One year ago today: December 27, 2015, suicide fail.
Five years ago today: December 27, 2011, on sleazy, meaningless drivel.
Nine years ago today: December 27, 2007, another Dr. Skrbc.
Random years ago today: December 27, 2002, something about Isaac Newton.
MORNING, NOON, & NIGHT
It looks to be another too-hot day, so I was in the yard taking measurements before that happened. The only challenge with the shed appears to be what I’ll use for the floor. Not concrete, but possibly paving tiles. Agt. R says gravel, but I need a surface where if I drop a small screw, there is at least some prospect of recovering it. This should tip you off that today is not going to be all that exciting an episode.
Here’s a photo of an idea I consider ingenious. I took some pains to try to get a better shot, but the plastic covering was too reflective. It’s a nearly weightless drive mechanism for a paper airplane. You fold up the paper as always, then clip this device along the spline. It’s battery powered and you control it with your smart phone. Clever. What was that? For the first time since I moved, I just heard a train whistle during the day.
37°18’29.25”S 12°40’47.26W
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.
At which point I went to the library. I’m going to have to get a laptop to work away from the crowd. Some of the staff, the older ones, are beginning to take exception that I’m still using guest passes on the computers after four months. Plus, I made the mistake of sitting next to a totally obnoxious pig, some white guy who couldn’t clear his throat and worse, a snot-swallower. It’s the first time I had to change locations. If I get the laptop, I will also begin to carry surgical masks, like I had to at the Hollywood Library.
Here’s another gem from Agt. R’s yard. Some kind of original John Deere tractor wrench. I’ve already advised him to hold on to these things, but he’s given an immense amount of these things away over the years. I did take a few curator courses back in the day, though even I admit they were outdated by then. Remember the grapefruit caliper?
“I Bought the Shoes that Just Walked Out on Me.”
Okay, I went out for a few. Not like there are many options in these small cities. I found a quiet pub and thought I’d do some more planning and modeling. A nothing pub in the middle of nowhere or at least not too far from there. Let’s see, we got the three divorced fat broads in the corner. And about twice that number of bottom-feeding men sniffing around. Archetypical Florida.
Then, to my surprise, a guy shows up and starts doing Karaoke. This place never has entertainment. Sure enough, the fat ladies started taking turns expertly singing the most dreadful tunes. “Walking After Midnight” is a sit-at-home radio song, gals. Talented singers, these women had no value as entertainers. Within the hour, some old men (younger than me but you know what I mean) came filtering in. They started in with the 1980s moaners. The concept, I think, is hoping to get the audience in their mood, which never works.
They did a credible job of some old lounge standards, boring as a brick. I finally got up there and did some chick tunes, which flummoxed the DJ. He’s 40-something and had never seen that before. Next was the fun part. A guy singing Trisha Yearwood was evidently original in that room, so a few of the heftier women tried to copycat and do guy songs. Would somebody tell Two-Ton Annie that there is no nerve or novelty to it once I’ve already softened up the joint?
One particularly lame one tried to change the gender of the lyrics on the fly. You get that when the post-Yuppie crowd tries to act kewl. It’s also an on-stage sign the vocalist is taking the song way too personal, a bona fide mood-killer. People in a bar want their own mood, not yours. Three songs, then I left. The original table of the three big ones had their eyes riveted on me. What’s with that? I wish I had the money they spent of fashions. Not the fashions, just the money.
Here’s a panorama picture of the park up the road. It’s a composite photo, note the certain similarities to those early maps of Mars. We now know more about the topography of the red planet than many places on Earth. Or the ocean bottoms. Of the two, when I was young, I honestly had expectations of taking a commercial trip to Mars in my lifetime. It could have been, you know, if NASA hadn’t decided to go politically correct and sabotage the program.
Last Laugh
Return Home
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
