One year ago today: June 3, 2024, the first tube listings.
Five years ago today: June 3, 2020, It is unknown . . .
Nine years ago today: June 3, 2016, creaks at night.
Random years ago today: June 3, 2018, I install a fan.
We have a problem. Things only ever go so long until somebody screws it up, and this time the banks in Canada are not honoring the exchange rate on funds unless the rate changes in their favor during the ten days clearing time. Don’t argue with me, I know more about Canada than the next 10,000 people. I think I just got zapped for $56—even though my funds are converted before the deposit. Regions bank is just one asshole after another, my only “loyalty” to them is that I spent a fortune getting that account set up to buy this cabin. Worse, I seems they charge this up front, not after the deposit clears ten days later. I don’t think I should even have to wait, since the check is already in US Funds and there is more than enough in my account to cover any loss.
How about the 30 cows donated to Limpopo (in the north of South Africa) to start an agricultural project. The village promptly slaughtered them and held “the biggest barbeque ever”. I have some medical results back and they say steroids are the solution. They don’t list forever, but neither will I. Here’s a happy note, when the first doc did my evaluation, he referred me to the spine specialist, who poked in the door and said hello. Today, when I met the specialist, he instantly took me off two of the meds. Why? Because he had taken me for being ten years younger and after seeing my chart said no anti-inflammatories. Not recommended for those my age, he said.
He was amused that I knew the terms as he explained the treatments and we found we have something in common, which alas, we could not joke or even chat about. He, also, in grade school, wound up in a typing class full of early teen gals, same as me. There was an unspoken cheering sound in the room, along with a motionless high-five. Only the lucky few men who had this experience at age 13 or 14 (max) can possibly know its full and unimaginable impact on one’s sex life. In a pub, we would have spent hours comparing notes about how this experience distanced us from the rabble and pick-up artists.
Anyway, the point is I was mistaken for ten years younger and that made my day. I was inside the clunker of an MRI for a half-hour and in the clinic half a day over this. I’m instructed to bring in my $500 brace to have it custom fitted, and to wear it all day until told elsewise.
All of downtown Pflugerville.
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Getting out of the office past 2:00PM, boosted by the indirect compliment, I bought the best 50lb of doggie food “made from real lamb” and took it to the pound. They went wow, so I explained it was a special treat. Then a search for cedar fence panels. As normal, the on-line ads were misleading. I dropped off the sample box at the local yard, where I know the staff and they said the real cedar fence pickets are now $9.35 apiece. That puts them right out of range.
They gave me a small pack of office samples in place of the inflammation “cardboard” pills and it worked fast. I can move again, but months of slow motion have left their mark. I can’t snap to attention, it will be a gradual return to speed. That gave me time to read the latest on-line documentaries, this time on the Enigma machine. The myth persists that not one German suspected the cipher was broken. This is bullshit. Even basic measures like a code-word if you are captured and turned, or a few red herrings a day would be enough to expose the British.
That’s only partially my point. I think there is a real operation that is still going on today and the whole Bletchley Park Ultra account is nothing but a cover story. And that cover story has seeped into the lore so deep even so-called experts believe it. More likely there is something more basic at work, and it still works today, hence the distraction.
Chasing around is just as tiring for me as real work, so I opted for a siesta, texting the neighbor to buzz me if Festus is a go. Then out until he called back at 8:00PM. He was working in his shed and went past the time, I had gotten up at 5:30PM and just as quickly fell back asleep sitting up. So cancel the movies. There’s a point in life after which you deserve all the time off you can finagle.
Have you heard of Keytab? It’s a curious app that can “listen” to you type. Each key as a slightly unique sound and, over time, Keytab can guess what you type by the sound. My question is how long before somebody couples this with A.I.? Next, I have received and e-mail request to submit a job application. I do publish a limited number of how-to videos that have no connection to this blog. Why does this request interest me?
Two reasons. One is that the how-to scripts are, except of more technical details, written the same as what you are reading here. They would thus be familiar with the length and depth of my writing. The second reason their pay schedule. A single successful article on their platform would pay thirty times what I’ve earned writing in my entire life. It’s not that easy and the reason I’ve not pursued on-line writing is that it can take six months of hard work to produce a single quality article. Making 500 boxes would be a lot more fun.
ADDENDUM
Here’s a random photo of me holding some shoelaces, this picture is a couple hours ago, I have no phobias or nothing for shoelaces—but I could have, so there.
So there I was, warned what would happen if I came back without the correct shoelaces. I did not even know where they sold such things. I knew nothing about different shoelace lengths and had no idea how many different colors of brown there were. Thing got worse when I found out I had to go see the local shoemaker. He and his boys were all hick bullies and I was about to walk into their shop and ask dumb questions. Even worse, they were related to the family of the prettiest girl in town who undoubtedly would now share in the laugh.
I got the shoelaces, but was known as the village idiot until we moved away two years later. This didn’t bother me because I knew I was the one who would “get out”, and that is what transpired. Twenty-four years later the shoemaker died of cirrhosis and his boys replaced him as the town drunk. And that is how I could identity with the guy this morning—he broke under the pressure. I know exactly what he went through and the 100% snarky comments tell you the others, in their own way, had their own gremlins and no room to talk. Shoelaces.
