One year ago today: January 27, 2017, no more partners.
Five years ago today: January 27, 2013, Joe Dirt.
Nine years ago today: January 27, 2009, one single right . . .
Random years ago today: January 27, 2008, the last bookstore.
There’s a Little Caesar’s franchise opened up on the highway across from one of occasional coffee places. They must be having some teething problems. In the half hour I was watching, four customers returned pizzas. I mean, how does one screw up making a pizza? Or maybe people were expecting more for their $79. I was uptown checking out some high-speed scanners. The amount of paperwork around here, while minimum, has not diminished with retirement and its adding up. As with most devices, the challenge is not the scanner, but a system of keeping track where the files are. Where I doubt I’ve lost many files, I’m afraid to run one of those duplicate checking apps.
[Author’s note: that’s a joke. This pizza ad is from Mexico, the price is in pesos.]
I mentioned having to reboot my cell phone last day. It’s a code you punch in, at least on my model. You push ##72786#, then answer ‘yes’. I have no idea where this fits into the bigger picture, I’m merely answering a question that got asked a lot. My shoulder was acting up, so I took the morning off to read. It says here that 16% of women report getting raped while attending college. That’s one in eight, so I’m wondering if that includes the ones who get drunk at jock parties and get gang-banged. Fact is, I’ve spent time spanning a period of 19 years in my life on campus and I could easily point out which those women are. Starting with Mary Sheppard.
If Trump is going to put people back to work, he’ll have a forty-year backlog of poor infrastructure to tackle with. I know most of what is to know about people who buy things and never maintaining them. When is the last time you rotated the tires on your car? They say to do it every 8,000 miles. Or vacuumed the radiator on the back of your fridge? Don’t feel bad if you haven’t, because that is minor stuff compared to the way I was raised. I never saw anybody in my family ever change the oil on a motor or buy a set of batteries until after the old ones were dead.
I wish Don would hurry up and commence that high-speed transit between Tampa and Orlando, with one stop in Lakeland. Double my property value, that would. You wouldn’t know it by the number of semis on the freeways, but something like 40% of American freight still moves by rail. He’s likely dealing with pressure from all the corporations who don’t want their subsidies slashed. The whole system works on kickbacks and cannot be fixed from the bottom up.
Next, I watched some technical material concerning passive water heating. Australia has the best information sites, they don’t try to sell you anything and stick to the point. The best angle for the collectors is your latitude plus ten degrees, that’s the type of useful data I need. My exposure is all south, so I’ll be maximizing the angle, as measured to within a fraction of a degree with my own sextant. Florida is so hot most of the time, there is more of a danger of overheating the water in a pressurized system. Australia demands a special valve that I’d not heard of over here, so give me time to look into that.
You know whose jobs are on the line due to AI? Customs inspectors. And it could not happen to a nicer bunch. The robots can scan and catalog imports some 60 times faster, depending on who you talk to. And most people would rather deal with a robot than some scum-bag customs inspector. I’ve never met one yet who didn’t play favorites and drag his ass around at half a mile an hour. I never liked the whole customs operation for plenty of good reasons. Like how you had to take time off work to import anything because that was their business hours. Or the way the tax always worked out to a dollar more than you tried to save. It’s not a tax, they say, it’s a ‘duty’. Yeah, well up yours, too.
Palm Beach man cave.
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I baked a tray of chicken and watch a disturbing movie, “Under Suspicion”, with Gene Hackman and Morgan Freeman. Some excellent acting, which probably could not have been done by anyone else. It concerns a society figure who comes under suspicion in for some murder-rapes of young girls. The themes I found most detestable was how the police pieced together his suspicion over a large number of snippets in his life that had to be twisted to fit. Also, the way they questioned his wife, who was not a suspect, in a way that concerned details about the couple’s sex life that were sincerely none of their business.
Equally repellent was the way that all their accusations, inferences, and implications were false, but kept on file for “next time”. For example, the man’s hobby was photography and in his vast collections of prints, they found five or six that showed some teenage girls on swings and in parks. These were shoved in his face as “proof” of guilt. The film is an excellent portrayal of why you do not talk to the police. They kept getting him to repeat his story and attacking whenever he didn’t use the exact same wording. They played him and his wife off against each other. She was also younger than him by I think ten years, and of course to a cop, that is automatically criminal activity.
The cops blackmailed the guy by hauling him away from an important function and keeping him from returning. They made a big deal about him meeting his wife when she was eleven, as if nobody ever later went out with a girl he met back in grade school. His career as a diplomat was trashed for good and they tore off his wig. I found the movie so realistic that it was scary. My advice is again and again, do not engage with cops in any conversation without a lawyer present, and plead the Fifth.
The best part was I had earlier found a big tray of fresh blackberries on sale for a dollar a pound. Which is a lot of blackberries. I feasted on them with the one dairy product left in my diet. Carnation evaporated milk, with a little real brown sugar and real vanilla flavoring. My weight has stayed in the same range for the past 27 days despite the fact that during that time, my entire food intake has been less than 23,000 calories. Most of it non-starch vegetables and thin soups.
Next, I hunkered down and learned that youTube instrumental break from the bass duet. Man, that sounds pretty slick. There is no fooling Ray-B on that one. It is an undisguised lead guitar break. My defense remains that if I didn’t play it, then it would not be played. And, if a guitarist plays it, there is nothing novel about that. For the record, last evening for a nightcap, Bradford hauled me into that saloon where I was barred the previous August. The staff denied they had barred me. The one who said it swears she didn’t. But my hearing is 20/20.
ADDENDUM
Here’s food a statistic for you. In America, you can buy almost 1,600 different food products in a can, almost triple what is available in most countries. In many places, vegetables are bought fresh daily. In this economy, doing that would mean practically living next to a supermarket. The rumors that canned food is bad for you are bogus. All processing destroys some nutrients, so it might not be as good for you as it could be, but saying it is bad is going overboard.
Ernst Zundel was jailed for pointing out these inconsistencies existed in every piece of evidence that was ever used against him. And how about that statistic (see JimmyR) that men with high IQs make better husbands and get divorced at a significantly lower rate. I think the snag with that is how most women lack any ability to recognize intelligence. IQ is not going to help much if women find it boring. You know, I have had women tell me they went out with me because they thought I was smart, but I always preferred the ones who thought I was talented. There’ve been more than a few.
My counter-theory is that men with high IQs tend to seek out better quality partners and that accounts for the lower divorce rate. Quality women are damn hard to find. I haven’t met one in twenty years. The last one was a blonde babe who owned an art studio in downtown Seattle. She would have been the one but we slowly drifted apart over the next few months. She was overly attached to her family and made me sleep on the sofa whenever her half-crazy half-queer did brother was in the apartment. Which was pretty often since he was a derelict. I finally took to going home every night because he always carried drugs and had somebody looking for him. Since then, every woman I’ve dated, and these are the hand-picked best I could find, turned out to be a major disappointment.
Why, I’d run off with my secretary, if I had one.
Last Laugh
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