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Category: Travels

Observations while wandering near and far.

Tripping thoughts

Funny. When I was a teenager I had three big dreams. I wanted to own my own house, write a novel, and travel. Now I’ve owned 10 or 11 houses and am in the one where I hope to stay for the rest of my life. I love it. Don’t regret a minute of it. I wrote a novel. Two if you count the compilation of Hardyville Tales. And I don’t know how many non-fiction books. Not the Great American Novel I had in mind at 16, but I did what I could and am glad of it. I also…

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Good news and bad news (but more good than bad)

Good news! Old Blue made it all the way to the Big City without a hiccup. AND there was no snow, ice, or even hellacious amounts of rain to hinder us. (I mean, there was rain of course; there always is. But not the biblical deluge the weather person warned of.) Even better. The specialist recommended against surgery. He says he’ll do it if I want, but that no harm will come to me from not having it. Well, that’s a no-brainer. More good news. I made it to the town with the float tank and am now safely ensconced…

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When AAA goes bad

Cough …. cough … sputter. I knew it was a mistake the other day when I boasted about Old Blue’s sterling reliability. Sputter … gasp. Suddenly I feel the horsepower of a wooden go-kart under my right foot. Cough. But all is well. Though I’m miles from home, I’m in an area I know. And right there’s the parking lot of a defunct neighborhood c-store. I coast in as the engine finally dies. After a moment of “Ohshit, what now?” I call R., an old faithful shade-tree mechanic who lives only a few miles from where Old Blue now refuses…

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Tuesday links

  • David Codrea writes the last word on Mike Vanderboegh.
  • Clearly, though, we haven’t heard the last word from Mike’s son Matt, who has just proposed a monkeywrenching use for all that hacked DNC contact info. May not be the best use of time, but it’s still interesting thinking.
  • Man, now there’s a headline for you: “The SEC has questions about a company with no revenue, $1,000 in the bank, and a $35 billion market cap.”

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  • Doggies, pirates and of course let’s not forget the Village People

    Friend G. and I went to a dog-rescue fundraising event this weekend with her dog Annabelle. Ava, known as the Queen of Mean around other dogs, was not invited to attend. Mer Majesty stayed home, well attended by neighbor J. At the event, there were elegant purebreds … And hapless little mutt-pups. The woman trying to corral that rambunctious little guy is his foster mom. The pup, now 14 weeks old, came into rescue after an unconscionable jackass deliberately stomped on his leg. Abuse hasn’t stopped him from loving everybody and wanting to get into everything. (The foster mom said…

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    Wednesday links

    Wow. But not surprising. The ATF and the Obama administration, via Fast & Furious, supplied drug lord El Chapo with .50 cal weaponry. Zombie ships ply the ocean in hopes of paying just the interest, not the principle, on shipowners’ debt. One more place all that central bank bubble capital has been going for the last eight years. Right analysis? But completely crazy proposed solution to global bubbles. With state legislatures in session, it’s become political silly season. Most of the goofy new bills will never pass, so you can stop sending me alarming emails about junk that might not…

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    Sunday links

    I like Ross Douthat. In this day of screaming absolutes he always has a nuanced take on things. But even he says that the current campus crisis is something U.S. universities deserve. And if anybody had doubts about what a bunch of whiny brats those “oppressed” university students at Mizzou are, check out their reactions to the slaughter in Paris. Whaaaaaa-waaaaa, nobody’s paying attention to US! Will the little narcissists ever feel shame? Meanwhile at Yale the social justice pecksniffs protest a free-speech panel. Australia is going to try out a hip, cool, and groovy cloud-based virtual passport system. Think…

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    Meet the Clampetts

    This weekend was the one moment of the year when a certain island full of millionaires “allows” garage sales. Once “allowed,” they do it up right.

    If I were a millionaire I think I’d just give all my excess stuff to Goodwill rather than sit out in the hot sun (or rain; but this weekend it was sun) and peddle stuff for a few bux. Nevertheless, 147 households held “official” sales (there’s a map and everything, not to mention an entry fee just to get on the island) and dozens set up unofficial ones.

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    A different country

    I have a friend who’s lived offshore for … I don’t know how long. Long time. Decades, maybe. He believes that any USSA freedomista who doesn’t quickly move off to furrin parts is doooooooomed and he plans to be shouting, “I told you so!” as various vast edifi of a collapsing state crush us into pulp.

    Could be, could be.

    Freedomistas who stay in the U.S. could be in as much denial as those German Jews who are cited so often today. Part of being in denial is not knowing that you are.

    That’s one reason I went to Panama four years ago and Nicaragua this month. Perspective. Checking things out. (Getting to be warm in winter didn’t hurt, either.)

    But I’m probably not going back. Unless something big comes along (e.g. a millionaire sweeping me off my feet and urging me to live with him forever in his seaside villa in Costa Rica — an event as likely as winning the lottery then being abducted by aliens on the way home with my multi-million dollar check) — it just ain’t happening. Reasons? Many and various.

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