February 11, 2012

           Here’s this afternoon first. I attended the kid’s nuttinbuttasandwich show over at Dekka, the only non-parent in the audience. The admission was ten bucks, so I am again a major patron of the Arts. Hey, that’s ten more than most people in this town cough up in a year. The actor in the green outfit is the husband of the lady who makes excellent coffee. I had a cup and borrowed a James Rolland thriller “Map of Bones” from their shelves. I had to see the auditorium and hear the audio, didn't I?
           In this instance, the PA system was not set, there was no sound check and it was too loud for the space. I’d almost say it could have been an acoustic show. Unexpectedly, the floor and stage are hollow and footsteps make a booming sound. Billed for capacity 85, that would be standing room only. Including mingle room, the comfortable attendance would be half that.
           This AM I spent the longest stretch on Facebook of my life, a good solid eleven minutes. There were some great pictures, so I took my time. I’m still one of the majority of people who don’t really get that site. It seems to be a hodgepodge of people’s random brain burps. Or does that mean I actually do understand it? These, and other equally important items to follow.
           Let’s talk music. Feeling frisky this morning, I rewrote the bass lines to “I Got Stripes”, “Love Me Tonight” and “That’s What I Like About You.” When I say rewrote, I never do the amateurish Zydeco thing, rather I punch the bass line up to what people expect to hear. Long ago I notice all bassists who switched from guitar leave out notes at certain points and passages. It seems to be a result of ingrained lesson patterns.
           When I learned to play those fills, possible if one can unlearn guitar fingering, you quickly grab the sharper people in the audience. Think of it as intentionally making the crowd assume you’ve backed yourself into a musical corner and then bombshell them. The result is those sparkling moments when the listener really does hear the piano or horn part—then realizes it was played on the bass. You gotta love it.
           Next I devoted two hours to my specialty. It was never good enough to play well; I also spotlight my work. Um, like guitarists like to imagine they can, but they don't have my subtle, imitable, humble manner, do they now? It contributes to the “howdy-do-that” effect [because I appear to not be paying attendion, another whammy]. My bag of tricks includes phantom notes (placing my hand in a position off the end of the neck where the note would be if the neck was that long), doubling or half-timing mediants (dominant parallels) to insert a short swing beat behind feeble lyrics and playing fifth fret/open couplets (not octaves, I’m actually playing the same note on both strings). Listen to my cover of “Spiders & Snakes” for this tonal effect.
           Yes, I took music theory. When I was eleven years old. Another tactic I employ is to begin a bass run five or six measures in advance, rather than the customary half-measure. This requires real thinking, one of the few things I can manage on my own. Not, not the old rock-blues walk-ups, but intricate melodic groupings. In fact, I’ve lately been employing a few twelve-measure patterns that land on “impossible” spots because now I know I’ll never throw the singer off beat, right? If that’s unclear, think of it as beginning a pattern so far in advance that not many see it coming.
           But, I sometimes seriously wonder why I even try to do anything except music on a Friday night. That’s my own private vicious circle. There I was in Barnes & Noble on ugly ladies night, unable to find any book on any topic that interests me that I have not read. It’s my own doing but I have not had a fun Friday night since I cancelled my own house gig. Here I am, alone at home. Me. Let me recap the situation.
           It goes something like this. I first played in a band the month before my 14th birthday. Since that time, I never spent a quiet Friday at home until I was 37, at which point I stayed in to see what it was like. Boring. It’s like the whole world is having a sex party except you. But I also recognized without getting on stage, I had no provision to break that boredom. It was music or nothing.
           So the circle goes like this. Without a band, I don’t go out on Friday because I don’t have anywhere to go and I don’t know anybody else who doesn’t play in a band, so I also don’t have the extra cash to go to a non-band place and chase women, because I’m broke because I’m not playing. So I have no girlfriend either, and unless I go out to places expensive enough to filter out the riff-raff, you don’t meet anybody. The only thing I can afford to do is the one thing I have no experience at—going to a bar to pick up chicks. I would not even know where such a bar exists. I’m sinking fast.
           To make matters worse, I have not met a decent woman in over eight years. A decent gal would never bore me, and the last few batches have all managed to bore me within a matter of weeks. Boredom is number one relationship-killer for me. I haven’t even met one that could sing or dance. Florida women don’t read, write, bicycle, act, travel, or walk on the beach (though they heap like to claim that last one). I’ve practiced all my music today twice. Soon.

