December 31, 2009

           See the wonderful Jimbos buffet, more about that in a moment. First a surprise (for me). A movie has scooped my title. Planet 104, or was it 107. I didn’t catch the whole story, but there is a coincidental movie with almost my exact choice of title. How close is it in plot? I would consider it nothing more than another case of parallelism. And that event, simultaneous discovery or invention, can be pretty amazing. The point is, I described the title here months before I heard of their title, on the other hand, movies take much longer than that to create, so I recognize they were first.
           But I’ll bet their choice of planet inhabitants will depart from mine. For instance, I doubt they would understand a planet of soccer moms who can’t drive, another of stupid jocks who patronize strip clubs, or a planet where only genetically natural blonde people are allowed. These are not consequential categories to most movie-goers, and the categories probably insult people stupid enough to think they aren’t categorizable.

           Taking the year-end results as my starting point, I’ll have fewer resolutions than tough decisions next year. I have decisively shown I have nothing to fear from retirement (and that most others do but don’t know it). One item that glares out is my “yob”, where small problems, for lack of big ones, are beginning to show. Mainly, despite a very clear initial understanding, the owner still wants an apprentice, not a helper. He wants someone to learn the trade and take over the business. That person is not me.
           However, if that situation still exists after six months, it is not going to change. I had better start looking around just in case. My needs are undemanding, I am not looking for a real job, but rather something that pays for what I already do. Hey, I don’t watch much TV so that is not as restrictive as it sounds. Besides the pundits are announcing the recession is over, especially the pundits who have jobs announcing things.

           New Year’s Eve. I stopped at Jimbos after work, then was home sound asleep by 9-ish, like a good kid. The club had a great buffet and larger than usual turnout, which I notice always happens at the psychological end of each decade. As a musician, I don’t have the same perspective on New Year’s Eve unless I am working, so I didn’t miss anything except having a gig. However, I am very disappointed. I’ve missed eight of the last ten years (not always my fault, mind you) and I particularly promised myself I’d have one today. Dare I state next year will be different?

           I already have a callout, I need the money even if it means giving up New Year’s Day. It’s my buddy, Lance, who has the franchise for those rubber paving bricks, and who tips me those imported bottles of wine. During all those years I was a volunteer at the wine festival, I discovered that taste must be acquired, it cannot be learned. I met too many phonies who took a “wine appreciation” course to pretend they were classy. That’s why I don’t consider anyone a wine taster unless their parents and grandparents were likewise.
           He will get me some samples for the shop. I am curious about whether they don’t rattle like concrete paving bricks (when you drive over them). Plus I think the Ft. Lauderdale airport should be using them. Makes for a softer landing. I’m only kidding, runway paving is an advanced study in itself; one of the richest men I knew made his money patching them.

           How about some trivia? Yeah, the crowd yells. Okay, did you know that John Lennon, my hero, was legally blind without his glasses? The first domain name ever registered was “symbolics.com”. And for those who like numbers in their trivia, here is the exact wording of Roosevelt confiscating private property (in case you think the government would never do such a thing):

           “All persons are hereby required to deliver on or before May 1, 1933, to a Federal Reserve Bank or a branch or agency thereof or to any member bank of the Federal Reserve System all gold coin, gold bullion and gold certificates now owned by them.”

           I believe it was Voltaire who said when you make 10,000 regulations you destroy respect for the law. Only one person in five who had gold obeyed this stupid law. However, the government got the value anyway by removing the gold backing of paper money, then set at $35 per ounce. By 1972 the government went off the gold standard entirely, and the dollar has sunk to a value of around ten cents since then. Those who were around in 1972 will testify everything today “costs” ten times as much. How about that?


           [Author's note 2015-12-31: the government did not confiscate the gold. It paid the redeemers the value of the gold in cash, that is, in paper money. They government knew the value of that paper was about to collapse. So, all you conspiracy theorists who say the government confiscated the gold are wrong. What a horrible thing to say about politicians. Heck no, they merely stole it.]

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December 30, 2009

           That’s the hand that rocked the hammer. I am replacing part of the sole of some expensive Italian shoes. The threading has to be pounded flat for comfort, that’s the white stitching you see around the perimeter here. The hammer is a specialized tool and I use it for hobnails as well. Don’t try that unless you like sore thumbs. Everybody knows the back of the hammer is called a peen, but what do you call the sides? They are called “cheeks”.
           It was a draggy day at the office (shoe place) as days of custom work can be. See, I can’t do custom work, although today I stitched up a faux fur coat that should have been ash-canned twenty years back. Do you remember the cartoon “Betty Boop”? I don’t. But I’ve seen posters of it, and sometimes she wears that mink stole. That’s what today’s coat looked like, although the customer looked like Boop’s great-aunt, father’s side.
           Taking inventory, I see that 2010 has to be a year of changes. Music, or in particular, the performance of music, will continue to dominate my income. However, that is only insofar as I don’t get a job in a town where other musicians don’t seem to be an educated lot. That’s irony, for where local musicians seem to have had their academic careers stunted by music, I am opposite by always having such high-paying jobs that I did not focus on musicianship. Now, later in the game, I’m glad it turned out that way, because unlike a job, music can be forever. Plus, I am keen on competitive innovation.
           Looking at statistics, I extrapolate that if I continue calling bingo, I’ll do twice as well as taking gigs with other musicians. Plus, bingo occupies an otherwise tempting Saturday night, which are a waste of resources in this town. I have not met a “single” woman here, ever, not in ten full years in Florida. I make a third as much at bingo as I do in regular tips, so it is here to stay unless something else comes along. In another statistic, my worst music month of ’09 was June, the month after I suspended my weekly gig at Jimbos. I made $20 that month.
           So that everyone understands my reasoning, here are some details. When I played Jimbos regularly, I was a single act, making it time-consuming to keep my presentation a little different each week. One must not bore the staff. Some musicians don’t care about that, explaining why their average house tenure is a month, not the full two years I was a Friday regular. My equipment was wearing and tearing and I was not able to alter the fundamentals of the show. Nor can I change over a little at a time. You can’t cross that canyon in two jumps.
           But re-emerge I will, and with a stage show that will trounce much of the competition, be it Karaoke or singles. There will always be room for talent, but in all seriousness, I’m referring to local club (excluding Boston Johnny’s and Jake’s, who have sporadic acts of overkill Blues). I’m targeting those acts which play where I would like to play and could care less about anything else even if it is just up the street. I view my most serious competitor as Johnny D, whose song list has been on this computer for two years, and whom I have not seen in half that time.
           My new show will be highly interactive, and it is already the most interactive in town (by far). Where other performers hope the audience might clap, I distribute live microphones into the crowd, and soon will have lyrics on screen for them. No, not a lame Karaoke version, or a rigid midi-sequence, but the full-blown original tune which I can extend or clip on the fly. My show is very “live”, proven by how people don’t sing along to the juke box or an uninviting act. I may not be original, but if there are other shows like this nearby, they are very well-hidden.
           Some may object to me tagging other musicians as competition. Let me say this about that – I didn’t view them that way until I got to Florida. Also, I am not out to conquer, just to get myself into a few good regular positions.
           And the final stat for today is that I have doubled my music income every year since 2006 (but that year was a musical disaster being the last time I relied on others to find good work). Of course, there is a limit to my musical Ponzi income but I think I can keep reporting good increases during 2010 and 2011. Anyway by 2012, the world will end.
U           m, trivia is different from statistics, right? Here is an oddball comparison. There are 800 million undernourished people on the planet. That’s a lot. But did you know they are outnumbered by overweight people? That’s correct. There are one billion fatties. Still, we’d best not let either group get too hungry . . . .

