One year ago today: February 14, 2019, those dreadful pantsuits.
Five years ago today: February 14, 2015, 5,000 hostages.
Nine years ago today: February 14, 2011, speaking of hearse-shaped.
Random years ago today: February 14, 2001, the caddy in Key Biscayne.
I should accept the loss of my second-favorite Thrift. This place is full of goodies from when it was a nice place to shop. They brought back that yakky bald guy that annoys the hell out of intelligent people. And the other staff are the ones who are gone. The guy tripled the prices on everything and prices some items like they were antiques because they sort of look that way. Sets of dishes that sold for $5 are now $40. I only stop in there every other week now. And I don’t like the comments on what you buy, and because he’s a blabbermouth, I no longer purchase any building or repair parts there.
Today’s photos are some general material to give the page some color. Here’s a pic of the latest Lenovo computer with no keyboard. It’s part of the relentless drive to dumb down the computer down to the level where those who actually work for minimum wage can pretend they are power users. I wonder how one of them would create a resume on such a “computer”. Maybe click on the resume icon and hope like hell the computer is a better liar than they are?
There are some grand examples, since a lot of this town saw its boom time back around the world wars when home ownership was beyond most Americans. Many of the houses had rooming areas built on the back and some of them are huge, as in ten or twelve bedrooms. None of these were in my price range. These crews know what they are doing and I wonder what the game plan is. Could it be that high speed rail line? We saw the pattern on that years ago, it would turn all these little towns into bedroom communities for Tampa and Orlando. Likely the only reason this has not already occurred is the nightmare commute on that freeway. I’ve driven that road maybe six times, usually to Orlando.
Further, I considered that new highway route, the one that bought Charla’s property. I was surprised to learn just three miles away, there was no offer on the only other club along that road. If this is yet another Florida highway that goes nowhere, it still means something is coming along that will change the status of this community. If I took a guess, I’d say the system is fed up with trying to fix the existing roadways and an alternative to driving around both Lakeland and Winter Haven is a good option. If they widen Hwy 60, most if it would go through that uninhabited area to the south via Bartow and Mulberry. That seems too far away to affect my property, but then, even further south land is getting snapped up in Homeland.
In my day, if you were really a loser, you could always go drive a cab. This photo shows why the robocallers can’t really to that as easily. This is your prototype taxi of the future. Imagine how unskilled in total the person is who, in this day and age, cannot even type. Now imagine millions of that sort behind the controls of a flying machine that is inherently unstable if one prop fails. You have two options. Let the jerk fly it himself and we can have freeway-style pile-ups in 3D. Or let a computer programmed by equally clueless coders fly the thing and instead of 500 two-car accidents, we’ll have a single 10,000 car crash per day.
The neighbor on the north side is fixing something in his garage and once or twice a day there is a huge bang, more like a small explosion. Then are few minutes later you hear a motor running. I don’t like it because it draws attention to the area. One of the first lessons to learn when you retire is not to attract any attention. Let things ride. Well, I wish he’d get on that motor and ride it far, far away.
Fancy tea maker.
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Despite a solid eight-hour day, I didn’t get to that drain. Once more, to do things right, side jobs took up the whole day. To move the counter to get at the pipe, I had to put in a brace under the floor so that part of the floor is removable. This mean leveling the bathroom floor with the hallway floor, which entailed taking the frame off the bedroom door and shimming that into level. Then because of the uneven trim, I had to cut pieces to fit with the jigsaw and I never measure right on that task. I had to remove all the drawers and shift half a room of stuff around to slide the counter out. By 8:00PM, I said get back to this tomorrow. Meanwhile, here is a view of Bill Gate’s half-billion dollar yacht. Look submersible. It’s hydrogen powered, so that faint glow on the horizon might not be the setting sun.
Instead, I tuned to business radio and once again, the experts don’t agree on a thing. Times are fantastic, we’re headed for recession. Buy gold, don’t buy gold. The newscasts were more interesting. Keep draining that swamp, Mr. Trump. That DC place, he says, is full of crooked evil people. The media is corrupt and leftist controlled. Maybe later I’ll watch a rally or two on youTube and form my own opinion. The Democrats have gone too far this time, there is talk they’ve so thoroughly disgusted their supporters with the impeachment hoax that they are losing memberships. They had it coming, Trump has done some incredible deals while all they did was talk and talk for the last 50 years. Politics as a career is contingent on current issues never ending.
The report says 100 miles of the wall is built and they are aiming for 500 miles. The liberals are incensed, saying the “migrants” will just walk around the wall. Yeah, right into the hands of the waiting ICE people. Trump finally has the right formula, Mexico is paying for the wall because he’s funding it with confiscated drug money. Crossings in the area are down 82%. Walls don’t work, huh? The thing that gleefully infuriates the leftards the most is they know even if they ever get back into power, that wall is permanent. They would not dare to touch it. They kept insisting we are all in this together, but when that finally happens they cry like babies.
ADDENDUM
Around 8:30PM I knocked off. All the prep work is done but I want to complete that plumbing chore in one session. Tomorrow. Thus, like most construction workers on a Friday, I piled in the car and went bar-hopping. I really haven’t done that since I left Seattle. I stopped in five places, all full of the same people, and wound up at the old club down in Bartow. Spent my last $28 but that was fun. Women? Nothing in my weight range but here’s a tale from the trailer court. The only available chair was at the counter. Picture this. The place is designed so nine patrons can sit along the front section. There is a problem with that.
You see, I was the skinniest guy in the bunch. Only seven or eight fatties can actually sit at the bar. So where I sat left the only gap in the row that people could order across the counter, and they have to lean in sideways to do that. As it happens, the opening was between me and some big lady. So the guys brushed up against her and the women against me. I have no illusions about how touchy women are about the slightest contact. After my stint at the phone company, I’m an expert at pretending it’s a non-sexual oops-sorry. But thirty years ago, this would have driven me insane.
The reason I stayed at the last joint was the guitar player. He’s the ideal candidate for what I’m seeking, I will elaborate. He was an expert strummer, he could actually do all those classical riffs I’ve failed at so many times. But a somewhat weak singer with a dull song list. As par usual, this relegates his show to the background. Like most who concentrate on the guitar rather than the overall presentation, he lacked stage presence. And his song list was virtually identical to mine before I met the Reb. Hits from the 70s and far too much slow music, much of it mismatched to the room. Don’t get me wrong, slow music is easy to play and kills time. But since my early teens that has morphed into the opposite of my entertainment philosophy.
I collected his contact information.