February 10, 2012

           Here is the pool edge and back patio at Alaine’s. There is an overhead trellis I am given to understand is way classier than a gazebo, arbor, or porch. Through the open door you can see the HDTV and part of Super Bowl halftime. All the stonework shown was designed by Corey. You are not the only one to notice the absence of boy kids in the third generation. JP should get married and take care of all that.
           It was spitting all day long, so I made coffee and got into some deep thinking. May is near and that’s the start of the season they don’t talk about in Florida. That summer heat has never been better described than “brutal”. I’ve adapted to it, but never learned to like it. If it stays that hot all day, I’d rather be in Venezuela. Anyway, here is what I’ve come up with to avoid spending any of my remaining summers in Florida. Remember, this is only one example of what I’m considering.
           A summer Arts course at some crappy but state-funded university in the mountains, say. As a mature student, I qualify for subsidized housing, and have you seen the luxury digs on campus these days? I need only attend lectures four hours per week, the remainder of the time it’s scooter city, playing guitar, and dating teenage women again. Yes, I always get high enough marks to become a tutorial assistant in the privacy of my dorm room.
           Sad news. Roger, who I knew because he rode his bike to Karaoke, has become another victim of the Florida rail system. At the Hollywood station, once you are inside the traffic barriers, there is nothing to stop you from cutting across the other set of tracks, even at the crosswalk. I know it is rare for both trains to be at the depot at once, but damn it, people, you have to check.
           Another motorcyclist was killed in Ft. Lauderdale when, once more, a lady talking on a cell phone made a left turn directly in his path. I mention this because the Florida media has another disgusting habit whenever this happens. They report that the driver of the car is “okay”. As if anyone gives a bloody you-know-what about a driver who just creamed a cyclist.
           But Florida reporters are thick in the head and sick in the head on this point. If I was in power, hitting a cyclist under such circumstances would be a mandatory twenty years in prison, and I felt that way long before I became a rider. Because there is no fine or other sentence, in the State of Florida it is therefore 100% legal (but mildly inconvenient) for most drivers to kill a pedestrian. You do, however, have to go to court and pretend you are most remorseful, yep, um-hum, indeedy.
           Back to summer courses. I still have a tendency to live off campus where rules and morality are lax. So I looked at several a “student communities” in the Carolinas. These are complexes to where the university operates a shuttle bus. There’s always some group with an extra room who aren’t too age fussy, though that has never been a problem for me. I’d like a pool, parking, private room, and ten miles out of the nearest city. See below what I found for $344 per month.
           Rent includes hot tub, tennis court, tanning room, and Internet. Could I live in this room for three months? (Gee, if it was in Florida, I’d call that an ensuite. Patsie, if you are looking for sympathy, it’s in the dictionary between shit and syphilis.) It would not be the first time I just walked into lectures and attended for free. I’d probably have 30 degrees if I had credit for all the courses I’ve attended. This room is available June 15 until the fall semester, so that would be around September 15. I find this plan extra attractive compared to how I went through university.
           I’ll tell you about that briefly. The first year I lived in an unheated shack during a forty below winter. That’s the year I turned 18, when my parents informed me they had no intention of sending me the money they promised for school. I lived under an electric blanket, and a band practiced in the front room. Outdoor plumbing. My third year, when I realized student loans were a lost cause, I lived in an attic firetrap. No car, wearing ten year old clothes, taking eight courses per term to get it over with while other students parked their Corvettes and strolled to their single humanities lecture after morning tea.
           I’m only planning, so don’t say I said I was going to do it. Later, the weather cleared up, so I’m going to the Barn to read until dark. International relations. Yeah, that sounds like something I’d suddenly like to study.

