One year ago today: February 21, 2017, working with windows.
Five years ago today: February 21, 2013, early drone photo.
Nine years ago today: February 21, 2009, Violet Strange?
Random years ago today: February 21, 2001, the Caddy overheats.
I was hoping to team up with Trent today but it turns out they’ve got him in New York City again. I’d like to do some brainstorming over the mortgage situation I’m helping out with over here. But the further this goes, the more I’m becoming convinced there is more than meets the eye. Everybody is advised to not sign without my reviewal and I left instructions that not to accept any favors or cash before I have a chance to talk to Trent. So far the housing society has not presented any documents to be signed. While I don’t suspect a thing, it is common practice in Florida to hold off on signatures until the other party is so swept up in the goings-on that they sign just to get it over with.
Again, I don’t question anything so far, but my spider sense says have a back up plan ready. Here’s where you can help. The situation is the housing society exists to help people with mortgage difficulties that are not at blame themselves. It was simple enough to blame everything on the economy, and there is now potential for the society to make the back payments and reinstate the mortgage. So, your task is to make a plan if the money comes through, and another plan if it does not.
Be careful. If it comes through, no dancing in the streets. There are bound to be conditions—and not a peep has been forthcoming over that. If it does not come through, then it’s back to dealing with the finance company, and they are not bloody likely to make the same mistake twice. This is why I drove to Sunset place early and worked on the blog. If you get a bunch of repeats or similar tales from the trailer court, it’s because the blog from Miami is written in sections thanks to that docx format that Redmond has been cramming down everybody’s throats. That, and their bastard-rat png format. That nobody asked for.
Palace of the Lost City (S. Africa)
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ADDENDUM
Food, and me on a diet. This is my entire day’s fare, but it was worth the wait. JZ’s restaurant experience is on a par with my guitar playing. Though not my bass playing, so there. After my clinic tests (perfect cholesterol and blood sugar) my Taurus knew its way to the meat market, where I bought a yard long rack of the leanest pork ribs they could find. JZ was never much into baking until I showed him how I had learned to make chicken. He baked this for 2.5 hours and talk about scrumptious. Don’t worry, I’m not busting my diet, there is far less pork on these bones than it seems. Ribs, I think, are that way intentionally. I’ve also shown him the art of making fatless sauces, but he’ll never be a microwave cook the way I’ve become since the 1970s. It’s true, some people cannot cook in a microwave.
He was tired and I wanted to go chase women at the Rathskeller. The compromise was to the nearest university pub, over on Dixie Highway. Had the place been a college hangout, we might have had more fun. Naw, in fact most of the place was men almost our age. What? Did I hear something back there? As I was saying, the difference being that JZ and I are really single, eligible, reasonably good-looking, and have such different preferences in women that we never fight over them.
Last Laugh
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