One year ago today: March 31, 2014, a lot of information.
Five years ago today: March 31, 2010, an average day (for me).
Ten years ago today: March 31, 2005, a good day (for me).
MORNING
What to do today? The decision is made the sweeter by my conservation measures, you see, I did not run out of spot cash. Why, just y’day, I dined in a restaurant and today who knows. That skinny Russian lady, the motorcycle mechanic, was in the bakery. We chatted for twenty minutes, I noticed she did not have a dweebie-looking boyfriend in tow. Unavailablity of women like that are the saddest part of getting old. A good woman at home makes everything in life bearable. Alas, most only think they are good.
This picture isn't Zack, but it is what he looks like when you tell him to stick Mustang Sally up his arpeggio. And what keeps me reading is that he must know the real Zack. That’s the guitarist who keeps riffing off on stage and hollering “follow me” over the PA. But when we did the same back, he could not follow a two-chord special. Anyway, he is going on about how bassists refuse to to as they are told and such.
I don’t link to Craigslist, but you find the room yourself if you are interested in such drama. I’m more concerned that a product I like, the Hungarian paprika sauce, has disappeared from the store shelves. And just when I had developed a daily taste for it.
As for the scooter, I spent the morning going over it. I found and fixed the leak in the tire and tightened every frame bolt I could find. Yes, one bolt was loose. It cured the slight wobble. As the weather warmed up, the hard-starting cured itself, and being a Westerner, I recognize that is normal with a battery passed its half-life. But now, I don’t have to replace it. That leaves just the brake job, which was already in the budget for first week of April.
I was going to say at my age, this makes for an interesting morning. But when I think back on all the people I’ve worked with in the past, for them this would have a fantastic morning most of the time. Ha!
NOON
“Infinity. It could be time on an ego trip for all I know.” –Jane Wagner, a.k.a. Mrs. Lilly Tomlin.
Isn’t that a still of Dolly Parton? Yes, and also yes, I am not a fan. However, she does hire excellent bass players whenever she needs a band. I happened to be listening and I was impressed by her rendition of “Son Of A Preacher Man". Take a peek, she really belts it out. The lady is a star, just not my type of star. But some guys like blonde wigs and big boobs.
Even that is a judgment call. I learned early not to play repetitious bass notes unless that is a contributing factor in the original. Applying that to vocals, I find it creates the opposite impression of monotone Karaoke singing. But don’t overdo it or you’re into yodeling. Or what’s that technique called where you waver around a tone? Listen to Dolly this once, you’ll hear what I mean.
I’m staying put this afternoon. No doing nothing, not even a bike ride. So don’t expect a thing. I have really been taking my Friday’s off and that isn’t right. Tell you what, come back in a few hours and maybe I’ll have decided to go to the movies after all. Meanwhile, we found two electric bikes at the junker. They seem to be in running shape, but the guy won’t let us test them, says they are “fine”. I say no, Agt. M is going nuts trying to get the money together.
That, folks, is how you learn by example. I not only do not have the money, I have no mechanism to chase around and get it. I know one only has to plan a few weeks ahead to best the huge majority of the competition. But this planning invariably means money put away that is allocated. It is essential that one has the discipline to not touch it when an opportunity rears up. That’s what we are dealing with here. Maybe the bicycles just need new batteries. But maybe they are in the junker for another reason. I’m not risking the rent to find out.
EVENING
This is Charlotte Gainsbourg, descended from a long line of actors in her family. She plays one role, the low-key temptress, but does it rather well. I got out to see the foreign film “3 Hearts”, filmed like a mystery movie but a novel presentation of the old sex triangle. Pardon, it’s European, I meant a love triangle. It’s the same old story but as I’ve said, these people have learned the art of making excellent movies.
I liked it, but if you don’t have a comfy old-world theater near your digs, wait for the video. It has slow and predictable stretches and I think I missed the significance of the ending. Did they meet again in the park where they originally missed connections, or was it a flashback to a new beginning if they had met? It's tricky to tell because the characters don't age as the movie years tick by.