December 29, 2009

           Brrr, it is cold. But don’t it mention around here or you’ll get the history of blizzards and winters. I know more about Canada than any person who has never lived there, and I am still treated like I have no idea what cold is. Outside it was 48 this morning, inside it was 58. That’s when I make porridge, which reminds me of another food item.
           When I grew up, one did not put milk in coffee, which just dilutes it and cools it down. I was also raised to offer cream to company, and it appears a lot of people taste it here for the first time. They love it. Isn’t that something? Here is the cat seeking the mild warmth of my computer equipment.
           Thanks to Samsung, I missed an important call and was 15 minutes late for work. I do not mind “features” as long as there is a way to disable them. Features like Ford’s child safety locks and MicroSoft’s accessibility. The new cell phone has a “silent mode” that cannot be found in the menu. Just great, Samsung, a phone that doesn’t ring. Now Reggie Roughshave, the Fond Du Lac faggot with his dime-store MBA has something else to fiddle with between telemarketing calls. You morons, if you don’t want your phone to ring, turn the damn thing off.
           It turns out the silent mode is activated by an exposed button, so it can activate itself pretty much whenever. Way to go, Samsung. I had to take the phone in to discover “all you have to do is hold the pound key”, like that is some natural motion. If you like the people who design cell phones, allow me to inform you that 38% of them are made in China, and all Chinese cell phones can be programmed remotely to transmit when you think they are turned off. (The only way to truly deactivate a Chinese-made cell phone is to remove the battery.)
           Another evil quirk of the Samsung is that it requires an expensive holder to operate properly. I kept my Nokia without one, but the Samsung constantly turns itself on, draining the battery. No, I don’t want a holster. When you fasten your seatbelt, tie your shoes, or simply reach for some change, you can hear the Samsung registering keypresses inside your pocket.
           Time to take a day off and reorganize this joint. As time goes by, accumulation means I start putting stuff all over the place and pretty soon I can’t find things. Like my small drill bits. I had a full set of expensive tiny ones that are not where I thought. Don’t you hate it when that happens?
           Jackie from Jimbos has a pair of snakeskin cowboy boots a half-size too small for either of us. Nice ones, custom made. I’ll take them in tomorrow to see if they can be stretched but I doubt it. He gave me a couple pair of new jeans for work, since what I’ve been using is getting a little threadbare. Except on stage, I haven’t worn jeans in something like six years, I learned to prefer slacks for working in an office most of my career.
           Theresa has called, I still have a little difficulty allowing for how isolated she is. Even checking her email is inconvenient and costs money. How does she survive without transportation? Then, I have no problem riding a bicycle five miles after dark, and I’m considering a scooter for those slightly longer trips. (A little 50-cc jobbie that in Florida does not have to be licensed or insured.) Theresa asked about storage, which I know she needs badly, but there is just no room for much here.

December 28, 2009

           Here is another shot of the Bose L1 Compact, billed as suitable for rooms up to 100 people. Gee, I know one entertainer who will wait until they make one for rooms of 5 or less. Bwaaaaa-ha-ha. This is the lady I've dubbed the "Bose Babe". Do her, anytime. She isn't straining to lug the PA around.
           I’ve narrowed down the field for my new miniature powered PA/Bass Amp combo speakers. The top contender is BOSE and I’m arranging to try out a set. Biggest advantage besides tiny size is that they don’t look like speakers. The stick-like towers get lost among ordinary stage clutter. It is an interesting innovation that uses eight two-inch speakers to simulate the throw of one sixteen-inch. There are minor shortcomings, but one is not the sound, which is remarkable, and that is fine by me. This system may well be the first truly portable rig I’ve seen. And I see a lot.
           A little mixed blessings this morning, again it is medical (blog rules the most novel or unusual or superlative event of each day is listed). I have an actual gain in heart functionality. Over the past month. Physiologically I sense the improvement and today came a little confirmation from the gamma camera. As a test, I walked home from Washington St. without any major symptoms (but some minor ones after a mile). This is still good news and these days I’ll take it.
           I was in the clinic until past noon. I’ve been starving since y’day, so I hit the Burger King at the Pines Mall like a refugee. Then, feeling good, I strolled around the mall to see what the public is wasting their money on these days. Or are they wasting the banks money? Good question, for the amount of American money in circulation in this country is only $2,675 per person. It doesn’t take long to throw that around. It is worse in Canada, with only $1,345 per person, meaning most everything up there is bought on credit. Déjà vu?
           When I bewailed the hefty price tag on the speakers this morning, Wallace informed me (for around the fifth time) that “live music is on its way out”. Since he was out to prove some kind of point, I asked on what he based such an authorative statement. He said that “people will get their music listening to iPods”. (He admitted he has never used an iPod, but he knows they play music.) He said look at the joggers with iPods, and son-of-a-gun, he may be right. I have never yet seen a jogger who hired a live musician to accompany him around the park.
           So, this must mean any day now, I will walk into Jimbos to find my music gear in the dumpster and my audience listening to headphones. I asked Wallace if he thought I should hang up music and donate my bass to charity. He didn’t reply, but did say (for around the sixth time) people would “turn to iPods for their music”. Please understand that Wallace is basing his conclusions purely on his keen powers of observation. He states for certain that a portable recorded music device (the iPod) spells doom for live music.
           For example, he would have witnessed how the portable CD player closed down all the operas houses and night clubs during the 90’s, and how the Sony Walkman made people quit going to concerts by the 80’s. Why, he probably remembers when the invention of the portable record player put the Beatles out of business in the 60’s. Wallace went on to say that playing music is “really easy”, since he had once seen a book that “had the music written out”. All one had to do to be a musician was follow along. Yes, he actually said that. That could explain why all musicians have books on stage. And you dummies wasted all those years on lessons and practice, my God, you must be a stupid, untalented lot.
           I pointed out to Wallace that what he had seen was a “fake book”. These have been around forever, and are not the real music scores, which are copyrighted and sold as sheet music for each instrument. While fake books give lyrics and a melody line, they do not show the all-important accompaniment, nor the arrangement or instrumental breaks. It is not lost that this mysterious book, the likes of which Wallace says I have never seen, was on the other coast and unavailable for examination.
           No, he kept saying it had “all the music”, which struck me as odd, since he can’t read music. But still not quite as odd as his declaration of the end of live music, since he can’t play any instruments either. Possibly when one is smart enough, clear-headed enough, and knows that others are only capable of doing the simple things in life at best, matters like practical experience just get in the way.
           I’m reminded of my start in music, the summer before I turned eleven. Within 19 months, I was already planning the creation of my own band. In the ensuing year, I started two bands, after the first one became infected with “older people”, grade-niners (who just would not listen to a grade-eighter like me). When I was sixteen and a seasoned musical veteran many times over, my sister asked me one Saturday afternoon if I would teach her to play the piano. Shucks, if I’d known Wallace back then, I could have introduced them and asked him to bring along that book.