February 9, 2012

           Very good, all you people who didn’t vote for Ron Paul. Pony up. Here’s the tax you'll pay for being obstinate. Your “stimulus package” was fueled by printed dollars with no value. And here is how you will be paying for it. This is just the beginning and I know the least intelligent will think they can avoid the prices by buying something else. But once anything, including bread, breaks that $5 barrier, away she goes and nobody knows. Soon.
           The Frenchies are back. I share a laundry room with the Frenchies, and one thing that always amazes me is how they can be so inconsiderate. The machines are electronic, and you can see how much time is left on a washer. Yet, they will come in, see five minutes left on my cycle, and load up all four dryers. They won’t leave you one free. So I have to come back a third time to finish my single tubful. I don’t speak French, but I can stare up at the ceiling with that universal “How do they know?” look pretty damn well. Even frogs understand that look.
           Also, the lady next door is a light sleeper and complains when I’m up listening to music on the radio before 5:00 AM. This is often my most productive time. What I can’t figure out is why such people live in a city, but I’d rather have that than neighbors with a barking dog. Besides, they go back to Quebec in a month. Oh, before I forget, the $19 dog bark beeper from Radio Shack is one of their few products worth the price and it definitely works very well. And for that price, why build one myself? The robot club no longer has barking dog problems.
           By late evening, after an extended coffee at Dekka, I went to the Karaoke show. Eddie was present and we got to complaining how the same people always sang the same tunes. As a mild challenge (my idea, but we’ll let Eddie again take the credit), we agreed to enter pairs of new songs that neither of us had ever done before (in Karaoke). We probably changed the character of the show. I did around seven new tunes, Eddie with his 20 years experience, did twice that. What a dynamite evening!
           Nobody knew, but I once more sang the very songs Trent and I have been working on. That’s the second consecutive instance where these arrangements have brought down the house. Eddie’s show was the usual great, but in no way matches my audience participation. His act never involves the crowd where mine is totally immersed in it. I have every intention of capitalizing on this distinction.
           Thanks to an unexpected series of phone calls, I experienced a night of restless dreams, so you budding psycho types can interpret this. It ain't pretty. I was back in the granary, a defenseless kid listening to my mother go on about six mouths to feed. She, you know, said this when there were, you know, two mouths, and three, then four, and so on. You probably think I'm joking when I tell you I had to beg my own family to leave me alone every day. If I needed to think, I had to go stand outside at forty below behind the wood pile. This limited thinking to bouts of five minutes, but that still outdistances the rest of my family combined.
           Please remember, we were not poor people and my parents had very high paying jobs. My parents forced me to have nothing for it was well known if left alone I would and could make the rest of them look lazy. They were. I was not malicious, I was simply doing things like playing the piano, or saxophone, or getting high marks. I was trying to make the best of a bad situation for I knew once I got out of there I would never have a chance to do such things again.
           I was certainly right about that. So analyze away. Better yet, analyze my mother who laid the guilt trip on me. Like, to make it up to her, I should quit school in grade nine and go become a farm laborer. You think I’m kidding, don’t you? Some analyst!

February 8, 2012

