One year ago today: May 11, 2015, we walked out.
Five years ago today: May 11, 2011, for loop syntax error.
Nine years ago today: May 11, 2007, senior scams, reversed.
Random years ago today: May 11, 2010, I saw the light.
MORNING
Lookie here, it’s a picture of the Russian sidecar with the chair removed. It's the empty bucket. That qualifies as the unusual picture of the day. This was where the original seat was bolted down, but it could not survive the Florida rain. It was leatherette material over wood, and the wood had to be constantly kept dry. That might be possible over in Siberia or in a shed, but not on the long trips I take. The replacement chair is home made, which should make for another photo never seen before.
Yep, the spring shopping season is over. I need another depression before I’ll buy what’s left on the market. The mood here changes to one of capital preservation during a fast-approaching and uncertain future, or maybe “indeterminate” is a better word. While the consensus is that Trump is good for the economy, it’s prudent to understand the existing economy is not good. It is fully deformed by generations of credit-spree mentality with people thinking nothing of signing away their life for a house to live in today.
A house they could build themselves in six months, but they can’t take the time off because everything else they have is also on payments. The recent article about Americans unable to raise $400 has been reported here in many forms over the years. My curiosity is what will this do to house prices. It’s evident to me that houses are the most mutilated market in American history. The effect of supply and demand could swing either way.
Trump means change, but will prices soar back to 1920 levels (very expensive) when only the rich could afford homes, or will they collapse to their true market value of two years wages? There is no way to tell as love and money remain the most complicated subjects that everyman thinks he understands. As for myself, I could move to Arkansas and thereby save enough cash to go see the Smithsonian. I’ve never been as concerned as most about a house climbing in value since I intend to live and die there.
This entails that any house I buy need only retain its value at whatever I pay for it. I don’t require anything that will last a hundred years, so my decision is 50/50 price-based. What’s the most house I can get for the least money somewhere nice to live? Every penny saved is a holiday somewhere down the line. And that line had damn well better head toward the Smithsonian soon, or I’m going to be right miffed.
I’m not predicting the economy will either soar or sag because it is too complicated for such an either/or. I’m saying Trump will make a difference, but nobody can tell how that will affect one's own circumstances. There will likely be a day of reckoning for the paper millionaires and a rocky time for people in debt as the inflationary QE dollars reach “the corners of the empire”. I’m still planning a summer trip in June, but part of that is to check out other potential places I may like to live. So you'll know, Arkansas is a figure of speech, there are no such plans to actually go there at this time.
As stated, people bought houses with their lives, but I can see part of the "Trump phenomena" is the large numbers of those people now recognized, too late, what happened to them. They were sold a rotten bill of goods and were pretty much coerced over their lifetimes to squander their votes to block any real improvements to a system that was propping up their supreme investment. Now they are waking up, as the end approaches, those houses dropped in value and there is talk of castrating their social security, which kind of serves them right, you know. Under the circumstances, they don’t dare not vote for the man who wants to return to business fundamentals.
The “bouncing bomb” dam, today.
NOON
Here’s the counter at the Senor Café at brunch time. Why did this picture make the grade? Fat arses, that’s why. This is the popular back counter at the restaurant and the significance is that because of the buffet fixtures, it cannot be made any longer. With six chairs, it is necessary to pull one chair out to get onto one of the other chairs. Problem, when people get fatter, they can’t fit at the counter without bumping into each other.
There isn’t really such a word that I know of, it is more of a Spanglish word that means “little fat”, but not little as in small. More like you might call a favorite son “my little one”. But use carefully, it can also be interpreted to mean incompetent, as in a “little politician”. Example, “My little Hillary.”
Don’t be looking for any high adventure around here these days. It could happen; I’ll even buy a lotto ticket. Coupled with the hot summer weather, I’m retreating to my music and books for most of this summer. Take a peek at silver, it briskly recovered from the last bank attack and arched upward at the same London time 24 hours later. That must have cost the Rothschilds a pretty pfennig. Come on, silver, get to my first sell point and we’ll be friends again.
My guitar playing is rapidly transforming. It has to, both to match my singing and keep me away from any temptation to play worn-out standards. I’m entering a phase where songs that tell a story are making a darn good alternative to instrumental passages. Just leave out the lead breaks, although I’m learning to add in turnarounds between verses if the resulting tune is too short, as in less than two minutes.