December 27, 2009

           This is the winner of my new PA contest. Wearing a pink skirt. Seriously, the PA is the tall black post on the stand and the small black cabinet on the floor to the right. This is the BOSE L1, which we are sure to hear more of. I did not say I could afford it, only that it won. Hands down. This rig needs no cables and weighs 26 pounds, yet it blows away my Gigrack/Yamaha combination and any Fender Passport put together. The BOSE is made for a single performer and has limited input jacks which I have yet to experiment with.
           This amateur photo is full of background distractions, but I chose it to emphasize the unusual profile of the L1. It is designed to stand behind the performer without feedback, and positioned properly it may become unnoticeable. The big black plate is an optional item, the nearly weightless “tower” clips into a matching slot on the bass cabinet. Look close and you may be able to see the tower is in three sections, so it can be matched to any size room. The smallest section is the same height as the bass cabinet, becoming a single unit that is “bingo sized”.
           For the traditional-minded, I will point out that this rig is so advanced that only one tower is necessary. More can be connected if you still want two, but inside the tower, there are speakers facing everyone in the 180 degrees ahead. Of course, you have to hear the setup to believe it. There are no “dead spots” in the listening area, since there is no longer a “cone”. The sound is crystal clear. And it is unbelievably loud, the unit shown here is meant for a small auditorium.
           Everything is fine again, following a successful gig last evening. I went out after for a Xmas drink, first time in that many years. I was tipping $5 bills at the bowling alley. Couple that with an equally successful bingo session (somebody won the powerball), and I’m set for January. Ah, I see you want something to go on, some facts and figures. Instead you get a statistic, take it or leave it.
           First of all, this figure includes a grain of salt, because unlike the people I am comparing to, I’ve never had a gig where nobody showed up. Or put more politely, where the audience consisted entirely of invited musicians. I have to leave the other guy’s bombed gigs out of the formula, even though they are a significant chunk of his total. Here is what is left: I now average $2 per patron per evening in tips, which is just around eight times as much as the so-called musical experts around here. Read and weep. Eight times.
           Some joys of home ownership, Wallace noticed a dank aroma two days ago. Then I caught it. I’ve checked everything since the rainstorm last week. The only strangeness I can find is the cat suddenly will not go under the building, even to do her business. I’m crawling under for a look today, keeping caution that this property is the highest and driest in the area, a natural refuge during a flood. Watch out for those Florida pythons.
           Back to music, I had several people ask about my show, and I see that there are some serious misconceptions over how I manage things. That’s fine, for in a sense it means less rivalry. Seriously, some people have the impression that all I do is record songs and play them back. (My show has always been so enhanced it is often mistaken for totally live.) It takes around two hours per tune to get music up to the standard where I can even use it.
           Let me tally something here. Yep, it is a ten-step process, eleven if you include the anti-virus check. All are non-musical steps before I can even begin customizing the bass line. And we have not yet begun to get to the lyrics, which need be formatted for a Karaoke screen. That does not happen by itself, peeps. (In fact, an excellent defining line between myself and a computer dunce is whether you can create your own Karaoke tracks or have to waste money buying the whole CD.) Despite some of my most intensive research, I’ve still made probably a half-dozen false starts. If that happens to me, how do some types even expect to see the horizon?
           I’ve got hundreds of disks of material with glitches that did not show up until I’d invested countless efforts. (Take that time-consuming Serenade software whose defect only appeared at high volume on stage.) Yet I honestly believe the time and money has been a bargain compared to dealing with musicians and technicians. My operation assuredly has a greater satisfaction-return on stage, for by the time I hit that first bass note, I know every scrap of every part of every song, button and file up there. Some people would do well to go back and read that last sentence again.
           Still on music, I think it is time to seek another rhythm instrument than guitar. I’ve found out the hard way when you take on a guitarist, you cannot let him play any of his own music. Not even one tune. The bastard will daydream you’re weakening and try to take over. Other instruments and females don’t seem afflicted. I certify it is “a hundred times” more difficult to start a band than to join one. That’s why so many guitarists want to steal yours.
           What’s this? I thought I’d have some easy shopping today. Half the natives must have been waiting for the après-Xmas sales. It took them long enough to catch on. Far larger crowds than before the holiday. When they learn to stop using credit cards, then we’ll see some real market corrections.
           Princess Pudding-Tat makes the news again, with her first bath. In the kitchen sink. She took to it well, although constantly ready to escape. She dried out in around twenty minutes and chose to forgive me within the hour. This means a tick shampoo to follow, for she clearly knows the bath is for her own good. As par for me, there is not a single word in any of the pet care books that describe what she has--small bumps under the fur. Contact dermatitis of some sort.

December 26, 2009

           Any non-technical readers can skip today. Here is a rare photo of my work center, the lair from which I have been plotting my conquest of the local Karaoke scene and tweaking all my backing tracks to perfection. It looks a little messy like a good workplace always is. Peer close and you will see everything from external burners, acoustic guitars, VHS players, and digital cameras. It is all there and more.
           I was so put off by the failed Xmas show that I stayed up past midnight programming. This was a difficult set of code that changes the display of a drum machine from a number to a song title. (I’ve been meaning to get around to it for months when the flop gig of y’day spurred me on. I didn’t say total flop, for there was one even worse show: Schneider Park.) This drum machine will be built into my bass, along with a preamp and a few surprise goodies in case some future guitarist tries to pull rank.
           I know all musicians, including myself, have egos. My gripe is with those egos that are counterproductive. I will never say my ego is “good”, but I’ve never had other musicians quit on stage, call me names, or threaten me, that’s for sure. And I don’t have to extend hollow promises to get them to show up. On the other hand, my imperfect ego means I care not for those left behind by change, for they are lazy, uneducated, or pig-headed if not all three. It takes a disturbance in routine like y’day to get me back in the fast lane. Read later for my discoveries today.
           That disastrous gig makes me wonder how long before some people admit it was their personal failure, not the bar’s fault, or because “nobody showed up”. The gig was a fiasco, big time, purely because of their inferior choice in music, a deep and incurable pathological malfunction in this field.
           The bar was the same bar right on the shore, and hundreds of people strolled past in the half-hour that I was present, so no excuses are going to work this time. Only those who fear the truth can deny it now. If you don’t like playing (always taking a break) and you can’t draw a crowd (sitting down because nobody is there), time to take inventory. Pssst. Nobody is there because you are sitting down. What do you think the bar is paying you for? Your winning smile?
           In a turn of situation in the past months, I’ve had other musicians call me up for advice on how to do what I do. By “situation”, I mean musicians who once scorned my solo bass act. Musicians who are now finally concluding to perform in this town, they may have to do the same (and were thus talking when they should have been listening). Since they would necessarily be using analog equipment, they have “no idea how solo their careers are going to be”. We have nothing to fear from copycat-ism. My show requires brains. A lot of brains.
           There is one representative musician who stands out, a guitarist. He was once strident over “live” music not containing recorded tracks. He just spent nearly two years failing to get his “live” band together and finally called me up for advice on DVD players. Seems he found out DVDs don’t come with instructions how I use them and it is not like anybody who works at BrandSmart has a clue in the first place. My show begins with a strict format for downloading certain MP3s at 89 decibels, not by popping a disk into the player and strumming along. Fat chance they can grasp that.
           That musician is a good example of blatant disrespect for advanced knowledge. He could not understand why I didn’t use a $30 CD player on stage instead of my $180 setup. Giving me advice, he says, “All you have to do is look up the tune on your list, find the number, and go to that number in your CD player.” Okay, dude. Just you try finding an un-backlit number from a soggy list on a dark stage. No chance he’ll learn that lesson even the hard way since he’ll never make it to a stage.
           Okay, here is the tech part. Another few hours of research and I’m concluding that there really is only one real type of Karaoke track. It is MP3+G, meaning an MP3 with a graphics track attached. The CDG seems to be an MP3+G converted so it can be read by most commercial Karaoke equipment. The MP3+G (or mp3+g) is probably uneditable, but now I know there has to be a common track to coordinate the music and lyrics. And it seems both formats use the RW tracks off a CD. Once I find that, I can edit it. This is precisely the information the equipment manufacturers don’t want us to know.
           The manufacturers should be content that 99% of the public have no inkling of how to use that knowledge. So, since I had to re-invent the wheel without any help, they can expect the same in return. It is not like they are losing because I would never buy their overpriced disks even if the quality was guaranteed. Have you ever tried to return something you bought on-line from those bastards? Two months later they are still insisting on your unlisted phone number “for their files” before they’ll give you your money back. Anyway, I’m getting closer than ever to producing customized Karaoke disks that are original enough to be copyrighted. Barely enough.

