I call this the redneck garden. The weeds have grown up through the wire mesh bed of the trailer that will eventually move me back out west. This time to Texas, I think. I’ve been thinking and over-thinking of a backup plan if things don’t pick up here soon, but don’t remind me how many times I’ve said that.
One of the things I always admired about RofR, my ex-business partner, was his ability to work with stupid people year in and out. I have no patience for them, and this contributes to exit plans. As time goes by, stupid types begin to accumulate and I had my share of them today. I don’t mind showing people how to do things for themselves, but I draw the line at doing things for them. This hard line is tough on lazy people.Either way, this is the last winter in Florida without a steady income. I’ve proven, maybe a little too well, that I can live without relying on others for a job. It’s just that there is no “profit” that is an absolute requirement when you are self-employed. Um, if you want to see what happens to people who don’t understand this, take a look at the number of “self-employed” people you know that have no savings whatsoever.
Goof software award of this week goes to Trend Microsoft. It seems they have issued a series of updates that change the operating parameters of earlier versions of their own [anti-virus] software. Most users don’t fathom what is going on, but suddenly they keep getting messages that say they have viruses on a popup that lacks the button to remove those viruses. Double-duh, there Trend. Also, these updates cause any existing network computers to be detected as “unknown” terminals connected to the system, which scares the hell out of parents with children. (The IP addresses and MACs match up, but still.)
I talked to Lois earlier, we had planned to get together if both of us were free but I didn’t get home until 9:00 p.m. I’ll call her tomorrow, maybe we can do coffee. Like myself, she does not really use or believe in those telephone message setups. I check mine once a month, maybe. Usually I find a bunch of missed messages that people eventually called back, which they should have done in the first place. I suppose if there was an easy way to check these messages, I might. My cell alphabetizes the incoming numbers. I have to press a dozen buttons to find out when they called. Even if I just missed the call, I can’t tell which one it was.
Instead, I decided to stay in and practice music a little. Glen Campbell must have taken lessons from the “Galvestonian Institute of Obsessive and Unnecessary Guitar Chord Substitutions”. How come you never hear a piano player bragging that he can play sus13+9ths? It is a guitar player thing, totally.
Pudding-tat is in the news again. I noticed how the place is rodent-free, but I may have given her more credit than is due. The logic is easy. These critters must come from outside. The first inhabitant with claws and teeth should get squatting rights but think back to Hebti and Sapphire, [Robynses parentses catses, that’s Robyn, my ex.]. Those cats used to bring me dead mice. With a certain frequency, all cats will catch prey. Pudding-tat has never done so. Conclusion: it is really the ring of tomcats that surround the trailer from dusk to dawn that are keeping the place un-infested. Trust me, there is an awful lot of wildlife in this area, for I live fifteen miles from the Everglades. I suspect Pudding-tat is too tame to confront an intruder.
I’ve rearranged a list of my music to get three easy-listening sets. Now that I’m pushing seventy tunes, I can pick and choose. This is in anticipation of my new Sunday gig on the beach, where I believe I will have a better audience rapport to anything that exists along the Broadwalk. The musicians here are just not gregarious where it counts. The sets are chosen to be amusing, not impressive. Maybe I’ll actually get to use those speaker poles I thought I needed that cost me a hundred bucks. I haven’t decided, but I may even, for the first time in my life, play sitting down. I hope it flies but the public is fickle.
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