One year ago today: September 17, 2018, inoluntary registration.
Five years ago today: September 17, 2014, my first robot scribble.
Nine years ago today: September 17, 2010, My Trash 80!
Random years ago today: September 17, xxxx, WIP
I’ll tell you who is smart. That guy in England that wrote an app that blocks companies that try to bill your credit card after the free trial period. Brilliant, he’s worth every penny he makes on it. It’s a concept, that if expanded, strikes terror into the credit card companies. You can bet they won’t take it lying down. Cancel some outdoor work this morning as some wasps have established two colonies where I need to work. One at my main door, the other under the kitchen shade on the west. I didn’t notice until a couple of them set my left ear on fire.
Next, I finally contact Agt. R. And he’s got these smudge pots in the yard, all rusted. Sensing he’s broke again, I gave him $20 to deliver one over here as a lawn ornament. They are heavily rusted but said to be in working condition. Yes, but does it work on mosquitoes? Yep, he’s cash-strapped, so I’m going to pay him the asking $750 price on the Yamaha scooter. He’s kept it started up over the months because some guy from the post office kept promising to show up with the money.
This delays my table saw, you know. My car insurance is due this Friday and I can’t do all three before end of the month. So it is the scooter and the insurance. Let’s talk hotdogs. I knew that was on your mind. Charla has not reached a decision, but she has listened to my experience that the cart is not a simple operation. Thus, when Agt. R says a sports team wants food service at their Saturday outings, I said go ahead. All of our existing supplies eventually went bad, but the team says they will buy the supplies. That’s fine, but if they try to dictate the prices, I’d rather replace the stock.
I wrote a letter to the state complaining about the “penalty” for not registering a vehicle by the due date. Explaining that this was bad for business, because I had intentionally not registered the trailer for a year. I should not be punished as if I had committed some infraction. The whole registration process smacks of corruption anyway, because you cannot get around the dollar amount by simply selling the trailer to yourself and registering it new for $35. Because they’ve tacked on that $300+ “new vehicle registration” fee. Total corruption.
They defend the penalty saying the state needs the revenue. Do they now? Well, that is the definition of corruption—when penalties and fines become integral budget items. This prompts the state to enact legislation that makes the penalties routine and predictable, which is the wrong application of penalties. Sadly, American political problems have become too vast to have anyone tend to such low level dishonesty.
The press is already working overtime to find Trump failures, careful to gloss over how they are almost universally the cause. While Trump has crushed many of the barriers both parties have put up to protect their system and privileges, the entire internal voting system is out of control. It is designed not to govern, but to filter any changes to make sure the status quo is never harmed or held accountable. The stench of corruption is bad and those people take it home at night.
I’m not finished the corny “Hangmen” movie yet, but here is a shocker for the era. It’s a bit part, but as you can see, this lady’s bit parts are showing. Pretty risqué stuff and they made sure it was an older broad with bumpers instead of turn signals. That was serious boy scout time whenever this movie was released. I’d guess late 60s?
Wishing to try the next refinement in box-building, I sought a 1/4” rabbet router bit with a collar. Guess which specific size no place I can find has for sale. There are lots of larger bits, but the one I imagine would be quite common is not sold, it seems, except as part of a larger and more expensive set. There. How was your morning? Myself, my sore toe isn’t healing fast so it’s siesta time.
Colored glass.
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.
This is why I need that pole saw. Here are some camphor trees just harvested. And this shows why. They grow like weeds for twenty years and then rot from the inside out. The hollow pieces you see are from a tree that was alive and looking well a few hours before. But the wind has a nasty habit of seeking out trees with inadequate support and sending the still heavy parts crashing through the roof of your hose. The neighbor just had his truck missed the other month. The overhang in my yard is still branches, not logs, but I’m not leaving to chance.
I stopped at the Thrift and there may be a time soon I don’t go there any more. It’s that new guy he is too patronizing and nosy for me. I see now that he made some deal with the church to take over the operation and make a profit. He’s changed the format and I suppose there is more money in it now.
