You lose weight on vegetarian food, did you know that? You get lots of walking exercise. All night long. I’m still intrigued by this singles club idea. There weren’t (pun intended) tons of fat broads in the café last night. I’m known to check out singles clubs that cater to women. Take my word, even women who join such organizations never fully admit it is their own fault. I’ll be watching for that. Specifically, I look for two scenarios. One is the women hanging out in large groups like they were back at some prom. The other is where the women decide which one of them is yours and the remainder will shun you. They’ll do the same after you date any one of them. Such clubs never get back on the right foot.
There must be a name for this phenomena. It usually happens within five seconds after a new man walks in the door. Unless, that is, you know how to throw the whole gaggle off balance. Like by being a great dancer. Then they’ll never decide old Sally is the right one for you. 2009 is going to be the year of fate. Good, because not one of my 2008 resolutions worked out. That’s why they are called resolutions.
Predictions are easier. For this year I predict continued Hollywood movies with the theme that ordinary problems become more serious when they happen to middle-aged divorcees with crimped hair. I predict several false starts on the economy as these lame bail-outs work through the disaster that was once America. Third, I predict major job losses throughout the nation, a whirlpool effect as the loss of the tax base pulls down government deficit spending. Wow, that’s two financials. What is to become of those people when they have no credit left?
The Hippie called. As usual, he is motivated by causes like ecology and equality. I assured him the way to get me back is via that preacher, now known as Prestor John. Volunteer to be the house band on opening night, just get us in there. I’m a big fan of causes. First my causes, then yours, no problem. I cut him short, since I was watching “The Magnificent Seven”. This company called “Mirisch” of whom I know nothing can be counted on for a good high-budget film.
The Hippie wants the open mic to become a regular and mentioned kicking in some gas money. As usual, he will want to stock up old Beatles hits with boring bass lines. That’s instead of the time-proven spirited music that gets them dancing right in front of his eyes. He will never admit that means Hank Williams, not Zydeco. Those audiences need to learn what’s good for them if it takes the rest of his life. There’s listenin’ music and there’s dance music. He cannot tell the difference. We had a packed dance floor until he played “Imagine” and broke the spell.
Imagine playing what the audience likes. Just ask me. Between us, I’m the one with steady year-long gigs. And around here, “I’m the only one”. Ha.
Later. I just finished nine hours of filling out government forms. I would like a grant to return to school for re-training, this time at their expense. I applied months ago. The part you’d like is that they are now at the stage of asking for information they know the average person does not have, is difficult to remember or expensive to locate. They’re playing with the wrong guy. I have scanned copies of every paycheck, bank statement, tax form, deposit slip, and if they ask, photographs of the odometer of my car to prove any mileage declarations.
As a New Year’s gift, I gave Pudding-Tat her first turkey neck-bone. Once she figured out what it was, she’s been gnawing at it for two hours. Think instinct. She started at one end and completely consumes even the bones, rather than pick at the thing sideways. She stays just off to my right and when I move, she relocates to the same relative position. She appears to be enjoying the meal, making this the first time I have ever seen her eat for fun. Pudding-Tat, mighty huntress, helping keep the yard bird-free.
