July 12, 2019

Yesteryear
One year ago today: July 12, 2018, hotdogs: still on hold.
Five years ago today: July 12, 2014, spying is not condoned.
Nine years ago today: July 12, 2010, she’s a spy.
Random years ago today: July 12, 2004, off to Marco Island.

           These hurricanes that miss Florida still tend to dump a lot of rain. A couple flood warnings to the north encouraged me to head west back along Tamiami Trail, even though the lower speed limit adds more than an hour to the return leg. That, plus I’m delivering mangoes. JZ loaded up two boxes into Unit 31 which are a mite too heavy for me to lift. He’s learned to make good coffee (that’s the guy who used to re-use his grounds) so we went over some planning. I’m not so sure I won’t go ahead on my own again, although he has promised to show up either next Monday or a week later.

           Here’s some fancy table art from Punta Gorda. I took the bypass through Immokalee, where they have a Goodwill not yet priced out of existence. I stopped for an hour and would have bought this excellent computer desk hutch, but seems my car was full mangoes. These two delay put me so far behind schedule, there was no time for the planned brunch at the marina. Instead, Alaine threw together some turkey sandwiches for us and we took the doggies for a stroll. Yes, Sparkie and Sammy, you have competition.

           There are beaches in Florida that consist mainly of seashells, and Alaine put together these jars as table decorations. I don’t have the patience. Her tablet has the same Russian virus as mine, but I was unable to suppress it. She has an Apple and I can’t fix those. Back when I was in the business, Apples didn’t need fixing, and they never did until they began farming their programming out to MicroSoft. That may be only an opinion, but it is mine. Apples never used to get viruses. This one is weird, it only triggers when you go on-line. So this computer, which has never been connected, works fine even with the same disks. The only solution I know of is to reinstall the operating system and I don’t think that’s an option with Apples, who, I understand, have turned into bastards lately.

           Here’s the promised better shot of the shell bottles. They are lit up here right after I went in and replaced the batteries. The house is so bright from the south facing windows (the are full length and height) that this is the best photo I could manage of the effect. The bottles are 2/3 full of tiny shells with a string of little LEDs around the edges. My old brain instantly thinks this could be improved with a little Arduino assistance. I would train the bottles to light up automatically when it was dark and they detected a human heat signature, then go out a while after. Right now, they are operated by a switch, which explains the dead batteries.

           You would not even need an Arduino to fake this effect. Just a small light sensor, a capacitor, and a cheap 555 timer chip. Since these could be hidden inside the shells, the batteries could be hidden in a hollowed out real cork, anyhow, you get the idea. While I was there, we took the doggies for a walk, by which time I was ready for beddy-bye. The combination of heat and even mild activity, well, that gets back to the concept of siesta. When we got back to the driveway, there was a puddle with a rainbow gas film on the surface. Inspection of the vehicles shows no leaks, but I will check that out 100% when I get back.

Picture of the day.
Downtown Havana traffic.
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           Back home, but exhausted. I grabbed the most technical material handy, a dissertation on prime numbers, and was asleep until 4:24AM tomorrow. This house has a quirk that until figured out, could be rated as mildly haunted. Some of the light bulbs work their way out of the sockets and have to be regularly tightened back in. Probably bimetal contraction in this climate, but haunted sells better. Pencil in the 29th of this month. If all goes, that is the time slotted for us to finally get to the circus in Sarasota. This is really the museum of the old circus winter grounds. I’ve been trying to get over there for years. I intended to invite the lovely Becca, but she can’t walk around. Before we continue, here’s a closer shot of the shell bowl in the picture above. This is the type of arrangements I’m no good at. That one iridescent shell nearly front center is not from the vicinity, it was a gift.

           Becca had to sit up with cushions. She’s got one of those slipped discs, or what is it where the spine won’t behave? I went over to visit to see if something can’t be worked out for the circus trip. I’d hate for her to miss what is certain to be the local event of this summer. The group could be as many as eight people and I’d be happy if half that many show up. I’ll redo some research on the place. That’s the old barracks, which I believe has the stables, elephant houses, and infirmaries, which sounds a lot more exciting than working one’s life away in a cube farm.

