One year ago today: February 8, 2016, the corridor.
Five years ago today: February 8, 2012, fingerprint abuse.
Nine years ago today: February 8, 2008, singing my first duet.
Random years ago today: February 8, 2010, my rant & rave.
MORNING
What does this look like to you? I opened the bag of “flower seeds” to see. It looks like a fine green gravel, the label says it contains a lot of nitrogen and 0.81% seed. I closely watched the sunflowers germinate and it has to be above the freeze level at night. My yard monitor says otherwise, so I’ll compromise. Today I will lay down a 5 foot square (25 square feet) of the seeds to see what transpires. The mix is cheap enough to experiment and I wouldn’t mind the yard showing some progress. I have the screen off the window so I may have some better shots of the birds visiting the feeder.
The Gulf of Mexico is not your friend, or better put, it is your fair weather friend. I only caught the end of the news broadcast this morning, something about near tornado conditions. That tends to be more south of here, in that stretch between the Gulf and Lake Okeechobee. I told you I could hear it. This area got a good soaking, so I’m inside. You know, with my quiche and instant coffee, making chocolate brownies and listening to that Wall Street watchdog guy. He does have his facts right, and like myself, he is anti-leftish, anti-Millennial, and recognizes that the system is corrupt.
This morning, he pointed out that the protest camp over the pipeline created an environmental disaster in the making. Abandoned cars, sleeping bags, human waste, the danger is that the area, subject to flooding when the snow melts, could pollute the local rivers. Once again, my solution is the only one that works. Go clean it up, and then send them the bill. As the commentator says, most of the protesters were fat cat rich kids who wanted something to put on their resumes.
He did bring up another issue that is costing the taxpayers dearly. The violence of the leftist protesters. Instead of arresting the instigators who are paying these people to get violent, there is talk of extra police patrols, glass barricades, and escape drills at government offices. Such stupidity is playing right into the liberal cause—they want to spend your money until you are broke and dependent on the system which they unduly influence from their ivory towers.
It seems some people still have not awoken to the fact that these rioters and protestors are being paid and the media is going wild with poisoned reviews that it represents the mood of the people. Mind you, it has opened up a lot of eyes to the decadent measures these left-wing fanatics will go to get their own way. I hope they overstep the line and cause deaths, which gives the other side the right to fight back. I don’t mean civil war, I mean simple self-defense, trust me, the real America would not mourn the deaths of a few thousand social activists. I figure each week Trump is in power, he’s overturning a year of their so-called “progress” and liberals can’t take much more before things go past the point of no return. They are always against the grain and disrespectful of popular sentiment, so if they want to see any results in their lifetime, they have to staunch the changes. The leftards must act soon or they’ll be where they belong: up shit creek.
Once more for the benefit of the deaf and blind, I point out that I am not against social justice, and in many ways I agree with their goals. What I oppose is their blunt and treacherous methods as I would equally oppose any party who tries to force others to support causes they don’t believe in. It doesn’t help that every liberal I’ve ever met was woefully misinformed. Their daughters have never been raped and their sons never been mugged. Liberalism is the worst consequence of being born rich. They begin to think people born poor are stupid for doing such a dumb thing. When poor people grow up, see, they start polluting the environment to get ahead instead of preserving it like rich kids whose ancestors did that for them. Right, GKM?
North Devon Island.
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.
NOON
This is the best I could do and the photo is color-enhanced, but if I’m not mistaken that is the bird most people call a robin. Here’s your Vivitar of some yard denizens, the robin is hard to see. But I told you it was a Vivitar. The yard is alive if you look close enough. The sandy soil is ant paradise and I’ll have to get you some photos of the patterns they make after the next rain. There is also some new animal leaving little messages here and there, careful you don’t step in any. Something larger than a cat but not much. And it is nocturnal.
Alas, when it comes to women, my style only works on the classy ones. And there aren’t any left in my demographic. In fact, in my age group the average woman finds me cheap, stupid, and boring. Just ask Theresa. But you see, that is what makes them so average. Mind you, I agree with the stupid part, but I’m working on it.
What a treat dealing with Home Depot after dealing with the jerks elsewhere. They seem to have a mental block that if you buy anything on-line, it confers upon them the right to your identification. Talk about a generation of indoctrinated ninnies. I think from the early days when the government were first to get computers the unwashed masses became inculcated to believe anyone with a computer had a right to insist. And the person behind the keyboard became a total azzhole, you don’t want them to lose their job, do you? As if you could care less, but Millennials like making their problem into your inconvenience. You know the drill, when you quit arguing, they think they’ve “won”. Tell ‘em, Ken.
So what’s this? Social media is failing? A survey of the SuperBowl ads shows a majority of them did not contain any links. Could it be the greatest generation is figuring out social media doesn’t put any money in their pockets? Just a guess, but nothing else gets through to an idiot faster than going broke just when he wants something now, now, now. Here’s today’s idiot self-test. Ask yourself, do you have a “back up” credit card? End of test. It’s one of those pass-fail tests, Ken. What? It asks if you have a card, not if you own one. You don’t own any credit card, it owns you.
