Saturday, May 27, 2006
gettin' damp
No, hasn't rained enough to pay attention to in way too long. It's just turning back into the usual Southern summer. Got up at my usual oh dark thirty planning on making a serious grocery run into the burg so I GI'ed the kitchen (normal Saturday routine anyway) and found out those marvelous "improvements" I made to the grease trap, well, they were not working as advertized. **sigh.** Mops and glop removal aren't listed on my union contract. Oughta go on strike. Maybe management will replace my sorry ass with a Mexican!
About the gettin' damp part, for that I have to crank up the wayback machine. 40+ years ago in South Alabama where I was raised, when school ended we kids would do our best to practice fishing, trying to drown each other, and engage in becoming either Willie Mays in the sandlot or Tarzans and Janes in the swamps. That is until the larger folk decided help was needed doing little jobs like weeding sweet tater fields about the size of Australia come July. Couldn't really tell the difference in the color of the little black ones or the little white ones! Since my primary gene stock was seriously Northern European, I only turned a deep walnut. Substantially darker than Colin Powell. ..and a whole bunch darker than her! ( ;o)
To this day I'm not a big fan of sweet taters. Can't imagine why..
* * * * * *
4:15 PM. Ain't done yet. The Rimadon Shitferbrainicus has gone into the heat-stunned mode. The plumbing failure was a tiny bit more troublesome than dreaded. Seems there has been a backup for quite a while longer than the last post indicated. Should be done in an hour or so. I've still got a few cups of bleach left, gonna need them when this bit of nasty is finished and I take a bath. Of course I'll be blonde from my toes to the top (won't need to check with my hairdresser!) Since I'm only dealing with 20 gallons of aged grey water and grease (somewhat dispersed, exit point isn't in a room I visit often), it won't be nearly as bad as my (very) few assistance jobs fixing septic systems. If this one fails, there are a lot of leaves in the woods. Been there, done that.
More hosing, more wet-vac. Thankfully it's just the grey and my fault grease overload. Still smells.
* * * * * *
Deed is done. It'll need a good PineSol mopping and that'll wait jus' fine. The kitchen floor needs it as well, kinda sticks to the feet, I'll go get a jug of the stuff and do them at the same time. Eventually. BTW, it's been years since a female/girl-type person was in the house. The last one decided that, well, that relevation will keep! To defer odd thoughts, read (pronounced "red") trade journals become minor piles, working files occupy most all horizontal surfaces, and bits and pieces of various devices are to be found in places mostly difficult for dawgs to get at.
This place was a lot nicer when the female/girl/wimmin-type person was around. Wonderful paradox and a bunch smarter.
I'm used-up. Need air. There's $20 worth of juice in the buggy.
* * * * * *
Reubin James? Wonder if Kenny ever met someone like him. Had the radio on. Needs a link to a earlier post.
Just in case you might be curious, I'm back. Went out for a co-cola and a pouch of Bugler, stopped at 2 yard sales that had interesting folk, drove the buggy along the road where my extraordanarily good friend used to live before he joined his wife for the first time in years. USMC, ret. Gunnery Sergeant. 6' 6", more than likely Hell during his last time before retiring in 1964 training recruits at Parris Island. 5' 4" designer-of-tools with many years in San Francisco and a rather large gunney being best buds? Worked wonderfully! 1987-2003. His heart just finally quit. We killed an awful lot of fish, solved most of the world's problems, potted a bunch of squirrels, taught each other all kinds of things. Politics and religion were kinda allowed. Him being 5th gen Democrat, I convinced him not to vote for Clinton the first pass. He got all born again after his first heart attack and attempted to convert me. I may never be ready to pay a preacher meself. I'm still Christian, go read back. That was OK, kinda, by him. I wasn't a recruit! Wonderful fella married to a tough gal (who kicked my ass all the time! ;) with nearly a half-dozen kids that are between kinda mostly good to awesome.
20 miles of old country roads not traveled by me in years. North Florida is rolling real estate, in places very like the Pennsylvania foothills. As green as the tropic islands this time of the year. So beautiful it is hard to wander through alone.
* * * * * *
"Old man look at my life,
I'm a lot like you were.
Old man look at my life,
I'm a lot like you were.