           The circuses all shut down not all that long ago, but to me a museum is a museum. Count me in. I’m suggesting an American style trip, where everybody drives their own vehicles and we meet up there. If that sounds extravagant to certain factions in other countries, I’ve got ten bucks that says they all have one thing in common: they don’t agree with the American way. So let them walk to the circus or pile in one car and take half the time delivering people. You can’t have it both ways.
           This trip was one of the most comfortable yet. I said about the light traffic and I have the new band material all on MP3 in the car. Sadly, the stereo there, while excellent for just listening, does not have the low deep end I need to hear the bass lines. So the idea here was to increase my familiarity with the tunes I would not normally pay attention to. Like “Cowboy Take Me” and “La Grange”. The whole Nashville band is to me just another adventure, but like any other musician who’s spent years practicing, I would have no qualms about doing it just to show off. Let me explain something.

           I question if it is possible to spend a lifetime practicing for stage work and not have an ego. It’s a given that guitarists have them because that is often their sole motivation. The confliction there is that often their talent isn’t as lofty, but my point is other musicians including myself also have egos and I believe creative artistry would suffer otherwise. This band created a lot of attention this trip, the more so when I stated I believe it has great potential. Only a belief, mind you, as I have not even joined up yet. But if I do, no need to go searching for ulterior motives. I’ll openly admit there is nothing, absolutely nothing, stopping me from completing this project if only for the worst reasons anybody could think of.
           Let me carry that explanation-slash-admission a level further. If I ever amounted to anything, and they handed me an award on stage, and expected me to thank the people who have helped me along the way, well. They are going to get a long, long, steady blank stare. Maybe I could ask for a show of hands for anyone who even encouraged me in any meaningful way. Nope, still blank. C’mon, somebody say it’s lonely at the top.

ADDENDUM

21.313%

           A lot of ground’s been covered the last 48 hours. I have a floor to replace, so let it all surface as we go along. I’ve found the table saw but have no place to put it I need another storage space outdoors, plain as that. So tell me how to do it while I need that floor right now. Ah, the challenges of home ownership. It doesn’t take much to spot the matters I’ve had to skip for now. New bass strings, yard work, the beer caddy, rotate the tires, repair the screens. Home ownership, it’s fun. Sometimes.

           See this dog. Years later, this dog still does not stop barking at me. That’s why I call him Yappy. At first I thought he might be blind. Now I think he’s just that slow. Listen, though. Between partying, mango deliveries, and side roads, this cowboy has a case of fatigue and the world can bloody wait until tomorrow. Blogs take time and I haven’t had any for three days running.

           Nor can I wait for JZ to show, I’ve got to forge onward. Plus I don’t have a lot of faith he’ll make it here, or if he does that he’ll have money. I have to commence that plumbing on his word that I have the correct pieces, but that meshes with what I’ve read independently, so we start tomorrow morning. Yeah, start with chopping up that pile of bushes left by the power company trim crew. They semi-wound up blocking my driveway. To keep things on the positive, all the work in the upcoming week means passing the kitchen how many times a day, which in turn means chicken pie. And coffee. Staples they be in this household. I’ve had to store items in the kitchen to make room and that has to end.

           The last mention for now is Lebanese food. I can’t claim a good record for a healthy diet, but I can say I’ve been concerned for quite a while. Beef has not been a part of my diet long enough, and I did not eat at McDonalds much at all, and even then not before I was 30. I’ve avoided food with bad reputations for nearly twenty years now, only to find that reputations vary regularly enough. But JZ’s family has had a considerable impact if you judge by my shopping list. Middle eastern food, well let’s say you don’t see a lot of fatso types over there. The connection with me is that I have not eaten badly, but I still exhibit indicators. Lot’s of them.
           If you look up a list of the top twenty symptoms of people who regularly browse on garbage American Frankenfood, I’ve got half of them. Starting with triglycerides. It’s quick to point the finger and say most of what I have are produced by my system. But that’s akin to saying they all started acting up in unison during late August 2003. So much for the state of American nutritional research. Asking Kraft and Campbell’s to test their own food is like getting the police to investigate their own corruption. Like asking Iran to supervise its own nuclear program.

Last Laugh