One year ago today: March 15, 2016, another bloated bureaucracy.
Five years ago today: March 15, 2012, the joke of pen refills.
Nine years ago today: March 15, 2008, retard counting.
Random years ago today: March 15, 2015, Hot Diggity Dog.
The weather has turned bitter, so expect more planning. It’s okay, I understand how the new house has altered my writing. I can only explain that I had no idea that I would ever look forward to yard work and house repairs. I had an idee fixe that this was work. Mainly what’s changed is once I get going, I won’t stop for hours. Right there, I know I’ll have the prettiest front yard on the block some day soon. That sunroom is going to triple the value of the house. I’m putting in long hours studying that project.
If it is the house that sinks further, well, it’s lasted 70 years, we’ll go for the full century. I’m ready to proceed but I don’t want to begin before the trip out of town this month. There’s plenty else to do around the place—and I’m starting to love it. The red birds have learned to perch outside my window and let me know when the feeder is out. I let that happen time to time so they continue to search for alternatives. Here’s a representative photo of the blue jay that raids the seeds, but this is not a good likeness. I’m saying the one in my yard is a strikingly prettier specimen. It’s that I don’t usually notice him until I hear him falling off the tiny cardinal perch, by which time it’s too late for a photo.
Last day while napping, I heard something fall. I didn’t bother to investigate, and how I can’t find my Vivitar camera. How did it know to go missing right before a trip? I know! This is Florida. It’s still spooky how that goes. Oh, and Lorna, of “Altar of Eden”, is now about to be rescued. I’m on chapter 54 and fear not, the forest ranger is on the way. The human experiments on the other island are connecting to her brainwaves, it’s a woman thing. The message is the same old that collective feelings (the “hive bond”) are better for the human race than those individual geniuses who time-to-time come up with really impressive things. Like the polio vaccines and electricity that allowed Lorna to live well enough to do what she’s doing. Screw them, she’s on a motherhood roll.
As usual, I spot all those unintentional puns. The children have “acute” intelligence, awww . . . . But the real hilarity is how unfamiliar the narrator is with big words. Hooked On Phonics seems to max out at three syllables. Jack, the ranger, was almost eviscerated. Ouch, not the wound, but the way she pronounced it. As RofR would say, I wouldn’t mind losing an arm or a leg, but I wouldn’t want to be eviscerated.
About 2,000 years old.
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By late noon, we got the message it is going to be a cold night. I even took the plant seedlings into the sectioned off warm room of the house. That’s the segmented area with the extra heaters, blankets, and endless mugs of scalding coffee. Sorry, Florida, this is one cowboy you will never worry with cold. I heard the panic out there, the local Wal*Mart sold out of blankets and heaters. Well, har-har, after my teenage days in an unheated cabin at 20 below, there’s nothing Florida can throw at me. It was me and the lovely Beverly Twila Gillingham a.k.a. “Angleface” against the blizzard back then. You know, I found out blizzard is a word invented in the 1880s by a newspaper reporter. If you are expecting to hear how Angelface and I survived, forget it, this is not that kind of blog. The next summer, she ran off with some guy with a last name this long, who, I surmise, had a warmer shack than I did. Which, since I had nothing at age 17, is synonymous with the very first guy who came along.
I closely examined the city forms for building permits and they are not designed for homeowners, only for building contractors. So I asked around and the answers were all indirect. Nobody knows because they all do their repair work at the same time—right after a hurricane. So the city inspector is overwhelmed and takes a quick look. They always, on principle, find some minor thing wrong, and race on to the next address. While I want to stay on the good side of the city inspectors, if they are lax on homeowner repairs, nor do I want to open a styrofoam cup of worms. I was only after information on what is required for footings.
“I want quality, not quantity, and lots of it.”
Listening to the radio in the evening, I see I am by far not the only one who doesn’t give a hoot about most of politics. I just don’t live a life where I’m concerned with much more than the taxes I have to pay. I grasp that pipelines and supreme court appointments are important but they do not involve me directly or on a daily basis. I tend to be wary of people who regard politics as too much of a problem or a solution to their personal circumstances. I’m saying I don’t know the mayor’s name, but if he does anything that concerns me, I’ll learn it quickly enough. Those same people I’m wary of seem to be excellent public watchdogs and that’s good enough for me.
But I maintain my position that politics should be outlawed. Most people don’t need political leadership to get on with their lives or do the right things. This country could easily be ruled by referendums alone. One social security number, one vote, on-line. Vote on everything and majority rules-as long as there’s always a quorum, of course. No Miami condo committee stuff allowed. The system would never be perfect, but it would work better than what’s in place now.
Since I’ve seen most of the Benny Hill re-runs on-line, I’ve taken to watching clips of the uneducated, the civil servants, and various government functionaries who try to lie to Trey Gowdy. That’s funny as hell, especially when the fat libtard women try it. If they incorporate my idea of the cattle prod for lying or not answering the question, this would replace so much prime time television that the networks would have to consider broadcasting quality again.
Don’t regard watching a predetermined search on-line for a news clip that same as watching television. The average clip I watch once a day is 6 to 8 minutes long, pared out of lengthy recording. Even if it is a television production, I would not know it, and that’s not the same was staring at the tube for an hour to get those few meaningful moments. I do rely on the Internet for weather, as radio is too intermittent with their reports and the news clip is normally what I play in the background.
Let’s hope for warmer weather by Sunday, the earliest departure date. In a sense, rain and cold are similar in that they are the things that cause me to slow down on the motorycle. Last year when I hit that hurricane arm, I drove nearly 80 miles in first gear, often called granny gear. This trip, I’ve allowed for up to 12.5 hours to cover 245 miles if need be. With complete budget allowances for gas, coffee, meals, and an overnight if necessary.
The Rebel retains the smaller 2.5 gallon gas tank of the 250cc model, so at 450cc displacement, the range is 80 to 90 miles. And the reserve switch doesn’t work right, so I have to carry a small bottle of gas just in case. I’m taking the Rebel in to get that switch fixed and possibly a new rear tire. As usual, the daily posting falls off when I’m on the road, but it also signals there will be more adventures and tales from the trailer court.
Last Laugh
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