Last summer I got rid of my riding mower, which I bought used, and it came with a little cart.  I might have used the cart 5 or 6 times over the same number of years, mostly it sat and rusted quietly in the backyard, filling up with leaves and rainwater.  This year my intention was to drag it to the curb and hope the local trash-pickers would take it away, but Mrs. Pupster thought it might sell on Ebay.  She was right. 

She listed as pickup only, took lots of pictures, and was completely honest in her listing.  Rusty, needs two new tires, full of debris.  People wanted this cart.  The auction was being bookmarked and watched.  I was amazed.  We started the auction at $1.00.  The winning bidder paid $53.00, and immediately sent payment via Pay-pal.  When he called for pickup directions, Mrs. Pupster asked what area of town he was coming from.  Dover, Delaware he replied. 

 Dude.  You spent $50 + dollars for a trash cart, and are willing to drive 8hrs, 31min, 500+ miles to come and get it?  People are maniacs.  Dude came and picked it up this morning, I was worried that he would suffer buyer’s remorse when he arrived.  Nope, it was just what he was looking for.  We loaded it in his pick-up, shook hands and off he went.  Ebay rocks. 

This little devil has been hurling himself against my home office window for over a week.  I’m guessing he is attacking his own reflected image in the glass.  You’d think, after a few bone-jarring *pock*’s into the window he’d figure it out, but no such luck.  Every day he keeps it up, smearing his bird juice all over my view. 

I taped up an image of an attacking red-tailed hawk to try and dissuade him, but he just adjusted his trajectory and keeps up the attack.  He really should be scared, there is a family of hawks a few trees over from here. 

Although I admire his pluck and persistence, I’m pretty sure he’s going to kill himself with a few more days of window smacking, and even if he doesn’t, he’s messing up my window something awful.  I might just have to put him down myself. 

*UPDATE*

Mrs. Pupster went to The Wild Bird Store, and they recommended stick-on hawk silhouettes and reflective tape.  We’ll see. 

*puts pellet gun back in closet*

I dunno.  It just doesn’t seem to be in me.  I started poking around youtube for some cute stuff, and I came across an entirely new outdoor action sport;  Chipmunk Fishing.  After I perused a few of the videos, I lost interest.  They aren’t using real hooks.

Quite a while back, Think Tankers posted a link to vixy.net, a ‘free’ service that will rip from youtube and covert to .avi video, or just grab the audio and convert it to MP3.  The site is beta, and to be honest it only seems to work about half the time.   

It worked well enough this afternoon for me to completely sully the cute chipmunk genre.  I may need some new tags.  And a disclaimer. 

 

I’ve been in a deep funk for a couple of months, I’ve not been able to write anything other than horribly self-indulgent and depressing dreck. I’m not out of it, but I’m fighting. I’m not going to write about or post any dark stuff. Just happy smiley fuzzy sunny uplifting gee willikers isn’t it swell shit from here on out. Or hiatus again.

I ran across this video from Weezer via Cute Overload (shut up!). No embedding allowed, so I hot-linked a screen shot.

Lyrics after the fold. 

Hiatus.  It’s a fun word to say.  Hiatus.  I’m on one.

Another full day of people trying to sell me their stuff, interesting and informative but I’m not buying.  Anything.    There was a golf outing and a cruise which I neglected to sign up for, preferring to spend my evening on the beach. 

Other than a few hippies trying to roll me back into the bay, it did not suck.  Tonight is the formal dinner for which I bought the sport coat.   

Unflattering picture below the fold.

Last night I overindulged a bit, I met up with my rep for the firm who is springing for this trip, and I couldn’t buy myself or anyone else a thing, every-time I blinked I had a fresh drink in my hand or plate of food in front of me. 

I finally slipped away and went back to my room to put on my swim trunks.  The pool was totally deserted.

So was the hot tub.

It was great.  I’d jump in the pool and swim a lap, then amble over to the hot tub for a soak.  I must have done it for at least an hour, and no other guests intruded on my own private Florida resort. 

Awesome. 

Finally.  The Airport was a fiasco, but I’m here now. 

 I’m going to go check this place out.  In the meantime, here is the view from my window:

80 degrees, overcast, and freakin’ awesome.

*Update*

I walked around the joint for awhile, it’s alright.

Main Entrance

It has it’s own private beach.

They stuck me way back in the private part near the harbor.

I’ll just have to make do. 

Saturday’s Reality:

Sunday’s Forecast:

I’ll be in Florida if anyone is looking for me. 

P.S. - Don’t look for me. 

 

 

I really, really hate to shop for clothes.  I’m about to embark on a journey to the men’s department, I need to buy a sport jacket for a business trip.  I have a suit…you’ve seen it, but it doesn’t travel well and the event is in Florida.  The event is business casual, but there will be a semi-formal dinner which will require a jacket. 

 I typically wear black or khaki slacks, so I’m leaning toward a navy-blue or gray sport jacket.  I’ve spent the last hour or so trying to get on-line color coordination advice from internet strangers.  I’m pretty much back to where I started, I’ll have to ask the clerk for advice on colors.  Teh internets have failed me this time.  I’m off into meat world to throw myself on the tender mercies of menswear salesmen on commission.   

**UPDATE**

Mission accomplished.  Went to 4 different stores and was studiously ignored by all clothing sales-persons.  I guess there is some sort of Abe Lincoln/George Washington Day sale going on.  I found what I needed off the rack and got the hell out.