Old man look at my life,
Twenty four
and there's so much more
Live alone in a paradise
That makes me think of two.
Love lost, such a cost,
Give me things
that don't get lost.
Like a coin that won't get tossed
Rolling home to you.
Old man take a look at my life
I'm a lot like you
I need someone to love me
the whole day through
Ah, one look in my eyes
and you can tell that's true.
Lullabies, look in your eyes,
Run around the same old town.
Doesn't mean that much to me
To mean that much to you.
I've been first and last
Look at how the time goes past.
But I'm all alone at last.
Rolling home to you.
Old man take a look at my life
I'm a lot like you
I need someone to love me
the whole day through
Ah, one look in my eyes
and you can tell that's true.
Old man look at my life,
I'm a lot like you were.
Old man look at my life,
I'm a lot like you were."
That was written and sung most of three decades ago. Mr. Young was a major-league pharm way back then. Still is. No matter. Damn good song. I was just beyond 21, finally found out what happened after years of batshit what happened between my folks. Mr. Young is a major suck these daze, matters not at all. I still think this is a fine song.
Been singing it for years. Might have some significance if I had kids. At least that one doesn't make me cry like some of Emmy Lou Harris's do!
Almost dark, one final hose-it-out job for the evening with the tools. The pre-written grit teeth stuff, damn. I'm so disgusted with the US gub, might be worse than the Mex gub, judging from what appears in the LSM, ought to be embracing the stuff in Venezuela. Nah. Folk of my ilk and history with kids and grandkids are not particularly pleased these days.
Land mines are kinda spiffy. Kinda like signs that read "This drive is private. Mined" Oooold tag. "This drive is private mind".
I need to go out for another night hike with the disturbed Rimadon. There is still a bunch of arab juice in the buggy, haven't been to the local whoreatorium since the last 3 died of AIDS, the barkeep back then lost his bo to the same (116 white ones dead in this rural Southern county in 1 year, 5 times that many black and covered for the usual reasons). Nah. Plague.
Night hikes are finestkind. Find socks, add boots. Tee shirt and shorts work. Rimadon is cool about leading the blind one.
About the gettin' damp part, for that I have to crank up the wayback machine. 40+ years ago in South Alabama where I was raised, when school ended we kids would do our best to practice fishing, trying to drown each other, and engage in becoming either Willie Mays in the sandlot or Tarzans and Janes in the swamps. That is until the larger folk decided help was needed doing little jobs like weeding sweet tater fields about the size of Australia come July. Couldn't really tell the difference in the color of the little black ones or the little white ones! Since my primary gene stock was seriously Northern European, I only turned a deep walnut. Substantially darker than Colin Powell. ..and a whole bunch darker than her! ( ;o)
To this day I'm not a big fan of sweet taters. Can't imagine why..
* * * * * *
4:15 PM. Ain't done yet. The Rimadon Shitferbrainicus has gone into the heat-stunned mode. The plumbing failure was a tiny bit more troublesome than dreaded. Seems there has been a backup for quite a while longer than the last post indicated. Should be done in an hour or so. I've still got a few cups of bleach left, gonna need them when this bit of nasty is finished and I take a bath. Of course I'll be blonde from my toes to the top (won't need to check with my hairdresser!) Since I'm only dealing with 20 gallons of aged grey water and grease (somewhat dispersed, exit point isn't in a room I visit often), it won't be nearly as bad as my (very) few assistance jobs fixing septic systems. If this one fails, there are a lot of leaves in the woods. Been there, done that.
More hosing, more wet-vac. Thankfully it's just the grey and my fault grease overload. Still smells.
* * * * * *
Deed is done. It'll need a good PineSol mopping and that'll wait jus' fine. The kitchen floor needs it as well, kinda sticks to the feet, I'll go get a jug of the stuff and do them at the same time. Eventually. BTW, it's been years since a female/girl-type person was in the house. The last one decided that, well, that relevation will keep! To defer odd thoughts, read (pronounced "red") trade journals become minor piles, working files occupy most all horizontal surfaces, and bits and pieces of various devices are to be found in places mostly difficult for dawgs to get at.
This place was a lot nicer when the female/girl/wimmin-type person was around. Wonderful paradox and a bunch smarter.
