It was a quiet day of writing, long-hand. I got out to Panera early and penned 15 pages of notes. Had to, once I got inside it rained for five hours. Soaks my bicycle seat and all. I’m reminded why I don’t much like the working class, in fact, what I hate most about taxation is how it forces one to help people who disagree with you. Maybe there is hope, some candidate in Texas called Ron Paul or something like that says if elected, he will fire the whole IRS. It’s enough to get people out to the booths.
You think I’m crusty? Generally the pattern is when my time gets wasted by others because I never waste such a valuable thing on my own. There was one douche in Panera who got miffed because they would not serve him three slices of toast. They told him two or four and that just spoiled his whole day by the looks of it. Why I should ever be held financially responsible for such people is beyond comprehension. Maybe I’ll take another look at this Ron Paul because I heard he had difficulty fielding questions from reporters. I like that, because it proves he is a single-issue candidate. That’s what the country needs, a leader dedicated to one problem at a time. What is to happen to all the welfare people when the money is cut off? After 70 years of welfare, I suppose nobody really cares, but if they do, let them donate their own money.
The Florida room is habitable again after that little trash bag episode with Pudding-Tat. She seemed to love the new aroma, why it must seem just like home, she didn’t find anything wrong with it. Mind you, she is still wary of plastic bags near the door. I worked on my side, digging out old DVDs that were based on my old analog recorders. They are quite okay considering the age of the equipment and lack of good audio gear.
The Hippie asked about some of this material and my system is not organized for that kind of retrieval. Video is very hard to categorize in a meaningful way. I do it by event or by date, not the best way I’m sure. I got the something called the Pirate Festival and an hour of music at Cort’s [Coffeehouse] around Xmas in 2005. Includes some duo work with the Hippie and Brian Khe Sahn, lacking a bass line. Some people don’t understand how little incentive I have to tape anything that has no value to me unless I get paid.
The DVDs are interesting to watch because of the disjointed stage acts. Take away the music and each person is doing their own little stereotype thing. It reminded me of those two kids I saw trying out bass guitars at Guitar Center a couple of weeks back. Didn’t I say? They were quite well-trained, but not talented. Myself, I find it more important to do what sounds refreshing than to model what I play after others. The kids had been trained to do exactly the same thing, it was almost sad to watch. This behavior becomes habit and soon squashes originality.
We all copy to an extent, my objection is when kids are trained to copy beyond the bare minimum needed to move on. Oh yes, I well remember the bass player from Painter who was so influential on me, but I never took lessons to act like him. Both the kids held the bass in the same way, both drooped their wrists at the same angle and both played exactly the same riffs. Myself, although some live acts have attracted my attention, I have never even watched a rock video all the way through, much less analyzed any moves. On the other hand, very few people who hear me play ever “recognize” what I do which I consider a big plus.
Howard called from the Caribbean. I’m beginning to miss traveling. I kind of took a break after heavy travel in the 90’s because I found things weren’t all that different any more, I began to find travel repetitious. The only place I continually returned was Venezuela, because that is where I knew the most people overseas. Here is an old picture of my room in Acacias, Venezuela (a suburb of Caracas just south of Sabana Grande). No TV, no A/C, just my bed and another bed that I used as a desk. It had a bit of a view of the courtyard. The city was growing that direction so I doubt it is still there. It was called the Hotel Alse, which I heard was mentioned in Wheeler’s “Lonely Planet”. It cost around $200 a month in 1990 and had a private bath, something I insist on when available. By the mid-90’s, I had rented an apartment in Chacaito for just $50 more but I never stayed more than a few months each year by then.Ha, that reminds me that my longest “vacation” to date was seven months, and it was in LA in 1991. Cost me $21,000, but that was then and Robyn was there.
