July 26, 2023

Yesteryear
One year ago today: July 26, 2022, plumbing anniversary coincidence.
Five years ago today: July 26, 2018, peace-nik eloi.
Nine years ago today: July 26, 2014, an expediter.
Random years ago today: July 26, 2006, not Eastern Canada!

           What the? Central Florida is being blitzed by Bud Light radio ads. Only queer towns like Tampa would still say that name, considering they can’t give the stuff away for free. Wait, they are giving it away, some kind of music writer’s festival. Rumor has it AB, the parent beer company, has lost $30 in sales and their transvestite actor had to go into hiding. The advertising slogan is that this near-bear is “easy to drink”.

           Where are the guitar players? Fast Frets probably has focus issues, that’s the guy who’s been bantering for a year now, the backing tracks guy. He said this week, but nothing yet. And the other guy, nothing. That’s one of the few people I’ve never heard or seen in Polk, a topic not that well covered in this blog. He’s given me enough time to fit one of my soon-to-be-famous four octave walkdowns into his “Tequila Sunrise”. Dang, and right at the part nobody would otherwise listen much to. Love the way it transitions to that A minor.

           Here’s the only place I have for the old GE radio. It is solid state but for some reason has ceased picking up any but the strongest stations, which are rarely good stations. It’s a dry spot and I may rig up the antenna. But I’m in a puttering mood, so expect nothing today but maybe some photos of the goings-on. Like these pallet slats being glued up. Beside other finish pieces, these are destined to be made into tool boxes, of which I never have enough. The heat kept me inside the shed, which is full of unfinished projects. This isn’t procrastination but a reflection that I often multi-task by waiting for materials to go on sale, etc.
           These panels are only in the sun to “cure”, they are normally stowed away in racks. Next you see me pointing to the tiniest of petunia sprouts. This plant does not seen to jump-start growing like others in this ideal Florida climate. In general, the plants in the alcove show signs of a bit too little sun, but they get what they get. We’ll find plants that grow there. You know something funny? The National Weather Forecast Bureau (the people who make the weather maps red instead of green) say over 95°F means going outside is fatal. The realfeel weather this morning was 104°F, so where are they stacking all the bodies?

           Those of you who both read this blog and the non-mainstream media have noticed Trump is on a different tack. He’s become aware the Left wants to entrap him into their ritual “talking point” campaign and Overton window, where they can bog everything down if anybody starts proving a contrary point. Trump’s having none of it, rather campaigning on what America has become.under these tyrants. Smooth, because generally, the electorate this time around does not care to hear reasons and excuses. This results in a scenario where the Democrats can’t oppose his policies so they have to attack him personally—and that is costing them a lot of support.
           Trump is also more direct in pointing out things which hurt America that could only have come from the Left. He’s learned not to play their game and they are stunned and bewildered. Not so much that Trump has got their number, but that America is listening to Trump despite all their threats, mandates, lockdowns, shortages, hoaxes, indictments, and shame tactics. Now maybe it’s not such a crazy idea that I think somebody on Trump’s team is at least paying attention to this blog. I say again, not the topics, I’m not pointing at the topics. I’m referring to the order in which they appear.

Picture of the day.
Pre-historic cave painting.
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.

           The chain saw got it’s ten minute workout. Shown here is the slices into the big old tree. The 14” blade on the saw means I cannot take this tree down in big pieces. At the lower right is the water pipe grown into the tree. Chances are that will soon be the only remnant, the wood is rotten and becoming pest-ridden. Despite the best storage and maintenance possible, the saw is getting progressively harder to start. The far back yard, where the original garden was planned, is overgrown with kudzu. See picture nearby. This is only three or four vines, so they’ll be cut back fast enough. Imagine the woes that farmers have, or the railroads. Any clearing gets attacked.

           A half-gallon of peach tea sustained me until just past 2:00PM. Saved by indoor shed work, though that is a bit of embroidery in that most tasks require walking in and out of the shed quite frequently. And I found out what was wrong with the new jigsaw. The tiny wheel that keeps the blade facing straight is gone. Fortunately, I have spares. Still, it is ass-clowns who donate such things to ‘charity’. The airwaves are blistering, some famous athlete’s teenage son had a heart attack. This was after the entire family bragged about getting vaxxed. And the Hildebeest gets lambasted on Twitter for trying to blame the hot weather on Trump supporters. That’s what I read, I don’t use Twitter.

           Let’s sweep the news. Norway ferry lines ban electric cars. Here’s a video of electro-fishing invasive Asian carp. I’m less than convinced by the Cornell announcement of a room temperature super-conducting metal. Seattle police are “struggling” with organized retail theft, but notice they are not exactly deputizing any help. The Hamburglar is still at large. Sinead O’Conner committed suicide, they say.
           After a siesta, a small breeze came along, maybe 5 mph. Good enough. We go the silo drilled and the wire threaded inside. Some more panels glued up, and I tested an electric motor for the Reb’s fan. Remember that? It may have one speed, full blast, but I’ve not studied variable speed motors except using PWM, and I know these don’t have that feature. Think it is the way the electro-magnets are wired up and I may look into it, some day. The hillbilly got off work late and I was still working in the shed well after dark. He must have had a total good time last Sunday, he brought over a six-pack of Yeung-ling.

           We still live in two different worlds. I do not know the legal age women can become strippers, or where the shows are. But I know his smartest move at his age is picking up that guitar. Turns out he scrounged two somewhere and took them to a buddy to make one guitar out of them. That rarely works, but let him find that out. He will have to buy a set of strings, I have nothing like that in my vast inventory of bass goodies.

           It’s not that I hate squirrels, but that I can’t afford to feed them birdseed. That package of gourmet pecans I bought has gone a bit gritty. I’ve been setting one out a day so they can fight over it, mind you, Snowball is usually the quickest on the draw. Here’s his offering today, I don’t know what constitutes a squirrel helping, but he makes quite the meal out of these. If alone, he leisurely opens the shell, when other squirrels are nearby, he gnaws a grab-hole, then picks up whole nut and scrambles. I have no idea where he learned this.

           Inflation. It’s brutal and the way things worked out, it has the youngest batch of workers blaming everyone but themselves. So let’s give a listen to what they have to say. The first thing that strikes me is their universal belief that earlier generations had it easy. You could walk out the door and get a job that paid enough to buy a house and raise a family, they say. The generation where women went to work did not do so to make ends meet, but out of greed, they continue. The one part I can agree with certainly is that America should have exported only the products, not the technology. On the other hand, it was their technology, they invented it.

           If you grocery shop, the average item is now $7 or $8. From experience, we know other prices may eventually drop slightly but not food. If there is nothing else that might potentially unite this country, it might be the inability to both pay rent and buy food. Maybe it was the Boomers who tolerated soft immigration policy very few of those immigrants were taking away Boomer jobs. They did not have the skills. But something took away the need for skills. The issue gets complicated at that point.
           Now for the latest kick at the French. ChatGPT, when spoken in that language sounds like “chat, j’ai pété” literally meaning “cat, I farted”. Hilarious as that seems to many, it is also a sign of the appalling intellectual breakdown. In this age, checking on-line to see what a word means in most languages is child’s-play. But only if someone has the curiosity and sense to do it. Reading about the big “Esso” change to “Exxon”, way back when I was in school, it’s one of the first things I check. Yet it seems the third generation after the computer became commonplace did not produce a single mind lettered enough to check this out. This is the bunch that, when they can’t get a job, blame their great-grandparents.

Last Laugh