           Here is a hot-swappable external SATA drive USB converter. At $56 they aren’t cheap. For any newbies, what it does is take an ordinary hard drive and convert it to a USB. With all my recent computer troubles, it really takes time to continually be connecting up hard drives internally, where you have to be concerned with such things as slot types and suitcase straps. Hot swappable means I can change out from one hard drive to another while the computer is still on. Should have done this years ago, but until recently, money has been a problem.
           You don't get the answer to y'day's simple arithmetic problem until last. Time to ponder that Iran has become the latest nation to launch a satellite into orbit. No doubt every one of the scientists and engineers involved was educated at an American school. This development explains my interest in the cost of these missiles. A V-1 with a modern GPS guidance system would still be a deadly weapon.
           I stopped at the club on the way home to find a note left for me by a guitarist wanting to start a three piece rock-blues group. I called, it's legit, but I'm cautious. Where would such a band play around here? The local music "scene" moved north twenty years ago. I asked him to call me when they are next playing, his response confirms my statement that there are no new bands in this town. Only endless re-combinations of the same old players.
           Trivia. The largest database in the world is not credit information, but fingerprint identification. Approximately 10,000 Americans daily have their fingerprints added to "repositories", most without their knowledge or consent, or they believe they are only applying for a job. The first use of fingerprints to snare a criminal was in 1911 when fingerprints were allowed as evidence. That's just one of the reasons I dislike databases. I doubt anyone would consent to having their personal information in such a file if they understood the potential for abuse. The only two two types who have nothing to hide are losers and deadbeats. Again, I do not object to the data, but to the abuse of data (defined as any usage other than that for which it was originally given).
           I had a MacDonald's coffee, that's twice in this century. It wasn't bad, but they've widely announced their intention to undersell Starbucks. That part I'm glad about. Starbucks ruined America's coffee shop industry. It takes more than half your twenty minute break to get through their glacial lineups. And, my original complaint remains that they killed the concept of the free refill. Screw them.
           Off to Singapore was a letter concerning questions from the recent club discussions. And a description of the Braille gadget I've designed. That's on paper only, I do not have the mechanical skills to build the thing. What I can't find is any place in town that sells Braille books. Lots of libraries, but I need something here at home where I do my power thinking. And I may have to destroy some of the pages during the learning process. Not a single listing in Craigslist. That's good, lack of responses on the Internet means you have actually had an original thought.
           I was researching other Braille devices, which amount to a stylus and pen punchboard, printers that "emboss", and talking wristwatches. There are even automotive Braille battery terminals, which is kind of a scary thought. My searches say the Braille books are "very expensive" and most blind readers complain about the lack of selection. I know I once saw a free Braille Bible, but where was that?
           Now my invention would allow a blind person to use the Internet to a certain degree. It could obviate the need to have a speaker or headphones. There are other electromechanical devices on the market, such as the Bristol, but they are bulky and cost a fortune. Shown here is their $300 computer keyboard. You can see the row of "plungers" that still require the user to go through contortions. Why do people who build these things make themselves so impossible to find on the Internet?

