One year ago today: April 29, 2018, I went back alone.
Five years ago today: April 29, 2014, must be nice.
Nine years ago today: April 29, 2010, once each.
Random years ago today: April 29, 2011, victim/veteran.
Appalled by the damage done to so much property in the sheds by inadequate storage, I took some time to build more permanent containers. Most things were in cardboard boxes which do not last like they used to. The packaging was beginning to deteriorate and Florida is a moist and humid climate. Plus, when I move, everything goes into boxes which I sort out when I arrive. When that didn’t happen the orthodox way, after months passed, I’d lost track of what was where. I’ve spend hundreds replacing things
This required most of another day, so no cartwheeling to report from this source. Summer is also bug season, which means evening work will soon cease as well. Sure, I’m a morning person, but that is a personality trait, not a pronouncement that I like to go to work at the same time. This adds up to a generic day, meaning in true journal fashion, I mention what happened. So it can be compared to other days.
There’s a guitar player in Lakeland advertising he like to play rhythm in a ROCK band. Capital letters are in his original. His post has been running for a month. He lists a set of wants which include playing in a live fun bar band. Hmmmm, now doesn’t that sound familiar? Anyway, my guitar player from the coffee shop has not been in touch, which usually means a flop. They realize you don’t just decide to play in a band, you have to put in the time first. I sent a reply to the guy in Lakeland, stating if he softens a wee bit on his emphasis on rock music, we could be out gigging.
If he’s wise, he’ll know the value of being out there as contrasting with advertising for a band. Fact is, if he knows his stuff, he could be playing within a matter of hours, I mean, his ad sure sounded like he could hit the ground running. He carefully avoided stating whether or not he could sing, which can be taken to mean he doesn’t. Right? Add it up. Show me somebody who can play rhythm guitar and can sing that has to advertise and isn’t already playing out.
The dryer got its first test. Two loads from the laundromat easily fit into the drum. Three could probably fit. In that sense it is heavy duty. I tested some towels to find the minimum settings, a wise move with any new dryer, and to prevent scorching. Take a look at the dryer controls in this photo. That auto moisture setting is keen as hell. It shuts off the heat, or most of it, and air fluffs your clothes. Man, what a treat with the towels, and my shirts—what have I been missing? I’m not sure if it is the dryer, or some effect of the dryer, but what a nice feel to the fabrics.
1965 fugly.
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Here’s another picture of the dryer, I mean, how else can I convince you of how little happened this day? I watch the DVD “Rob Roy” with those barren Scot landscapes. It’s amazing how many times they burn down stone houses. Yeah, the English did a real number on that place. Even today there are rumblings of them breaking away. I think they should. They are two different peoples. It’s a wonder things haven’t come to a head before.
Okay, we’re getting somewhere. So far, I’ve got some bus fares and a collection of breakfast recipes, but the date of December 1, 1994 is confirmed I was in Caracas. I looked at a five-bedroom house with two bathrooms, to rent for $411.76 per month. And in a very unusual move, I was looking to rent a video camera. They don’t rent such things in Venezuela because if it gets wrecked, nobody can replace it.
There were translation difficulties that could only be overcome by lengthy “wordations” I called them. It seems a waste of time, but if you want something specific, I recall learning to leave nothing to chance. As for my command of Spanish in 1994, here is the phrase I wound up using to find a “pay phone” that accepted a credit card. “La prividad estacionomente del la cablas linea distriudora oficinado del tarjeta credito por los pulibcado conferencia recibo y transmuto electronico dis largas distancias.”
Next is something you don’t need to know, but here goes. By 1994, I had already had two laptops stolen in Caracas, so I used notebooks. Many a time, the manager of a club or such would see me writing and intentionally turn down the lights until I could not see. You get a lot of those a-holes overseas because they want what they perceive as an American atmosphere in their clubs. Writing has nothing to do with getting drunk, so they pull the dimmer stunt. When that happens, after I leave, I give some street drunks enough money to go in and stink up the place, maybe ten bucks back then. Or in one instance, to treat the owner’s sister working the bar like a prostitute.
I’m resolved to put in more fence in the back. The two cheap-o panels I bought have both warped already, but good. Gives the place a lived-in look. I want a private back yard, so that’s going to cost me $200 for fenceposts, panels, and I’ll be needing my own post-hole digger. The manual kind, like the one I borrowed before. I’ve heard them referred to as butterfly shovels. Right now, my back yard can be seen directly from the third busiest street in town, past the church two blocks away. I can’t even target practice without somebody watching.
