October 1, 2017

Yesteryear
One year ago today: October 1, 2016, Mitch visits Florida.
Five years ago today: October 1, 2012, The Eight Commandments.
Nine years ago today: October 1, 2008, the perennial flying car.
Random years ago today: October 1, 2004, Grapes of Wrath.

           Okay, gang. This is the official day that I finally declare myself to be old. No more middle age, I’ve applied for early retirement and now I have the type of car I should have had when I was 18. So I could be traveling around the countryside looking for the gal of my dreams instead of sweating each day out in a Montana lumber mill. Ah, I heard somebody else say that’s no worse than the rest of us. Oh, you like to make that kind of comparison? Fine, let’s have a show of hands how many straight A students we have here today. That’s what I thought. I’m in a grouchy mood, and here’s my 2-packs of SPAM to prove it. (Actually, these are hurricane supply replacements.) Red Alert: I did not just say that I look or act or think like I'm old.

           First, the calligraphy book that started off so fine petered out in the final chapters. Instead of history, it went into the psychology of line sizes and weights. And I’m not much into that, in fact, did I ever tell you of the time I visited a Canadian mental hospital? My pal’s adoptive mother worked in one of the rehab units and we had to drop something off. The place was full of perfectly healthy young men using weight training equipment. There were no books, no tools, absolutely nothing that would have served to channel these people back as productive members of society. Just gym equipment, lots of it, and brand new.

           One reason I remember is so well is that was my first glimpse at a corrupt welfare society. I have an over-developed bullshit detector and there was nothing wrong with any of the “patients” in that room that could not be cured by a damn good whacking. There was nobody insane in there, but there were lots of men who knew how to act insane to get free money and to get away with bad behavior. It was disgusting, and one weird thing was their reaction. Dave and I were just standing at the desk handing something to his mother when somehow, on cue, the entire room of these weight-lifters stopped at once. As if they could read my mind, I got the crusher stare. The you-get-the-hell-out-of-here-now stare.
           It was later that I learned in Canada, if you are declared insane, you get free room and board, free spending money, and a day pass. Compared to working in that country’s mines, factories, or forests, living in a mental hospital was the equivalent of a $60,000 per year job. [$120,000 in today’s money.] Clean, quiet, free medical, cable TV, each patient lived in a little cabin that the grounds people kept trimmed. Why, these lazy bad actors did not even have to mow their own lawns.

           To paraphrase Trump, some of them might be, I suppose, really insane. But I never saw any. Not one of them fooled me for a split second. What was needed was the application of the lash every time they stepped out of line until they learned, one way or another, that you cannot do as you please. I know of a thousand farm kids who learned this lesson against their will. But when the punishment was swift and painful enough, learn it they did. Who knows, maybe some of them were really crazy, but by the time they grew up, the bastards had learned not to let it show. And that’s therapy enough for most taxpayers.
           I’m trying to remember that quote about how the religious man is happier than the skeptic in the same sense that the drunk is happier than the sober man. No matter how you look at it, nobody is ever rehabilitated by these expensive centers. Society at large is concerned with conduct, not motivation. These institutions do little more than educate the patients on how to get released, pull their stunts again, and get off on the insanity plea. I’ve met a few of these people let out and they love to tell other people it is they who are insane and would benefit from treatment. Yes, let’s all go to a loonie bin and check ourselves in. Another study I can’t recall is the one where a group of perfectly healthy people got themselves checked into asylums. They were all found insane by the staff.
Like I said, I’m in a grouchy mood.

Picture of the day.
USA Today.
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           Here’s that house I’ve crabbed about before, the mansion that is used only to store old books and furniture. Nobody can afford to buy it and the owners don’t need to sell. It’s a six bedroom three bathroom with separate living room, dining room, and family room. Most of the books are stored in that two story wing on the far right side of the photo.

           It’s not shown, but there is a beautiful staircase up to the second level around back. Inside, the stairway that goes up to the attic is absolutely beautiful, but it is very narrow and between two solid walls. I wonder if it was added in after for some reason. A friend of mine wants the building for a bed and breakfast, but once again, the price tag drives everyone away. You are looking at nearly a half-million dollars. Um, there is no such actual view of this house as shown, so don't waste time looking for it.

