July 13, 2022

Yesteryear
One year ago today: July 13, 2021, PA audit begins.
Five years ago today: July 13, 2017, the evil Russians again.
Nine years ago today: July 13, 2013, so misleading that . . .
Random years ago today: July 13, 2015, drones. Thirty years late.

           Forgive me for staying inside. The “realfeel” out there was over 101°F before noon. Opening the door for a moment was a mistake. I’m sticking inside in the back bedroom, catching up on my reading and music. We have another contact from that guy with the backing tracks, so I sent him a song list I know he must play. Again, much as I want to have a classy duo, I will play in any band that comes along. This guy is not that great meaning he can’t be that demanding, for that matter he’s probably better than the last group. Looking back on my files, if this is the same guy, he’s changed his list of demands meaning he was new in Polk County and got himself a jolt of reality.

           I left the bird mister on most of the day. Good news is Grandpa Red is back and was in there for probably several minutes. He won’t approach unless the curtains are drawn and is gone in a flash at the slightest movement. Maybe I got a photo, if you see him, check back later. The smaller birds with red neck bands have not made an appearance in two days. Ray-B messages from California he’s trying out for a couple bands. Bear in mind, he has limited management perspective and like many, still designs his show around the pre-cruiseline pub circuit.

           Bryne is back to activity levels, he drives a Harley. Now, I’m no biker but I’m quick to point out how driving a motorcycle has beneficial effects on dating. How so? Well, you find it weeds out the dweeby women who would end up wasting your time anyway. This bubbles his story to the top of this mornings stack. You see, Bryne is as Irish as they make them. Example, years ago I mentioned I had failed to find a keeper in the women I met from Florida. This instantly was translated into his native Irish as, “There are no good single women left in Florida”, and the challenge to prove me wrong.
           Well, some ten plus years later, he’s brought up the topic. He’s going to drive to Vero Beach and, if all goes according to plan, meet the gal of his dreams. The sheer passage of time has proven my original point, but I told you, the guy is Irish. Let’s follow along and see why nobody is going to meet Miss Single Florida in Vero Beach. It’s important he never stops trying. Bear in mind, he’s met women over the years, but my condition of being together two years later has never been approached—by Bryne or anybody else that I know in these parts.
           Later, ta-dah. There he is, Grandpa Red. I had to wait until late afternoon to get this morning picture and here’s the results. He is very suspicious of the moving curtains even as Grandma Red learns to ignore me.

Picture of the day.
Proper sandbag overlap.
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           By mid-afternoon the realfeel rose to 109°F. Cancel most plants, unless I go to the library. Tomorrow is cooler they say, so I have plans to drive to Winter Haven. Meanwhile the insulated interior walls of the cabin are radiating heat. Cancel the library, as my nap since my back sprain are random and spontaneous. I don’t think I’ve been to the library in a year. Fine, I’ve read most every book that means anything to me over there. Maybe tomorrow in Winter Haven, though once again their smallest section is “non-fiction”.

           Sure enough, by 5:00PM the streets were flooded. I could have spent a somewhat comfortable afternoon on some project in the shed, but I’ve found I’m back and forth all the time. The saw may be out in the silo or the lumber beside the red shed. Maybe I’ll address that later, but for now I’ve been distracted by a fictional tale about the Enigma machine. Did the operation once nearly shut down because they ran out of colored pencils? Knowing the Brits, I say it’s true.

           Turns out Bryne knows the Hornblower series well. He’s a marine mechanic. I’m on episode 5, where a senior captain or admiral is going bonkers, flogging the crew and issuing impossible orders. We just know Horatio will save the day. If not, It will mean my fifth cup of coffee. Let’s see what got through the news filters. I’m unsurprised to learn Google was giving private data to cops without a warrant. A SpaceX raptor engine had a flameout during a launchpad test. Don’t quote me on names, I usually don’t follow closely until they actually make it to outer space. It’s interested to note how hacking passwords during any war, real or contrived, becomes a “cyber attack”. MicroSoft is canning 180,000 people.
           Google told it’s staff or “act more entrepreneurial”. PsyPost, a liberal rag, has doctored a test enough to show Trump supporters have more mental health issues than Biden voters, which of course reported on JimmyR. We have another round of videos with the old theme they are not bums, they are human beings, like it makes any difference to the people who got to look at them. Being a bum does not convey the right to bother people downtown and the bums always go downtown. I don’t have the answer, but that isn’t the point. I agree everybody deserves compassion and a chance, I disagree on how much and how many.

Last Laugh

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