It took a moment to figure out what these rolls were. It looked like, well, never mind what it looked like. It is sausage tubes. You put these on the business end of your sausage-stuffing machine and go to town. Looks to me like a good three hour supply there.
They’ve screwed up Daylight Saving. Not one of my clocks, all of which have the standard reset option, shows the correct time. Same thing at the shop. Myself, I could care less what time it is. The word is that there have been some changes but only television people seem to know what it was. Now remember, I have never met a smart person who watches television. Whoever made the changes is stupid because they spread the word using the stupid media. So there. Despite amazing fatigue, I crawled into work today. My elbows and knees are made of jelly, I’m seasick, and when queasiness abates, I get so famished I could eat at McDonald’s. How was your day? I made it through my shift and got home just in time to flop down with Millie and Pudding-Tat. Who get along like cats and dogs. Actually, they mind each other’s space so that was a really bad joke. Wallace opened the screen door because it was raining cats and dogs. What?
If not for the downpour, it would have been barbeque time. Instead, it was another Roy Rogers movie. They are fun but the novelty is wearing off. It gets harder each time to remember if we’ve seen this one before. Wallace has a twenty-pack on DVD and we’ve gone through close to half. The scary part is that I think I’ve chosen the interesting ones, at least according to the jacket.
NOON
Let me tell you about the neighbors. I went back to pick up my drying and they were sitting in the laundry room. My clothes were wet. Oh, they said, the dryer isn’t working. I asked them how long they’d known that. Oh, they said, about a week. I asked why it was still plugged in. Oh, they didn’t know about that. I asked them why they had not put an “Out of Service” sign. Oh, they didn’t know about that. When I came back five minutes later and put up the sign, they stomped out like I had insulted them. Since it is purely coincidence, I won’t mention they are Cubans on welfare.
Another first is recorded today, when Wallace actually made chicken soup. Sure, the ingredients were all boiled and ready, but that isn’t the point. He has never done it before and that is a milestone. Chicken soup is one of my staples. This week I admit to being unable to keep up with the chores and the result was Wallace’s foray into cooking. The question remains, can he learn to make rice?
You know where I learned the culinary arts? In a microwave. Like any bachelor, I knew how to fix something fast. That’s not the same as making a full-course balanced meal, which I do all the time now. You see, I still choose my girlfriends primarily on the basis of good looks. I admit it. That also means if I want home cooking, I’ll not get much help. And in this part of the world it also means I don’t get many good-looking women, either, at least the way women look nowadays isn’t my fault.
NIGHT
I’ve met another non-singing guitarist. The fact is, the music situation down here is pretty dismal and I may be just as lucky to find a newcomer as a professional. Logic says this place should be chock-full of musicians ready to join up. Reality is that I keep meeting others who, along narrow lines, are good musicians but are so far off track it is appalling how little they grasp of what is required. I’ll give this new guy a fair chance but that doesn’t mean much. Let me spell it out.
Folks, if you don’t have a hit record before you are 28, please don’t waste my time. If your focus is to be the last of the clone guitarists, run along. If you haven’t had a performing band last more than two months in the last ten years, go bother somebody else. Florida seems to breed the type, who despite their total lack of success in both music and life, actually believe they’re bound for glory. Some of them think it is a contest, with the best musician becoming the star of the band. Yeah, overplay on my stage and you’ll soon be joining the audience.
Nor did I go up to see the Whiskey River band as planned last month. In the end, they are too far away for a commute. They give the impression of being a four or five piece group, which I find a mite unwieldy. Another time, I’m sure. Meanwhile, my ad for a vocalist is drawing inquiries from others at least as frustrated as myself in finding quality performers. Some of them are reporting experiences that are practical duplicates of what I once wrote about. What are the bets they ran into the same muh-muh-morons I ran into three years back? “I didn’t learn what’s on your list because you haven’t heard me play Mustang Sally”.
That standard guitarist who responds to Craigslist seems to be a sawed-off no-mind. What’s worse and more, every last one of them slammed my door on the way out. They don't like being told to take off.
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