Other than a few plot inconsistencies, it moves along well. For example, in the later part, as the investors get impatient and want the movie wrapped up, there is some narration and the secret lovers take an unexplained trip. As expected, older 40-ish and 50-ish French women are portrayed with bodies that would shame a 20-ish American woman. I wonder if it’s from all the smoking.
In all, it would be difficult [for American movie-makers] to match the believability of the characters as the movie follows them up close all the time. In real live Gainsbourg is about what you’d expect. Forty-something, three kids, taking away roles suitable for far younger women, and hell yeah, I’d tap that. Even if she is nowhere near as good-looking as my ex-wife. What? No, you don't get pictures. You'll have to take my word mainly. If my ex-wife was ugly, I'd tell you. But she was a sex kitten.
Soon, I’ll have my back yard again. Only two Frenchies remain as they head back in droves and convoys. My back yard is free, but I cannot park back there when I have a neighbor to the east. The space is around a foot too narrow. Spring also means a checkup for me, so if I miss a day soon, that’s all it is. The doctors won’t say, but I consider it evident that if they only need to see me once every six months for twenty minutes, my condition is stable. That, plus the injections, I know they are extremely pleased with the results.
Remember, I did quit smoking, quit driving, and completely changed my diet for more than ten years now. They are used to people who say they will but never do—and I full remember that’s the reaction I got from them for years until they took me seriously. But at my age, you don’t celebrate, it is now approaching ten years since my second heart attack, the one that did the real damage. And by then, I had already quit all my bad habits. If you think, say, quitting smoking is hard, try cutting out everything at the same time. Like I did.
ADDENDUM
Parental control of money is a touchy subject with me. I’ll say it again that there are certain fundamental rights that belong to the child and neither parents nor anyone else have any right to bargain them away. The question today is: if a child goes out and makes his own money, does that money ultimately belong to the parents? I know that a hundred years ago, there was only one answer—and I have disagreed with that answer a hundred years ago. Are we not more enlightened today?
Now remember, we are talking about money the child earned himself. Not an allowance of any kind, which necessarily has conditions attached. To what extent do the parents have a say on money that did not originate from themselves? Please don’t hand me that line about it is the parents who provide the conditions for the child to thrive yadda-yadda. A child who succeeds at something is so rare it is atrocious to say he owes some special favor back when his siblings do not.
My stance is that while parents can and should veto anything that society at large does not think is good for a child, they have no right actually prevent the child from spending it at all. No, they cannot “teach” the child to save up for the future. That is their job, not the child’s. The money is the property of the child. I can hear all the scenarios racing through some of your heads, and that is not the situations I am referring to.
There is a huge component of comparison in what I mean. Children are experts at comparison. You want an example. Suppose a child wants a new bicycle, but his parents say no, it costs too much. So the child earns his own money on, say, a paper route. Do the parents have the right to stop the child from buying the bicycle on his own? Forget the nonsense questions about safety and the size of the bike, we are talking about a new bicycle as a replacement for a similar old bicycle.
I say the parents are stuck. I think you can guess what finally happened there, since you’ve also guessed this is a real example. My parents would shaft any attempt to get ahead. They were evil that way. Did I ever tell you about the boat races? In a day when $5 was a huge monthly sum, I collected $8 worth of empty soda bottles at the boat races while the rest of my family sat on their asses. When I took them to the depot for the money, the bastard working there said the deposit was only for sodas I’d bought myself.
But he would not give me back the bottles to go to the other depot. He handed me 25¢ for an afternoon of hard work and told me to go away. What would decent parents have done? Right, they would have marched over there and got the bottles or the money or punched the bastard out. Mine? They did nothing except tell me it was my own fault for being a “bad businessman”. Today, the kid could sue the parents for the $8. Plus costs. What did I learn by this? Probably the opposite of what the parents think all kids learn by this.
Author's note: these "flashback" examples are not as random as it may seem. They are among the most popular articles that appear here, probably due to the human interest element. The slightest mention of a true childhood account of "hard times" can easily triple my daily hit counter. Of course, I like, even revel in the thought right now I am reaching out to more people than my critics will ever meet in their combined lifetimes. But, blog readership worldwide is declining, this one included. I still believe the written word is more enduring than other forms.
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