September 16, 2017

Yesteryear
One year ago today: September 16, 2016, chicken Kiev.
Five years ago today: September 16, 2012, Great Western Sugar Company.
Nine years ago today: September 16, 2008, a generic Tuesday.
Random years ago today: September 16, 2007, goodbye, Kissimmee.

           Here’s one for you. The company that towed my ex-Honda off the pavement is operated by rednecks. Okay, how many of you shrugged me the big “so what”? Ah, not that many, I see. You’ve learned to read between the lines. Yep, redneck women. Took over the company when they caught their husbands rustling the wrong cattle. You go, Trump. Hillary’s evil incarnate. Bill Gates is Satan. I like these gals already. Single mothers on welfare – sterilize them. Cubans? Round ‘em up and ship them back.

           I also gave them some tips on why their computer wasn’t working right, which led to an indirect compliment. Later when they got my file, they gasped. They all said over the phone I sounded like I was around 24 years old. Probably because I know a little about computers, but still, I take it that my voice is not old and cracking already. The purpose of this call was to release the motorcycle hulk to the insurance office. A clear sign that they are going to pay up, though we have not had the “book value” argument yet, those people and I.

           How do you like today’s top picture? It’s a little composition I call “Panic Buying in the Toilet Paper Aisle”. This is America, 2017, right on top of things. Like the way I can’t find my own work gloves and spent all this time charging the batbike battery just to short it out by forgetting the key in the on position. Life is not as easy at it seems, but I’d still rather be here than in Mexico or Canada. I phoned Trent to brag about the new car and that boomeranged on me. He’s got a date with a 23 year old gal, the second one this week. I asked him to send me his rejects.
           Take a look ahead at today’s quote. I ran out of snappy one-liners, so I’ve got some anagrams for a while. That’s words that are the letter of other words put in other orders, to my overseas readers. English is up to 42% redundant, so you’ll find lots of word puzzles and games in that language. So, let’s make this anagram week until I find another source of quotes. You can appreciate that. If you go to 200 quote sites, 199 have just copied each other. At least on this blog, you get the best that I can find. Because I like you. Not well enough to lend you any money or anything, but think of Elvis and his fan club. He liked them, didn’t he? There you go.

Picture of the day.
Hipster fashion.
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           This afternoon’s picture is an example of the mediocrity that can get top billing on a slow news day. This is me checking the oil reservoir on the electric chain saw. Hey, Ken, it’s called maintenance, and it’s what you do so you don’t get the attitude that other people exist only to lend you things you should have on your own. The date on the bottle is standard robot club practice, to place the year of purchase on such items. The city has a rule that brush carted away should not exceed a certain length and I like to abide by that.

           I found a place that will insure the Taurus for $201 a year. I wonder if they call it the “barely-legit” policy? Beats Geico, who I find have too many unexplained practices. Like doing credit checks even when customers pay up front and setting rates based on secretive criteria. Geico also seems to snoop into whether you own vehicles in other states, regardless of whether they are the insurer. I just don’t care for such behind-the-scenes goings-on. And I’ll bet the redneck tow ladies don’t either.

           And I went over the trip to Ft. Myer’s beach for how well the finances were handled. Excellent with one exception. That stop at Appleby’s. Folks, $25 for two hamburgers and fries does not cut it. The service was okay to a formula, but the décor and atmosphere does not make the food worth twice the price. Yes, it was a good burger and good fries, but not that good. I’m also leery of restaurants that push service on you that you didn’t ask for.
           We wound up walking around the circumference of the place almost back to where we came in before they found the table where they wanted us to sit. The one with the fatter older waitress, I see. Reminds me of Paul from when I worked at the electric company. He saved up for a month to go to Hooters on the anniversary of his divorce and because of his age, they sat him in the section being served by the manager’s hippo-like wife. You know, I hold these self-righteous food service types responsible for a lot of the more vile aspects of political correctness. Who else drops out of grade school and prances around demanding to be treated like royalty?

           And the old 1980s airport lounge scam where the suggested tips near the signature line starts at 18%. I think I’ll pass on Appleby’s, kind of drive past them in my car from now on. They had a bar in the center with stools, another arrangement I don’t care for because such places rarely excel in either department. You want a drink, go to a bar, you want to eat, go to a restaurant. I remember when bars began to make this changeover to serving restaurant food, it was in the 70s. Back then I viewed it as a “California” solution, the type of way people working at a bar might come up with if they saw patrons ordering pizza.
           The first converts were franchise restaurants. They quickly discovered the concept of the holding bar. Serve drinks while people are waiting for a table, better yet, make them wait for a table. By the third drink, you could serve them leftover hog pellets and they’d shovel the stuff in. The money was made on the alcohol, not the food. It’s a format I never did care for though I have always understood the appeal it has to the working class. Look, Garth, we can eat, drink, dance, poop, and watch TV at the same place. Wahoo! For those who like 30-ish women and the whole sideboob thing, you got Hooters.

           The other thing that was not right was the tire store. They initially refused me service because I declined to have my identity put on their database. It was simple enough to get around, but please, will not some fancy law firm take these people on and abolish that whole system. I went in to buy tires, not give the guy my personal history. Do these people have a right to refuse you service if you don’t want them knowing where you live? They are, after all, just flunkies in a third rate Florida city, if you want to know how I look at it.
           The second thing should be to establish that the warranty, if any, attaches to the product, not to the identity of the purchaser. That system of getting ID over this issue has got to be brought to a stop. Actually, it likely will be sooner or later, but with the public so slow to wake up to the abuses going on out there, I won’t live to see it. They will sooner or later refuse service to somebody who will die over it. Then we’ll hear them try to bullshit their way out of that one.

Quote of the Day:
“debit card = bad credit.”
~ it’s an anagram.
           Finally, I was able to nap on my right side, that’s the rib that was dented in the collision. This led me to conclude I needed a meal of home-made chicken and potatoes. The kitchen timer says another ten minutes, so if you’ll excuse me. Okay, I’m back, and you’re lucky I’m too full to go take pictures of the fixin’s. There was another aspect to the hour-long conversation with the tow truck ladies this morning.

           They were repeatedly flabbergasted by the extent at which credit does not play any roll in my life. And how I recognize which of their forms are credit-based. No, I’m not going to sign what you just e-mailed me. It gives authorization to do a credit search, and I do not consent to any searches. Of any kind. It was a bit of an eye-opener over there, and now that has me wondering if any of them are any good-looking. Face it gals, there has to be some level of attraction in that department.

           Tell you what. I have to chat with them again to wrap up this account. If, during the second conversation, there is a similar intensity of conversation, I’ll drop in to see them I heard the hand over the mouthpiece and the secondary muttering when they found out I was over 50 and single. With my luck, however, women around my age group seem to idolize sumo wrestlers. It will wear off, but I went and sat in the car and listened to the radio. It turns out there is no CD changer, in case I didn’t say.
           These envelopes contain the September club newsletters. What? Only four letters? Yes, to the people I know who don’t have Internet or prefer hard-copy fan mail. This edition tells all about the loss of the Rebel and the adventures of Hurricane Irma.


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