I’m banking on this brand of music to keep the audience listening or chance missing part of the “storyline”. It means memorizing a ton of lyrics but that is less of a challenge for me than many. While I don’t do any Weird Al tunes yet, I’m looking closely. What ever happened to Al? Like they say, he made his hits back in the day when people actually paid for music. I would like to add they meant recorded music. Today, like myself, he’d have to play for tips.
While love and roman may still sell movie tickets, I’m banking on light-hearted comedy. My bass style works wonders when applied to guitar, so at least I don’t have to relearn my stage approach. It’s too bad some people wouldn’t listen back when I would gladly have shared what is now becoming a jealously guarded element. Guarded mainly by my supreme ability to make it look easy. Expect music to dominate most every day here until I reach the critical mass. My guess is that will be around 40 songs, more than double my current count. And I will quickly, like most guitarists, run out of the tunes I like. But as a bassist, I’m used to playing music I don’t like, and in some cases, music I hate.
AFTERNOON
The sidecar chair is going to be replaced with something more durable. And those who’ve been around know that means one of the old bar chairs from Jimbos’. The metal is cut and heading over to the clubhouse to be welded later today. I also installed an armrest, which you can just make out in this tonneau photo. I opted against another leatherette factory piece. They are expensive and don’t last. Shown here, there is a piece of plywood, flexible enough to bend around the curves.
Although this is the protective parking mode, I designed it so the bike is fully operable with the covers in place. Just like the real thing, but far more durable. I take it back, you cannot really see the armrest in the photo, as the wood overexposes the center of the picture. It’s a simple armrest that fits down over the rim of the sidecar. This is because passengers tend to dangle their arms down between the car and the Honda engine—and that engine runs hot, momma.
In frustration last week, I pumped bicycle green slime into both the sidecar and the scooter rear tire. I do not like nor trust that goop, but it appears to have done the job. I was careful to use half the amount called for, as any liquid inside a motorcycle tire can set up an unpleasant wobble. The liquid appears to have done the job, but then, the leaks were very small. Doing these kind of repairs usually foretells there is some kind of trip in the planning. And this is in addition to any house-hunting expeditions. Stay tuned.
Bijan Pakzad: Chemistry, 1994. Bijan is the Persian guy who runs the most expensive boutique in Beverly Hills. Sorry, guys, by appointment only. The award is his for marketing DNA aftershave, which arrives in a double helix bottle, but contains no DNA. Don’t laugh, his clients include Obama and Clinton, and he was a billionaire. He married a Swiss-German lady, then a Japanese-Irish lady, and then died of brain surgery.
[Author’s note: I cannot find any pictures of the patented glass bottle in which Bijan markets “Fragrance X”, which appears to fill the bottle to different levels when half-full. There is one on exhibit at the Smithsonian. Here is a link Bijan perfumes, all priced around $3,000 per bottle. Forget the perfume, I want to see this bottle. Why no pictures, Internet? I imagine it works by capillary action.]
NIGHT
Something has come up. It’s a house with foundation damage that according to the seller, every contractor who has looked at it turned it down. Hmmm, what was I just saying that a contractor has to make a relatively quick and predictable profit. I don’t. Now, either I’ve met an honest realtor or I’m getting better at asking questions that can’t be so easily ducked. He said, quote, “The place needs $100,000 in renovations.”
That gave me time to drop the welding off at the clubhouse, I don’t know if you can make out the base of the chair in this terrible photo. Those pieces of metal lying around are to be welded and bolted to the plywood panel that is mostly painted black. These parts led to the usual discussion of how to go about things. In return, I get a chair that seems to be four times (400%) stronger than the original, plus a custom sewn new leatherette seat cushion. Agt. M quickly determined a number of spot welds could reinforce the original bolts which had rusted pretty much through.
Good, I had seen that same rust and was at a lost how to compensate for it. Par usual, club projects will be finished within 24 hours. That rule may sound irrational to some, but it keeps a club a club. We have no motto, but if we did it is simply that two brains are better than one. Strong personalities require strict and reasonable guidelines. And that’s why I know my sidecar chair will be done right and on time. In return, I donated that tub of anti-freeze I got on sale in Alma last month. Agt. M never has enough anti-freeze. Never.
Last Laugh