What he did was double the prices. Anybody could have done this, so it hardly constitutes business acumen. The place is never busy any more. I used to spent ten bucks of five things, now I spend five bucks on two things. Overall, he might break even in the long run—if he gets somebody personable to run the till. Even the DVDs are now $2, and he pays too much attention to what movies you buy. There’s something about the comments he makes that I would never buy, say, a Disney DVD while he was watching.
Pruning out the weak plants in the late afternoon, I’ve got the front yard back in some working order. I can’t decide where to put the smoker, as the best spot is really where I have to walk to get to the hose bib (water tap). As for renovation work, today got around to nothing. I got the wasp’s nest on the door while just over baseball size. The trick is to spray paint the thing shut. Then I examined the double beam that remained from the porch and it just might be the answer to that slight settling where the two wings of my building don’t quite match. This isn’t the Palace of Versailles.
Let me tell any potential buyers a Florida secret. I’ve mentioned how the orange groves eventually grow a root system that intermeshes the whole area together. I do not know the reason but they cannot be economically dug out of the ground. The trouble arises when they build subdivisions on the property. Over time, the orange roots will rot away, causing the soil to settle unevenly. This may be a recent phenomena because it was only when the citrus greening bacteria killed off whole orchards that these subdivisions really sprang up on the land.
Now, you can drive through the area south of Orlando and see newer housing with crooked roofing and odd corners. I’ve not seen any really bad examples but Charla indicates I just haven’t driven far enough east. My property is mine tailings down 65 feet. The sinking here is due is usually due to water seepage, which is more or less easily corrected.
I’m reading up on tourism in the valleys of eastern Tennessee and I’ll mention railroads. I want to know where they are in the area but my luck didn’t hold. I’ve got a pile of literature extolling the Blue Ridge Parkway, which I would reserve for motorcycle travel. Cars are boring, so that leaves ground transportation to the train or the bicycle. And the road is 429 miles long. The closest I’ve been to what I want to see is Blowing Rock. Vicki and I were there in 1999. I recall a possible steam locomotive trip, but not the name. Sweet Heart Railroad? Sweetie Railroad. I need to find some WiFi.
ADDENDUM
I am going for a brew. I sprayed the weeds, washed the bugs off the car, cut lumber for the red shed lighting, moved the swing, built a good fan out of two bad ones, killed another wasp nest, weeded the flower area, gathered the flowerpots for planting, measured out the back area, bought concrete blocks, spray washed a lot of gear, oiled the shed padlocks, and still caught a two hour nap. Before I drive over because my bicycle had both flat tires, let me mention this book. Is it dull reading? You bet.
What do I think? I’ve known for years to not take the fortress by storm. I rarely act like other men in places like a pub, where the rank and file are slobbering goofs, howling at the flatscreens, and generally being as obnoxious as they were in junior high. It’s not surprising women would find a man reading any book a welcome departure, much less a book that signals a number of things. Like this isn’t my crowd, I’m bored with the ordinary, and there’s some intellect operating. It is not that easy to get my attention.
I immediately reject the ones who are miffed at not being the center of attention to every man in the room. (They shaved their legs for this?) I put off the ones who suggest I don’t know how to relax or have a good time unless there is an offer, but it has to be somewhat unveiled. I’m not into innuendo chit-chat. What would work well, but not necessarily for sure, would be that which has never happened—I meet a woman with some factual knowledge of the subject. Or Taylor. Taylor always cuts to the front of my line.
Here’s a bonus video through the Cumberland Gap. Yep, I think it was June of 1999 I was last in North Carolina. And I was heading for Spartanburg, not Hickory. I arrived a half hour late thanks to disobeying my own Interstate Rule Number One. Remember that one? It goes, in essence, no matter what the signs or GPS says, do NOT pull off the freeway for anything unless you can see the off-ramp, the place you want to stop, and the on-ramp. I wanted some gas and wound up driving on fumes in the wilderness of Zanzibar road.
It’s not so much that the system has gone for a dump as it is how their answer for everything is instructions on how you can clean up the mess they are creating. Can anyone come up with a phrase that applies to all that? They come into your life, take a steaming crap in your path and tell you how easy it is for you to clean it up. There must be a derogatory term for this that doesn’t involve the names of people I don’t like or mentioning Canada.