And nobody whine to me it is impossible to live without a credit card. I’ve never had one. Mind you, we found out in 2003 I do have a credit record. That’s correct, despite never having even filled out a credit application in my life, they had all my most valuable property on record. They got if from the bank, utility company, and the DMV. Equifax maintained they have a right to keep a credit record on my and did not require my permission or that I make an application first. Oh, I have reasons not to like those people. Before I forget again, you know what I also ran across in 2003? The system got antsy about taking my lifelong habit of taking money from an ATM and paying for things in cash. No names, but the complaint was they could not tell where I was spending it. Tipping us off that they watch those things closely enough to express concern when they get blocked. (The usual excuse is that they want to target their advertising. Like you don’t have enough already.)
“It takes a lot of balls to play golf the way I do.”
NIGHT
I took the batbike to Home Depot for the delivery. That was a good move as the bottle jack weighs nearly fifty pounds. You lug it around, you get a heart attack, what the hell, huh? Did I not say the price was $30 beans less? So I ran the bike over to Highway 92 and set out for Auburndale. I know it’s late now, but there is nothing like a sidecar ride. To my detractors, I ask, how was your Wednesday, February 7, 2017? Did you do anything worth writing about? If so, did you have the inclination and skills to write it? (I disrespect yahoos who think the only skill needed to create a blog is typing. What, does the fairy godmother flit by and format the photographs for free? Take a look at the blog photo arrangements. It doesn’t look get like that by itself. I had to undo that horrid “block” style you see in every other blog.)
[Author’s note: for those of you who came up with the jack-in-the-box joke, we are miles ahead of you. And yes, all tools are still ordered in the club’s name. No sense having robot parts on your profile if Trump fails and the Ruskies take over, I’m just sayin’.]
There I was, on the highway, I should have known better than to plan on being home by dark. There is nothing, repeat nothing, quite like a sidecar ride into the fading lights and countryside. The tank was brimming full and what a miracle I didn’t just keep going. I could have made Jacksonville in the mood I was in. The cops tailed me for ten miles and I just waved to them. I came within ten miles of Haines City. One day, you know, I will keep on going, just like that. Not forever, but at least a few months would be nice. Like a walkabout, but in style.
In Auburndale, the music store dude remembered my deposit and held the wireless, knowing I’d return. I bought budget instrument cables while there, I’ve never adjusted to paying $50 for Monster (Monstor?) cables despite their guarantees. At that price the cable should damn well work, is what I’m sayin’. The batbike was purring along, it works so well in perfect weather. Sigh. On the side roads back home, I scrounged a curbed little end table. It was heavy and solid, with real drawer glides, what a find. That could become my mini-router table.
You know, I apologize for how many times I’ve said my big router was overkill. It proves itself on every job I use it. Making short work of any wood, it never strains the motor. I’ll keep it, I mean I want another smaller router where the bit is mostly a fixed roundover, or what do they call it, a 1/4 circle. Is there such a beast as a quick change router bit? Show me.
ADDENDUM
Here is a picture of the vehicle I have referred to as a Bombardier, called “BOMB-a-deer” when I rode in them. I have no idea why pictures of this transportation is are so rare, this is the first clear picture I’ve seen in ages. And let me tell you, the copyright on this picture was a bitch to hack. No matter how I tried, the photo kept displaying as a tiny 1/4-inch icon. Clever, but not cleaver enough. I took a camera picture of the monitor, and that that’s what you see here. A picture of a picture of a picture. This is a Bombardier.
I found a site that looks at many snow vehicles, take a look at Unusual Off-Road Locomotion. There’s an interesting robotic section. Allow some time to investigate this well-produced site, there is even an excellent selection on how to re-invent the wheel.
Shown model also sports a shiny paint job and a radio aerial. In my day, what navigation gear? You drove fast if it looked like a blizzard was approaching. Real fast. Do you know what a white-out is? The bogie wheels are ordinary pneumatic wagon tires which gave a tooth-rattling ride until they “warmed up” and during that phase, you shivered it out because nobody dared to light the heater when the cabin was bouncing or standing still.) Go too fast, and the tires would throw a tread. This unit probably has electric defrosting because normally you’d see the tiny spot where the driver had to keep clearing off a peeky-hole.
In fact, when I look close, I see an exhaust panel for the heater above the rear tire, see it? The body is made of formed plywood and unless the newer cabs are insulated, that heater could never keep up. It was fry-belly freeze-back all the way. And the way was not marked, except for abandoned pieces of other snowmobiles that were ditched and left to rust. There were no spare parts to be had. The “road” was different every winter after the drifts formed. In summer, if you call it that, the skis could be replaced with wheels.
Don’t bother taking a window seat. The airplane skis throw up so much snow you won’t be seeing anything. The windows are round because any other shape cracks the plywood. This picture seems fairly recent so I’m going to do some research. The name “Sno-Cat” for this vehicle is totally wrong. Nobody who has had the misfortune to make the three-hour ride in a Bombardier twenty miles to the nearest airport would ever call it something so pretty. Gee, that’s only 7 miles per hour, but if anybody tells you that isn’t terrifyingly fast over packed Arctic tundra snow, I suggest they try it.
Still not convinced? Just tell the driver what you told me and that I said it was okay to give you a free sample. He can bill me for the gas later and I’ll slip in 50 bucks for when he stops laughing. With any luck, they finally put cushions on the seats.
Last Laugh
Return Home
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