           I wonder what it would have been like to grow up in a place like that? To have your own room, to be so rich you can let something like this sit vacant. While the rest of us have nothing. America has changed that way, you know. It’s the premise of the trickle-down theory that rich people will invest in jobs that create wealth. But the reality is that the government has become so intrusive into their private lives that the rich only invest today in what keeps the wealth in their family. And who can blame them? They probably have to spend half of what they make just protecting it from predators.
           On the other hand, I’m not against inheritance tax. The law should not allow a permanent leisure class whose primary goal in life is to stop anybody else from making enough money to encroach on their privileges. Wealth is relative (no pun intended) so what good is having a million if everybody else has nearly the same. That should be taxed away, but not the amounts that give the next generation a fighting chance—if they invest and work wisely.

Quote of the Day:
“What clever man has ever needed to commit a crime?
Crime is the last resort of political half-wits.”
~ Talleyrand.
           Can the Sunday movie idea for today. I’d drive the Taurus to the flicks except there is nothing worth seeing. The one I’d like to see, “Dunkirk”, is not playing any more. And did you notice that Burger King took away the 89¢ pancake special? First they take away the popular crinkly fries, and now the one thing that was getting people in the door, the pancakes, are gone. I think maybe the upper management over there have the pancake batter for brains. I mean, who repeatedly kills their own best products, even if they are loss leaders?

           The visit was not a total loss because of the new babe that was working there. My oath, it is women like that who assure life for mankind. She could not hide it under those ugly shapeless company uniforms. That, I like to say, is the one thing I hate about getting old. I’ll never have something like that again unless I pay for it. Astonishing, nearly unbelievable physical perfection. I sat down and did the crossword puzzle. Like, what else could I do?

           How about this picture? The guy that invented these plastic coat hangers needs to be taken out behind the barn and nutted. I mean, what was wrong with the old wire hangers? You could grab thirty of them with one hand, while these plastic pieces of junk take up more space than they are worth. It’s hard to say who I consider the worse bastard. The azz-clown who invented the plastic hangers or the prick who quit stocking the metal ones.

           So instead of a movie, I took the car for a short 50 mile hop through Winter Haven. Mainly to see what was there. The heritage of little roads between the lakes all grown together is plain, but you also get that third world specialty of five-star subdivisions right next to slum zones. That’s mid-Florida slums, not Michigan slums. The Florida ones are safer because of fewer entitled people entitled people per household. At the same time, Florida is so full of deadbeats that they’ve always had a hard time finding somebody blame their misery on.
           It was a few hours to go those miles, I stopped for coffee twice. It was futile trying to find a good radio station, even the country music is that new country. From a musicians standpoint, yes, it is all alike, though I don’t object to that. What I don’t care for is the over-orchestration and pun-based lyrics. Like art-pop and hip-hop, it is listening music, not dancing music, which makes it difficult to play in a small band. And I don’t do big bands any longer. Waste of time.

ADDENDUM
           Next, I tackled that door trim. There is no apparent reason it came off the side panel. But I noticed there is slight but oily film over the areas where the parts had fit together. I thought the trim was held on by clips through the holes in the door panel, as I’m pointing to here. An examination of the plastic pegs that fit into those holes show that not to be the case. The pegs are for positioning only. If you look closely, the trim is held on by strips of double-sided white tape, maybe you can see where I’ve begun to peel the old piece off.

           Speculating, it is possible this trim has been repaired before, but the job was done with substandard adhesive strips. Or possibly some oily substance or cleaning fluid got under the old trim and deteriorated the glue. The instructions with the new tape tell how to apply it, but not why. Robot guys like me need both reasons.

           What I’ll do is completely strip the old adhesive away and use my robot cleaning substances to get the surface dry and contaminant-free right down to the door paint. Isn’t it just like some people to put pieces on the side of a car that can travel 100 mph and hold those pieces on with glue? And with a glue that even can weaken in this manner. I’ve got a sneaking idea it is the same mentality of the people who design those power bars where the plugs stick so hard you can’t pull them out without ripping the power bar off its mounting screws. Or the sphincter-face that came up with that ha-ha re-closable “open here” tab on paper cartons. They’re all the same ilk, pure shit-heads one by one. And they are a majority.
           Three hours later, I’m no further on the trim. I can’t get rid of a pain in my lower right side, right where I rolled on the pavement. This slowed me down to simple tasks like checking the fluid levels and a bit of spot cleaning. Just so you know, the exact amount this car has set me back so far is $3,566.00. It wipes out a lot of other plans. I barely managed to remove the blade guide assembly from my band saw, marveling at how well made these pieces have to be.


Last Laugh