September 11, 2025

Yesteryear
One year ago today: September 11, 2024, glorifying Kamela.
Five years ago today: September 11, 2020, yeah, it hurt.
Nine years ago today: September 11, 2016, total babe coincidence..
Random years ago today: September 11, 2004, $39.90

           There was so much 9/11 crap all day, JZ actually turned the TV off. Don’t get me wrong, it was not a fun thing, but before I feel sorry for anyone from New York, they have to tell me what it is they did that the world hates them so much. I must have been tired, I fell asleep on the old sofa sitting up and did not wake up until 9:30AM this morning. Actually, we found a channel with some war documentaries, which kept me occupied last evening correcting mispronunciations and debunking the propaganda that the Germans were bad on every count.

           JZ has allergies and has to keep his furnace filters up to date. He’s still riding the bus and the bicycle, so it was down Dixie highway this morning to get stocked up. I should mention that I also had a rare reaction from the change of climate just to Miami, my shoulders and forearms really put up a fuss. I have allergies also but I seem to put up with them. The Home Depot on Dixie is something else. It was a sightseeing tour.
           Shall we say, quite a change from what the women in Lakeland look like when the hubby sends them out for a package of nails. It was like a fashion show today and I saw one lone 10-year babe. Around 32, one of those total sex bombs you see once every 10 years. Standing at the paint counter in a matching shorts and top, jet black. Not clingy, but silky smooth. No, I did not dare try for a photo, but thank goodness I had the presence of mind to suddenly remember I needed some carpenter pencils on sale at the nearby counter. Even JZ, who likes them on the plump side, was struck. Frozen in his tracks.

           For the billionth time, I explain to JZ why he needs to get out of Miami, up to Winter Haven, and meet some nice ladies with important things. Like, looks, talent, social skills, and at least some of their own money. He says he needs time to spiral down from this latest episoded. This, folks, is maybe why I like playing bass. I never have to fret or wait to meet women that lots of guys would die for. To be factual, I don’t think I’ve ever seen any man change the way he looks at women and JZ is remains subconsciously convinced you need things like looks, talent, social skills, you know the rest.
           In addition to my lifelong skin sensitivity, today I get a blocked ear. When you get old, maybe such things become common enough that ailments conspire up on you.

Picture of the day.
Burmese army women.
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           Here’s something else frozen, a Snickers bar. I just cannot eat such things any more, but JZ likes them right out of the freezer. Actually, not frozen, but five minutes in the compartment so the chocolate does not melt. It’s something I never thought of. Normally when we are busy, we’ll grab something to eat along the way. But everything in town now costs $12. The normal bustle is gone. JZ is happy to get out of the house and catch up but he’s living right in the middle of where things seem most unsettled. I mean that whole southwest Miami area. Strange office buildings and condos vacant for the past fifteen years. Everybody who does nothing seems to be rich.

           We walked over to Dick’s Sporting Goods to find out the Dadeland Mall will not let them sell anything but clothes and tents. No rifles, no ammo, no crossbows, no knives. We watched them spend millions adding that two story building to the mall. The shooting gallery has been replaced by a hologram golf screen. We looked for a few minutes and cleared out. Mostly [we were] shopping around all afternoon for supplies too large or unwieldy. We got home where like most folks, he clicks on the TV, which puts me to sleep and I’ve said how cozy that sofa is. I was out for fourteen hours.

           The crazy lady audiobook is all wrapped up in the final half disk. Everybody was a con artist who shafted anybody who trusted them. The dead husband was hiding out with money stolen from a drug dealer, Aubrey was the one to masterminded his faked death and collected the insurance money. When he reappeared for his half, she got him arrested. The mystery man she was sleeping with was his brother. And so on, the story was inconsistent because of the exhaustive descriptions of her petty thoughts for 95% of the story. Everybody important winds up in jail or the asylum.
           I would have bought more carpenter’s pencils but for some reason, there were only two left in the box.

Last Laugh