I'm used-up. Need air. There's $20 worth of juice in the buggy.
* * * * * *
Reubin James? Wonder if Kenny ever met someone like him. Had the radio on. Needs a link to a earlier post.
Just in case you might be curious, I'm back. Went out for a co-cola and a pouch of Bugler, stopped at 2 yard sales that had interesting folk, drove the buggy along the road where my extraordanarily good friend used to live before he joined his wife for the first time in years. USMC, ret. Gunnery Sergeant. 6' 6", more than likely Hell during his last time before retiring in 1964 training recruits at Parris Island. 5' 4" designer-of-tools with many years in San Francisco and a rather large gunney being best buds? Worked wonderfully! 1987-2003. His heart just finally quit. We killed an awful lot of fish, solved most of the world's problems, potted a bunch of squirrels, taught each other all kinds of things. Politics and religion were kinda allowed. Him being 5th gen Democrat, I convinced him not to vote for Clinton the first pass. He got all born again after his first heart attack and attempted to convert me. I may never be ready to pay a preacher meself. I'm still Christian, go read back. That was OK, kinda, by him. I wasn't a recruit! Wonderful fella married to a tough gal (who kicked my ass all the time! ;) with nearly a half-dozen kids that are between kinda mostly good to awesome.
20 miles of old country roads not traveled by me in years. North Florida is rolling real estate, in places very like the Pennsylvania foothills. As green as the tropic islands this time of the year. So beautiful it is hard to wander through alone.
* * * * * *
"Old man look at my life,
I'm a lot like you were.
Old man look at my life,
I'm a lot like you were.
Old man look at my life,
Twenty four
and there's so much more
Live alone in a paradise
That makes me think of two.
Love lost, such a cost,
Give me things
that don't get lost.
Like a coin that won't get tossed
Rolling home to you.
Old man take a look at my life
I'm a lot like you
I need someone to love me
the whole day through
Ah, one look in my eyes
and you can tell that's true.
Lullabies, look in your eyes,
Run around the same old town.
Doesn't mean that much to me
To mean that much to you.
I've been first and last
Look at how the time goes past.
But I'm all alone at last.
Rolling home to you.
Old man take a look at my life
I'm a lot like you
I need someone to love me
the whole day through
Ah, one look in my eyes
and you can tell that's true.
Old man look at my life,
I'm a lot like you were.
Old man look at my life,
I'm a lot like you were."
That was written and sung most of three decades ago. Mr. Young was a major-league pharm way back then. Still is. No matter. Damn good song. I was just beyond 21, finally found out what happened after years of batshit what happened between my folks. Mr. Young is a major suck these daze, matters not at all. I still think this is a fine song.
Been singing it for years. Might have some significance if I had kids. At least that one doesn't make me cry like some of Emmy Lou Harris's do!
Almost dark, one final hose-it-out job for the evening with the tools. The pre-written grit teeth stuff, damn. I'm so disgusted with the US gub, might be worse than the Mex gub, judging from what appears in the LSM, ought to be embracing the stuff in Venezuela. Nah. Folk of my ilk and history with kids and grandkids are not particularly pleased these days.
Land mines are kinda spiffy. Kinda like signs that read "This drive is private. Mined" Oooold tag. "This drive is private mind".
I need to go out for another night hike with the disturbed Rimadon. There is still a bunch of arab juice in the buggy, haven't been to the local whoreatorium since the last 3 died of AIDS, the barkeep back then lost his bo to the same (116 white ones dead in this rural Southern county in 1 year, 5 times that many black and covered for the usual reasons). Nah. Plague.
Night hikes are finestkind. Find socks, add boots. Tee shirt and shorts work. Rimadon is cool about leading the blind one.
Saturday, May 20, 2006
silly season..
..this soon? I always thought we had to wait until July or so.
The Senate voted yesterday to allow illegal aliens to collect Social Security benefits based on past illegal employment -- even if the job was obtained through forged or stolen documents.
"There was a felony they were committing, and now they can't be prosecuted. [snip]
Reid calls language proposal racist
I jus' LOVE lawyers. Especially when they are used for gator-feed.
Mexico Threatens U.S. With Border Crisis Lawsuit
Read the entire posting.
E-mail reproduces letter from retired U.S. Border Patrol agent to Senator Bill Frist.
