I got it, finally, I got it. Never did like Elvis music but I got the right riff for “All Shook Up”. Only took forty years. That’s harsh. The original recording was not that clear and now I realize there are “bad” piano notes intermingled with the bass line. I’m happy because now I know very few other bassists will ever get it, unless they are piano players. Even happier, because attention to detail is part of my package. Wheeeee!Trivia. “Where’s George”, the bill-tracking page, is tracking 1/10th of a percent of all the bills in America. The data was used to predict the spread of swine flu back in 2009. The fact nothing came of that indicates cash money is still “too random” to check. Good. So you’ll know, the average bill travels travels less than 708 miles in its lifetime. The fact the Feds have not tackled Where’s George hints that either something better is already in the works or that good ole credit snooping is doing a fine enough job of tracking everybody’s whereabouts.
My mechanicals are not ready. The batteries were not picked up, something about the other guy’s wife in the hospital. The new muffler is not started, something about Miguel being late. And they made the presumption I could use the batbike, my mistake for letting them know I had more than once vehicle. I explained to them once again (I have the patience to do this because of my retard family) that I need the batteries for the ebike because I don’t have the scooter because I can’t use the batbike for around town transportation. But whenever you explain one, they lose the train of thought about the other.
And this, folks, is why smart people like privacy. You see, one of the things that makes dumb people dumb is they actually think your motives and logic are the same as their own. Did I tell you about the last time I ever lent my brother five bucks? When I asked for it back (you always had to ask that bastard) he said he spent it because I “didn’t need it” because he’d seen me counting money earlier. No, I’m not making this up.
When I pointed out the only way he could have seen me counting money was if he’d climbed a twelve foot ladder in the middle of winter. Oh, he said, failing to cook up a quick story, he was checking the shingles. What a laugh, my brother looking for work. Wait, there is more. When I said the fifty bucks was for my rent, he said it was my fault because I, get this, didn’t wake him up before noon and explain that to him. Insert cuss words here.
My family loved to spy on each other and do this kind of thing. When I told my brother the rent money was none of his business, he went bohunk on me. “Well if that’s how you’re going to be, I’m not even giving you the five bucks back.” Bohunk. All my brothers and sisters got that from my mother’s side of the family. And my father’s side, too. And to this very day, I’m remain the only one in my family that is not a bohunk and never was. This was no mean feat, considering I was outnumbered seven to one.
This is Huckapoo’s, the excellent family-style grill and bar in Tybee Island. They are open as late as you care to spend money. The walls make great reading material, it reminded me of the Old Oregon Tavern when that was still around. It looks like it gets rockin’ on the right nights. There is live weekend music. I was there on a Tuesday for pizza and sweat tea. Free refills. For eats, you can’t beat this place. Trouble is, you can’t find it either. It is the first left as you turn south onto the island. Missed it? Because I said FIRST left, not the first thing that looks like a road. If you still got it wrong, we are done here.
