August 25, 2021

Yesteryear
One year ago today: August 25, 2020, Rule 107.
Five years ago today: August 25, 2016, becasue that’s how it is.
Nine years ago today: August 25, 2012, if the engine runs . . .
Random years ago today: August 25, 2017, I suspect they do.

           Dammit, I lost the original fresh post of today due to a power failure in Palm Coast, Florida. So let me recap the day quickly in my “letter writing format”. You’ve seen this before, it is where I write down the events and you decide if things are okay or not. Many of the original posts to this blog used this method for a simple reason. They were also letters written at the same time. Here’s a photo of the doggies, knowing I’m leaving. I think they make a quick association when they see a suitcase. This photo is y’day noon, it is intentionally dark and a bit grainy. Sad to go, how do they know?

           So I was grumpy for over an hour after a great night’s sleep in the van. Why? Because I’m in Columbia and the city has goof cafes. What are goof cafes? That’s the millennial dickweeds who don’t put up a big sign visible from the freeway that they are drive-thru only. You park, get out of the car, and walk to the door before you can see the tiny business-card size sign that says no table service. I got inside one McDonalds, where they had the counter open but the seating area sealed off. I complained and all I got was the millennial F-you, which is worded, “Have a nice day.”

           I drove 421 miles y’day and did not make my intended. Forty miles out of Columbia, I hit a stretch of single lane freeway where the traffic slowed to a crawl, often completely stopping. The sign said merge by slowing down to 45, but nowadays few people can even read that fast. Because of my headlights, I avoid driving in the dark but this time the last two hours was pitch black. Up yours, South Carolina. I wound up at a park just 15 minutes drive from downtown Columbia, according to other patrons.
           Still looking for coffee at mid-morning, I pulled into Orangetburg, South Carolina. What a nothing town, I gave up after twenty minutes. I can tell I’m near a diversified area by the traffic. In Columbia they will do 90 mph if necessary to get into your blind spot, then click on their cruise control. Another giveaway there are third-worlders on the road is traffic bunching. Americans on a lightly traveled road will space themselves out so there is a mile between each car. Except for the odd speeder, you never had to worry about others on the road. Today, it’s immigrant city out there. No cars for two or three miles, then thirty of them in a batch, weaving, passing, cutting each other off, cussing, and on to the next batch.
           Then again, I was taking the freeways to make good time, as I’m adding 250 miles to the trip back. It’s my summer vacation.

Picture of the day.
Adidas factory.
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           I finally saw downtown Charleston, SC. Birthplace of the Civil War, as the Yankees call falsely call it. First stop, the library on Calhoun, where it is Miami-style, meaning no free parking. That’s another American screw-up, building cities with no parking. You get the usual crap that the city was not built for cars, but that’s for people who don’t know that a horse and wagon take up twice the space. What do I think of Charleston? Babe city. I saw more sexy women in three hours there than anywhere else in the past three years. No kidding, I concluded there must be a nursing school or two in the city.

           Their uniform seems to be jean cutoffs, a purple tee, and a knapsack. What was more impressive is that despite this being the era of the chubby teen, most of these gals were perfectly proportioned. I did not dare any pictures, these gals generally walked heads down with a place to be. Once again, I could not find a place for coffee, I even walked out of one place after waiting ten minutes for service. My van A/C still isn’t working well, or I would have done more babe-watching, by noon the heat index was 108°F. The only way to stay cool was to drive.

           This found me on the old Savannah road, I think they call it Hwy 17. And once again, no place to stop for coffee. It’s a sad thing this type of roadside stop has died in America. Some fifty miles out, I saw this sign that said fresh pies. It’s not on my diet, but I correctly guessed they sold coffee. It’s an older gift shop with shocking prices, although $15 for a small bottle of syrup may be normal in this country by end of the Biden term. You could easily spend $100 on pickles, when I noticed the coffee shop was a separate spot next door. There I was, moments later, talking to a sweet little lady with several different hair colors and beads in each braid. Twenty-five-ish, great-looking, and there was at least a few spars, but no enough to start a fire.
           That problem with my van seat rocking by itself decided to act up. You don’t mind the free ride, but it trips the windshield wipers. So I pulled over and yanked the windshield washer breaker. My plan was to visit Trent, but he had the kids this week. My fault, I did at first say I’d leave Nashville on the 16th. And with the trouble I’ve had finding coffee on this trip, we’d have had to go drink beers.

           I opted to drive until dark, which found me in the town of Palm Coast. I set up to camp, then drove to a small pub on the north end, called “Smiles”. Because it was Texas style, with neon in the window, a loud juke box, and beers for $2.50. It must be off the beaten path, as around five people eventually introduced themselves. The barkeep was a race car driver, and there were a few $50,000 Harleys in the parking lot. This is where I failed to notice my tablet power cord was loose and lost an hour’s typing. Open Office does not have an effective autosave when the battery goes dead. Duh.
           The Reb checks in, knowing I like long trips on my own. We had both by chance seen the same article about what makes couples happily married. According to that publication, the Reb & I should have been happily married all along, ha. We naturally got the first four points happening. We communicate. We encourage. We do things without being asked. We spend time together every day, doing the crossword, walking the dogs, playing music, it does not matter except that it is time together that is more than just talking.
           There is one other aspect of such a relationship I would throw out at people. I’ll get plenty of flak for this, but it concerns money. The Reb & I do not talk money. It’s the classic situation where we each walk into the others live paying all of our own bills and half of the ones we incur together. I do not recommend that for others, even if they could do it, it is just not for everybody but it works for us. I add that neither of us are TV watchers, we noticed long ago so many couples have problems that match what is on TV that week.

ADDENDUM

           While in Charleston, I found a civic center with some historical exhibits. This is a model house; I’ll tell you why it got my attention. Back in the 1980s, I saw this design in Barbados. And today was the first I read that this originated there. The wall had a sign saying these buildings were all over the city, but I know the real reason for the design. Because I stayed in a real one on the island. This picture gives you the best profile, in that each house was designed with that “side” entrance on a small veranda that faces the street.
           The entire explanation is heat. There was no A/C and the only relieve you get was either on the veranda, or if you look close, each room in the house had two windows. You can’t see it but there is a long central hallway on each floor. Later American plantation houses used the same concept, with huge front and back doors down a central corridor. I honestly plan to find time to spend a week in Charleston, the interesting part of the city is on a peninsula, and again, you never saw so many babes. If I live to be 200, I still like babes.
           What? No, the Reb & I are not “back together”. That’s another story. But for now, that’s the only total babe I care to do anything more than look, and that is that. But Charleston, that is like memory lane for an old entertainer like me. And just because such items rarely make this blog, don’t think things don’t happen. This is a family show.

Last Laugh