This is old, still interesting.
(Illegal) Immigrants win Arizona ranch
Enjoying your high-priced gasoline and electricity? You hired these bastards (so did I).
House Votes to Keep Offshore Drilling Ban
* * * * * *
Ya know, I actually feel sorry for all those zone 3 (the majority) "residents" of New Orleans tomorrow. Obviously Nagin will win. Chocolate City, a.k.a., another success story of the "Great Society", will vote that useless asshair-hanging bit of shit back in. Can't say anything about his competition other than my memories of his totally corrupt father. His sister is, well, you already know.. Keep on with the sending the umpty-billions Bush the Braindead. If you had an ounce of grey matter, you'd KNOW not one of those folk are gonna vote anywhere near what you want and the gigabucks of OUR money will go (has gone) directly down the tube.
* * * * * *
Oh NO. Hard to believe. The local Florida CC is now wetback heaven. Need a decent high-paying job? Get south and run the (non-existant) border to get your "qualifications". Didn't believe it. Checked it out. BTW, the CC is run by the Dems like most "institutes of ______ learning".
I quit.
* * * * * *
For the last week or so I've been considering resurrecting a anecdotal story I wrote not long after Algore didn't become president. It joined many others that were kinda nice with that particular one having some warm and cuddly in a swampy kinda way, a couple of smiles, and a true awshit. Since it actually had no purpose, it got stowed. It also had the miserable problem of my inevitable tendency of sliding off the topic. Now it has an ending with a moral. Didn't get around to it today. Yesterday evening a good friend came over for a while for a little use of the shop, then some babble and beer. He's facing a old, old problem, one I've been aware of for several years. It'll be coming to another head shortly (nope, no pussy involved, if there were, I'd not be involved. Check MY sterling past! ;o) Actually if you can find them, I've got a couple of ex-wives that will vouch as to my excellent character. Nope, the key words have nothing to do with me burying them in the swamp or feeding them to the gators!
The problem he's facing is one that has baffled me. One would think with my close to 5 decades of rather large involvement in tending kids in trouble I'd at least have a glimmer. Been pulling a blank. Now I'm just an old practical, pragmatic engineer these days. I could pull up a 5,000+ word monograph on this subject right now except I don't want to read it again.
In 2004 I went up to the polling place to cast my vote. If you read my post of that day, I was voter 666! Anyway, I got a hi Michael!, turned around and saw a shirt. The shirt was occupied by the former belly-bump, then unstoppable 4 year old babblecritter (and excellent kiddo), and now large, economy voter! One of quite a few that occasionally come and suprise me with visits. I used to be the ultimate baby-sitter. Outside, the gals would keep them from going astray. Inside, there was the drafting table with plenty of paper and pencil crayons. Got lots of artwork!
I'm facing a typing problem again. Spent too many years supporting kids in foster care, got a real big problem with folk that should have been sterilized if not at birth, well before ... OK. You get the drift. 'nuff of that for now.
* * * * * *
..about 2 AM. I'm back. This is probably one of the last decent nights left before Florida's Summer Hell sets in and I went for a walk with the Rimadon. She's not her mother, granny, or grandma, they are all dead. They were mostly trained. Doesn't matter. She's a class hiker. Better than many and nice to have scouting the trail. It bothers me quite a bit that she is a freemartin.
I awoke at my usual 4:30 AM yesterday with the problem still circulating. Since all I do is prettymuch set to some sort of schedule with Saturday close to inviolable as "laundry, rake out kitchen, (sometimes that can be ugly), and change bedding (burn or wash? walking freckles are a way of life)", old knucklehead self isn't moved easily. I have one job other than the roundtoit list, due at the end of May. Roughly 2 days work left on it. Elected today (yesterday) to do the Saturday stuff. The grey water drain backed up. Been doing a fine job for 26 years. Took a couple of hours. Carolina wrens have a nest in the dryer flue. No problem. Clothes got hung on the line eventually. Yard was something over 1 1/2' high. Shoulder still too gimp to fire up the Tampa Yazoo so brought out the hated (by Rima) weedeater. Munched weeds until shoulder hollered (clothes ready to be hung). Came in, sat until the holler let up, went out to hang clothes and Rima hauled the weedeater to the hole she was digging. She probably doesn't like it a lot! Can't say as I blame her. Knucklehead. For fun, when I went in to take my break, the weedeater was leaned up against my book drying platform. Rima very deliberately hauled it down and took it over to her first Summer hole. If you've pooches, I need say no more!
