While not a gunsmith, I think there were several of those new M4s, I think they are called. It’s the new rifle that is smaller than a submachine gun. To me, it is remarkable as the first gun designed around a bullet, something I always thought was the logical way to build those things. Yet nobody did it until now. It is ambidexterous and pierces Kevlar. The biggest downside is it requires special ammunition. Of course, now somebody will design a tougher vest. I’m informed later these weapons sell for “two to three thousand each.”Jose, my neighbor was over. He really does not understand how to get that MP3 player full of tunes or how to operate a computer to make that possible. I’m going to trade him some lessons for help with my music and equipment. He does not even know a CD from a DVD. He has some of those CDPlus disks I’ve read about but never used.
I was two hours late getting to the Thrift only to find Dickens had not made it in either. The new owner, although well-intentioned, is not somebody I could work with or for, though I’m willing to help out. He plays keyboards, but only church hymns. He also paints but I didn’t tell him without my glasses, I could not even see his paintings up that high on the wall. He is rearranging the layout and putting in new electrical outlets. I took the Dell computer to sell to Capt. Sam.
It was another busy day without profit. That happens every Christmas. Fred brought in some German pound cake, the billion calorie type with marzipan. Little things wasted my day. For example, the wireless card in that gun shop computer had no driver. Not my fault, but it has to be installed or I don’t get paid. The Cocaine Cowboy called, but I’m not going over there any more unless he is physically there waiting for me—that is twice I’ve gone there on schedule and nobody was at home.
Also, Dr. Neil needs another setup thanks to a series of brand new but faulty Dell motherboards. Strange behavior usually means the board and Fred wrestled with it for two days. With time, I am getting less happy with Dell. We may be seeing an increase in traffic due to CompUSA declaring bankruptcy last Friday. It is surprising how little of that made it into the news. All those service contracts which may not be honored and hardly a peep.
Over at Jimbo’s, I measured for a stage area (there is no actual stage). It will have to be along the east wall. Any other setup means rearranging the furniture. I think Rocker Reed (the drummer) is underestimating how much room he’ll need. We are probably looking at a maximum of four people performing at a time. If everybody shows as planned, the room will be one-quarter full of musicians, which I always rate as a successful jam.
For all the talk about other clubs in this town, Jimbo’s has one of the larger regular crowds, averaging nine patrons. Club M used to have maybe six. Even Capt. J’s has just eight except at happy hour and Boston Johnny’s can be vacant for long stretches. It can be amusing to hear people compare the various clubs downtown, because you have sincerely never seen such a bunch of impersonal and identical clone bars as in Hollywood, Florida.
There is always one. Some klutz posted a berating paragraph about Jimbo’s on the musicians list, directly aimed at my advertising. If the spelling wasn’t perfect, I’d suspect the Runt. I think I’ll turn it around by agreeing with him in the wrong way, a scheme that always works in Florida. For example, he called the place “dark and damp”, and I will point out that is “likely why jam sessions attract musicians instead of unemployed interior decorators”. The locals seem to have no natural defenses against such tactics.
Pudding-Tat is paying her way. There is something continually attracting her attention under the kitchen sink. Nothing escapes her patrols so I’ve set up one of the security cameras to watch the action. After a couple of terrifying experiences in California (mild earthquakes), I note all suspicious movements. My kitchen cupboards can be seen wavering ever so gently. You would not notice it if you did not know what to look for. No, it is not the wind because Pudding-Tat would ignore that. I may rig up a plumb bob tomorrow.
