Now that the French guy next door has that granddaughter visiting “until Friday”, I have developed an intense interest in yard work. More about her later, but they are indeed watching her like a couple of hawks, from terrific altitude. With deadly accuracy. When I suggested if she wanted to go to Starbucks, she could come along with me, they almost said okay, but you know.
Teaching music is a lot more fun that teaching computers in the sense that you have more willing learners and the results are easier to gauge [for the student]. I’ve got considerable experience teaching music, but today convinced me even more that I may have a unique product. At least in Southern Florida. Music is dominating things for the these days, with the new band and the progress with Becky, my student.
Music lessons are fine, but the goal of most beginners is not to become the best in the world, although many so hope. Particularly beta male guitarists. I’ve taught drums, bass, guitar and keyboards. That is why I claim to be the only music teacher around these parts who can teach you how to play in a band. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve heard great studio-trained musicians on stage.
But there is a subtle point beyond which no matter how technically perfect the performance, they are regurgitating the same material. I think we’ve all been the victims of characterless experts that can note-for-note anything. Even their stage presence seems sterile. I can personally vouch that most music lessons do not prepare you to entertain. If you doubt my observation, go to any local piano recital. Force yourself to stay until the end.
Marion called. She has not been receiving my emails, and some of them were irreplaceable. She is doing fine, but thanks to the cell phone company, I cannot call her. Only the other way around.
It was a rough day at the wig shop as well. Too many deadlines coupled with that oaf, Dave, running around. I said to him indirectly that I never realized that everything I said and everything I did would some day require fine-tuning. He did not get it. After work, I stopped at the Friendly Inn to check my personal email, but there was a guy playing video poker on-line. I mentioned to the server that they should get a second computer, and she said, “Why?” (I should introduce her to Dave.)
The French brunette was out in her shorty-shorts today. Talk about impressive perfection. She does not play guitar, but who cares? I just want an excuse to show her a few things she ought to know by now. She is certainly far better looking than the model at the shop, some Portuguese lady surnamed Chavez.
Guitar Jeff, as predicted, is already balking at the two hour travel time needed to practice (even though it was his idea), so tomorrow is canceled and Friday night is slated for his place. We have enough points in common to ensure the enthusiasm will carry us into several months of gigs while the fire is still hottest. The big picture means we must shoot for a house gig somewhere between the Ft. Lauderdale airport and Oakland Park. I’ll need to look into what is there.
The cat is still hiding all day long, not even touching the food if I am anywhere in the building. The only sign of presence is the litter box. I went over to get the special caulk compound to affix the shutter slash awning back up. It must the only construction material left in South Florida that costs less than $5.00. Here it is, on Roland’s patio, being checked out by the neighborhood Tom cat, the one we thought was in here at first.
[Author's note 2016-03-16: I'm saying here that these two cats had such a similar appearance, we were initially not aware that there was a cat living in my place. This new cat (not shown here), became Pudding-Tat, she was nearly named "DumDum".]
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