Spent most of the day just thinking. Machine racket is easily tuned out. Came up with a solution for my friend. Comes from 1968. He won't like it. I didn't either. Worked. He can't do it. I can't do it. One of 3 folk can, if they will.
**sigh**
* * * * * *
There's another big old sigh. If I live through May, I will have outlived my dad. Every 3rd year for the last 21 I've made a living will to work with the standard LWT. The living will has no known person as of 8 months ago. I terminated the LWT 6 months ago. No blood kin contact for more than 20 years except for the nephew that broke his neck while drunk driving 7 years ago. There is some value left in this property, there is a chance I might like to continue sucking air, no known family and those that are friends have put tags on certain artifacts. Therefore, they are not even possible as receivers.
What would you do?
The Senate voted yesterday to allow illegal aliens to collect Social Security benefits based on past illegal employment -- even if the job was obtained through forged or stolen documents.
"There was a felony they were committing, and now they can't be prosecuted. [snip]
Reid calls language proposal racist
I jus' LOVE lawyers. Especially when they are used for gator-feed.
Mexico Threatens U.S. With Border Crisis Lawsuit
Read the entire posting.
E-mail reproduces letter from retired U.S. Border Patrol agent to Senator Bill Frist.
This is old, still interesting.
(Illegal) Immigrants win Arizona ranch
Enjoying your high-priced gasoline and electricity? You hired these bastards (so did I).
House Votes to Keep Offshore Drilling Ban
* * * * * *
Ya know, I actually feel sorry for all those zone 3 (the majority) "residents" of New Orleans tomorrow. Obviously Nagin will win. Chocolate City, a.k.a., another success story of the "Great Society", will vote that useless asshair-hanging bit of shit back in. Can't say anything about his competition other than my memories of his totally corrupt father. His sister is, well, you already know.. Keep on with the sending the umpty-billions Bush the Braindead. If you had an ounce of grey matter, you'd KNOW not one of those folk are gonna vote anywhere near what you want and the gigabucks of OUR money will go (has gone) directly down the tube.
* * * * * *
Oh NO. Hard to believe. The local Florida CC is now wetback heaven. Need a decent high-paying job? Get south and run the (non-existant) border to get your "qualifications". Didn't believe it. Checked it out. BTW, the CC is run by the Dems like most "institutes of ______ learning".
I quit.
* * * * * *
For the last week or so I've been considering resurrecting a anecdotal story I wrote not long after Algore didn't become president. It joined many others that were kinda nice with that particular one having some warm and cuddly in a swampy kinda way, a couple of smiles, and a true awshit. Since it actually had no purpose, it got stowed. It also had the miserable problem of my inevitable tendency of sliding off the topic. Now it has an ending with a moral. Didn't get around to it today. Yesterday evening a good friend came over for a while for a little use of the shop, then some babble and beer. He's facing a old, old problem, one I've been aware of for several years. It'll be coming to another head shortly (nope, no pussy involved, if there were, I'd not be involved. Check MY sterling past! ;o) Actually if you can find them, I've got a couple of ex-wives that will vouch as to my excellent character. Nope, the key words have nothing to do with me burying them in the swamp or feeding them to the gators!
The problem he's facing is one that has baffled me. One would think with my close to 5 decades of rather large involvement in tending kids in trouble I'd at least have a glimmer. Been pulling a blank. Now I'm just an old practical, pragmatic engineer these days. I could pull up a 5,000+ word monograph on this subject right now except I don't want to read it again.
In 2004 I went up to the polling place to cast my vote. If you read my post of that day, I was voter 666! Anyway, I got a hi Michael!, turned around and saw a shirt. The shirt was occupied by the former belly-bump, then unstoppable 4 year old babblecritter (and excellent kiddo), and now large, economy voter! One of quite a few that occasionally come and suprise me with visits. I used to be the ultimate baby-sitter. Outside, the gals would keep them from going astray. Inside, there was the drafting table with plenty of paper and pencil crayons. Got lots of artwork!