Target practice? Yes, with the air rife. Using ammo is too expensive, and I priced out some pistols in Tennessee with Reb. Even the low-end revolvers are a huge expense. Going plinking can easily run you into $30 for an afternoon. That’s why I have not done so in decades. Even CO2 pistols run into money. You know, I just recalled the last time I fired such a pistol was with Reb in 1989. Wow. Anyway, when I do practice, my targets are 25 feet away. I have no intention of shooting anything further away (ahem), but I wonder if I’ve lost my touch with a rifle and scope. Air pellets are the only way I can afford to practice, and for that, I’ll need those fence panels.
Next, I had occasion to watch a documentary on the battleship. It was subtitled “Terror From Above”, a good indication of how little grasp your average wired-in types have on the way these weapons work. To this day they still parrot the propaganda that the Bismarck was the “biggest ship”, when in fact there were dozens of bigger ships in the British navy. In fact, these pocket battleships were commerce raiders, designed to sink cargo ships. They were too thinly armored to fight real battleships, evidenced by how ordinary British cruisers forced the Bismarck’s sister ship, the Graf Spee, into harbor.
And while you are up, take a look at this credit card receipt. The nurse from my clinic was in Nashville in early April, this is the gal I mentioned had seen the cut down trucks full of drunks. She pays for everything by credit card, and like most, never really bothers to check what’s being paid for or how much. She says she had much the same thing at this Panini spot every morning for two weeks. Note the item “Charged Tip”. That’s one expensive coffee break.
ADDENDUM
I saw this one coming, but others are not so smart. Once again, “innocent” record-keeping is costing a lot of people a lot of money. Here’s the details, and once again your character will be revealed by which side you choose. My side is simple—laws that are universally unpopular do not belong in a democracy. Around a year after I moved here, I received a notice that the city administration was seeking the identity of the person responsible for paying the taxes on each piece of property. I spotted the wickedness instantly. It would seem most people didn’t.
Worded similar to the census, the city wanted the actual on each person that paid the property taxes, declaring only that they would still like the actual “for their files”. Under Florida law there are a number of property tax exemptions, one of which is “Homestead”, that I think it applies your first and/or only residence in the state. I don’t claim the exemption for two reasons. One is that the amount of information they want exceeds the value of the exemption, and two, as long as the taxes are paid, I contend it is not the city’s business who pays them. It was evident (apparently to me alone) that the city was after something else. But this wasn’t the first time I was smarter than a whole city put together, if I must and do say so myself. Don’t make me repeat it.
I was further suspicious of their weak reasons, and the fact they were demanding an identity. The wording was that until they had this information, even if the taxes were paid, they would be considered delinquent. This had no effect on me, since the true ownership of this property would send them on a wild goose chase to the British Virgin Islands. However, others are now up the creek. First, some background.
The Korean War was over before I was born, but that generation was the last to ever trust the US government. By then, it was obvious how the US had been sucked into World War Two by power-hungry factions. Korea wasn’t a war, it was a “police action”, but it is a demarcation point in how Americans view their leaders. The follow on-generation, the Hippies, staged a soft revolution, but failed to have any real impact—except they did not like the old way of doing things. Thus, you have the generation before me trusting the government out of misplaced national pride, my generation, which I am ashamed to admit never followed up on their early success, and eventually sold out to the system, and the generations after who have been indoctrinated to trust the government, as long as it is politically correct.
Last week, people who gave the information to the city have been losing their Homestead deductions. You see, the United States is supposed to be fifty individual states, each conducting their own affairs. It was always intended that the states keep to their own affairs, but cooperate only on items like national defense and the postal system. Read the Constitution. It was possible, therefore, that a person have a number of quite legal Homestead deductions, one in each state. And now, they are being shafted by being told they must choose one state only. This level of interstate “cooperation” was intentionally limited by the Constitution, but it’s too late now.
So, who is right? I can tell you who is wrong. The city, because the paperwork concerning the declaration of the identity of the taxpayer did not contain a clear warning that the information was to be used for such a sinister purpose. Yet, it goes to show you no matter how stupid a government is, it is still smarter than most taxpayers—until one day those taxpayers wise up and quite squabbling between themselves. Pay up, you good citizens. Pay up. You had it comin’.
