One year ago today: November 23, 2016, around the house.
Five years ago today: November 23, 2012, okay, we get it.
Nine years ago today: November 23, 2008, To exceed your expectations, Sir.
Random years ago today: November 23, 2013, Gas, $1,023.63.
That car [my new Taurus]. It’s increased my living expenses by $213 per month, mostly gasoline. Hence, the decision not to replace the Rebel. It was the funnest of toys, but let’s get practical. You know it had a small payload. The red scooter had a big trunk, enough for three large pizzas. And the batbike? I’ve hauled lumber on the batbike. What’s needed now is something to get around town without running the station wagon. The red scooter has lasted nearly six times its projected lifespan. Face it, the scooter saved so much in gasoline, for the past few years I never bothered keeping track of the cost. I’d guess maybe $9 - $12 per month since I moved here. Next time I’m in Miami, I’ll shop.
I get it. This series “Sex and the City” is a documentary of sorts. You take all the silly things and romantic notions of little girls and project them onto 30-somethings. Then sit back and watch crazy women trying to apply them to adult life. Gee, why don’t temper tantrums and pouting produce the same results after you’re married? The show is also a depiction of men who have what it takes to become wildly successful but who never look too closely into the backgrounds of the women they marry. They subject is never touched. Actually, I happen to know that fantasy is an established fact, judging by the sheer numbers of older single women I knew at the phone company who believed in it.
But the cheating scenes, those are overripe. The one where the husband says he cheated because they hadn’t done anything for such a long time. She only hears the first part. Hmmm, so, it isn’t cheating when you marry someone and cut them off. Interesting, ladies, very interesting. When you get married, she said, priorities change. It’s not her fault, it’s those damn priorities. Who changed them? How the hell should she know? Time to go shopping.
The [movie] script reminds me of Ann Landers. To my overseas readers, Ann Landers was a famous American advice columnist who gave good advice on etiquette and social behavior. But her marriage advice was so useless, it used to bite. She was no radical but she obsessively worked the angle that all women are automatically good wives and mothers and it is the men who can’t deal with that who were causing all the divorces.
She advocated that a woman find out everything she could about a man’s past, but what the woman did before was none of his business. Worst, she actively promoted that women lie, get surgery, do whatever it takes to get a rapid commitment out of a man before he found out the truth. By then, he wasn’t just being picky, but the woman could accuse him of being intolerant as well. I’m the other extreme, I believe in very long engagements.
Ann Landers got divorced and then she died.
1966 Hillman.
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Thanksgiving or not, I crawled under the joists and ran in the support beam. See nearby photo for examples being delivered by truck. This took hours, as when I first started, I put two temporary supports where the front door was warped the worst. The blocks were set too low and I have to dig them up. But the wood is so damaged I can’t raise it high enough to yank the blocks out. This calls for thinking. On a holiday? Me? I’m into the salt caravan story more. The life is so rough, the Muslims who make the journey are exempt from Ramadan. Now that’s rough.
One of the items that’s changed is I’m shortening the porch to six feet wide from eight. This is tentative, but on the model, the eight-foot porch over dominates the front of the building. Also, it would seem eight-foot porches and above are taxable. The plan is to screen it in, but there are several houses in town that have those ancient hurricane shutters and they do look pretty nice to me.
If you recall, one of the reasons I originally drove past this cabin was the poor curb appeal. A porch would, by design, radically change the appearance of the house that faces the street. For those who haven’t been following along, the side of the building faces the street and it has an unbalanced look to it. So, porch time soon. I got the house for $18,000 less than I was willing to pay, so the cash is there. I just don’t have the hired help I was counting on.
When Agt. R was over, we worked in and around the new work shed. Small as it is, that is one of the better equipped either of us have ever had. I’ll be needed a pile of scrap lumber to cut into temporary pylons as I fix the front of the building. He’s got that, which is great, because otherwise, I’d be sawing up new lumber to do this. Say, you don’t need any ham sandwiches or ham kebabs, do you. I have lots. Can I fix you some ham and eggs, maybe? What, you have no appetite? Well, maybe so, but don’t say that until you read my addendum today.
Next, I had a real Thanksgiving gig over at a mansion on South Main. All the trimmings including my fave, candied yams. I had one helping only and commenced my show. The crowd was small but enthusiastic and they sat me next to Babes herself. We always did get along well, but she wants the flowers and candy approach and I’m not that kind of personality. But I got her to sing, which brings up another point. I’ve been neglecting my act since the collision and I made too many mistakes. Nothing they noticed, but mistakes that are too amateur for my own rules.
What’s distressing me is how quickly I went through my 32 song list. Where that is enough for a duo, it wasn’t adequate for a solo gig where I have to leave out certain instrument breaks and at a house party, you have to keep the songs coming or people distract very easily. So after just two hours, I was done. By extrapolation, I’ll need another 32 songs. That’s a tall order, though I know I could cheat by playing a lot of the boring old standards. CCR, Elvis, Eagles, that brand of third-hand material. Speaking of time-worn material, remind me to hunt up the Hippies old list. It hasn’t changed since 1980.
ADDENDUM
Don’t you hate it when? A computer problem that is so rare you forget it from last time and you spend an hour chasing the problem. My mouse was submarining, usually indicating a low virtual memory problem. Nope. It was a dead battery in the hand unit. Last night I went downtown to a club that heavily advertised a Thanksgiving party. The one woman who showed any interest in me had broader shoulders than I do. The mixologist was making up shooters, and that reminds me.
Did I ever tell you I once designed a shooter? It was lemon gin with a splash of pineapple juice. But it failed at the marketing stage. I keep thinking I should have come up with a better name for it than “urine sample”.
Last Laugh
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