I'm facing a typing problem again. Spent too many years supporting kids in foster care, got a real big problem with folk that should have been sterilized if not at birth, well before ... OK. You get the drift. 'nuff of that for now.
* * * * * *
..about 2 AM. I'm back. This is probably one of the last decent nights left before Florida's Summer Hell sets in and I went for a walk with the Rimadon. She's not her mother, granny, or grandma, they are all dead. They were mostly trained. Doesn't matter. She's a class hiker. Better than many and nice to have scouting the trail. It bothers me quite a bit that she is a freemartin.
I awoke at my usual 4:30 AM yesterday with the problem still circulating. Since all I do is prettymuch set to some sort of schedule with Saturday close to inviolable as "laundry, rake out kitchen, (sometimes that can be ugly), and change bedding (burn or wash? walking freckles are a way of life)", old knucklehead self isn't moved easily. I have one job other than the roundtoit list, due at the end of May. Roughly 2 days work left on it. Elected today (yesterday) to do the Saturday stuff. The grey water drain backed up. Been doing a fine job for 26 years. Took a couple of hours. Carolina wrens have a nest in the dryer flue. No problem. Clothes got hung on the line eventually. Yard was something over 1 1/2' high. Shoulder still too gimp to fire up the Tampa Yazoo so brought out the hated (by Rima) weedeater. Munched weeds until shoulder hollered (clothes ready to be hung). Came in, sat until the holler let up, went out to hang clothes and Rima hauled the weedeater to the hole she was digging. She probably doesn't like it a lot! Can't say as I blame her. Knucklehead. For fun, when I went in to take my break, the weedeater was leaned up against my book drying platform. Rima very deliberately hauled it down and took it over to her first Summer hole. If you've pooches, I need say no more!
Spent most of the day just thinking. Machine racket is easily tuned out. Came up with a solution for my friend. Comes from 1968. He won't like it. I didn't either. Worked. He can't do it. I can't do it. One of 3 folk can, if they will.
**sigh**
* * * * * *
There's another big old sigh. If I live through May, I will have outlived my dad. Every 3rd year for the last 21 I've made a living will to work with the standard LWT. The living will has no known person as of 8 months ago. I terminated the LWT 6 months ago. No blood kin contact for more than 20 years except for the nephew that broke his neck while drunk driving 7 years ago. There is some value left in this property, there is a chance I might like to continue sucking air, no known family and those that are friends have put tags on certain artifacts. Therefore, they are not even possible as receivers.
What would you do?
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
why bother
Looks like el presidente Whorehay Bush done gone and screwed the pooch again. I'd given up expecting anything of that fella several years ago and kinda figured my morning travels through the blogs would be amusing. It was. Don't think I've seen that many misspelled words in a long time. Flying fingers full of fury! ;o) "Comprehensive solution" my hairy ass. Nothing is gonna happen. Zilch. Nada.
Nigh-on noon, 61 degrees outside. Mid-May. North Florida. I jus' LOVE this global warming! A couple of mornings ago it was 48. I put on my best cutoffs, best wore-out tee shirt, and my 77 cent Chinee Wal-Mart Kerryboots and went outside to do some get-er-done chores that involved a garden hose. That would have been a photo opportunity for someone with a really deviant mind! Scrawny old greybeard with winter white hide a solid mass of goose bumps! Hey, I KNOW July is coming. So is August. ...and September. Air conditioning isn't a luxury for the majority that were not the result of at least 5 generations of culling by Darwin. It's a hidiously expensive form of life support. Just for kicks and giggles, the first 14 days (daze) of June, 1999, the daily high exceeded 100. Almost made 105 on a couple of daze. That, and the fully saturated atmosphere... "Bring Out Yer Dead! Bring Out Yer Dead!"
A while back a professional friend of mine was gousing about his electric bill. July. Hey. It's Florida. There is only one place more miserable in July. Ray Nagin is mayor.
