One year ago today: January 11, 2025, grilled peanut butter.
Five years ago today: January 11, 2021, south of Macon.
Nine years ago today: January 11, 2017, sadly, I quit ham.
Random years ago today: January 11, 2001, a [desk] calendar entry.
Y’know that snazzy spice box last week? I lost it. Propped it on the bumper and drove off with it there. These things are happening more. This is the third morning with no cardinals, so I checked the feeder. Somehow, they picked out all the sunflowers. Later, I found the box at the corner of Formosa and Sandcrane. Here is the photo of the pieces I picked of the road. Another blog first, I suppose, portrait of a smashed box. I really liked that box. Now it’s an “ex-box”, don’t hit me. It’s a testament to my smooth driving that it did not fall off until I’d gone four blocks, so there.
(Glare in these photos is from dew formation on the camera lens this early in the morning. But it was either that or disappoint my readership.)
Surprise, it is new (with the owner’s manual) and I just bought it for $80 including a 25-foot air hose. Beautiful 10 gallon unit, almost twice [the capability of] what I was using. Turns out this guy from New York bought it to spray paint his trailer (about 5 hours run-time). Then sold the trailer and I am the proud owner of a truly fine piece of equipment. The seller was a guy in his 80s who lived on the shore of Lake Erie. I know nothing of that area. He was a sailor and missed the fog off the lake, says the water stays warmer than the air. It’s on the Canadian border, so I believe it.
I tortured myself driving up to Haines City for this tool. Listening to our shrink, Henry, on audio. Gad, to think this junk is a best-seller, but in a perverse way, it’s logical. There is a sizeable grade of people with sincere misconceptions about what having class is all about, and this story takes dead aim on that market. The plot is 90% the shrink fancying himself clever by taking everything in terms of something else, usually a something else that suits his notions.
Example, he goes to art shows because his father, who (we are constantly reminded) just as talented an artist as Henry’s son, the blues musician. Henry meets the Prime Minister, no less, who says one of the father’s paintings is in his office. The minister’s wife says no, it is in the office hallway. Normally that would be it. But Henry, who is still shaking hands, skillfully detects the minutely “enlarged eyeballs”, a giveaway that the holder of supreme power has a flaw that needs chronicling for the next ten minutes.
The Laxey Wheel.
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This compressor involved a drive out past Lake Alfred, where mud trails turn into fresh pavement and right back again almost before you can hit the brakes. On the way, I saw the lights on at Kooters, and thought why not? The interior is completely re-done and a bottle of domestic is now $4,75. They’ve painted the building horrid green. Complete new kitchen. The joint has a permanent infused aroma of cigarettes. And the new management wants to turn it into a country music bar. Gee, makes you wonder where he gets such ideas.
The interior is completely refurbished with matching furniture and the higher prices (highest in town) have not deterred the clientele. The property used to include the surrounding land which is now jam-packed with sub-division housing. It is now just the pub and parking lot, so there is a vague chance of rezoning to allow liquor. I finally dropped in to see about entertainment. I don’t know anyone there but plenty recognized me and here is the scoop. There is still Karaoke one night every weekend. Guess what? There are no country bands left in Polk County.
Not only is my new band not ready, Steve’s influence (meaning he doesn’t practice my material) means a list that is not as country as it should be. But there is always the chance for a jam or showcase. The patrons assure me the new owners, whom I have not met, are country music fans. I wish them well, that new four-lane is going to plant thousands of new commuters on their doorstep soon, the only competition will be twelve miles away at the other end. That’s the Cowgirl Saloon in Auburndale, which is more of a sports bar.
That’s something else, sports bars. They crank on the TVs even when nobody is watching. Worst are not the fans, but barmaids. Huh? You heard me, barmaids that are not really sports fans, but women in general who have learned to pretend they are [sports fans] around most men. It no doubt helps with the tips & perks, nomsayn,, but face it, if they do it to meet men, they still wind up surrounded by “most men”. The ones they hoped to avoid, ha!
ADDENDUM
Bryne from Texas checks in. He moved to a tiny town, did you know most of it is owned by the drummer from the Eagles. Henley, that’s his name. Bryne knows the guy and rates him “a real prick”, but that is what makes the best drummers. Now Bryne is become like many men these days thanks to the lawyers and courts, that is, he has a girlfriend but not a wife. A roommate and that is, methinks, the best women can hope for. They wanted equality, right?
The point is, my pal is free to roam and he reports the roomie is in the living room watching Neil Diamond in “The Jazz Singer”. I sent him my sincere condolences since life can be cruel. He also noticed when he lived in Florida how this place knows when you try to get ahead and crushes you back down. Texas just ignores you, so that’s a step up.
Bryne fits right in Texas; he’s got an old pickup truck and a Harley he drives three seasons a year. He’s English, so he’s a sharp dresser who looks the part. Irons his shirts, drinks Jack Daniels, and treats everybody equally to a fault. Like myself, he’s lasted more than 15 years beyond what was expected. He won’t admit it much, but his hobby is motors and mechanicals, did you know he is a trained marine engineer? He never mentions guitar much any more.