December 25, 2009

          Here is the stage being set up for the holidays at Mardi Gras Casino. I’ve been undecided about stage and light shows since I first saw them. A set of spotlights on a dim stage, fine, but not when the crowd is distracted from the music. I find most to be uninspired relays using standardized components. Secretly, I suspect light shows were invented to give roadies something to do besides toke up. Am I wrong?
           Over the years I’ve told you how traveling causes dreams. My jaunt to Miami y’day had the same effect. (I place little relevance in dreams, but the cause and effect amazes me.) Over last evening I dreamt I was on a crowded bus returning from an event; there was a sports coach on board named “Stellar”. He was every pound the annoying jock with booming voice and an infantile concept of motivation. (The Lombardi Effect: Let’s us just do what he says or he’ll never shut the hell up.)

           Memory can be a chancy thing. I took the early morning off to read. The weather and days are perfect again. I read a short passage named “Jane”, by an author I had previously criticized. W. Somerset Maugham. Remembering I’d written about his work on the computer, I quickly zeroed in on September 2004. I was surprised to find over so much time that I had virtually repeated a blog session.
           The memory thing. If I ever get this entire blog published, there are bound to be many instances of recurrence, which you should read them before labeling them repetition. (Even then, less repetition than average, and far less than to be expected in a work of this size which concerns real life.)
           What’s the “W” stand for, anyway, Maugham? Wilburt? Wilheim? Could be there was a Long Name Contest and Tennyson was in the lead. Willie? Wombat?
           “Jane” is a tale of a rich widow who marries a man 27 years younger. It is assumed he is a clever trickster, but his influence turns her into a socialite. Through the eyes of the widow’s acquaintances this is scandalous. She even quits wearing petticoats, the trollop. In the end, Jane dumps the young man to marry an Admiral her own age, who we are told is very persuasive. “His flagship has eight 12-inch guns and he’ll discuss the matter at short range” (yeah, yeah, Admiral Stellar, miles ahead of you on that one). All I’m saying is I’m aware some authors go through phases yet it was hard to believe the same guy wrote “Of Human Bondage”.

           So what do I mean “some authors”? Don’t all authors evolve? Nope, consider the other extreme, the hack writers that churn out the same leftovers for years. As a professional courtesy, I refuse to mention Stephen King, Joseph Conrad, or Dean Koontz. Or Ernest Hemingway, who wrote like he was born in 1898, like he learned to write at a boarding school, and like he spent far too much time living with stray cats down in the Keys. If you get my drift.
           Dunkin Donuts is open, and an instant hit. Packed to the newly-painted rafters. They have a small patio, more like a balcony. It is a natural community focal point, where I managed to win a crib game by seven points, something else I won’t say nothing about. If, as I hinted, the donut shop owner bought up the premises due to success, he is inviting competition. For now, he is the only bright spot in Tin-Sell town.

           Later, I fell for my favorite and oldest Florida runaround. I’ll tell you the situation, you figure out who was behind it. I get a call just after noon for a performance from 4:00 till 8:00 PM; there will be a “lady singer” present. The only lady singer in existence who has never heard of Faith Hill, Tracy Chapman or the existence of country music. Or so she says. I waited until after 5:00 to show up, knowing there was a 50/50 chance that band would be taking a break no matter when I arrived. (They were.)
           The place was vacant, ready to close up. I salvaged the situation by waving in some passersby so the bar would stay open. But the guitarist screwed up by playing that droning “Mary Jane” song that should be banned in Broward County. Proving again how he can squelch the mood with his drug music, this being about the 30th instance of it that I’m aware of. Yet I understand why he can never hang it up and let a pro manager like me lead the band. His ego won’t let him see that I can pay my rent off gigs he can’t even break $10 at. It’s because I know what the crowd wants and he does not. He has never successfully worked a room for an entire gig in the ten years I’ve known him. The best he’s ever managed is a good set, then he kills it in the next instant with that pot-head malarkey.

           With that “Mary Jane,” of course, those on the Broadwalk assumed there was a funeral going on and walked away. So did the ones I’d waved over. I’m used to people begging me to continue, not gulping one beer and leaving. I could easily have packed that place, furthermore, I’ll be watching closely for my chance to do exactly that in the upcoming 90 days. I’ve recently played with bands that did $800+ gigs in that same location, so we know who to blame.
           Nor was there any lack opportunity for there were droves and droves of people walking by; the total problem was choice of music. As usual, we started off okay, with “Party Till The Money Runs Out.” Then it heads downhill, with “Honky Tonk Woman”, which we never rehearsed. By the unrehearsed next song, the customers had left. (The guitarist wants “no improvising” as if that is not what we had just done. (He means only he is allowed to improvise because he is so filthy damn good at it, when are you going to face it? But that is almost naming the guy.))

           I have never quit over a small crowd. I’ve often played a full four-hour show to three patrons. Quitting is unprofessional and the band tonight quit, not I. I was ready to continue when the guitarist yanked the power plug. (I will soon have a computerized system of unbelievable capability to prevent that. And it is carried on my belt loop.)
           Also present was that weirdo sax player, the one who plays behind the notes and can’t understand a thing anybody says unless it is repeated. He seems nice, but I’d throw him out the door before the second time he pulled that know-nothing act on me. Still, he does show up consistently and while he can’t play the same instrumental break twice, he at least precludes the guitarist from doing the same.

           There’s another loser sequence to this, called “stage position”. If you expect four people to show up, you arrange the equipment on stage differently than you would for two. Not tonight’s hero. He had positioned for himself and the lady singer (do the words “obvious”, “poink” and “impending rejection” come to mind?). So the rest of us get squeezed stage left behind the fake palms, like we didn’t notice. Ask yourself, what is the mentality of the guitarist who pulls stunts like that, even subconsciously? See, I said all this without mentioning any names.
           What a swell guy I am. “Give me my own way in everything and a more pleasant chap will never be found.” The Internet is so screwed up I could not locate the author of that sentence.

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December 24, 2009

           A classic Xmas dinner; truly a treat. I was selected camera man again, which makes extra popular and lets me mingle without having to remember conversational details. Call it “a lot of pleasant trouble”. It was a feast of the usual proportions and this year I’ll get some better photos. JP and I made some last minute deliveries around the neighborhood until past dark, so my camera was useless. As you see by this temporary picture. Stet.
           I’ll be nice this year and won’t write a social column. Instead, how about a few things that I internalize about real family gatherings, as opposed to the kind I knew. People have always told me I should have been a doctor, and I know it. Maybe it is time I explained my position on that. My education can be summed up as preferring the devil you know. I also had many illusions about doctors which is an inhibition itself for in small-town nowhere, nobody will help you.

           But I’m straying, so let me connect back to what’s happening now. Why am I thinking about education at a time like this? I forget Tamara's’s daughter’s name, but when I met her she was a 9 year old girl. Now she is 19 and flew in from law school in Washington, DC. I scarcely recognized her. But I certainly recognize the difference a year of college makes in a woman, by golly! I lament my own education was nothing like hers. She has never earned a dollar in her life nor will ever have to. What is it like to go to college under those circumstances? Why, it probably feels like Xmas all year.

           My school cost me every youthful penny I had, plus interest. And I assure you I was not in the Capitol wearing Gucci shoes. The devil I didn’t know was when my parents would begin sending me they money they promised. It was a waiting game. That meant two choices. Get any kind of degree I could while living on student loans. Or commit to a (then $80,000) medical education that, because of the total cost, I might never be able to finish. As each semester passed, it was becoming increasingly difficult to manage, for as I’ve said, student loans are enough to go to school, nothing more. Did you get that? Nothing more.
           So don't go thinking of my college days as afternoons strolling the campus grounds, meeting the woman I would marry, and making life-long business contacts, playing intramural sports, swaggering into the student dining hall with my tennis racket or arms akimbo. Some say it is wrong to feel this way, I'm just telling you like it was. I walked to university because I didn't have bus fare. So there, I can tell my children I used to walk seven miles to "school" and be telling the truth. And it was uphill both ways.