He made a decent income, same for the 20+ years married to the mother of his kids of which one had already gone to join the "real world" after college, and another soon to do the same. They had a nice home and I was privileged to be a supper guest fairly often. Their electric bill went 20% over the mortgage one month. Nope, no hot flashes and 62 degree household, the thermostat was set on 78. The house was decently insulated, didn't carry the bane of everything but chicken coops of those sorry jalousie windows (whoever invented those should be taken out back and shot! ;o). "Jalousie" is a fwench word. Go figure. His electricity provider had just got approval by the state to add another fuel allowance surcharge. Did I mention Carter was pwesident? Damn. How thoughtless of me.
This summer should prove interesting. FPL (the best power company in Florida by my estimation which if it were a slice of watermelon, might be worth something if you put salt on it) has gotten rate after rate increases, BIG ones, justified by the major damage of the '04 'canes and jacked-up dead dinosaur prices. What used to cost me $9 in inflation converted dollars 30 years ago now cost $54. There is gonna be a real howl when summer sets in this year.
Ask me why I built the earth shelter so many years ago. It has one major league problem. Easily recognizable in July. Also in August. Always in September.
Nigh-on noon, 61 degrees outside. Mid-May. North Florida. I jus' LOVE this global warming! A couple of mornings ago it was 48. I put on my best cutoffs, best wore-out tee shirt, and my 77 cent Chinee Wal-Mart Kerryboots and went outside to do some get-er-done chores that involved a garden hose. That would have been a photo opportunity for someone with a really deviant mind! Scrawny old greybeard with winter white hide a solid mass of goose bumps! Hey, I KNOW July is coming. So is August. ...and September. Air conditioning isn't a luxury for the majority that were not the result of at least 5 generations of culling by Darwin. It's a hidiously expensive form of life support. Just for kicks and giggles, the first 14 days (daze) of June, 1999, the daily high exceeded 100. Almost made 105 on a couple of daze. That, and the fully saturated atmosphere... "Bring Out Yer Dead! Bring Out Yer Dead!"
A while back a professional friend of mine was gousing about his electric bill. July. Hey. It's Florida. There is only one place more miserable in July. Ray Nagin is mayor.
He made a decent income, same for the 20+ years married to the mother of his kids of which one had already gone to join the "real world" after college, and another soon to do the same. They had a nice home and I was privileged to be a supper guest fairly often. Their electric bill went 20% over the mortgage one month. Nope, no hot flashes and 62 degree household, the thermostat was set on 78. The house was decently insulated, didn't carry the bane of everything but chicken coops of those sorry jalousie windows (whoever invented those should be taken out back and shot! ;o). "Jalousie" is a fwench word. Go figure. His electricity provider had just got approval by the state to add another fuel allowance surcharge. Did I mention Carter was pwesident? Damn. How thoughtless of me.
This summer should prove interesting. FPL (the best power company in Florida by my estimation which if it were a slice of watermelon, might be worth something if you put salt on it) has gotten rate after rate increases, BIG ones, justified by the major damage of the '04 'canes and jacked-up dead dinosaur prices. What used to cost me $9 in inflation converted dollars 30 years ago now cost $54. There is gonna be a real howl when summer sets in this year.
Ask me why I built the earth shelter so many years ago. It has one major league problem. Easily recognizable in July. Also in August. Always in September.
Monday, May 15, 2006
been a while...
Sometimes "stuff" happens, kinda makes one say whoa fer a bit. One nice, tired Thursday evening I was relaxing with a decently fed self, a good book that hadn't been re-read in most of 15 years, and ignoring CSI on the tube when Rima put up a panic howl outside and a gentle thump was felt. Inside this multi-megapound (480,000 pound roof alone) earth shelter, a "gentle thump" has a different meaning. Got up and turned on the outside floods. It was green. All the unsettled commotion on the not yet-summer-sheathed atrium glass caused me to go look up. Green. Went out to soothe the Rimacritter and wandered up on the roof with the flashlight. Yup.
Took this photo when the sun came up.
Kinda did a deed on the greenhouse I was re-fitting as my shadecloth summer growing place.
Sometimes these old, beat-up, tall swamp oaks just say goodnight. Thump. When I figure out how to carve it up in 2' chunks, won't need any firewood next winter. The problem is cutting the large amount left at the 12' height over the front greenhouse. I'll have to move it before the next batch of 'canes and since 'ol arther is giving my shoulder a fit, won't try until the warnings. Fucking hate the pills. 20 years ago this summer a pack of fucking illegal aliens (read wetback coke-powered slime) cracked my skull, destroyed my left shoulder, broke both of my wrists, and just generally beat the hell out of me. Hey! It's a Mexican thing! Multicultural. Jus' love those sorry shits.
