December 17, 2022

Yesteryear
One year ago today: December 17, 2021, some fruitless work.
Five years ago today: December 17, 2017, my beautiful Rebel 450.
Nine years ago today: December 17, 2013, Jag, my best guitarist yet.
Random years ago today: December 17, 1981, dang, no camera back then.

           My already overdue Amazon shipment did not arrive. We went over to get the Civic, it needed a tuneup and the trunk leak is fixed. Of all things, it was a small drain valve in the sunroof that was plugged. That's a new one on me. I took the dogs and went out chasing around, it was too cold. We ferried the car back it seems fine. The Reb has asked me to stay past the weekend, okay, but after this amount of time in the chilly weather I'm in pain after most any exertion. This is not age, I've had cold weather cramps since I was a kid. See Chloe under the blankets? This cat knows the winning combination.

           I stopped on the way back from the garage to walk the dogs near the dam. I'm to pet-sit most of the day and they are not behaving. We've had one day of nice weather since I arrived and that means I have to repair the back yard fence today no matter what. Stick around and listen to me complain. This time I have good reason. That's the fence built from pallets and the wood has rotted away. It's a design where the nails that should hold fall out but the nails you want to pull out are in there so tight the heads strip away. It's uncanny how that happens.

           Later I got to Wal*mart where last minute shopping cost me $265. But I'm out of this arctic landscape soon as my shipment arrives and I can't leave with anything not in operational order. The ink catridges for the upstairs Canon were $62 right there. One plan I had this tirp was to fashion a strip of ferrous metal somewhere along the day of the van. It is truly disgusting how these new vehicles have no place to prop or hang anything, and no metallic surface near the driver's seat. I have a number of small gadgets I'd like to reach while driving and I don't need Tojo telling me it's unsafe. Let me decide if I'd like to use the dash for my coffee cup.
           But Sammy decided he wanted to go home. I cut the trip short and made a special trip back to drop the dogs off. I got too much to do. He misses the nice warm sofa and the Reb and started one of his yelping fits. Last thing I need is some Wal*Mart type calling the SPCA on me. Now behind schedule, I grabbed a coffee at Dunkin and picked up some scrap lumber to rig up a “bulletin board” for the van. It's actually to hang things on, such as my GPS and maps, I'll get you some pics. Maybe.

Picture of the day.
Stone house in Germany.
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.

           Here is that lantern I bought for the van, a Wal*Mart purchase and I got millennialized. It has three way charging: solar, crank, and USB cable. What sucks about that? Well, I did not check to see what sort of USB cable and it has a unique small plug incompatible with the C model. Once that cable is lost or damaged, you then have two way charging. Up yours, Wal*Mart and whoever pulled this one. No, I would not have bought it if the box label had specified a non-standard cable. Only arseholes still do that one on you.

           Back home and the afternoon is staying cold. I got the dogs settled inside and went after that fence. This involved slicing down both old and new bamboo. Yep, 41 years ago I was living near Seattle, back when it was a nice place. I was reminiscing a I worked in the yard. The fence behind the shed was all rotted away and I see the Reb had tried to shore up the open spots. But it needs more, so I dragged the entire old rails out and took the chain saw to the underbrush. That yard is too much work. The posts could not be repaired. I took out the sledge hammer and put in three long stakes. They won't last more than a few years. But neither will I picking up heavy tools like I was some construction type.

           I fixed around 18 feet of fencing and made a mess. I hauled the debris out into the yard. It's still there since I had to use the remaining daylight to secure that fence. The neighbor says it is dropping to single digits next week. I had to leave the extension cord on the ground as it had frozen into shape. The van is equipped with a recorder that tells the minimum temperatures, but only down to freezing. If it is below 35°F overnight, I'm fleeing the coop soon as possible, no foolin'. I made up copies of all files the Reb will need, which will still need testing as she is Apple all the way. I would be also, if I could afford it.
           So it looks like church in the morning. I still hesitate, because it is almost impossible to go to a church, hear the sermon, and then leave without some kind of interaction with others. And that is not what I go to a church for. They'll chase you down the aisle and down the stairs to welcome you, type of thing. But this is by request. She's playing at the church. She's upstairs practicing right now. There is just something I like about being home with someone singing and playing the piano, as opposed to watching TV and chewing bubblegum. (Sorry, Theresa, but that is just me.)

           The next woketard outfit to get blasted is Wikipedia. It seems many are just now figuring out it is a left-wing propaganda service. Somebody finally posted on GAB the question of where women should go to find good men. That's the sort of question that sells magazines at the checkout, but let's post some of the better replies:

unvaccinated blood drive
Wal*Mart
at the gym, you fat f*cks
Bass Pro Shop
titty bars
Tractor Supply
Poland
Amish colony
Iceland

           I quit. I thought the replies would be more comical but the very concept of having to go somewhere to meet reflects a terrible attitude toward life. Maybe I'm unique because I meet women everywhere. The problem is none of them are up to snuff and that part I believe when all the guys complain—especially the guys who expect something for nothing. Only men like me get that, guys, bwaaa-ha-ha-ha! At the same time, I dig things are rarely ideal for the average men. (So quit being friggen average, you morons.) One post was about the outcome of going to a laundromat to meet women. Who wants a woman who can't afford a washing machine? BWAAAAA-ha-ha-ha

ADDENDUM
           We have another guitar player from New York. One thing, his reply was impeccable. Either he's educated or he ran that through Grammarly twice. Anyway, he describes himself as a signature player, a term I've not heard used in Polk County. He uses the proper two spaces after a period. Did you know Big Tech is pushing the single space after a sentence by not accepting submissions with two ems? That does little but tell us the caliber of morons that Big Tech has working there these days, but, being morons themselves, what choice do they have?

Last Laugh