           [Author's note 2015-12-24: Boy, was I feeling sorry for myself six years ago. Hey, it could happen to anybody if you have seen what I've seen. I still claim to be the only person of my generation who walked to university, and the only one who studied computers by coal oil lamp. Don't go concluding there was anything cute about it.
           But I was amused to spot the parallel with that degree and buying my retirement home. Do I buy something less than ideal to get my mitts on a sure thing now, or trust that the future will provide? I certainly now know which of those is choices closer to real life.]

           By age twenty, the second-hand clothes I’d had since I was 15 were threadbare. Thank god people thought my ragged appearance was the hippy thing! No sense buying anything new, as it would just make the rest look even shabbier. Yet here was a 19 year old with a fraction of my learning ability who will have an advanced degree I could only have dreamed of, and frankly I felt jealous. You see, I had miscalculated when I was 18. Student loans cannot make up for lack of support from home, I had no more idea than any kid how much things really cost. How much a free ride normal parents provide. People who claim they’ve done it "on their own" are not adding up the true figures.
           My marks plummeted as making ends meet turned into a constant struggle. I skidded by more than a few years on exuberance but soon what little infrastructure I had was carried on my back when I left home. And it was finally gone. What is it like to go to school without a care in the world? Your only concern is passing the few courses per semester, no sense taking a full course load, or even of getting high marks, since you won’t be needing any scholarship money. What is it like, indeed?

           It was a grand Xmas dinner.

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December 23, 2009

           There she be, Wallace’s 20 foot almond tree. Does is really grow almonds, or is it because it changes to this color around Xmas? It is one of those wonders, like why all trees of a species, young or old, all start growing leaves on the same Spring day. Of course, I know I’m not the only working-class type that ponders these kind of questions. Or am I?
           Pudding-Tat headlines today. She left me a little reminder right on my computer desk that she has grown too big to fit through the pet door. I’ll recap that, you see nobody knew how big the cat would grow, and in a conservative measure, I bought the smallest cat door available. She did her business in front of this keyboard to insure I wouldn’t miss it. I told you that cat was smart.
           Another extremely successful session at the shoe shop, and I see I’m not the only one capable of leaving things until the last minute. I don’t know if I ever told you about that pair of $2,000 (1983 dollars) I saw in Merida (the one in Yucatan, not the one in Venezuela). Those were nice. Some pretty fancy cowboy boots are coming in for repair. All that boot scootin’ can wear out your heels, you know. I will say, except for the cheapest models, I’ve learned a new respect for the quality that goes into that footwear.
           Alaine called today, saying there is little reason to show up for Xmas before 6:00 PM tomorrow. That means I go into work at the shoe shop for half a day, which pleases the boss since he makes a fortune on the days I’m around. Even if I do take my time and screw things up regularly. Like recently a batch of glue joints have been coming apart. He thinks it is me, that I’ve forgotten how to apply glue. I think it is the glue, I mean not a problem for months and suddenly the past three days everything comes apart. Hey.
           It is unusual, but I read a play today, the increasingly obscure “Emporer Jones”, a prototype work. Unusual, in the sense that I find such writing stilted and hard to read, same as everyone. It remains an early precursor of that plastic-budget, made-for-NY flotsam that mutated into “Hair”, “Cats”, and “Miss Saigon”. You been told again, and I’m going to go pat the cat.
           There’s looking for trouble, there’s asking for trouble, and there’s going out of one’s way to create trouble. And the sure-fire way of accomplishing that is to try to hit on women in the local bars. Trust me, there are no unattached women in this town who are out to meet financially insecure old men in old clothes who drink draft beer in the middle of weekday afternoons. I do not understand how this fact escapes some people. You may think you’ve met a nice one, but is not why she is smiling, dude. You done been told.
           Another item it takes some longer to learn than others is that you do not make friends with stupid people, no matter how nice they appear. It is enough to know who they are but that’s close enough. Ah, but what about family and co-workers? Same thing, be polite but keep that professional distance. Let them know you don’t think their delinquent son or pregnant teen are the future of the world. This country maybe, but certainly not the world. Stupid people will always let you down, if only by getting in your way during a pinch.
           Remember the two versions of the truth. Version A: “Yes, officer, I know that person and I’ll answer all your questions.” Version B: “I do not talk behind people’s backs. If you want that kind of information, you should be asking them, not me.” Now which version does a stupid person think is “right”? Ah, sounds vaguely familiar. But my family was so double-dealing that the professional distance finally had to become 2,000 miles. And since then, I’ve never been stabbed in the back.

December 22, 2009

Apparently this day did not exist for me.

December 21, 2009

           This photo is cheating a little bit--it wasn’t taken until this Thursday. But I have to show you something out of the ordinary. The Taurus is parked on the swale at JP’s parent’s place. Just as I took snapped the photo, the neighbor’s Xmas lights came on. My el cheapo can’t resolve the true brilliance of the display. I believe this residence belongs to the guy who owns a string of medical clinics in Miami. Famous clinics. His wife is the single most beautiful woman for a hundred miles around.
           The solstice, and I was up early, totally recovered from the banquet y’day. Didn’t gain an ounce. I took it upon myself to look even closer at how to patent my new puzzle. No further info on that, nobody knows including my lawyer friends, all of whom say it is still a good idea. Possibly patenting is just a formality. I briefly touched on related topics, such as the light bulb.
           The bulb was a useless patent until Edison also came up with an entire grid and metering system to market the electricity. This would be financially impossible today, even if the government would permit placing poles, wires and transformers in residential areas. Which they would not.
           I was also up early because Jeff the jockey called. He is convinced I have a great radio personality. This might be written off to exuberance except he is saying the same things as San Diego and Spokane told me back in ’03. Jeff also sells radio time so go figure. That’s a disk jockey, not a horse jockey; Jeff weighs as much as some of the horses. If my Nokia phone worked, I would have invited him over y’day.
           Jeff is a natural talker, you can hear him on Ft. Lauderdale 880 AM, and he is negotiating a deal with 1490 AM. Next Sunday (the 27th) I’m scheduled to be on the air with him, plugging this blog and possibly music and bingo. Bear in mind, Jeff is not the best at schedules. Although he sells them. He is the guy who markets those fridge magnets that list the high school sports games. Says Jeff, “It is the only thing people will apologize when they can’t buy.” Says Jeff.
           And he is talker. “Unbelievikable. What’s your wife’s name and what does she like? Her name is Mrs. Jeff and she likes me. What time is it? You mean now? I went to see Dr. Zhivago. Are you sick again? Unbelievakable, the World Serious. Baseball should have ten strikes.”
           He is also up on the current state of non-Internet advertising. Considering what the Internet advertising has done for credibility, he is a bit of an authority . Who has seen those ubiquitous ads for whitening teeth, discovered by “an unemployed housewife”? I’m wondering at what point a disseminator remains innocent. Google has that scam on every screen. The seller asks the sucker to okay a $1.97 “processing fee” that turns into them taking $79.90 out of your bank account every month. If you cancel, the fee is $99.00. Bad Google, bad!
           Man, it is ice-butt cold today, down to 48 degrees. No, I don’t care to hear about how many physical degrees colder it is, was, or can be somewhere else. A lot of people have an Alzheimer’s-like difficulty remembering that I worked in Canada for years, I am not impressed by winter tales, and that I have already heard every last, single joke ever told in that backward, primitive country. Fifty times. Every last one of them. Read my lips.
           Then I found time to go over to MetroPCS. As usual, they have plenty of staff to add phones or set up an account, but only slow-ass dummies to help the rest. That company typifies the death rattle of American industry. MetroPCS follows the exact formula I recommended for the phone company twenty years ago (but they did not listen). Forget the 80/20 rule and treat your unsatisfied customers like the recalcitrant bastards they really are. I mean, how much comfort do they want?
           Bottom line is I miss Theresa, for although we never had time to squabble, we share a common view of “to hell with it”. That partly explains why the staff at Jimbos wonders when we will return.

