Here is one of those strange little tales that would restore your faith in mankind if it happened all the time. I got my flash drive back. A stranger thought he saw me drop something as I got on my bicycle at the post office downtown. Around ten minutes later he walked out and sure enough, there was my flash drive on the ground. Except, he did not know me. However, he remembered my bicycle was once parked outside the Friendly Inn. Figuring it was a computer part and might be important, the stranger turned the flash drive in to the French waitress, Lorraine. She recalled the time that had I biked over there last May to meet up with Wallace, so she kept an eye out. Around 7:30 tonight, I’m riding past on my way to Aventura Mall and I hear, “Yoo-hoo, yoo-hoo!”
Jimbo’s has been in touch. They want to try a Saturday afternoon jam before New Year’s. Over the centuries quite a number of people have played there and there seems to be a good response. I’ll plaster the airwaves with ads and email whoever I think might be willing to show up. This got me thinking. I’m the only bass player I know. Did they ask me for that reason, or because I’m the one with the PA system. Ha!
Dickens called to say the new owners have taken over. I’ve got to zip up there to get that computer. He says they are cool people and maybe I can pick up a day or two working there. My instinct says such things never work out.
Jose, the neighbor came over. He bought his wife a super little MP3 player but doesn’t have a clue how to operate it. One thing led to another and I wound up completely revamping his computer. I wound up installing Belarc, Limewire, Java, Symantec, Spybot and getting rid of half the junk he never used. His ISP is some outfit called SupraTelecom that is not bad for dialup. Jose is intending to download music off the Internet. Between him and SupraTelecom, they’ll manage one song every 8 hours at best.
Gripe time. You know what gets on my nerves? Those ads for medicine that go on to list the possible side effects. You know the ones I mean. They are downright disgusting. They are all over magazines and TV. There must be some law or liability issues that cause them to go into such stomach-turning detail. I don’t like hearing that “some patients may experience diarrhea or vaginal cysts” while I’m having my evening coffee.
What is it with you people anyway? Why are you consulting Reader’s Digest and infomercials for medical advice? The movie channel just does not seem the right place to be listing your symptoms. Death. How is that for a side-effect? Why don’t they ever mention death? Would that keep you happy?
