One year ago today: April 3, 2018, at first, I said no.
Five years ago today: April 3, 2014, WIP, bad link
Nine years ago today: April 3, 2010, would I work there?
Random years ago today: April 3, 2015, send him the bill. Again.
A quick return trip to Old Hickory. There’s a lake drive to the east that made me pine for my motorcycle. You know, Robynette’s car sits in the driveway most of the time, so let me see it I can plan for that. I have no pressing schedules. I kept an eye out for amenities, but the two libraries I saw last day are about it. That’s good enough for me. There are large areas that have undergone some type of community restoral program. Why? Because there is a consistency of design and finishing that was not there originally. The place is so ‘old Texas’ they don’t know it, but I do. See drone-view.
I was across from where me and the boys drove to Hendersonville earlier. We looked for and never found the downtown there either. But don’t think it was a quest, I made a cursory look around for a few minutes. It’s just that if I was mayor of a town so near to Nashville, I’d do everything I could to attract tourists into the core. Maybe they know something I don’t. If you like to follow on a map, I’m talking a short journey north on Old Hickory Blvd, north from Lebanon Pike. The same Old Hickory that runs past this house.
We returned home by 10:30AM, the dogs were pooped out, both ways. I suspect I walk them some three times faster than others. Vacant lots run $48,00 for the cheapest, condos start around $179,000, and refurbished houses at $215,000. Hmmm, it is an old neighborhood. I’ll put a pin on the map, and plan to wave $80k under somebody’s nose. You didn’t get that from me.
American farming.
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At the dam this morning, the smaller doggie (unofficially dubbed Sgt. Sam) decided to head into the water, fine, but came out along a muddy flat of soggy leaves. It was odorific. Since it was tub time for me, right afterward, he went into my tub water for a solid scrub. What a skinny runt under all that poodle fur, and while he took the soap and water fine, he did the poodle thing as soon as he got out. Under the bed, rolling on every floor mat. And me, sopping wet, had no time to go find the camera. You missed a show. He either loves it or he hates it. Can’t tell. Here’s the skinny cat discovering that that piece of paper that disappears is about to reappear a different color at the other end. Like her cat food.
By darkfall, I get this brilliant idea to go to Karaoke and scout for women. The layout around here is not strategic. This enclave is the snooty part of town, so there are no clubs, hotels, pubs, theaters, nothing. You have to cross the freeway to find the nearest supermarket. Thusforth, if you want to kick up your heels, it means leaving town. That’s the rub. The surrounding hills are dead-end-job territory, home of the Bud Lite six-pack and the lost damage deposit. I know, because it took the first half of my life to extricate myself. Subconsciously hoping I’d bump into Kayla, I stopped at the “Rusty Urinal”. She wasn’t there, but the women who were must have started drinking at noon.
I found a quiet corner and brought out my scribbler. An hour later I did one song to a drunk and unappreciative audience. There was a metal screamer clobbering the stage. This DJ was definitely country but working where he could. One sign that the ass-enders may be waking up is he had a release form to sign before he’d video your show. Since it specified he posted on the Evil Three (Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter), I declined. Hey, I thought I kept a copy to post here but I guess not.
Not one good-looking gal in the entire place. A lot of dumpy bar-bunnies. Why, if I was into fat hips. Actually, there were two a bit easy on the eyes but they were doing the little lesbo act for the drunks and mill-workers, who were on to their tricks. So, I left early and decided to stop at the pool table place. They didn’t have Karaoke, and except for some perhaps underage biker chicks, there were no sexy women there, either. What, did they hear I was coming? However, the juicy one who works behind the bar, the one I met first day, wow, was she glad to see me. Alas, she stopped short of that boundary that says she’s shacked up with the bar owner or something to that effect. I thought to myself, if I want to live in a town where there is one good-looking woman and she’s taken, I’d move back to Seattle.
From a design standpoint, it is ingenious. Depending on how many birdhouses you’ve designed, this one is remarkably well-done. I’ll point out some of the features. The way it fits around a square post is brilliant. Notice the simplicity of the cuts required. The builder was aware that the perch stick actually gets in the say of birds. Here, he’s put small perches though even those may not be necessary. The one downside of the design is one set of boxes must face to the north, so will likely remain unoccupied.
At the lower left, you see a small screw at the bottom of the side panel. This is to open the box for annual cleaning. This is necessary and so many people wonder why the birds never return. (The used nests become infected with parasites.) The last feature I’ll mention is the construction. It is entirely made with one of my favorite el-cheapo building materials. Dog-eared fence pickets. Of which I have a sizeable collection. Don’t expect anything to get underway when I get home. My priority is to get that bathroom finished, which could take a long time since I now know I’ll get no help.
ADDENDUM
There’s an idea for you, transparent wood. How about that ex-Mozilla suit to got interrogated at customs for not allowing a search of his devices? He was let go, but three hours late, and the customs revoked his express pass. Not because he had committed any crime, but because he didn’t comply with their unreasonable demands. Punishment not for wrong-doing, but for demanding your rights. Yep, it’s the new American era of “law enforcement”. No law says you must, but plenty of penalties if you don’t. No wonder they want to take away your guns.
Before anybody asks if this means it will soon be like this in Canada. The answer is: No. But only because in Canada, things were never any other way. My earliest recollection of Canada Customs was when a Vancouver airport thug told me, “You don’t have to let us search your bag, but we don’t have to let you get on our airplane.” I had not objected to the search, I’d only said if they would tell me what they were looking for, I might be able to help. Turns out, in Canada, that’s insubordination. Which is not illegal, but you know the rest.
My behavior model is much better, where I reserve the right to regard people who disagree with me as uneducated, if not mildly retarded. It’s the opposite of what it seems at first. And while on this theme, I also say it is possible to judge a book by its cover. Content is a highly subjective matter, but those who cannot spot any difference between a supermarket tabloid and a leather-bound manuscript are, how to put this, in a category of their own. I’ve always maintained people who need people should be stranded on a desert island with each other until they’ve had their fill. Too many of them don’t seem to notice my gigantic “No Trespassing” sign. Nor can the Taylor-types see my welcome mat.
Keep an eye on an outfit called “Trainline”. It’s a UK outfit paying close attention to the very problems with train travel this blog has addressed many times. The main objection with trains is the same as the bus—it doesn’t go where you want to go when you want to go there. Secondarily, the stations and stops don’t comply with usage patterns. And limited free parking. Airports are worst for leaving you 35 miles from your destination. And have you ever tried to find out the exact fare you actually have to pay with these outfits? On-line is a waste of time. Just last week I had to drive to a depot, park, and walk over to the broken ticket machine to find out the fare downtown was $5.25 each way. That is, roughly four times the cost of driving, and the schedule was really bad.
Every fifth time I ride the Amtrak (or used to), there was some delay making me late for hours. When it happens, you take the hit, not Amtrak. From the management side, the limitation is the fantastic expense of running each train, but is that because they are still doing like they did in 1960? Trainline noticed how Uber and Lyft castrated the taxi industry, and that was long, long overdue. What’s the real speed of car travel at rush hour? Maybe 10 mph? What really happened is the smart cars removed the artificial barriers the taxi companies had erected over time to maximize their profits at the inconvenience of the customers, who often had no other choice.