Before:
3 weeks and 4 days after the attack:
Those sorry pieces of shit are wonderful caring for your property. Another before:
I'd already been burgled twice which included the loss of a large portion of my great-grandad's tools. Didn't surprise me at all when it took 6 days for the device shown in the above photo to be returned to me on a flatbed dump truck. The sole anglo cop in ABQ i.d.ed the wetback crew. No prosecution of course. Got a sick giggle on the explaination. They were under surveillance for trafficing cocaine. "How long?" I asked . "3 years". Yeah.
I'll take the time this week to condense the April '06 photo file from the local rural lockup for you. This county is now probably 30% wetback. Last observation, DCF had 100% senoritas (can't be true, only one LAIP observation however).
And yes, after 3 attemped home invasion robberies, all terminated, I sleep with a fast arm and a 12 gauge by the door. ALL of the invasions were by Mexicans. Love 'em dearly. Wherever there is a Mexican population, one can expect to be prey.
* * * * * *
Frankly I don't give a damn about the folk Fred is talking about. That's a go read it. I also rather enjoy Mexico's history of true monkey stupidity and get a kick out of the various US politicos calling the Mexican gummit corrupt! Pot, call kettle. Sheesh. Admittedly there are few regimes more corrupt than the source of the flood of truly untrained, partially housebroke bipeds than Mexico but one ought to take a serious look at how thouroughly one has stupified one's own house as well. Would you hire a generic HS grad? Hell, would you hire a BS from a public institution? Would you mortgage your hard earned to send a rug ape to one of those?
**sigh** Some are so very good. It's much fun teaching those that like learning.
Took this photo when the sun came up.
Kinda did a deed on the greenhouse I was re-fitting as my shadecloth summer growing place.
Sometimes these old, beat-up, tall swamp oaks just say goodnight. Thump. When I figure out how to carve it up in 2' chunks, won't need any firewood next winter. The problem is cutting the large amount left at the 12' height over the front greenhouse. I'll have to move it before the next batch of 'canes and since 'ol arther is giving my shoulder a fit, won't try until the warnings. Fucking hate the pills. 20 years ago this summer a pack of fucking illegal aliens (read wetback coke-powered slime) cracked my skull, destroyed my left shoulder, broke both of my wrists, and just generally beat the hell out of me. Hey! It's a Mexican thing! Multicultural. Jus' love those sorry shits.
Before:
3 weeks and 4 days after the attack:
Those sorry pieces of shit are wonderful caring for your property. Another before:
I'd already been burgled twice which included the loss of a large portion of my great-grandad's tools. Didn't surprise me at all when it took 6 days for the device shown in the above photo to be returned to me on a flatbed dump truck. The sole anglo cop in ABQ i.d.ed the wetback crew. No prosecution of course. Got a sick giggle on the explaination. They were under surveillance for trafficing cocaine. "How long?" I asked . "3 years". Yeah.
I'll take the time this week to condense the April '06 photo file from the local rural lockup for you. This county is now probably 30% wetback. Last observation, DCF had 100% senoritas (can't be true, only one LAIP observation however).
And yes, after 3 attemped home invasion robberies, all terminated, I sleep with a fast arm and a 12 gauge by the door. ALL of the invasions were by Mexicans. Love 'em dearly. Wherever there is a Mexican population, one can expect to be prey.
* * * * * *
Frankly I don't give a damn about the folk Fred is talking about. That's a go read it. I also rather enjoy Mexico's history of true monkey stupidity and get a kick out of the various US politicos calling the Mexican gummit corrupt! Pot, call kettle. Sheesh. Admittedly there are few regimes more corrupt than the source of the flood of truly untrained, partially housebroke bipeds than Mexico but one ought to take a serious look at how thouroughly one has stupified one's own house as well. Would you hire a generic HS grad? Hell, would you hire a BS from a public institution? Would you mortgage your hard earned to send a rug ape to one of those?
**sigh** Some are so very good. It's much fun teaching those that like learning.
