The groundskeeper mowing the lawns this morning also mowed over the water standpipe. Don’t ask how somebody can hit a white object sticking two feet out of the ground in broad daylight. This is Florida. I had enough water stored away for the day, ice cold, too. The temperature is still tolerable thanks to nearby weather systems, so I knuckled down and got the new computer completely up to speed.
Next, I got to the music with the new keyboard player. God, he’s chosen some dreadful dirges. Elvis’ “I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You” and most anything by Kris Kristofferson. I guess nobody has told them that is not country music. My reason for agreeing to play those sleepers is just to get out there. It is rare to meet somebody who only likes to play fast music simply because most people have never tried it. Slow music has its place, but that place is not on stage Friday night at a bar. If you don’t want to boogie, go to a lounge with a juke box.The other matter, for which most non-bassists cannot be blamed, is thinking only of songs that have utterly boring bass lines. It is not unusual to meet musicians, particularly guitarists, who have never once listened to a single piece of music from the perspective of a bass player. This is part of what causes them to think of all other instruments as “accompaniment” without realizing their minds have been hardened into actually preferring to hear only the simplest bass lines. Pity, really.
At the other extreme, I learned before I was fourteen never to play slow music that you like in the hopes that somebody else within earshot will get into the same groove. Only non-alpha males seem to suffer from such twisted wishful thinking. They’re the same ones who try the telepathic hustle not realizing when women are laughing at them. Such losers probably buy books of pick up lines at the newsstand, and I won’t even mention the pathetic methods used by my brothers. But, such men outnumber us a thousand to one.
The new guy who’s been asking about the club can make printed circuit boards. What luck, as just this morning the staff at Alfa told me all their suppliers stopped carrying the materials just a few years back. I’ve been invited to attend a production run, I’m eager to see that plus the fact this new guy is building his own Arduino boards tells me he has some serious training and experience in this field.
The store-bought H-bridge has arrived. I’ll rig up a computer controlled simulation of motor operations for the club meeting on Thursday. Agent M is back from the toolies, but says he could use a month of peace and quiet. I agree, and recall the days when I was go-go 24/7. I used to try to relax by driving in the country, taking a month off in Oregon, or staying a few weeks with an old girlfriend. It doesn’t work, and neither did anything else until I re-discovered reading after college. (College can really turn one off to the written word.) Gradually, by age 30, I would go to Mexico for a month just to read on some beach as far from any Club Med as possible. Well, not from the club, but from the sort of individual who goes to such places.
[Author's note 2016: in the end, the club never acquired this technology. This was largely due to the lack of clear instructions, or more often, contradictory instructions. I believe if etching every became vital, it is a task I could pick up in a few short tries. Meanwhile, it just isn't worth it.]
And don’t be hasty to judge me on that attitude. I was at Club Med back when it was a real club and I assure you, 99% of the current clientele would not have been allowed in the door in 1974. Ah, the days when membership required more than a credit check.
I can now sew just about anything in a straight line, including a straight line that turns corners. Time to look at signing up for the next class once I decide what class is right. Should I take the cutting class or go straight for hems and cuffs? Watch for developments. I’ve begun reading my first book by an excellent author, Lee Child. His plots have an intellectual slash thinking aspect and I can’t help suspecting he throws in little gems that he knows will slip past the dimmer bulbs out there.
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