           Okay, here is the logic and calculations on the production cost of a V-1 missile.
Let x = the cost of a V-2.
Therefore: .04x = the cost of a V-1.
Therefore: 6,048(x) + 30,046(.04x) = $3,000,000,000
Therefore: 7,249.84x = $3,000,000,000
Therefore: x = $413,802.23 and it follows a V-1 cost $16,552.09 in 1943 dollars.
Inflation factor 1943 to 2012: 12.47
In 2012 dollars, a V-2 cost $5,160,113.81
Thus a V-1 would cost $206,404.56 today. Still a bargain.
QED

February 7, 2012

           (Following is an example of a double-blog. Where somehow I write two blogs in one day. I included both so you can follow the order of events.)
           This is the custom made barbeque. Note the lighted gas dials. Until Super Bowl, the last time I saw this was as an aluminum frame in the front garage. I regret being refused permission to take any type of shop classes in high school. There’s one for you. Where other kids needed permission to take matric courses, I was barred from taking shop. My marks were so high it was assumed my parents would put me through university, so I learned no skills that could have paid my own way through. It’s so sad I didn’t know that at the time.
           The scooter has developed a rattle. It’s just as well it begins to show signs of age all at once, since a replacement is now very likely before summer. No panic, it’s a light sound, like some cover or flange the mechanic forgot to tighten down when replacing the clutch. I’m not worried. In fact, my biggest concern at the moment is I’m getting low on coffee. I bought 8 pounds of the good stuff back when it was on sale.
           With music practice, I go through coffee and tea. After these parties, I often get a care package to take home. Double great, because it is stuff I rarely prepare, like salsa and expensive fruit. I never could figure out why grapes cost more per pound than steak. The fact is, since the last party I haven’t eaten anything all that fancy. Plus, there are some things I’ve learned to like from a can, like pasta sauce, creamed corn, that sort of thing. Gals, at least I know how to open the can and heat it up. Line forms to the left.
           I sat through a ten minute demo of the Boss DR-202 drum machine. It’s junk like this that makes modern music sound so monotonous. Like every other drum box on the market, the built in beats are 90% pure crap nobody uses. Only the totally anal build a drum machine that you need to be a drummer to operate. I was disgusted by what they call “bass patterns”. It’s another design suitable for shoe-commercial guitarists who think if 4 bass notes are good, 16 must be even better. It is a crying pity there are no more Patsy Cline's or Johnny Cash’s left in the music world.
           Attempted theft right outside my front door. The scooter developed a rattle which sounded like a bracket the mechanic forgot to tighten or similar problem the day after the clutch was replaced. Upon examination, four mounting bolts had been removed. Somebody tried to steal my muffler, but quit when they realized they had to remove the rear tire. This, right under our security cameras in a safe neighborhood. The only better parking option is inside a garage, but that is unheard of in this part of town. Must be crackheads to be so brazen. That's me pointing to the shiny temporary bolt.
           This is now the fourth computer since last March. I've been jinxed and the constant replacement of the hard drives has made accurate backups a real task. Therefore, I am considering a switchover to external hard drives. That will make daily work more of a task as MicroSoft has never made it easy to use multiple drives. It's the kind of jerk thing that is helping them become last centuries news.
           Speaking of idiots with high paying jobs, how about Fox News? Recall the Westboro Church issue? That's the group that protests at the funerals of soldiers. That church believes the bodies coming home are God's way of punishing those who do not obey His word and that we should not be glorifying those who die fighting wars. I'm an isolationist, pacifist, and libertarian and as such, I recognize the Westboro position as merely another point of view.
           Until I saw Fox News attack the Westboro spokeswoman (Shirley Roper). I believe the Fox people were Hannity & Colmes. What a couple of total ass-clown big mouths, not an ounce of decency or professionalism between them. Aren't reporters supposed to suppress their own petty views for the sake of journalistic accuracy? Those two did nothing but rant, hurl insults, and make complete fools of themselves. Like cranky little brats, they tried to shout Roper down and ridiculed her person. I never had any respect for Fox and now I truly dislike them.
           I might add that I am also a constitutionalist in a very defined sense of a word that is often used wrongly. I believe the American Constitution exists to limit, not to extend, the powers of government. I believe the Constitution prohibits income tax, foreign wars, and plea bargaining. I believe the Constitution guarantees personal freedeom and privacy over and against all forms of governmental authority. Governmental power is based on disobeying the law, not enforcing it.
           Here's a nice tale to make somebody's day. You know how fast food joints ignore you after they hand you your order? Have you ever tried to get their attention when you notice they forgot your ketchup. Now, you can't yell or they act like you are being rude while you food is getting cold.
           Today, a spigot fell off the soda dispenser. The diet cola was streaming down the aisle for almost two minutes. The staff blindsided around five customers who were trying to alert them. By the time one of them decided to look, it was a real mess. I hope, truly, that there is a message in there somewhere. I know the staff are overworked and underpaid. But that is never the customer's fault.
           Another successful rehearsal. The extra practice works wonders and not necessarily because of the music. For material, it is worth remembering I am a proponent of duo arrangements, not an expert. I'm still learning, and one unexpected development is how some tunes I played solo are not adaptable to duo work. I know, it is the opposite of logic, but I've seen it happen.
           Today's trivia is back to WWII. The V-1 was a cruise missile and today you get to guess how many the Germans (not the Nazis, the Germans) launched against England each day on average. I've discovered most people think it was three or four. Nope, the daily tally was 53. Around a third were shot down, and another third never reached London. What I'd like to find out is what it cost to build one of those things.
           [Author's note: I've always found it pointless how military writers will publish a weapon's height, weight, range and top speed but not its price. From the following data, I will, by tomorrow, calculate the cost of a V-1.
           * Total cost of V-1 and V-2 program: $3 billion 1943 dollars
           * V-1 cost compared to V-2: 4%
           * V-1 total construction: 30,046
           * V-2 total construction: 6,048

           Now based on only that information, let's see who can come up with the cost of a V-1 in 2012 dollars the fastest. Ready, set, go.

