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Yesteryear

Thursday, December 6, 2007

December 6, 2007

           Another landmark bites the dust as Trader John’s finally moves out. Another round goes to the developers who want to turn downtown Hollywood into a clone of Los Olas Blvd. [refers to a yuppie hangout in Ft. Lauderdale that is largely shunned by the locals] with enforced valet parking and chairs blocking the sidewalks.
           It is already too expensive for most inhabitants to go downtown and now there will be one less reason to bother. The premises is long and narrow so watch for either another bar with no stage or a Cuban coffee shop with $3.50 empanadas. [Real empanadas cost around 85 cents.]
           A ton of [telephone] calls [toTexas] reveals that not one person remembers me or the family. That figures. Move ten or twelve years forward, however, and that entire “I know computers” generation all have high-speed Internet and you have all the bratty kid brothers of people my age. They still can’t spell. (Is it progress when a cannibal learns to use a knife and fork?) They are still a bunch of hick hayseeds, which I know to be a fact. So if I go visiting, I’ll likely stay in a motel.
           It seems that Mr. Horn, who shot the two burglars in Texas, is already a folk hero. Donations are pouring in for his defense and he has not even been charged. Apparently people know the Feds will be around. It seems so strange that everything concerning the accused is evidence but the fact they were burglars is a separate issue. Only in America. Now they have some lady reviewing the 911 tapes to see if anything could be construed as intent. Yeah, right.
           The news is also showing the local police, four or five of them, punching and kicking a kid after he was face-down on the ground. It will be Rodney King, the sequel. They really put the boots to the kid where violence was not even called for – it is very clear the kid gave up before they stomped him. If that is the brutality we saw, what happens inside the building? So much for the presumption of innocence.
           During the afternoon I responded to several ads for writers, including an unusual situation in Miami. My epinion reviews, despite top billing and grades (and may I say that over 25% of my 800 visits have been from their senior staff) have earned a mere $2.22. Part of the problem is that I have reviewed all the articles I own that anyone would care to read about.
           This new situation just mentioned apparently has a premises where writers can go and use all manner of brand new products for as long as needed. Then, you write the review and are paid a portion of the advertising revenue. That solves the problem of getting expensive things to test and throw around. I like it already. I invited them to read my epinion articles.
           Marion called from the coast and I am to expect a delivery quite soon, in return for which I am instructed to create a disk of her wedding videos. I was inside Trader John’s when the call arrived. I didn’t get home until after dark. As I rolled my bicycle in the door, I got a call from that singer-guitarist from last week. We are certainly on the same wavelength with our music. We’ll be practicing next week and I do believe unless there is any type of personality clash, we will have something together in no time.
           His experiences with musicians are parallel to mine. He knows exactly how far to trust drummers, keyboardists and lead players. He said exactly the right thing, that the rhythm guitar chops are far more important than stunning lead solos. We have a rehearsal scheduled here for next week. His drummer friend can play with just a snare and high-hat, I like that already. The plan is to throw together the old 12+12. Each one learns the twelve easiest tunes of the other and we play a gig as soon as possible.
           Pudding-Tat is showing no signs of pregnancy, but then I have but small knowledge of such matters. I do know each passing day without any changes is a good thing. How long has it been? All I’m saying is pretty please, no kittens.