December 20, 2009

           What a feast, as grand as it was unexpected. It started out small, eventually a crowd, it was a little too arctic outdoors so we moved inside. I’m the only one who’s managed two helpings so far, but then I’m the youngster around here. Sure, I overdid it. Now I’ll have to take a nap so I’ll be ready to sleep tonight. Here’s photos of the main course and the gang around the dining room table. A table that would look familiar in North Carolina.
           I got my chasing around done this morning, noticing how little (commercial) Xmas activity is taking place compared to the past. I was in and out of the mart in a half-hour. Maybe it was a slow day but I don’t think so, I think this is the slowest season I’ve ever seen. Wallace told me not to eat since y’day noon meaning I was running on empty when the grub arrived. Oddly, the lady who baked the turkey didn’t come around for the dinner.

           Blog rules (again) say I must report anything surprising, so who remembers that pin I lost to the spare fridge? The one I was going to chase all over town to replace, JZ even offered to custom make one for me. I found it. It was on the counter right beside the fridge all along. The rub was that it had rolled under the microwave. So no, I’m not going blind.
           What did we learn today? We learned we do not have enough cutlery. Or a set of serrated knives and that French bread can be tough to slice. Let’s see, do I have an excuse? Yes. Never had a place big enough for eight people in one room, so four settings was always enough. I also relearned that the oldest, stalest jokes from out west can still survive table talk in Florida.
           We have a week’s supply of leftovers. The crowd was mostly bachelors, who cleaned up after themselves, which was nice. Everyone was impressed by the hardwood floors and by the fact the interior here does not look or feel like a “trailer”. In the end, it took Wallace and I hours to get everything spruced up for company but it was worth it. I told everyone this was a nice place and obviously knew what I was talking about.

           Pete the Rock is an enigma. He was an upper-mid level business manager. There are dozens of articles about his career on the Internet. But like so many I’ve met, that ability does not always translate into a successful retirement. It is akin to having a job on a computer at work, then finding out that doesn’t help you worth a lick when you buy a PC at home. They are two different environments. I've often said management jobs do not impart any useful life skills.
           He’s the Panera crowd all rolled into one. And if there is a predominant characteristic at the Panera, it is that none of the adults there seem to have any intellectual hobbies. Such hobbies are absolutely necessary for an enjoyable second half to life. Sorry, playing computer chess and checking your email do not constitute “intellectual” activities. Those are things little children can do quite well.

           It dropped to 57 degrees, sweater weather. I curled up with a good book, which brings you today’s trivia. Way back in World War I, a German scientist correctly figured out that electric signals “leaked” out of the buried telephone cables the Allies were using. He drove iron posts into the ground and tuned in. It was a good idea, but too good, because the secret conversations were drowned out by whistling noises. He can be forgiven for not figuring out where the whistling came from.
           Ah, but you want to know, your curious mind won’t leave it be. Okay. It is caused by lightning strikes on the other side of the Earth, but nobody knew that in 1916. When you hear on your AM radio the “click” of a lightning stroke, that signal flies around the world in around two millionths of a second. The ionosphere splits the click into its spectrum of frequencies, with the higher ones arriving first in the opposite hemisphere. Hence, the “wolf whistle” perception, like the sound of a falling bomb. I told you I studied physics.

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December 19, 2009

           We’re doing the Christmas thing after all. Setting up the tables and dusting into the corners. Read on, but first let me report a minor victory. I’ve cracked the Sudoku code, and if I already told you that, it means I did it over again even better. I can now create untraceable “copies”, thus allowing somebody else to do all the hard work. They should never have told me that puzzle was not patented.
           Today could be defined by the bingo game. My gosh, did I just say that? We are slowly but definitely winning over the crowd from the “Moose”. All I know about that place is they don’t tip the caller (which is primitive) and it is staffed by volunteers, meaning that is the grade of service they get. We have six ladies show up tonight, and when you get the ladies, the men will follow.

[Author's note 2019: it turns out around the same time, a lot of other programmers had figured out the code and Sudoku quickly assumed the same format as today, shunting out most of the variations. Invented in Indiana in 1974, it did not really come into its own around here until recently, when I began noticing it on the Miami Times puzzle page. I'd thought of generating puzzles, but noticed they were already appearing in the Dell puzzle booklet. Interesting code, though.]

           It was either that or write about my newest anti-virus software. What? You’d rather talk about bingo? Sure. I found out that the bingo at Jimbos was going on for three months before I started calling. It was August and I had gone in there on a Saturday to pick up a microphone for repair. Jimbos used to have one of the regulars calling the numbers, by the second week I had the PA system rigged up for sound. It is just the way bingo is played now, and the show is a remarkable hit.
           Pete the Rock showed up with a huge bag of goodies. Instead of everybody scattering for Xmas, it looks like a dinner here. We certainly have the space. I plugged in the spare refrigerators and Wallace tackled the tile floors. We’ve been “bachin’” and things don’t always get spic and span by themselves. They’ve found a lady who is cooking the turkey and delivering it around 2:00 PM tomorrow (Sunday). We dug out the folding table and remarked how this has turned into a big operation.

           I did a shop for extras and there were no bananas or cranberry sauce left in this town. It looks like our “free” Xmas dinner already cost us $46 plus whatever Wallace spends. It has dropped to 58 degrees, very chilly for Florida, so we’ve set everything up indoors. The anticipated crowd is eight people, we have accommodation for twelve in case. Either way, space won’t be a concern and if it is, another twenty will fit on the patio.
           Changing the topic, the Dunkin’ Donuts on Federal is turning into a legend. It is the only building in the entire area (not counting casinos) that is spending tons of money. My guess is the owner made enough to buy the premises and is now turning it into what he wants. That’s the guy who used to give me free donuts because I always had change out in the car when his till ran dry. I only quit going there because there is no bike rack. Well, that, and my unwholesome affinity for donuts. Plural. Lots of donuts.

           There are some inventions that are worthy of mention for their monumental idiocy. Proof that, in general, design engineers are not required to read history books during their college terms. Every one of those clueless wonders seems bent on reinventing the wheel, not for improvement, but because he doesn’t know enough about it. The two inventions today are both on microwave ovens. First prize goes to the genius who designed the cavity light that goes out when the door is opened.
           That has to be the all-time winner. But a close second is the oven with no start button which operates whenever the timer is not at zero. So late at night, with some minutes left on the timer, you find your pizza is done and remove it and close the door. There you are, standing with soda in one hand, pizza in the other, and the damn oven starts running. Let’s hear it for those unsung twentieth century masterminds.
           Unsung and unhung if you ask me.

December 18, 2009

           Here’s a temporary photo to show water [nearly] up to my hub caps.
           If this does not let up, there will be no Xmas party today. It has now rained fourteen hours without letup, although it is finally getting thinner. They vacated most of the casino lot, directing traffic through the back gate. A few dumbos in high-axle trucks tried to run the west road. The middle is always deeper than they think. I’ll go out later to see if they are still there. I canceled my Friday appointments except the party, as there is still hope.
           Next in morning importance here is the flyer. I have an unreliable lead on free coupons (Jeff) and a tentative date for first publication of around January 15, 2010. It turns out Theresa knows that Petersen guy, the one who publishes “Cahoots”. That’s the outfit that was interested in my material (approx. August 6, 2006) and never called back. He is a talented writer but his publication is sporadic and unevenly distributed. (I have not seen a copy in a year or more.) It is a small tabloid style newspaper. No puzzle, which makes sense since now I know what it costs to include on.)
           Theresa says he runs it out of a condo on the beach. We all know what has happened to those properties recently. One thing that surprised me is how this recession hits market segments in batches, but condos are always among the first to go. Then car lots, then around a year ago all the dollar stores went belly up at the same time. (Except the two who own their property.) I always thought the economy would sag as a unit. Now I know it is not quite as interrelated as I thought before.

