One year ago today: January 13, 2018, remember Ripley?
Five years ago today: January 13, 2014, Pratt, Warren, & Howe.
Nine years ago today: January 13, 2010, ride a cow, hmmm.
Random years ago today: January 13, 2016, think "budda-bing".
Oh, goodie, another day of construction work. This one was mostly alterations to the new bathroom wall, which is already in place. Lack of information at the time meant the cutouts for the medicine cabinets were too high up. Nor was there any shortcut to a fix. I spent hours cutting 2x6 studs in place, always fun, and re-routing the mandatory GFCI circuitry. All this to the lack of Boss Hogg radio. What do I mean by lack? Well, I’ve told how the government gives free money to Latinos who operate radio stations. Whenever you get a political talk show on AM, before long you start getting interference from far away Spanish radio. There’s a conspiracy theory for you, libtard radio jamming. It gets progressively worse over the hour of most talk radio programs.
Did I say AM? Yes, Boss Hogg is still transmitting in that mode. There is dissention in the ranks over there, as many of the current DJs (a varied bunch to say the least) were induced to join by the promise of a switch to FM. Whenever I bump into Johnny Rocket, he mentions his disappointment over this. On the other hand, the transmitting equipment is a major investment. Something like $400,000 which not everybody keeps lying around.
This construction is boring blogwork to those who don’t spot it as all new to me. I’ve bits and pieces of this work, but most of this is learned on the job. Not always the best teacher. This compound photo shows the two sides of the newly created medicine cabinet cutouts. The still-tiny bathroom did not allow for surface mount cabinets, so they are both recessed and soundproofed. The right panel shows me pointing at the back sides of the wall, facing the front bedroom. Here’s a site for you. It is what is now behind the new fence that makes the yard look so neat and trim.
This is reality. You can see the vehicles parked, the trenchwork, the bog fence with a ton of brush drying out. Sawhorses, wagons, tanks, tools, lumber, concrete blocks. The detritus of live-in home renovation. Of course, the seasoned eye sees this for what it is. The garden will be where the bicycle is parked, there will be shade trees around the dog fence, and the sheds are about to be painted a matching color. Of some sort. That’s enough construction for today. Let’s get to the gossip.
After earthquake homes.
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I was off to Winter Haven by sunset to pick up some cash. And who do I run into but Petunia. She’s in a situation I have seen so often. It’s the new American nuclear family. The single mother (one daughter about 10) with a sort of okay job, but a renter with zero real stability in her life. She knows it, she’s described how she’s shunted from one unsuitable sharing arrangement to another for the last twenty years or so. My guess is she is 40-ish, although that may be conservative. She’s blonde and blue, but just where she thinks she’s going to find a devoted and loving husband is beyond me.
Hence, my suggestion that she meet with JZ. They’ve already met, though he’s left it two and a half years. I’m not oversimplifying, but I am making sweeping assumptions. I know that JZ is a puppy dog when it comes to blonde women. I’ve also known for years he has to get out of that Miami environment. It is not healthy for him and that is where the temptations are. It’s plain they can’t live as a family in his studio at the condo, so I’ll step back and let them sort out that JZ is, unbeknownst to him at this time, buying a house in Homeland. A nice one. See below.
Between that and other evolving situations, I can only imagine what this looks like from the outside. In this small city, 90% of the gossip is aimed at a cadre of maybe 25 people. Guess who is in that group since day one? Showing up on a Russian motorcycle and blasting the locals out of the water with an unmatchable Karaoke show. Well, it’s even worse. In that of those 25, most of them know each other. Charla, who gives me free yard plants, knows Rick, who I sent money while he was in jail, who is the brother of Dawn, who works at the Magnolia for Sandy, who knows JZ, who met Petunia next door, and she used to crash over at Agt. R’s, who has a hotdog cart parked behind his house which was saved from foreclosure by the most enigmatic personality ever to reside in this town. And that’s just the beginning, since few of these people are even aware of bigger developments taking place out of state.
My intentions, and these are only intentions, are to formulate a spreadsheet whereby JZ’s estate makes mortgage payments directly to the lender and the property is kept in trust. Sound familiar? The major objection will, of course, be the propensity of his executor to use financial pressure to keep the family members close to Miami. Careful here what I’m saying, but once I moved, it was only a year until Alaine moved, and if JZ relocates, that’s another year and the pattern is set. Miami is not, repeat not, a desirable place to live any more. Unless you enjoy a lifestyle of hookers, gambling dens, unsafe streets, and people who refuse to speak your language.
[Author’s note: I’m not a matchmaker, I’m merely smoothing the path for two people I know. There will be the normal squabbles and who knows, but both of these people are over 40. They have what it takes to work things out at a fraction of the woes involved in trying to start over again with strangers. I’m hoping to spare them that emotional meatgrinder. I’ve got the papers drawn up for JZ to purchase a place near here for $100,000. His payments are $1,204.18 per month, starting April 1, and I’ll be watching.]
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