One year ago today: August 24, 2021, GTFOOMW.
Five years ago today: August 24, 2017, another zero guitarist.
Nine years ago today: August 24, 2013, right-sizing the plywood.
Random years ago today: August 24, 2015, an early warning.
Ten years ago I was in Golden, Colorado. Wouldn’t it be nice if the politicians had just left the world that way. No masks, no mandates, I guess people were just having too darn much fun back then. This morning we are treated to news of overwhelming conservative and Trump victories at the polls. The victories are decisive and he’s losing only in districts famous for vote fraud, even then only by those mysterious tiny margins. The biggest setback to the Democrats, however, is the loss of school board control at almost every place the elections were held. The best news is my old toaster appears to be working. Same as women, you can never trust a toaster after it’s let you down once.
The past week has a poor record of things done, this is the hottest August I remember. Not the condition, I don’t usually remember individual months. I have a blog for that. I’ve not been feeling the greatest but that does not begin to match the heat as a disincentive. I wound up driving to Winter Haven with the A/C on full blast only to discover the only ATM that does not charge me $21 (I have a commercial account) was out of service. Needing something of good quality to hold that microphone box described last day, I then drove to the south end. When will I learn Plato’s Closet overcharges for everything, but at least everything is like new.
And there is something weird about all the women who work there. They are generally young, slim, and good-looking enough. It is not a thrift store, the prices are triple what you’d expect, but people can sell “gently used” clothes for cash. Getting back to the gals who work there, they are consistently humorless. I don’t mean like joke telling, but dour dispositions. It usually starts if you ask for a senior’s discount. Here’s an example. While at the cashier, I asked if there were any stationary stores nearby. There were five women on duty and they all just froze, the same reaction as if I’d asked for a date or something.
They are all staring at me, so I explained I needed a stamp pad. Nope, just suspicious stares. So I said thanks a lot, I was only asking because my GPS says Wal*Mart and that’s seven miles from here. So good-bye. My theory is that they just got out of some bible college that had given them, I dunno, mental abstinence lessons? May I add they were pretty enough, but nothing there up to my standards.
Soil burner.
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History books are not always entertaining, but I’ve got an exception. Last day I got a sale copy of “Gold Coast Pioneer”, which I figured was about Fort Lauderdale. It is, but the guy, an exceptionally talented story-teller, grew up in a Mormon commune starting in 1875. He does a lot of traveling back and forth, but those were the days when there were always help-wanted signs and jobs that paid cash by the day. It’s his vivid description of life on the prairies that kept me reading 80 pages today.
He describes places and towns I know well enough to verify his knowledge. He roamed from San Francisco to southern Alberta, in the days before diversity it was free and safe. He supplies enough facts that I know he was like me but a lot luckier and he was a keen observer. How does he know the exact dept of snow that a team of horses will stop walking? He did not get to Ft. Lauderdale until much later in life but he describes many of the clubs & casinos that I’ve either played or Trent & I have gone chasing women
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I’m only on the third chapter, but I had glanced ahead to the pictures, like this one of the Sea View Apartments. The familiar pictures stop at around 1952 before I was born and I didn’t even see Ft. Lauderdale until 2000. He must have retired or died around that time because he quotes city revenues as $316,000 which matches roughly to 1949 when he fell ill. His name was M. A. Hortt. His recollections of life in the commune are amusing because I can tell you right away which “side” he was on. What, you did not know there were two sides in a commune? Allow me to explain.
This is where the commune begins to break up. Hortt describes the process but misses the entire psychology. The lazy will soon tire of sharing and begin to demand “equality”. The commune elders will always side with that faction. They have a vested interest in appearing to be “fair” and soon democracy rears up. The elders will blame capitalism for the concept of “mine” and allow the shiftless to vote themselves a supposedly “equal” share of the other man’s work. This, and I speak with authority, destroys not just countries and communes, but families as well.
Because the workers will soon say to hell with this and leave. They can’t stay and fight because they are always a minority. What’s left behind is called, for lack of a better word, California. The workers will sail across the ocean and start their own system of meritocracy. After a short time, they will witness the depravity and filth of those left behind and mistakenly feel compassion. They left a few in, then a few more, and the cycle begins again. There, I finally said it.
It’s interesting to watch the process of how the lazy get the elders to enforce the “sharing”. The elders are tasked with keeping the peace, so a little violence works wonders [for the lazy]. Instead of cracking down on the lazy majority, it is far easier to go after the few workers. Tax the hell out of them for the benefit of the idlers. Soon enough the non-workers will bust down the city gates to get in and you have a crawling ant-heap of losers. It won’t be long after that degeneracy becomes their normal.
ADDENDUM
Intel says it will have a trillion switches (transistors) on a chip by next year. It’s regular technology but 3D layers connected by an “interposer”. I’ll be watching.
