January 18, 2023

Yesteryear
One year ago today: January 18, 2022, first look at Gab.com.
Five years ago today: January 18, 2018, at Sun City Center.
Nine years ago today: January 18, 2014, my last successful duo.
Random years ago today: January 18, 2007, if I was retired . . . .

           What a day. Most of the work that got done was painting, that door step breaks up the day. I had time to dawdle, fixing things, and tidying the yard. The kind of day I wish could be more often, because quite frankly, I want a lazier retirement. The band from Auburndale cancelled out at the last minute. I know this business, so screw ‘em. They’ll be back in touch the next time they need help. What was that guy’s name? Todd? Anyway, rehearsal for my own duo is slated to recommence next Tuesday. What nickname did I give the new guitarist? Mike?

           Yeah, Mike. He doesn’t realize yet what a good situation he’s found and I’m increasingly convinced his “Key West songlist” is better than the local fare. It’s a good sign he’s still in contact after three or so weeks. That’s rare in Polk, but then, he’s not from Polk. The big event for me was this morning I went to download my bank statements and my privacy alarms went ballistic. Something called CDN was tripping my and I don’t trust anything that sounds like “Canadian”. Well, turns out it is content delivery network, a service banks use in case the documents they send are too large for some e-mail services. Like mine. Limit is 20 MB per message.

           This photo shows the surface of a spotlessly clean lens. Those are small clothing fibers and house dust. Whats happening is I’m trying to design a clamp to hold the scope at an angle that does not reflect that ring of yellowish lights in the back ground. It’s proving a real task.
           The number of never-married women in America, in my lifetime, has grown from 22% to 30%. Can’t says I blame them, but I’m not overlooking that the bad people have in that same period turned marriage into a binding legal contract. While I would not want to be a woman looking for a husband in soi-boi leotard-land, if it is a legal contract, why should men settle for anything even second-rate? That works both ways, and yes, I do feel sorry for Taylor, all alone in her mid-30s and not knowing where to find me. At the opposite end of my scale is that little imp Greta Thunberg. She was caught staging an arrest for the cameras at a coal mine protest.
           The evil Prime Minister of New Zealand just resigned, but mark my words it’s part of some sort of boondoggle. Libtards never willingly give up power.

Picture of the day.
Number 11, Downing Street.
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           For something to do, I hauled out my GPS and calculated that if I was on the ocean, and this height above sea level, where would the horizon be? The elevation here is 194 feet, so if I’m standing in my back yard, that’s 200 feet above sea level. It seems even with the roof of a garden shed across the way. So I took four readings, which can only be done around noon as no other roofs in the area are right. What do you know, I averaged only 7.1 nautical miles in error. This is an idea I’ve played with a while. I know its been tried before but I’m looking for some way to estimate a horizon that’s good enough.

           I may have company in March. My estate manager wants to get away from the last part of winter and I need motivation to clean up that front bedroom again. I’ve gotten used to just living in one room during renovations and the other mysteriously fills up with storage. You know, storage, all kinds of it. For those of you anxious how my steps are coming along, here is their first coat of brown paint. I'd step outside and get you a better picture from the yard, but you see, there are no stairs.

ADDENDUM
           Some guy posted a picture of a four-egg omelet and here are the reactions I liked best:

Why not have caviar topped with truffles and gold flakes?
Who is this rich bastard?
Must be at a Democrat fundraiser.
Goes for $15k a kilo on the streets.
The $18 snack.
Were those prepared on a gas range. Asking for a friend.
What’d you raid your kid’s college fund?

Last Laugh