February 6, 2012

           Apres Super Bowl, I drove home 29 miles in the blinding rain, but that’s part of the scooter lore. Here is a composite photo of the new backyard pool moments before the kids filled it up. Cory designs these things from plans he gets on the Internet. I know he must have far more experience than can be explained away that easily. The pool was contracted out, but he’s built some pretty amazing things lately.
           More about the party later today. I’m soaked and have gone nearly 24 hours without playing music. Waylon’s “Only Daddy” has become a study in ear-training, it is going to be a true challenge of my words. Can I give it “the treatment” and still come up with something a duo can play without plowing? Huh? Oh, plowing. It means when the whole band churns out a song with generic riffs that omit the real character of the piece. If you don’t know how bad that sounds, listen to any two or more guitarists play the Eagles.
           “Only Daddy” is impossible, in the sense those left and right stereo parts are different. So I revert to my trusted Beethoven/Cash theory that people respond better to three simple things happening at once than they do to complicated precision. Two is sparse, four is occasionally nice, but three is a charm. That another reason I avoid lead players--they can’t keep it both simple and interweaving. Most who can play lead don’t know when to quit playing it.
           Back to the party. It was also great to see the family again in one place. I’m heading back in around ten days, watch for more signs of everything back to normal. JP and I are on track about future plans, the game was incidental and neither of us are Madonna fans. Again, like all women of a certain age, she should step down and let something fresh take over. She’s always set such a bad example, and no, I would not even if she offered it 30 years ago.
           Here’s one of those watermelons carved like a basket. It’s one of those things that, until to day, I only saw in magazines. Now JP will soon have free time again and that makes it possible to get out of town like we used to. Provided we put new tires on his truck, dang it, JP. Want us to be changing tires on the causeway again? First target it is the Keys, since it is accessible and we have a free place to crash. This time, I bring the guitar and we hit the town until it is mission accomplished.
           The rain kept up most of the day. So I stayed right here. I’ve got a standing invite to stay over after any party, so I took it up this time. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who got used to me reading until I fall asleep, but that’s how it has been for nearly half my life. Worse, I tend to read highly technical academic material, so no good asking me what it’s about. I wonder what’s to happen to that huge library upstairs at the old place?
           Today’s trivia is that I found, at last, a plausible explanation why Flagler would do something like build a railway to Key West. It was, at the time, the closest railway to the Panama Canal. As usual, the in depth articles I need to confirm this are not available on the Internet (or do not search, same thing), but I believe Key West still is the closest coastal railhead, although the most southerly is probably Mexico City. Other countries between there and Panama have only small gauge lines.
           This is barbequed chicken on a stick. Cory spent all day Saturday preparing food, and most of this was hot off the grill as the guests arrived. I tried, but it was no good trying to fool anyone by wearing my barbeque-sauce colored dress shirt. He’s the super-host of Miami and I think if you read back far enough, you’ll see my pix of his completely remodeled kitchen. I mean completely, they took out an entire wall of the house. Now, about this chicken. How did I wind up with the one shaped like this?

February 5, 2012

           This is what a kitchen table should look like after a successful Sunday morning music practice. If some shavehead tells you different, he/she ain’t doin’ things right. It was a successful practice, too. Was it the threat of holding three a week that made all the socks get pulled up? Don’t know, but it sure made a difference. Another reason this duo will not be easily copycatted is their lack of this grade of management.
           Note the telltale signs of affluence in the photo compared to a year ago. Biscotti and ladyfingers, both. Wooden, not plastic, stir sticks, class or what? Half and half, not Carnation. Go away mad, but don’t go away without coffee and cookies. This practice is rated as one of the best yet and we are getting ever so close to stage work.
           For those who just arrived, Trent was not a band guitarist when we met five weeks ago. He plays guitar like I do. No fancy chords, no sharps or flats, no pickin’, and roughly the same strum in each song. The upside is that I have an easy time selling this brand of guitar playing. It suits what I do on the bass to a tee. If it’s shaky or a little off time, that just becomes another part of the package. We are not out to be prodigies.
           I’d put the duo about half ready at an amateur level. If timing remains rough, management (that’s me) brings in a drum machine. Intros are slowed down and played at half speed until aced. We use syncopation more than expected and tend to apply this to almost all weaker musical passages. I have to smile because Trent often has to really struggle not to play what I do, that is, to keep a steady strum going behind the bass lines.
           [Author’s note: if there exists any instructions on how to do all these things I talk about, I’d like to have it. Nearly 100% of anything novel I do on stage has been unlearned from doing things the wrong way. If you know all the little things I talk about, don’t criticize me, call me and tell me where you got them from. I’d really like to know. For example, no lessons ever taught me it was better to play what the audience expects to hear over doing the music note for note. I say it is better to practice an error to perfection than to memorize the studio versions.]
           Next we move it over to the Super Bowl party. The important word is party, not only am I not a sports fan, I am not fond of television period. A good time was had by all, but I was there for the party, the people, and to catch up on things. JP is not getting surgery; that was somebody’s odd choice of words. He is going to the dentist to fix that tooth he’s been nursing for four years. Here’s JP making an emphatic point about something.
           What an excellent party it was. Cory and Alaine again went all out for thirty-nine people. Baked grouper with spiced pistachio, shish-kebab, beef, ham, five brands of salsa, I simply cannot describe everything on that fifteen-course buffet. But I can state Cory, the master chef, has done it again. Nobody said anything, but I know very well what a thousand dollars worth of food looks like.
           In related news, I saw the new barbeque that Cory hand-built, plus the aquarium he is constructing in the garage. The new pool is finished in the backyard, the high-def TV is truly amazing (I want one), and JP and I consigned ourselves to the fact no single women showed up at all this year. No wonder they are still single, know what I’m sayin’? Unmarried women are supposed to know that non-sports guys like us show up at parties, football or not.