One year ago today: September 3, 2024, twenty bucks!
Five years ago today: September 3, 2020, he lost a half-million.
Nine years ago today: September 3, 2016, fixing the floor.
Random years ago today: September 3, 2003, hurricane prep.
Blast from the past. RofR, my original business partner, has received the third highest award of production in the place he now works. Sadly, he has dropped out of the picture here. But not Trump’s photo, did you see that classic troll? The White House LinkedIn page, where ex-staffers post resumes, has their photos replaced by Trump’s mug shot. A grim reminder, posts some smart aleck, that those staffers have not escaped by early retirements and buyouts. That once Trump “grips the reins” a bit more comfortably, the witch hunt can begin.
Yep, I spotted the slow climb of silver to $40 and one day later it is $41. Could this be the breakout we’ve waited for? Technically, at the history 16:1 ration, silver should already be around $225 per ounce. The Chatanooga Volkswagen EV plant, f0214nded with stolen tax dollars, hasjust closed up throwing 160 people out of work. Later, silver retracted slightly from $42.29, a 14-year high reached just hours after passing $40 per ounce. I woke up this morning with $172 left in my local bank account. The one I live on.
Using energy I could not really spare, got my Sarasota PA and speakers into the van (by which I mean the SUV) and the small Radio Shack speakers. I dug out spare mic for the drummer, it a nice one from a Karaoke kit back when they had a little quality. Except I dropped in in 2013 and the off/on switch is stuck on. I further hauled out version two of the beer caddy, the one that is slightly larger. I could have sworn I sent pics of that to Mitch, but he says no, and he is very impressed by “my carpentry skills”. Then I remembered, the same thing happed to him as to me in high school. I’ll repeat this tale from the trailer court.
I went to a Catholic school in the 10th & 11th grade, and they don’t (or didn’t) have shop class. But I met Mitch in the 12th grade and the new school had a big shop. Carpentry, welding, mechanics, and electrical. But the classes were divided into two groups. A Room for people university bound, and the B Room who were to become hourly workers. Here is where Mitch and I could not have foreseen the consequences, we were two naïve farm kids. It was assumed that any kid who was smart enough to get enough credits (called matriculation) also had the resources, parental or otherwise, to get through university.
Nothing was further from the truth. It meant poor kids like Mitch and I had to grovel. We were not allowed to take shop, so the B Room got high-paying jobs right away, while Mitch and I had to live off student loans and work zero-skill jobs in the summertimes. We walked off our graduation stage without knowing how to turn a screw or pound a nail. I wound up piling lumber, there’s a real trade skill for an honor student.
There were other differences, like how Mitch’s father really went to work and applied for every bursary and loan and scholarship possible, none of which happened. My parents just said to hell with you, if you’re so smart you figure out a way. I know, some will accuse me of exaggerating. Both of us wound up taking time off school to work, and anybody who lived through that era can tell you once you lost any advantage, you never got it back.
Mitch had supportive kin, so he made it back to graduate at 27 or 28, I don’t recall, but he got a job, not with the government, but with a government contractor. I didn’t graduate until age 33, and that is another tale from the trailer court. As I’ve said before, by the time I graduated everybody else with the same degree also had ten year's management experience. I know now that I never stood a chance.
South Carolina.
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Still feeling the aftereffects of physio, I took it gentle and cut some wood. A few extra boxes and a careful examination of how to build a new hinge mortise jig. I’d also like some changes to the handle of the beer caddy. I cleared some space to get at the flooring again. That electrical is still a problem and has to be done before I do any finish work. The sheer amount of labor means I may do the floor in two sections. No help is available, so we get back into the pit.
Jack has more old-guy medical issues than I do, so next get-together will not be until the weekend. It’s his call, but I suspect he will rapidly conclude an abbreviated kit is better, as in after he hauls those drums around, he’ll be looking for shortcuts.
Those cheap-ass wires that came with the PA are total crap, so I’m cutting the ends off to match the clips on the Radio Shack speakers. My one task a day rule is letting me down as the tasks adapt to lower effort items over time. After shopping around for tube envelopes today, if I don’t find anything, I may have to buy the expensive coin style. If I find a buyer, the margins will be very slim, maybe 50ȼ per tube at the most. Wait, I do have some social news. Some lady called “Thinker” has taken a shine to me on-line. Meh, I don’t usually but then I follow this invite to her site. I’d say 55 but what a looker. Slim where it counts, and it would seem she is not short any money.
Bruce Willis, the actor is not doing so well at 70. Apparently he does not know he was once a famous actor. It has to be the diet. Nobody had conditions like this forty years ago and now even the rich are getting it. Am I saved because I cooked my own food mostly? That would be an unexpected bonus.
Here’s an idea likely to go nowhere, because somebody already tried it. Last day I spilt a few tablespoons of my favorite oatmeal flakes. I scooped them up and instead of, as usual, mixing them with the birdfood, I placed them on the window sill. Not noticing the spill right away, there may have been a slight amount of sugar mixes with the flakes.
It caused a feeding frenzy, led by the cardinals. Ignoring even their favorite shelled sunflower seeds, they went for the oatmeal. Sorry, no birdie pics, the sill is too close for me to reach for the camera before they are gone, and the camera battery is too dead to set ready. Is this the dawn of the next birdie super-food? Or just something lacking in their diet? We may never find out, for this month is already known as “lean September”. If you can find out why they went for the oats, Etsy it by the ounce.
ADDENDUM
Ha, did I not warn that the Epstein women were not underage? Look at them. Talk about a profile, all mid-30s, picked over, and either still unmarried or in a boring relationship. None were ever good-looking enough to have made the grade. One look says they may have been active at some point, squandering what little charm youth provided. We are looking at the settle-out-of-court bunch, these women are not after justice unless it impacts their bank accounts. But one interesting quirk is emerging. The MSM is bending backwards to get them to implicate Trump. So far, all of the ones interviewed stated they’ve never seen Trump do anything in appropriate. Ha-ha, MSM.
