Just me, Bruce, Syd and Marilyn [co-workers]. And some lady who was on the interesting side. And it was an easy day. You see, when I came in, Bruce got there first. And he had all the work divided up. He was to do Alpine and Cypress. I had Hemlock, Lake City and dispatch. And that’s that.
Freed from having to make any decisions, the day was a jig. I seriously wonder if Syd really has her grade 12. Then, I’m told Canadian grade 12 is like American grade 8. Don’t get me wrong, but a like a lot of girls here, I’m sure she’s good, if not really excellent at some things. Can I help it if I’ve never seen or hear of those things?
Now after work—ah. I stopped at the pawn shop. In time to see “three youths” arrested. Trying to pawn stolen property. It was interesting to see the police tactics. Guilty as these kids obviously were, the police were guilty of intimidation, unnecessary abuse, misquoting the law, rough-housing. These things happen down south, it’s all corruption. But here it is perfectly legal. The one kid who knew he didn’t have to say anything got his car ripped up for doing just that.
And on to the music store where I bought my very first Doobie Brothers album. Best of Doobies. Dave and I practiced guitar for a while, then dropped into the Hook & Ladder [pub]. Seems my guitar teacher, Roy Silvers, has a band called the Roy Silvers Duo. Technically very good music, but the pub was a xerox of a dump. Now I know for sure where those honeys in the back of the [guitar] class come from—and their parents as well. ‘Course I judge a joint by the women who go there.
I fall victim, tho, to a changing standard. When I went somewhere at 16, all the girls were single. At 21, about 1 in 5. At 26, none whatsoever. It’s not a man’s ability to get a nice decent woman that declines, it is the sheer availability of such women that tapers off. Remember, in my books, and ex-shack-up or divorcee is a few notches below scum on a scale of decency. You can’t become what you never were when it comes to trying to undo misconduct that you performed willingly. That is, if I were to shack up, which I know is wrong inherently, I cannot thereafter ever be single again, cannot wipe the slate clean and start over new. You’re only new once, lady.
After that you have to settle for some guy who likes second-hand women, but not me. At least until I’m so old it don’t make any difference, and I need my socks washed once a week. I really try not to be cynical in love, but when I’m paying I like to get my money’s worth.
Then Dave & I went to Scottsdale [English pub]. What a band. They were tight, talented musicians. 2 guys 2 girls. But they looked like strays who individually were strung on out on various theologies. The bass player looked like a 35 year old wino who grew his hair long and had just discovered leather. The lead player looked a candy-ass who got too fancy a haircut for his personality and should have been an accountant instead. The drummer reminded me of a rich girl who’d been turned pro by a sharp pimp, now burnt out but still flaunting her ass, the only nice thing left about her. The keyboard player—well she was into all those strange things that slightly overweight not-quite-pretty girls get into in their teens when they notice they’re consistently second choice. Once again—-good musicians.
I get this grim urge for a McDonalds McRib, some McFries and a McCoffee. Because of the layout, I park my car and walk over. No way, they refused me service at the drive up windo unless I went around the building, ordered in the speaker and pretended I was a car all the way back around. Well! Goodby McDonalds!
So I went next door to Burger King. It was full of punkers. These old farts [putting down the kids] really disappoint me. So the girls had Mohawk cuts & green hair. A few swastikas, hey these are just kids and these old people have no right to call them down. It is been my experience that people who call down the trends that teenagers follow were themselves the nerds, the beat-offs, the straights, the turkeys, the zeroes—the ones who had trouble fitting in all along.
In my life, those jerks are the Barry White, Ken Nasedkin , Darryle Goede, Randy Hansen, Gordy White, Dell Winterfeld, Joy Antipowich, Rhonda Lund, Bob Rosiki type.
[Author’s note: wow, that was in eye-opener into the outlook of a farm kid like me who just finished college. Like many students, I was isolated from the real world a little longer than those who hit the streets at 18. At 22, I was still used to meeting single, unattached co-eds who had things on their minds besides marrying money and making babies. Don’t worry, I learned quickly enough. But I have always been down on women who call themselves single when in fact they are not. I still consider it misleading for a shacked up divorcee with kids to call herself single, as in unencumbered. For any youngsters here, shacked up was the current expression for living common-law. Myself, I never considered common-law acceptable until the divorce rate hit 60%, and I was no teenager by then.
How about that passage on musicians? I’m still opinionated on that and still feel the way people look on stage is important. Being weird works for some bands, but not mine. I see was taking guitar lessons, but don’t remember those any more than most of the names quoted today. They must all have been losers when I forget them. Nine times out of ten, I’ll bet they wanted me to do something their way without paying me for it, always a non-starter of a concept. I had begun working at a Canadian-owned company around that time and found the other workers to be a strange lot full of backwoods superstitions, homespun philosophies about things they knew nothing about, and willing to share their penny to pocket your dollar.]
