I’m afraid I have some bad news. Pudding-Tat got out and is nowhere to be found. Around an hour ago I heard a sound but never went to check, since she was always knocking things around. Even though it was an unusual sound, I didn’t go look. When I turned out the living room lights, I noticed a shadow and somehow, the back door was open just wide enough. This means the door was actually not locked all day long. I left around ten this morning. What is doubly weird is that I always pull that door shut extra firmly and test it, and I did so this morning. I cannot leave the door open at night and she did not respond to any of her favorite calls. Alas, it may be the end of an era, for I can’t afford any kittens around here. Depends on which is cheaper, I guess.
I browsed the job sites for a few hours today, long enough to determine there still isn’t much out there, even for the season. I did get a call from the doggie wig place, and I’m going over there tomorrow. It is clearly understood that I will not be doing any clerical work, rather showing the clericals how to run the system. Actually, the way I set it up is pretty simple but there is never any skilled labor over there.
A day back, I answered an email from a band looking for a bass player, the band whose song list seemed familiar. I’ve got that figured out, you see, all guitar players between thirty-five and fifty took lessons from the same teacher. How else can one explain the coast-to-coast compulsion to play Hotel California? The only other plausible explanation is that none of these millions of guitarists have any good taste, but that couldn’t possibly be true. Could it?
Upon light questioning, I find there is no band. Only a guitarist-singer with a “keyboard bass player” and a drummer, both of whom will only practice if there is a gig lined up. Hmm, both of the exact type of “musicians” I show the door in a fast hurry. You watch, because of that situation, I’ll find out they haven’t played this year. I’ll follow up but mind you, all guitarists have to be club-broken before they do me any good. The first thing we do is cancel all lead breaks. I’ve just played a six month house gig with no lead breaks, so don’t give me any sermons.
I ran through each of the tunes on his list and I find he is a jazz chord substitution type. I’ll keep my guard up over that. I’ll learn six of his tunes and see where that takes things. Most guitarists think you can’t get by without them. Around me, you find that is not a fact. I won’t be a star, but I won’t be sitting around on weekends either. I decided, for the second consecutive week, to skip the jam session over at Jake’s. I might be different if there were every any single women under 200 pounds in the place.
That gives an idea of the quality of night life in this area, so I found time to read a 284 page manual on PHP. This is the “language” responsible for all those really bad interfaces when you need to search something on the Internet. You know, the ones where the text box is always smaller than what you have to read or type. The syntax is really bad considering it is supposed to translate SQL searches into HTML pages. Each over-educated dunce that came along tried to patch up the last mess but wound up introducing even worse commands. Overall, it seems to be what happens when you try to get programming done by a drunk Linux salesman who can’t type. All people who use underscores are severely retarded anyway (link designations hide the underscore, dumbo).
