One year ago today: July 8, 2022, choppy seas will cost ya.
Five years ago today: July 8, 2018, the red became orange.
Nine years ago today: July 8, 2014, on vinyl electrical tape.
Random years ago today: July 8, 2010, losers in Paradise.
Good morning indeed, mainly because I slept like a log. Getting older has it’s advantages. We found that re-run of “Hondo” and watched the first half-hour, upon which I fell asleep until 4:00AM and JZ actually watched that movie and a few more. Here is a still from our one-day to be podcast. My suggested title is “Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum”, others want the terms reversed. Now JZ, having been awake most of the time watching the cowboy channel, decides to crash. First we ate all the cereal he had in the house, mostly Cheerios. Then I headed to the Pinecrest Library. What a loser place that is, an empty place but they limit your time on the computer. Also, forgive today if get repeat topics, this is a split entry.
I normally check the book sale rack and even that reflects the shallow mentality of the entire operation. Not one textbook, but shelves of fiction and tons of material on what to name your Jewish baby. Even the hobby and craft area, tiny as it is, has books like which are the best beaches to take your children horseback riding. JZ and I tentatively planned to go to the movies at Sunset Place but I had no time to look up what was playing. This blog took most of my hour, the rest was e-mail. Next, I’d like you to take a look at this wee movie. It is the actual spot where the lady drove her car into the side of my van.
She should have been doing what that white truck is doing. The right lane is the merge lane, it is incumbent on that driver to wait for an opening in the traffic and merge. Nope, she decides it is her lane and everybody get out of the way. At the time I thought to myself she must think she is in Nashville, where such an attitude is common. Florida, by the way, is full of these merge lanes, you can’t drive here without learning the protocol for using them. There are no nice long “ramps” to enter the freeway. This video was taken only minutes after the collision, you can see the slow-moving rush-hour traffic—and this is the Interstate 20 miles north of Miami.
Canadian “welfare payment” chart.
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Back in time for brunch, by short-order cook pal is a pro at spaghetti. What a feast, but leaves the problem of not knowing the movie offerings. Now, his brother’s house is quite near Sunset so he gets this brilliant idea we stop there and use their computer to check. I knew we’d not get out of there in time. I was accurate on that. You see, they have this new board game that is (if you ask me) like rummy played with tiles. JZ remains convinced I’m an instant match for such games and I almost did win the first round. I don’t find it entertaining enough to learn all that well. They knew the tricks, like how to get rid of twos and thirteens and how to split up runs.
Of course I suffer angst in such situations. When I left home at 17 for the final time, I had never lived in a city, or eaten in a fancy restaurant, or been on a holiday. I’d never gone shopping for clothes, or climbed on a city bus, or set foot on a campus. This has an undocumented side-effect which I will describe. When you live in a small town, a certain number of people will help you a bit. It is easy to mistake this for altruism, but the fact is they are doing it to enhance their own reputations. I fell for it. The offshoot is when you arrive in the city, a naïve teenager like me, you conclude since there are more people in a city, there are more people who would help you.
Wrong. Moving to an American city is finding out the hard way there are thousands of people whose next meal depends on taking advantage of every tenderfoot. By now we’re hungry again so JZ wants to do a shop, but the only place around is Publix. Quick background. Publix is a made-in-Florida grocery chain to underwent bankruptcy re-organization ten years ago. This is where the government lets them stay in business in the hopes they can catch up on the bills. In reality, it is like Radio Shack, where they have to raise the prices so high that soon they only have outlets in the most affluent neighborhoods.
I bought a tray of chicken and something I had not seen in years, Fresca. The original diet soda. The one nobody would believe me was grapefruit-flavored. And a bag of biscottis, the ones with olive oil. Anyway, we spent so much money there, the movie got totally cancelled. We decided against stopping at the Titanic for an $11 glass of beer. He says the place has really gone downhill for women as Florida International has become just a playground for rich foreign kids. That is something I had noticed happening long ago and he reports the process is now complete.
In closing, I examined the paperwork from the lady that hit me, and I placed the driving habit right on the mark. She is from Franklin, TN. About twenty miles from the Reb. It explains things. Now do not get me wrong. I would never notice if this lady was “Spanish” if she had not started yelling at me for driving in “her lane”. I doubt I’d care if she was alive until she pulled the blame game, so don’t hand me that prejudice crap. Upon examining the photos I took, I conclude she might have been driving a rental. Yep, you hit my car and try to blame me, I’m going to notice lots of things about you. Especially if you are a bitchy entitled 48-year-old stupid Mexican Karen type. Now I get why the cop wasn’t pleased with her behavior.
She tried the race card on him or something and he had the pleasure of explaining the entire accident was her fault. Must be one of the few social rewards of that job. But you can bet she was back in Little Havana by dark moaning about how we White Supremists stick together to gang up on pure, innocent, down-trodden CRT victims like her.