           [Author's note 2015-12-18: It turns out if Theresa knows him, he does not know Theresa. This is about the time I began to suspect almost nobody knows Theresa. Nor was she doing any work on this project. I attributed that to her being in Wilmington. But I realize now if she'd been motivated, there was plenty she could have done. In the end, I lost around 60 hours of my time, gained a lot of useless aggravation, and did not even get a good-bye kiss.]

           On deflation. I am suspicious of the media who say falling prices spell doom. Actually, y’day I was suspicious, now I want to see it in action. Those stupid tables they made you memorize in school never allowed for inflation. Sure, the numbers went up, along with “income” but not the purchasing power. It is all numbers, so what if those numbers get smaller? I say it would be a good thing.
           I also have a vested interest. I’ve read many times how inflation “wiped out” the middle class in pre-war Germany. Those on fixed incomes lost everything. Well, does not the reverse logic hold true? Will not deflation benefit those on a fixed income? Will they not see their dollars gain in value and be able to purchase more? Where inflation gave the edge to those who bought on credit, will deflation benefit those with hard cash? I’d like to see that, even temporarily, say for five or ten years. That will be enough to clean up the act of those bragging dorks we’ve endured half our lives.

ADDENDUM
           Later. The weather decided to clear and that led to one of the most resoundingly successful Christmas parties of all time, here or anywhere (within context). Wish I’d had the video along, or at least the audio which I could really have used. The night was proof that no juke box or Karaoke show (as we know them) will ever replace live performances. The place was rocking to the rafters and I might add the tip jar was also at the brim. Santa came along and the gals were dressed as elves. Oh, were some of them dressed. I say again, by local standards, this was a top-rung party, very few could be better no matter what the budget or situation.

           Top tune of the evening: Gretchen Wilson’s “Red Neck Woman”. I can play it, but I cannot sing it. The key is F.

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December 17, 2009

           TODAY IS THE 20-YEAR ANONYMITY UPDATE: Read below.
           Get yer Zodiac out if you need to go for cigarettes. This is water a foot deep on the west road. To the left is the casino parking lot, wisely built up two feet over the rest of the territory. A few idiot drivers try to run this stretch and get about half-way. I cheated a little in that this photo isn’t taken until tomorrow morning. Note the garbage along the swale. Very typical of Florida, where despite the fact these cities were built after others who knew which mistakes not to make, there are still very few back alleys.
           While I don’t wish a hurricane upon us, I’m glad Wallace got to see a good Florida rainstorm tonight. It dumped close to seven inches of rain in a steady cloud-to-ground dump, flooding out everything except us. We are the highest property around here and one of the few on a concrete foundation. But we are also an island until morning. Sorry, no photos, it is jet black outside. The sound on the roof drowns out normal conversation.
           I’ve been messing with my new cell phone, freshly arrived from Wilmie. It has to be reprogrammed and it seems I no longer know anybody who can do that. It is a Samsung so I’m hoping it will outlast the junk Nokia scalped me for. It’s Theresa’s old phone and in pretty nice condition. She called again this morning. She’s made up her mind to return here, and yes, she can rent my room. I’ll tell Wallace the good news, it is sincerely tough to find a trustworthy tenant.
           Millie got unzipped today, the tumor was not the bad kind, I think the term is malignant. Did I tell you she was stapled together? It is probably a very practical way to for vets to close up animals and there is little concern for scarring. Now that I think about it, I appreciate the technology.
           I biked past a few shopping centers and some of the parking lots are full. As they say in Florida, only 8 shoplifting days till Kwanza. Hey, I didn’t create that one. Christmas is not my favorite anything, an excuse to go visiting. I’m with that comedian who scoffs gift certificates, as he puts it, “Just shoot me the fifty bucks, damn it.”
           It is now 9:00 PM exactly and the rainstorm has lasted over two hours. That’s record since I arrive ten years ago less a week. The roadways are shut down and there is a river flowing past our front yard nearly half a foot deep. The casino parking lot is a small lake with waves. Except for Thai monsoons, this is the longest storm I’ve experienced. I suspect it is some kind of Atlantic Ocean squall that has stalled right over South Broward, I think right over Wallace’s car.
           Checking the weather channel at 9:30 PM, they have issued flood warning throughout the county and most side roads are sealed off. That asphalt lip at the entrance to our street is a mini-waterfall. Traffic out of the casino, including high-axle trucks, are turning back along the west road, continually setting off our burglar light. Yet, our patio is only wet and nothing in our yard is in any danger. My car is sitting in a pond deep to the bottom edge of my wheel covers. Dang, I’m missing some great photos. It’s a good thing I didn’t stop at the library after work.
           By 11:30 PM I went to sleep with the rain still plunging down. There is a low spot in the west road three blocks south of here that floods even in mild rain. This was no sun shower.
           Today is also the official twenty-year change for the “Internet Birthday”. Every twenty years, that many years are added to the official fake birth date I invented back in 1994 to protect anonymity. This is the fake birth date used to fill out nosy but unofficial on-line forms. I’ll tell anybody my age, but my birth date is none of their business. You can find the full fake profile information elsewhere, but everybody also lives in Washington, ZIP 98054, everybody is male, and was now born December 17, 1985.

December 16, 2009

           The local crows know when a disaster is on the way. See them lined up awaiting the feast. Who will it be this time? These days, a disaster can be defined as nothing more than an ordinary event that takes the stupid by surprise. Around Florida, they die by the dozens, but they never learn. I suspect they can’t learn. It isn’t a hurricane or we’d have heard something. But you can’t fool the crows, they know when there will be more garbage than usual in the streets.
           My care package from Wilmington arrived with the new cell phone. A Samsung. Along with an article written by the head of a local university press, outlining the potential dangers of unlimited self-publishing. I’m on both sides: anyone should be able to publish whatever they want, no matter how bad. Yet I agree there many people so uneducated they cannot tell fact from fiction. (The real problem is that our social system favors the uneducated for they are in the majority.)
           Most would agree that some alternative should exist to the traditional publishing houses, who are notoriously inept at spotting talent. Like Edgar Allen Poe. The new publishing concept is called “print on demand”, where the book is not created until you’ve paid for it. As with so many industries, however, you can be certain the computerized versions try to preserve all the money-making steps that often don’t even exist any more. This will ensure the startup costs are so high that there will be no overall savings to the consumer for at least a decade.
           My prediction is that it will be a while before books are replaced by electronics. The Kindle, a device by Amazon, is an example of overkill. It costs $400+ and holds more books than anyone dumb enough to buy one could read in five lifetimes. (At last count, that means 3,500 books with no pictures. How long before Playboy takes care of that?)
I do see an opening for vanity publishing. There are places you can self-publish on line, but right there is a turnoff to many savvy authors. If there was some place locally where I could drop in and see the actual workings, I would choose that hands down to uploading my precious creation to some out-of-state stranger. To me, a web address is the computer equivalent of a post office box.
           The term “deflation” is in the news once more, about how utterly evil it is. I don’t buy that. Deflation is where prices start coming down, and they talk like it is some kind of disaster. Even if it is, I would not personally mind it, in fact, I would like to live through it myself. If millions of Americans can lose $25 per hour jobs and become $8 rent-a-cops, I don’t see why businesses can’t lower their dollar figures as well.
           Which brings up another curious trait in some people. While they can understand a person quitting a job to take one that pays better, they have trouble understanding why somebody would fold up a business and go into something else. They falsely conclude that the first business “failed”, and therefore those operating it must be failures. Yet the true failure in life is to regard working for somebody else as the right way to make money.
           Theresa called this morning for nearly an hour. We are on the same wavelength regarding self-employment. I gather from her it would be as easy or easier to start up the flyer here as in Wilmington. I’ve mentioned the business to people and it is obviously very familiar territory. So why isn’t anyone doing it? My gut feeling is that they were trying to have the sheets duplicated out of house which is the single most expensive variable cost of running that business. Recall I have the projected costs down to $61 per thousand, a quarter of what others seem to be spending.
           Another aspect is that here, unlike North Carolina, I have the space and most of the equipment. I’ve got a line on an excellent used photocopier with a service contract. I want a guarantee we can use their machines if ours fail. It doesn’t matter to me where the business is set up. I’m no stranger to working from home and I absolutely love it. I miss the socializing with office women but not enough to miss the office. It is generally agreed between Theresa and I she is the one who pounds the boards. She’s the front department.
           And all the while, the crows are gathering . . . .

