One year ago today: December 11, 2017, if paying fines is cheaper . . .
Five years ago today: December 11, 2013, Xmas/B-day gone by.
Nine years ago today: December 11, 2009, must find that video!
Random years ago today: December 11, 2011, 35,000 motorcycles.
Here’s another photo you can follow up on. If I recall, this is east of Amarillo on I-40. The tilting tower. No town in sight, which is not unusual for Texas and Saskatchewan, but this abandoned structure leaning at an angle. I didn’t stop, since the absence of an admission booth made it all a little too suspicious. Only in America. I remember it was a cold day probably Tuesday, November 20 two days east of Bakersfield. This is the high point of today unless we see a UFO. I’m working on insulation and electrical, meaning I have to crawl up into the attic. And it is a cold day here as well, we’re not in Miami any more. If you ever forget where you are, you can always ask these people. Or these.
Darwin’s theory remains something else to this day. He never said man descended from apes, nor did he say most of the things his religious critics flare their nostrils over, in itself a Simian behavior. Darwin did not say there was no God. He simply stated and gave examples that life could evolve by the passage of hereditary traits (he did not understand the mechanism) in reaction to an organism’s environment. Those elements which increased survivability were passed on. Nothing divine was required. Eighty dollars, please.
Today’s trivia. The nurseries have renamed the Mother-in-Law’s tongue plant. They call it the African spear. Then I made some chicken soup from a mix, brand name Swanson. No wonder it was on sale. It’s a weak broth, the chicken sinks to the bottom, the dried ingredients float to the top and never mix. I thought I’d try it, as my friend is feeling ill and I thought an easy recipe might be in order. Nope, make it from scratch. Swanson has no clue how to help.
Typical American hobby store.
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.
I can’t say often enough it should not take a half day to get the chores done. But this is Florida. As a treat, I went for potato salad over in Bartow, consider it my Xmas dinner. I think I will hit that evening concert next week even if it means driving at night. Shall we say, if this even works as well as the last, I just might have a few round left in me yet. I watched a DVD called “The Big Chill”. Great sound track but the theme was a waste of time. A bunch of third-rate actors staying at a mansion where some mutual friend committed suicide. The mixed
The one gal with the hot body isn’t even blonde and as usual picks the total wrong guy. The rest of the movie seems centered around planning who is going to sleep with who and why, as if the audience cares after the first ten minutes. It’s also a mystery, but not intentionally. The mystery is how Jeff Goldbaum ever got called an actor. He’s the only one that doesn’t get his end wet, which at any rate is superb type-casting. If he’s that droll in real life, let the bloodline end.
I was going to get a lot done today, but a siesta convinced me to stay under the electric blanket. I eventually completed the insulation and the northwest wall. Ready for the drywall, but Agt. R isn’t answering the phone. He’s got some important mail here, but if no answer, he’ll have to wait until I get back from Miami. I got an e-mail from a lady saying she’s cold. Was it Buddha who said the path of all suffering was born of desire. Why did I turn left instead of right that day? Yeah, here’s me getting started east from Flagstaff last month at 4:30 AM. Now that was cold, considering the car heater barely works.
There’s another day or two work in the attic to clean up the electric. Who’s going to be the brave one to crawl up there? Be brave, it’s rather mild up there by mid afternoon, warmer than the house. Because the attic heat can’t get at the house any more, see. Good insulation, and I’ve got a mind to put batts of the R-30 before summer. It’s well lit, fan-cooled, and there are now power outlets up there. If not, that’s on the list when I get back, probably this Friday. The Almanac says another cold spell. The long term says a warm winter. Since I have to get this work done, which do you think it will be?
ADDENDUM
Here’s your free magazine article, this time one that Cosmopolitan would never print. For reasons:
I think there is more to love than emotion. Recent events got me thinking, in particular, the lady I met last Sunday. She is not over what’s happened to her. There’s a story repeated how many billion times? She’s evidently lost someone. Let’s look at the big picture.
This happens, but why are not the individuals ever much remembered? Because they don’t or can’t communicate the pain. They have the emotion, yet something else is lacking. Worses, here’s a situation most men would exploit. I know men who actively seek women on the rebound, the logic is they are vulnerable. Again, something is lacking, because who will stay long with a partner acquired through the exploitation of vulnerabilities. Obviously, they are not themselves. Whatever it is, the deficit exists on both sides of the equation. What is it?
My personal conclusion is: intelligence. That’s correct. Why? Because intelligence is not a requirement to love somebody, or to miss them, or to want them. But if it is there, then and only than can the true state of love exist. You have to know upstairs what is going on and still pursue the love. I can hear a lot of shouting that down, that the ability to think logically has nothing to do with love. The divorce rate amongst the nameless, faceless, masses proves that.
Otherwise, explain how love songs get written. Somebody out there has the intellect to communicate the pain. The remainder have only the emotions. Explain certain books, or tell me why guys like me do not take advantage. I could not enjoy a life with a woman who gave me everything, but only after I asked for it. I’ve had to walk away from a dozen relationships that went that direction. Or the flowers and candy approach, to me that is taking the fortress by storm. You get what you want because you won and that is not the same as that which was given willingly.
When I hear of deep love gone wrong, my first question is where was that relationship on an academic level? I don’t mean deep learning, but the intellect to know at least how the pain compares with others. And you can’t do that unless you read and listen a lot. Those who don’t do either so rapidly conclude their suffering is unique.
In the situation this time, I was totally myself, which is to get somebody I find attractive on my side. In moments she was laughing, a cheerful participant. But I knew something was wrong. After breaking and totally melting the ice, I left plenty of room for her. Millions of years of evolution would tell most men that was the wrong thing to do. Don’t give her time to think, they’d say. We were around each other but not focused on each other for another hour. I went outside in the back yard for ten minutes. When I came back in, I saw her through the living room window. Walking home in the light drizzle, with her jacket over her head.
Instinct said go get her, you fool. Offer a car ride, or at least walk her home so she’s not alone. But the brain said no, if she wanted anything, she knew from the first to take it. I don’t know the story. She’s not over something. And if emotions had run wild, we’d both be forgetting everything for a while. Only to let it surface later how many times worse? I left her to walk home alone.
It’s light, it’s a nice neighborhood, and she just lives around the corner.
Return Home
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
