One year ago today: February 22, 2017, poor men & ugly women.
Five years ago today: February 22, 2013, WIP
Nine years ago today: February 22, 2009, she had nice legs.
Random years ago today: February 22, 2015, woo-hoo, one large.
Sadly a ton of great photos got over-written because there is no such thing as a user-friendly economical camera on the market. I’ve tried every one you can think of, and the ones that might work right are not anywhere near economical enough. You see, I found out my dash cam will also overwrite still photos unless they are locked, which is a cumbersome process.
Let’s make it a nice start and have me tell you that MicroSoft are working hard to preserve their reputations as shitheads. Remember that “update” that I could not kill? It knocked out my Bluetooth™ keyboard at precisely the time I needed it—to update my blog while I’m away from my desktop [computer]. No way will it activate, it flashes a code on the screen too fast to type before it times out. I mean, I’ll get it, but that is hardly the point. I wonder if MicroSoft doesn’t have a dedicated shithead room where they get together a few times a week to bat around ideas on how to screw people around.
The Miami traffic went out of its way to remind me why I moved out of that place. And it wasn’t that bad today. I was off balance most of the morning over at the clinic, so there. I have my days. I even walked to the coffee shop instead of driving. That was up until noon, then the events which cheered me up for the balance. I was twice mistaken for being twenty years younger than I actually am. Is it the weight I lost? I don’t know, but I do know losing weight has all positives. Just do it. Now I know there’s always one jerk who will say the age thing was just my imagination or idle flattery. Wrong.
Today’s two instances make three this month. Maybe I am crowing a little, but at least listen to the circumstances before you bite off my fat head. Incident one, the new pharmacy staff called the supervisor on me when I went to pick up my prescription. They had been trained to spot certain discrepancies and all three explained later that I “looked from the wrong generation”. There, there, I told them no need to apologize. Darn rights that was a boost. The second event was similar.
I drove over to the government office to sign papers. I’m in the lobby alone and the two ladies behind the counter keep asking me if I’m waiting. Well, yes, I’m waiting to get my turn and go home. After nearly a half-hour one of the ladies finally asked if I was waiting for Mr. So-and-So. They explained that he had not come in for his appointment. Aha! For I am Mr. So-and-So. They apologized. They thought maybe I was his son there to give him a ride.
Okay, no big deal, but it sure made my day. And fair’s fair, if you have a tales from your trailer court in this vein, now is the time to tell. I’ll listen. Uh-huh, okay, uh-huh . . . time’s up.
Tarapaca.
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See the photo of Yeehaw Junction, the dormant hotel on the right. Next, you see the scary part. That is not a red sunset and those are not clouds in the background. First, I need to relate the total blog incident that happened just a half hour before this view.
It’s late afternoon, so no way did the oncoming traffic allow us to pass. But the road has passing lanes every few miles. Why, we’ll just pass him and carry on. Nope, we got the dork leader, I told you. The first passing lane, as we pulled to the right, he sped up, catching us by surprise until it was back to single file. He then dropped back to 45 mph, 48 mph to be exact. Then he does the same thing at the second passing lane, this time speeding up in advance in case we were ready for him.
By the third, and last passing lane, I was behind him and prepared. I drive over the yellow approach lines (a perfectly safe maneuver) and tromped on the gas. He saw that and booted it. We began climbing, 65, 70, 75, 80, 85 and his slant six began to peter out. Finally, I hit 92 mph, the fastest this car has ever been and pulled ahead of him just as the passing lane began ended. Oh, was he pissed. He tailgated me for ten miles with his brights. Then he noticed the camera and decided not to press the issue. At the first side road after the highway went four-lane again, he ducked into a subdivision.
There you have it, a Florida self-appointed jerkoff traffic regulator. It’s a credit to the system that such people ever live much past twenty. This is the road that goes past Yee-haw Junction. It was just after dark and the old hotel and café were closed. I would have stopped for a bit, it reminds me of the old America, where the humdrum of franchises had not yet tainted everything. The sunset seemed so red until just past Yeehaw, where a bitter wood smell in the air showed some kind of massive fire to the southwest. The read sunset was smoke rising miles into the air.
Consider that strange. There are no forests to be cleared and this fire must have been the size of a small city. It looked to the side, but as I drove closer, it kept receding over the horizon. Since there are nor forests or land being cleared anywhere in this vicinity, it could be as far away as around Sarasota. It got dark before I could get any bearing on it. What you see when you don’t have a sextant.
ADDENDUM
Either I know this business or some mystery forces are at work. It’s nothing, but some of the songs that Lady Nik and I put back on the song list recently are suddenly getting a lot of air time on country stations. Including a few that are not country music. I don’t accept coincidences, so they get plenty of attention when these kind of things happen. Since hits often cycle back by a generation or two, if items like “Keep Your Hands To Yourself” will be ready-made for our audience if we ever play near Bushnell.
Last Laugh
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