December 15, 2009

           I am holding an economic indicator. A pair of shoelaces, one of those items that should have gone down in price over time. As the factories automate and move overseas, and with minimum wage declining in real dollars, what do you think these shoelaces should cost? A dollar? How about fifty cents? Well, it sells at CVS for $2.99. That’s what you pay for a piece of string. America is too slow to learn that to sell more these days, you must lower prices and step up volume. At least shoelaces don’t come in packages of twenty for $49.99.
           Big Jeff has reappeared on the pavements, and in a timely fashion. Jeff is the disk jockey who knows the address of every homeless shelter on the west coast. He does the sports trivia show, the one I can never find on the AM dial. The point is, he knows all about advertising, and is an excellent source of those free coupons to restaurants I never patronize. He needs some computer work done this Friday. Time to negotiate for the flyer.
           By now everyone realizes my medical conditions are far more interesting than everybody else’s. But today I do have some new information. My recovery has been more than complete, which sounds odd and it is. I’d been told things were irreversible, but in fact, my heart is now functioning 5% more efficiently than six months ago. As best I can now understand, the heart can go into a state of numb hibernation in conjunction with an attack, and can come out of this state when “detraumatized”. Does this mean I can go bungee jumping?
           This is still Florida and one has to be on the constant lookout for evil minds. I caught one this afternoon trying to tell people that I slept in every day all I ever did was play games on the computer. I stepped in and corrected the situation but what a pity to have to.
           Here’s how it works. My most productive time is early morning, for instance right now it is 4:03 AM. This is computer time; that is where I do my work. I don’t work with a pick and shovel. Don’t have to. Went to school. Now, I may go back to sleep for a couple hours around 5:30 AM, my privilege. A lot of the complicated programs I use take time to render, meaning by the time other people crawl out of the sack, I am wrapping things up. At this point, I sometimes take a break and will play FreeCell while I’m waiting for the computer to catch up with me. (FreeCell is lo-res and doesn’t tax the system.)
           Let’s take a look at this same situation through the fog of misunderstanding. People who are sound asleep at 4:03 AM assume so is everybody else. By the time they get up, the hardworking people may have gone back to bed for a nap. Happens all the time. The only thing some people know about computers is games. They don’t recognize spreadsheets and databases, only games. They see you arrive at the office in mid-morning. Add up the facts that comical way, and of course, all I do is sleep in and play games. They don’t know what anything else looks like, duh.
           Without going into detail, I must say that Craigslist has greatly tightened up their code and have finally hired real programmers. I admit temporary defeat. I can’t tap into anything as of a week ago and it seems they have narrowed it to a computer at this end where I had bypassed their old safeguards, including their anonymizer. I’m already working on the counter-measure, but these new people are gifted and I may finally decide it has become too time-consuming to single-handedly spar with them.
           The main thing Craigslist has against me is that I altered their algorithm so that jerks who flagged me were really voting me onto the “Best Of” list by the dozens. I’m also the guy that designed that beautiful phishing screen which spoofed everyone for nearly two months in 2007. What do I have against Craigslist? They allow unlimited flagging. A group in the musician’s list started flagging all gigs except their own and Craigslist would not stop them.
           This really hurt when I was beginning my solo career. So I took matters into my own hands, beginning the cat-and-mouse game that exists between Craigslist and people like me ever since. Some people go to Craigslist for information, the poor souls. I go there to exploit weaknesses in the code.

December 14, 2009

           Here’s Borders. I’ve mentioned their recent reorganization, paralleling the library. Both stock their shelves according to weird marketing formulas. The library follows what people (people who evidently don’t use the reference section) say they would like to read, the operative words being “say” and “would like”.
           Borders' equation is a mite vaguer, but I deduce they follow what people are buying, for it definitely is not tuned to what they are reading. Ah, you say, that’s because they are booksellers. True, but it does not follow if people buy ten cookbooks, they will buy twenty if the cookbook display is made twice as large. That’s the brand of dismal college-think since 1990 that sunk the USS American Way.
           Not totally interesting, but interestingly enough, a friend of mine had something go wrong back home. While he personally wasn’t responsible, he used a phrase I wish I had invented, which I will now definitely adopt. Whenever somebody comes up with that worn-out phrase about if you’ve done nothing wrong, you have nothing to worry about, my friend said to me, “Yeah, but it becomes one more thing you have to explain.”
           I will also guarantee you anybody who says you should have nothing to hide is themselves very guilty of something. If you dig, you will always find an evil skeleton in their closet. They want everybody on file, hoping it will save them by comparison when their pasts catch up with them. They are always guilty of something, so it sometimes jolts me when a person I know or trust talks like that. There is one other extreme: those who really have done nothing with their lives. They alone have no worries, and correspondingly, no hopes.
           Having said that, I am 21,000 calories down on my diet, so I’m going to Burger King for a shake. Have not had one in probably five years. (The 21,000 is a combination of lowered intake and increased bicycle exercise.) It turns out later they were out of shakes. What’s next? MacDonald’s runs out of fries?
           Remind me to call Lance and get one of those rubber bricks for a display at the shop. While the wisdom of a new home improvement product in this economy is questionable, this is something totally new. A rubber driveway. Or patio. The rubber is very hard, although I report is has a better feel to it than concrete, as you expected. I also googled quite a number of places offering the same bricks for sale, $30 to cover 12 square feet. Lance did not mention any competition.
           A new customer walked in today, I instantly saw he was west coast. Turns out he is an actor, recently in town, and appalled by the dominance of Cuban film companies who only hire Spanish speakers despite being federally funded. We chatted for an hour and he meets script writers who need help and promised to call the next time it happens. I can transcribe anything into perfect street English. This blog is an example. You don’t think I talk like this, do you? Some people should just try to read my more technical material. To those who slept through even one grade six literature class, I can be a shot in the arm. Or the brain. This blog I would describe as written “recreationally”.
           I also met Reed, the guitar instructor who might be interested in working on country music. He’s never performed live meaning there is no damage needs undoing. He certainly knows that it is work, I’m also hoping he will see how easy I’ve tried to make things. He does not even have to memorize lyrics. Normally two strong personalities clash on stage. On this occasion I detect synergy rather than conflict.
           What’s this? USB 3, claimed to be ten times faster than USB 2. Of course, it still isn’t universal and plugging it into the right speed of jack remains guesswork. That’s your trivia today. Wait, there’s a little more. Did you know that insecticide collars are not effective on cats that roam outside? How nice of the manufacturers to make that clear on the label. I’ve probably wasted $30 on the Tat. So I came home and sprayed the cat down. She is no longer speaking to me.
           The wine I received as a tip y’day retails for $65, or twice that in restaurants. The plan is to give it to Kim for Xmas. I got lots of advice on the wine, but the fact is people who claim they are connoisseurs don’t fool me. Especially the real peasant-minded ones who get a job and a credit card later in life who think they can fake being classy. I volunteered for years with the wine festival and get a laugh out of those who try to disguise their working class origins by pretending to have developed “taste” while still talking and acting as slovenly as their upbringing. The “art collectors” and “opera listeners” who wouldn’t know quality if it came along and bit them in the ass.