sebastian”. I got in so late, the mall was our only option. It isn’t my imagination, the young women these days are not as good looking as my time. It’s mainly the makeup. I’m used to young women who try NOT to look like street prostitutes.
Darn, I wound up in the toy department. JZ can’t seem to go to a mall without buying a shirt, so I left him at the bargain bins. It was notable that all the “goof” toys were sold out, but the classics were on the shelves aplenty. I found a “Shoot the Moon” toy to discover JZ had no idea what it was. It had a different name on the box, but it is the game where you hold two metal rods and try to drop a rolling ball into circles named by the major planets. Wait for a picture, as the toy requires assembly. It doesn’t blink, or burp, or grunt and requires a modicum of skill to play with, so it was still there when JZ went back later to buy it.
Trivia. 30% is the amount of time African-Americans have to wait longer for an Uber or Lyft taxi than their Euro-American counterparts. That’s from this month’s Time or something. Make sure all your Libtard friends interpret this is prejudice rather than the fact most people with cars for hire may not live near black neighborhoods. I mean, the Uber driver has no way of knowing who is what when he gets the call.
Drone pic of Detroit.
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NOON
JZ was later to find it was the favorite toy of the Xmas party. And bear in mind, these are all girls for whom some would expect to not care for such gadgets. I told him, it’s hard to beat classic wooden gifts at any age. Here’s the guard pooch at the Limestone Country Club. I thought it was deleted, but here’s the critter himself, ready to be fed I suppose. One of your more friendly guard dogs, you might say.
The English had troops in the battle area and were able to listen in on American radio traffic. We already know the Abrams is hardly the best standalone weapon on the field, but now comes disturbing data on the Apache, the so-called American flying tank. It seems more than a few of them were brought down by accurate small-arms (rifle) fire. One was turned back to base with just 29 bullet hits, which the Americans tried to brag up into a survivability issue. What does that thing cost again? That’s 29 bullets you say? That’s how many times you have to shoot Chuck Norris just to wake him up. Some tank.
I was the stick in the mud all rest of the day. I don’t want to go out, I want to go home. I could have made it if I’d left [straight] from the eye clinic [but I stopped at the library]. Just you watch, JZ will turn the same opinion when he gets his own place. It changes you and changes you even more the later in life you leave it. It’s not exciting, but we next had a one hour discussion on diabetes. He’s been to medical school and says there is a theory that the condition, while not infections, can develop after certain types of infectious disease. He also states it can result from physical changes in drug users. Neither of these applies to my situation.
It’s the food, I say, until somebody can prove otherwise, although there is one more item on my suspect list. I’ve been taking certain heart medicines for over ten years now. Some of them mention possible side effects that, however cleverly worded, are liver, pancreatic, and kidney ailments. You don’t have to be Albert Frankenstein to follow my thinking with that. Now JZ is also partial to holistic meds, which I think only work well when there is a parallel to standard treatments in the process.
Next, it was a discussion on intelligence. JZ, and most people, regard it as a single commodity that some people have and others don’t. While my definition is just as narrow, I recognize broad categories of intelligence. Fundamental to my viewpoint is a willingness to learn, that is, ignorance is a resistance to learning. The best part of this conversation, according to JZ, is my position that the largest group of people who pass for smart have what I call “instinctive intelligence”. They become highly adept at spotting cause and effect. Don’t believe me? Talk to any university grad since 1985. They can parrot the textbook with striking accuracy.
In my books, intelligence is the ability to use one’s memory of unrelated topics to spot connections that most people cannot see on their own. The trouble is, that memory has to be constantly updated and refurbished continually through life, or it draws the wrong conclusion. Fine, since anyone with this type of intelligence will realize that early in life. And no, when I say unrelated topics, Wallace, that does not mean anything that pops into your head.
Take this last photo. It is the clock at the town square in Lake Wales. I snapped this after turning down a one-way street the wrong direction last week. I believe that would have been around 1:30 in the afternoon, but for the life of me I can’t remember. You might say the picture just popped into my head. But wait until I leave before you say anything.
“Don't Chop Any Wood Mother, I'm Comin' in With a Load.”
NIGHT
I fell asleep.
Not before I read the September Discover magazine. It says earthquakes remain the worst of natural disasters, killing more than all others combined. The deadliest US earthquake killed 43 people, so there’s more at work here than raw statistics. It also says you get 16 minutes warning for a tornado. Makes me wonder why they still have causalties.
ADDENDUM
Here’s putting paid to the rumor it was the Ochobee post office that got torched. There’s the Rebel slouched in front. The place is privately owned and does not claim to be the smallest post office, rather that it is “considered to be the smallest post office in continuous operation”. Except not today, it is closed for the season.
I further investigated the myth of the Irish slaves, I say myth because they came voluntarily. But they hit New York, the cesspool of America. So much for the melting pot theory. It turns out of all the immigrant groups after the white northern Europeans before 1900, some 80% of the other groups were still working at menial jobs twenty years later, still living in ghetto communities. That’s per Colin Greer, “The Greet School Legend”, (1972), Chapter Five.
And here’s something interesting. The jokes on it made by Carlin aside, it appears the original saying about votes and opinions is backwards. You know the people who say if you didn’t vote, you can’t complain. They are the ones in the wrong, according to the original. If you DO vote, you are the one who can’t bellyache. Because you are the one who elected the dodos who are doing everything wrong.
Last Laugh
Overcrowding in British prisons.
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