MORNING
Have I lost my ability to communicate? How can 100% of the crowd get me wrong? Here is a picture of the stick on lenses I am NOT, repeat NOT, talking about. These are cheap-ass magnifying lenses that do not correct your vision. They only make nearby objects larger. That is not my idea. The ones I last saw when I was around ten years old were vision correction lenses, graded in increments that covered most, but not all, of the common strengths of prescription eyeglasses.
But that’s it, I’m done explaining the difference. I have no explanation why some people can't get the wrong idea out of their heads. If you still don’t get it, maybe this is not the blog for you. Is what I’m sayin’. The lenses I mean do not exist, or if they exist, are impossible to locate. I expect I will find the lobbyists for the opticians and optical manufacturers have somehow outlawed these lenses, but not if you make them yourself, which is my plan, and as long as you don’t use them when prescription lenses are required. How that would be policed is not my concern.
Rain rarely stops me from getting work done. This time it did and the forecast is the same for tomorrow. I wanted to practice my welding. At the rate I’m able to work this completely unfamiliar equipment, I meet another month just to keep a straight line. The scrap steel and iron is also proving expensive, considering I’ve thrown better material away. We’ve decided to pursue our own robotic vehicle frame, as the Nova people, while they say they are enthused, take a week minimum to respond to anything.
Furthermore, they seem to not want to spend any money. By comparison, our group has what we need and often a surplus. In the end, we have a severe limit on the price of tools, but eventually we get something. The Nova people appear to have the money but are outwardly skinflints. Figure that one out.
I’m not going to replace the sidecar chair with the official Ukrainian model. Not unless one of them appears free on my doorstep, anyway. Odd the Ruskies would build a sidecar and then put a chair in it that disintegrates in damp weather. I’m designing my own tarp to cover the opening, leather is too expensive. And leather tends to get brittle in the Florida sun.
Another tune I must resurrect is Patty Loveless’ “Blame It On Your Heart”, I’ve only heard it at the rare Karaoke. It’s a four chord special, mostly roots and fifths, so I figured that would be an easy learn for this evening. But true to my passion, I immediately sit down and work out a complete bass solo, including the instrumental break. Once a bassman, always a bassman. It is not something you can do occasionally. I get a laugh out of people on the musician’s board who list the bass as one of several instruments they play. I’ve heard such players.
And there is another spate of them on Craigslist, all wanting to join working bands. It don’t work that way, but it is possible. I mean, the last band found me, did they not? But guys, unless you can consistently pack an empty dance floor within 30 seconds of when you start playing, don’t tell me you are a bass soloist. Consistently means every time and solo means just you, not with the drummer keeping beat. Don’t tell me about Pastorius, he was the opposite: when he played, people stopped dancing. You might say he really “floored” the crowd.
NOON
I’m happy. Happy as a guy who just spend a fortune at Harbor Freight. We now have a 4.5” angle grinder, considerably more heavy duty than the 4”, one is surprised what a difference it makes. Plus a new solar panel specifically for topping off the regular Honda battery. That’s the small panel designed for setting on your dashboard. It passed my tests for outdoor use, but may I instruct any beginners that outdoor solar panels are not carefree. However, they do beat stringing out a trickle charger whenever you need to leave your vehicle parked.
The regulator is a device around the size of a pack of cigarettes that ensures when the panel puts out too much voltage (over 13.7 volts), it is blocked, and if the voltage falls (below 11.3 volts), it stops any charge from flowing backwards. It may sound finicky, but you need this extra piece. Oh, you can get away without it. For a few months. Then you’ll be buying batteries. Too much charge boils your battery plates, too little charge wrecks your solar panel.
The regulator is not shown in this photograph. What did I just say, guys? Okay, carry on.
On the way over there I stopped and visited everyone on the way, on the way back, I stopped for a mini-picnic. What’s that? That’s where you drive right past all the fancy sub shops and such, then swing the sidecar into a food store with a deli. You get the eight pieces of chicken for $5 bucks and a pint of cold drink. Many people don’t imagine the sidecar as a "ready-made picnic table for one".
First, you cruise around and find a shady parking spot. Allow time for this in Florida. The city councils here take a dim view of anyone being comfortable without paying extra for it. Then, you spread your meal out on the front of the motorbike, taking care to shoo away any opportunistic birds and feast away. Then you fall asleep until past 3:00PM with your shirt half-open and food crumbs all over it, one foot draped over the side. Thence you wake and you realize people have been taking pictures of this idyllic scenery. Mumble, mumble.
NIGHT
Outwardly it seemed slow-moving, but tonight was an excellent rehearsal, including the difficult new tune mentioned above. We keep things simple, which so many musicians talk about but they mean you, the bass player, not themselves. It’s a matter of degree, guys. I admit to preferring to play bass tunes that are “fun”, however, not solely because they showcase my abilities. Mind you, the two often coincide. I know so little about formal bass playing that I’ve, over time, invented a new vocabulary to describe what goes on. Example, the need to "untangle" one's guitar fingers to play bass properly. That's my word, not the academy's.
Back to fun bass tunes, here are my favorite three of all time. These are not complicated tunes to play, that would not be fun. In each case, it is the way the notes are played that makes the difference. Alas, I can’t show you that in print. Bear in mind this is music from a different generation. Here are the tunes:
These Boots Are Made For Walking
Folsom Prison Blues
Long-Haired Country Boy
Non-musical topics discussed tonight were Boynton Beach, India, and real estate. I strongly advise all men, not only Trent, that if you get the chance, take a serious look at an upscale trailer court. I know the tendency is to fall back to a house, but the system is designed to take advantage of that outdated concept. A big house is an ongoing burden. It no longer represents security and as a store of equity, ha, don’t make me laugh. And even that equity is so solidly anchored you cannot get at it without talking to a banker. Which right there tells you what good it is.
Okay, now the gossip. We stopped at the club, expecting to see the new owners. Nope. Apparently they had been there because they showed up with buckets of paint and took down all the surplus wall hangings, including the classics in the men’s room. And they began cutting in when, so far as we heard, the landlord walked in and put a stop to that. Rumor is he will not accept the new owner as a tenant. And the club will stay open “until the end of the month”.
What is going on? Nobody knows. But the club is gone.
[Author's note: if you have not signed up for the daily e-mail, "Now I Know", by Dan Lewis, you are missing out on a good thing. I have subscribed to this gem for years and it appears totally legit, no spam. Today's item told how the baseball player became such a legend that Jap soldiers in WWII used to taunt the GIs by yelling "To hell with Babe Ruth."
For reasons unknown but probably to make money off the success, the "Now I Know" e-mails stopped shortly after I made the above recommendation. A daily post is a lot of hard work.]
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