One year ago today: June 25, 2017, check S. Beach on payday.
Five years ago today: June 25, 2013, fake condo ads.
Nine years ago today: June 25, 2009, first you borrow $250,000 . . .
Random years ago today: June 25, 2010, remember erasable paper?
I finally dismantled the porch, all over that extra square foot plus four inches. Face it, I said to myself, the issue was not safety or quality or codes or standards, and I should have listened to what everybody told me. It was always about them winning and the homeowner losing. So, it means really that the rest of the money gets pumped into the interior. I’m old enough to remember when American meant quality. Have a gander at this key. Solid, heavy, pure metal, with the company logo and colored enamel. For that matter, I remember the year things started going downhill for this country. It was 1972.
Ah, the 70s, that was the fun era, not the 60s where there was a mass mingling of the pre-50 and post-50 boomers. The free-for-all didn’t arrive until the 70s. People formed corporations just to go bankrupt, credit cards arrived in the mail, you knew who the bad people were by looking, and it was possible, though rare, to date women who were still virgins. There were no “service contracts” or credit scores. You could enroll in a single college course just by showing up. The police were locally hired, and if your kids wanted to open a lemonade stand, so what. Things were not perfect, I never said they were, but I remember when the decay set in. It started in late 1972 when gas prices soared and all cars started looking alike. That’s the year I met Eatmore, I was just a kid, and she was the big city girl. I didn’t know when she left, I wouldn’t meet another for the next 16 years. So, this is not just a car key. It’s memory lane.
I have a question for the women who say they like travel. How come none of you have been anywhere?
Quad semi, in Michigan.
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I know, you really want the progress report on the hotdog cart. Only a blog can turn a hotdog operation into an adventure before a single unit of product is moved. Another $90.82 into sprucing up the appearance, interior and exterior. You can see the immediate difference in this photo, the last guy painted it for looks. We are painting it so it really is sealed and waterproofed. This is the inner cavity where the cooler chest fits. Not the soda cooler, but the regulation ice chest with drain. This if for food storage, items that must be cool but cannot get wet.
My calculations show the price should be $4 for a hotdog. It has no bearing on the product or service cost, but that is what the market will pay. At the fairgrounds, a hotdog is now $6, but I believe at least $1 of that goes to the fair, not the vendor. However, Agt. R thinks $3 is more reasonable. So we’ll start with $3 but Agt. R does not know how to calculate breakeven points, or the concept of COGS (cost of good sold). True, you would probably make money just selling as much as you can and worrying about the overhead as the bills come due. But I’ve learned the hard way to use the books to prepare, so you are ready when the problems arise. And they will.
We also dug through one of the sheds (there are six sheds total) and found display cases, and an excellent fold-up condiment table. Picture available on that tomorrow, when we will be patching some of the wood that’s showing signs or weathering. It was my luck that the scraping had to take place on a day of intense heat and humidity. That’s why I put up the umbrella. See the colors? Agt. R calls it the LGBT umbrella. But it is around 8 feet in diameter and I would not care if it was a libtard umbrella, I’m not working in direct sunlight.
Um, I met somebody. I’m always suspicious when I meet an unattached woman anywhere over half my age, but I will follow up if she’s on the rebound. That would appear to be the case. The other ingredients were there, she went on high beams the instant she saw me, and although working, she paid total attention to me the entire hour I was present. She’s skinnier than skinny Liz. If you can imagine that. I had gone in to use the wifi, I’d wanted a copy of Hungarian Dance #5, and found a real gem. Normally you get orchestra arrangements. As I scrolled, I saw a duet for piano and double bass, that’s the big violin that sets on the floor. What I heard was directly possible to convert to electric bass, even the double stops.
So, if you read that last paragraph, that’s how I normally bury the gossip that concerns the actual boy-meets-girl in this PG-13 blog. I’m still awaiting the outcome of the European law that would destroy Internet plagiarism and infringement. Most blogs I’m aware of, even the news amalgamators, rely heavily and, sometimes, exclusively on cut & paste. The Eurocrats apparently have already ruled that linking is not illegal, but web people who pirate anything are not much going to benefit from that. If 999 our of 1,000 blogs get arse-kicked by this legislation, that leaves only blogs capable of original publication. The few I’ve seen that come close depend heavily on political commentary. I don’t consider those to be my competition, since you learn nothing from them. I used to work with people who got their talking points from such sources. It was not a pretty thing.
Secondly, once politics are removed, that would not leave a huge selection for the casual reader who isn’t into pornography, religion, or food preparation. Just you keep an eye on this blog should there be repercussions on how the USA does its Internet business. One thing, the last laffs would have to go since less than a half dozen of them are my own work. Under the new rulings, fair usage is not confined to that which does not diminish demand for the original, but the act of making any kind of copy. But, this blog was never dependent on visual media. The obvious proprietory photos would stay, and they are the bulk of what you see here. If it says ‘veryatlantic’ on it, it’s my original work.
ADDENDUM
“Coyote Ugly” is your standard plot. Innocent Jersey girls, so far as such things exists, goes to New York, takes job in a raunchy bar selling her looks. It’s one of those fantasies for people who believe that the sex trade is a matter of degree, like you can be 1/8th or 5/16th of a prostitute. It’s amusing where it portrays the way women who are losing their appeal start acting to convince mostly themselves they are still attractive to men. In this case, they get jobs are drunk bars that attract 2nd rate males, who are a majority. Then, it follows, the women develop the attitude that all men are alike. Go figure.
In this case, the bar owner says men “have a two-year-old in their pants”. Yeah, well these aging women have two 80-year-olds inside their bras, and a spoiled gimme-gimme fifth-grader between the ears, if that’s the brand of comparisons they want here.
[Author’s note: yes, ladies, it can easily be shown that you gravitate toward locations where men are a majority. You prefer quantity over quality and get what you deserve. Where to go to meet good men, I can’t tell you that any more than you could advise me on a realistic place to meet good women. But I can tell you, all the winner women I’ve know in my life introduced themselves and were plainly not good at it. That’s important, they were not good at it because they so rarely did it. Real men can tell the difference.]
Anyway, I found the movie less than entertaining because I have so little in common with people who indulge in that brand of activity. The sex trade is anything where the pay goes down as age and experience go up. But as ever, I agree that there is a need for this type of “entertainment”, because the world is full of surplus, desperate men who can’t get close to females any other way. The scene I found brilliant was how they hired some Irish tap dancers to riverdance in the same boots as the actresses. Fake, but brilliant, since women that work these bars for the money don’t have aptitudes that include dancing.
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