One year ago today: April 15, 2023, the German Ocean.
Five years ago today: April 15, 2019, east of the mountains.
Nine years ago today: April 15, 2015, “actually knew how”.
Random years ago today: April 15, 2005, at Dania Beach.
One of the worst of days for me in twenty years. I’ll just pass on the events of the day without stopping too long on any one topic. Bottom line is, yes, I have a cracked spine and will require drastic corrective measures, some of which may not be permitted unless I get my weight down more than I’ve ever managed before. My gloom will pass but for now, how about some ancient news revisited? Who remembers the Cocaine Cowboy? Well, he is now dead of rectal cancer and I have no contact for over 15 years, meaning I could (but won’t) use real names. Read today’s addenum.
The clinic kept me until past 4:00PM so I ordered a half-sandwich that was this big, and a strong Russian coffee. The lady brought out the bread, at which time I said wait. Don’t cut it in half, I want the whole sandwich. Surprising myself, I ate that entire loaf myself, ithat’s eight slices of meat and four slabs of cheese. Plus lettuce, tomato, the whole nine yards. And that coffee rarely tasted so good. Yep, hunger is the best sauce.
There will be no more club meetings at Wiley’s Pub. It no longer exists. Shown in tis picture the Russian club, “Vobla Bar”. Some say vobla is a type of preserved fish, others say it is a type of smoked roach eaten in Russia. Take your pick, but the bar has the same atmosphere as all eastern European pubs. Tough-looking and tough-talking crusher type men and a few prostitutes who look just like what you’d see in the movies. Some of them are, I suppose, nice people.
This is around the time I noticed my camera was not taking pictures. I had some 70 excellent shots, including from the trip y’day. The lack of a good quality camera under $100 is plainly the result of manufacturer collusion. And one sign of said quality would be a button, that no matter what the other camera settings, when you press it, it takes a picture. This wisdom has never made it through to the camera giants of the word.
Abandoned fish factory.
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.
Not only is this camera unreliable, it seems to know to delete the pictures I’d want the most. Here is the only part left of my foot-long hero sandwich. It’s at least a bit psychosomatic, but my back hurts more (it seems) now that they found something wrong and told me. But I’m still doing better than some, even if I did not get out for a cold beer. I had only this bit of bread lef to show for the sandwhich and coffee, which cost me $24. And I was hungry a few hours later. You want to hear why I never go tthat beer? Sure, it went like this.
JZ has no vehicle, but he has a parking spot twenty feet from the building. You might conclude it is logical he would leave that spot free since anybody who visits him or if he needs a lift, that is where they would park, right? Wrong. JZ rented out the spot the next day. So any visitors have to drive up and down that entire parking long to look for a guest spot.
After rush hour, the only such places are a quarter-mile away near the canal bridge. Or you could drive around for 20 or 30 minutes waiting for a guest space to clear. I’ve waited as much as an hour to park at the canal. Then, you are faced with that quarter-mile walk, rain or shine, sore back or not, up to the apartment. At that point, even if JZ wants to go for a beer, it is not going to happen it would never cross his mind that renting that spot isn’t a good idea, much less the thought that it might be convenient for others. It’s just the way it is, wait, there’s more.
Never, in the course of some two decades has JZ ever make any real money renting the spot, even for the going rate of $50 per month. And he knows he’s never been paid more than once. But that fact changes nothing, you still must walk that quarter mile, stopping for a rest every two minutes. Because it works like this. The office has to approve the person who rents the spot, and they will only approve Cubans. When a Cuban gets the spot, after the first month, he quits paying the rent. If you make the Cuban move, or call a tow-truck, or let anybody else park there, he will slask the tires. Again, JZ is totally aware of this, but it makes no difference and it never will, so get walking.
ADDENDUM
Read this ture story. What other blog delivers such goodies if you read enough? The Cocaine Cowboy was, in his later years, one of my customers at the computer shop. He was out of jail by then and rumor is, he was advanced one million dollars by Warner Bros for the rights to his story. He did live in a mansion on the Hollywood (Florida) beachfront. He was a yahoo and I know him through his Russian bride. I liked her a lot, wait while I double check it has been 15 years. Yes, I last saw her in 2007. This is where things get muddy.
There are two departures from the official account, one you’ve heard, the other not so. First, the rumor is that although he was caught with $120 million, he stashed six more bags of money in the swamp. He was supposedly under constant [Federal] surveillance. And his lady had secretly recorded some very nasty, very naughty episodes he had forced her into. Again, this is nothing I’ve seen, only talk. But part of that talk was her hidden tape recorder, which she asked me to digitalize and put on disk. She pointedly said she chose me because she know I would not make copies if asked not to. (That makes me rare in the computer industry.) In the last year before the shop closed for walk-in business, I made six CDs of the material, and yes, I heard many things.
Now he’s dead and another rumor is that his partner, despite all denials, also know where the garbage bags of money were located and turned them over to the police. If so, it was quietly with no media coverage, that is, the cops pocketed the money. Two weeks ago, Fred saw her in the grocery store over on Young Circle. She no longer had a mohawk, was dressed modestly, and said she was finishing taking a course as a hair stylist. Meaning she never saw a penny of that money either. She had promised me a cut if any fame came of it. She would now be over 40 anyway and by the sounds of it still working for a living.
I was sad to hear the Cowboy had died. He owed me $150.
