One year ago today: May 22, 2014, forensic prosecution.
Five years ago today: May 22, 2010, something clicked.
Six years ago today: May 22, 2009, half of Florida.
MORNING
Reading my own links, it was only five years ago that I first sang a Karaoke on my own. Singing remains a very recent ability for me. Here’s this morning’s events, that’s all you get. Somebody raided all the mangos from behind the bakery and left a huge mess in the parking lot. I had lunch in that fancy hot dog stand on Griffin, where they had live entertainment. It was a guitar player who got nearly half the chords right. Well, maybe not that many.
I stopped at a thrift, the only places left in the state to buy wire coat hangers. I’m slated for five mini-surgeries on my legs later this summer. I talked to Peggy (that’s the pseudonym for the lady in Deland). The electric went off overnight resetting all my clocks and causing me to wonder how the local power company knows when all my memory backup batteries are dead. I had to phone downtown to find out what time it was.
Finally, I have a diet prescription. With dozens of side-effects and all the warnings for those with heart conditions. Which is why it took so many years to get the prescription. At this stage of the game, I’ll take any help I can get and this is some type of appetite suppressant. I would rather somebody invent a pill that makes food taste bad or at least bland. As it stands, it is rare for me not to like any food.
Except beet juice. I totally hate beet juice.
NOON
“Learn to make good chili.” --Farm wisdom
Alright, I was doing laundry. On Friday, my day off. Now you really know that something is going on. What could it be? I dunno, this blog is predominantly written in the immediate past tense. I found this movie called “Empty” about a couple stranded by a gas crisis. It’s half a dryer cycle long, but kept me watching. Why? Mainly because I used to date a woman like the one in the movie.
So there I am, pairing up socks and yelling at the monitor, “Dump her, man! Dump her!” And wondering how come, in the middle of a fuel crisis, all the electric lights still work. Ah, got it. So they can film the movie. Silly me. It is not all that bad a movie for low budget. “Dump her, man! Don’t waste three years of your life over it like I did.”
Because every time you are right or she has to make the tiniest concession, it always ends with, “You don’t know me.” And no matter how many countless times you are right, she never quite learns to trust your judgment or experience. But ah, I still love rich girls. Believe it or not, they know how reliant they are, how emotionally helpless they would be on their own, and thus they try a little harder the areas that matter. To me.
Author’s note: that was the same “Sweet Judy Blue Eyes” as elsewhere in this blog. It was not until after I left that I realized the incredible head games she played on me. Infuriate you and then tell you to calm down. Sexual brinkmanship by letting other guys come on to her while we were are a party or club just to see how much of it you would take. No such thing as steady, even fun, everything had to be prepped for taking to the next level. But you know, I still miss Judy time to time.
EVENING
You see, because I have my beautiful oak camera slash binocular bracket made up and tested for the great Saturn viewing, it is beginning to cloud over. Short of a miracle, no Saturn tonight. Clouds when you want to see something in the sky is the one thing most common element between this town and Seattle. However, we tried. The binocular bracket was set up at the band table, the calculations and measurements made, but it was overcast.
[photo delayed]
If you don’t see photos of the set-up, be patient. Unfortunately, tonight was also cling-on night. I have far more derogatory and descriptive words for these men, but the term refers to what it sounds like. Deadbeats who befriend the band to show off. I didn’t say it was wrong, I’m saying I don’t like them. Never did. They get gross when they try to pretend they are just being friendly, but are really trying to make time with the drummer’s wife or something.
I do have a question for such men. Do you types honestly think anybody in the band cares about how many Tequila shots you had last night, or where? But what is most disgusting is how you presume musicians only want to talk about booze and debauchery. Especially a musicians with binoculars, almanacs,and sextants. Of course, he wants to hear your slobbering drivel about how you packed Kid Rock’s amplifier back in the 90s. I’m so impressed I’m at a loss for words.
This particularly stupid specimen was making snarky comments that I was “doing my homework” and “working for the IRS”. He was making such an ass of himself, I let him go on. And on.
Last Laugh – More boobies?
Made you look!
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