One year ago today: April 20, 2019 2018, D7sus.
Five years ago today: April 20, 2019 2014, bending the music.
Nine years ago today: April 20, 2019 2010, $10,000 per month.
Random years ago today: April 20, 2019 xxxx, WIP
A beautiful spring day and I’ve worked myself into a situation. All the easy projects are done, so I have to launch into something that may not be finished before I have to leave it. Things are progressing rapidly and I’ve been searching on-line of the correct way to build a turtle habitat. You see, I misunderstood when told that JeePee was okay to take with me to Florida. I don’t recall but she says the offer was made. Possibly I could not have thought she was serious, but she was. If you go on-line you get so much conflicting information that I’m thinking of just building something that exceeds the parameters and also fits on the roof rack of my car. Here’s footage of JeePee doing his warmup exercisess.
Taking a hint from the chicken coop designs, I’m planning on some wheels to conveniently move the cage over fresh grass as needed. This is not an outdoor terrarium, but a cage that lets him get his exercise. I’ve mapped out a spot on the east side that gives morning sun and partial shade. Even so, the enclosure is not meant to leave him unattended. Unless they are for permanent cages, most designs don’t have any lining on the bottom. Yet, turtles are excellent diggers.
These brick pavers (see photo) are intended to overlay existing concrete, which I was experimenting with. You see, I would need a permit to pour a driveway, but not to pave one with bricks. You see what I’m thinking. Anyway, these bricks appear to be the ideal way to create a shelter for the turtle and at 42 cents each including tax, this could be a luxury retreat for the little guy. The shady area is intended to include running water, maybe a mister, and the upper part of the cage compatible with a bird feeder as well. The idea is to approach a natural setting. Right now he lives in an aquarium. Here, it should be better. Do they make a turtle pet door?
The DVD today (no, I don’t have NetFlix and those who do will be sorry). One actor I don’t care for is Cameron Diaz. Okay, twenty years ago, maybe. She flogs that one role, the gal who can’t get a man because she’s a nice girl. It’s an American fantasy, since in every movie she becomes that kind of girl. Today’s flick was “The Holiday”. We are asked to believe she is an over-thirty single who tells complete strangers she’s “not very good at this”. Whatever that means.
Let me, ahem, fill you in Cameron. Men who like inexperience tend to seek inexperience. That would mean they don’t want to hear that you just broke up with somebody, for starters. This is a movie you endure as much as watch.
Longines headquarters.
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The lady at my [Miami] clinic was coincidentally in Nashville on the other side of town last month. She reports seeing trucks with the top cut down and people sitting at tables on the deck drinking. School busses, too. I didn’t see that, I even asked if she meant the pedal pubs. No, these were trucks she said. But she had seen drunks fall trying to get on and off the pedal pubs while it was moving. Hmmm, I never thought of that. (Dang, I had a few photos of the pedal rigs but deleted them as inconsequential.)
This light work brings an abrupt end to the day. Pausing for my usual afternoon read, I was overcome by deep, knotting pains to every muscle I’d used in Tennessee. A few bouts of this over the weeks were just warnings. It’s age. And I knew sooner or later I’d get the message. An hour later, before dark, I fell onto the sofa and instead of my usual hour’s nap, I awoke past midnight. Still aching sore, so much so that I took a painkiller. And that worked only partially. I believe I’ve been put on notice.
The chat with Tennessee this morning told of cold weather, and it must have arrived as I slept. I moved to the well-insulated back room and cranked on two of my three heaters. Crawling under three blankets was not warm enough, I had to raise the whole room to over 80 and apply liberal doses of lineament. I’m reading “The Long Walk”, about these six men who escaped from a Siberian prison camp in 1941 and made it to India. So far, they are in Tibet, and two of their party have died from exhaustion, including a girl they’d met who’d run away from a collective farm.
Every person in America who adopts the slightest notions of socialism should have this as required reading. The American system was designed to prevent the concentration of power into a few hands, no matter how well-meaning those hands appeared to be. Yet, every year of my life, the Federal and State organizations have steadily increased their own power to the point you can’t open a hotdog cart without a license. Every step toward relying government for things you should be doing for yourself is a loss of personal freedom.
As it stands, mine may be the last generation that enjoys anything like a free America. I’m finally going to get a smart phone and wifi service and I was appalled at the amount of information I had to shell out to strangers. Fortunately, I have a way to get around that. Most people do not. And, as we’ve seen, it takes only one tiny security breach to throw your privacy to the wolves.
ADDENDUM
Here’s a few views of the new bathroom countertop being glued up. These show the clamps for the dowel work and I’ve discovered the finish on the wood is not very durable. I’m told polyurethane is not tough enough. I’m sure I’ll find out which Internet experts are right.
Up again at 2:30AM, woken by pain, this time across the shoulders, the remainder of that motorcycle accident exactly. At the time, this was the least painful. Now it is having its turn. I know if might be old-ladyish to talk of such aches, but this blog is not about the ordinary, rather the different. And some days the ordinary is what’s different. Put another way, this blog doesn’t give a squat about mooks and their uneventful lives. And tonight, my back was sore.
This is day 502 of my diet and I have not lost any meaningful weight this year. Today, two bowls of cereal, two coffees downtown, and a helping of mashed potatoes with vegetables. Around 950 calories, easily burned off by weeding the flower beds. I had to rip up some plants from the front area. Despite careful measurements, I had to make more room for the driveway. The way I had it, the route could be negotiated only by turning the steering wheel to the maximum, and that is bad on your car.
Later, I slept through 13 hours, feeling like I’d fallen off a cliff. It seems to me there have been other Easter Sundays in a similar condition. Nothing works but waiting it out. This will also give me time to work on my two newest theories concerning love. One is that uneducated people can never hurt as emotionally deep as the educated, rather they can only imagine they do. Second theory is that people who pay too much attention to others, call the gossips if you will, can never fall in love as deeply as more balanced individuals.
ADDENDUM
It was later that TV turned turned the mush-minded X, Y, & Zs into A-holes, B-yotches, and C-words. Anyway, I’m serious about the difficult plots. Something has changed and it is me. The story lines are involved, but in a manner that caters to a different crowd and a different person than I’ve become. Once I was fascinated by the quality of the writing, now, it’s still there but doesn’t mean as much to me. I still wish some local beauty would emerge from every farmhouse I pass but today the best looking woman I’ll see is the brunette babe at the donut shop.
Did I mention the guy that works there is interested in guitar? He’s played a bit and has many times asked how I get along so smoothly (his adjective) with women a third my age. I directly answered it is because that’s where I have the most experience. Don’t knock this away as bunk, it’s a situation where most men who would have no problem just talking to an older woman cannot do just that with the young ones. He got me to thinking where this ability comes from. My forced answer would have to be music.
Anyway, I’ve had better success with beginners than trashy pros, so we might lend this guy a guitar long enough to see if he’s got potential. I already had the talk with him over playing music as opposed to entertaining. He picked that up instantly. Now to find out if he comprehends boom-chick boom-chick. Yes folks, boom-chick is all you need to play in a band. If you got that, you are one ingredient away from all the free beer, money, and women you want. All you need is me playing bass.
So, are we looking at the resurrection of “The Johnson Twins”. He’s 25, tall, and black. I’m not. That’s where we tell the audience, “Different mothers”. As for why Johnson, it’s rehearsed when he says, “Quiet, or he’ll show you.” Welcome to false start number one thousand, or at least it seems that way.
