Are these dates? I’m terrible with dates, a dreadful pun I’ll explain in a moment. You’d think me thinking these are dates would have reminded me. I’ve never seen these large clusters of seeds before, although I’ve seen them in green. Look at the lower right corner and you’ll see what the green bunches look like. South Florida is sub-tropical but lots of tropical things have been successfully planted all over the place. To the detriment of the indigenous species, which tend to be green, bland, tasteless, small-leaved and all over the place. Most of the same adjectives apply to the people. Back to the pun.
I did this once before in my short life, I made a date and forgot it. I hummed around half of y'day knowing I had forgotten something. This long-term adventure with music has me so distracted I can't remember my own plans. I heard it gets worse once you get rich and famous. Don't panic, but I do have moments.[Author's note 2016-02-15: the following concerns mostly a day spent with Theresa. We met in the computer shop and it was much later before I realized she was totally in the game for herself. But as you'll see there were some good times, without benefits, my choice. It was not until a year later, when she figured I was sufficiently leashed that her true character emerged. So, enjoy the moment, there is no happy ending. Over her, I lost a friend of some 20 years.]
The best plan was to call Teresa, who politely didn't say anything. It was her I was to meet at 9:30 A.M. and finally got there by 11:00 A.M. She never complained but did point out that unlike the garden variety males in the vicinity, she knew I was regretful about that. From that, I infer most men in Florida just leave women hanging? Like a cluster of dates.
Meanwhile, Teresa and I lounged around her place talking philosophy and those two dozen topics that it is okay to broach after you've made sure somebody new is not just after your wallet. Remember, we only met a few weeks ago. One item was this Federal work program. She [and Rusty] watch the news as much as I ignore it. Sure enough the work is mainly targeted to unskilled labor, something America has had to import for the last forty years. Repairing the Interstate roadways and patching bridges. Teresa reports the spokespeople have stated the work is "shovel-ready".
That implies all the "management" is in place. The human race has never been short of the unqualified willing to command. Shows you the Feds really do care, although it is doubtful many of the illegals who take such jobs will be voting themselves celebratory bonuses along the lines of Wall Street. Should you already own an shovel or two, the metaphorically happy days are here again. I could have sworn I once had a lot to say about the manual labor equivalency of people like Lee Iacocco, but suddenly he seems like a regular goddam genius.
Pointing out that Teresa and I are not dating material, we walked up from her place to Walsh's. That's the joint Johnny D used to play and he has disappeared. Teresa knows the management, so we hung out at Walsh's for first an hour, then most of the evening. We seem to share a set of social values from first-hand experience. Put it this way, if you're biggest beef in life fits into any of the top 50 categories, don't come around us expecting any sympathy. Poor babies have nothing over we two, let me tell you.
There was an episode to note. While it is not as prevalent a problem as elsewhere, you still do get the losers who scout around to approach a woman the moment her date goes to use the washroom. Those types are the lowest slime that infests our society and I've met a few who will stick to their lies that they actually thought the woman was there alone waiting to meet them. I return to find this character with a walrus mustache hitting on Teresa. At this point, I make a distinction. Teresa handled this better than any woman I've ever dated previously.
The worst thing a woman could possibly do under such circumstances is encourage the masher by being "polite". And I can tell you the worst of the worst dates in my life were [chronologically] Judy M. and Elizabeth B. I know you women didn't invite the guy over, or ask him to hit on you, but I'm your date so if you came here to chat with Apollo and Georgie, don't do it on my time. Judy would pretend she actually thought the guy was just out to make friends and Liz would let hers start buying her drinks at my table. Teresa slammed the guy right down, get lost you jerk, moving in while the other guy has his back turned. You scumbag.
Yep, Teresa knows when to cut the crap. Whereas Judy would prod things to see if you'd start a fight with a stranger to protect her, Teresa let the guy know right off without implying I was going to get involved. How did it take so many years to meet such a gal? I mean, Judy actually gave that Apollo jerk my home phone number and he would call her on my phone when we were making out. [It was an unintended consequence, but I still blamed her.] He asked for the number, she explained, and it would not have seemed "nice" tell him where to go. It was more important to her to appear "nice" to the world than to me, it seemed. At the time, anyway. I was something like 19.
Now Teresa, no slouch, knows donkey before it starts. She told me the guy’s pickup line was, "I'm getting laid tonight." Um, I'd place his age at 50. She turned her back on him to face me, but he would not give it up. When he brushed his arm against hers on the counter, she began to wipe her elbow like he was diseased. I told later I could not believe she actually did that.
Then Wallace called. He is ambulatory after the operation and I again insisted he get down here to recover. It will be a while for some stitching and bruising repair. After that, why shiver in the snowbanks? I had to drive downtown [Hollywood] to pick up a power supply, so I stopped at the bowling alley to see his girlfriend, Heather. She wants him back in town and I will dutifully pass on that information. Heather was inventing a new drink special, mostly rum and juice. I suggested the name "Fruit Salad" (which she thought was perfect), so she gave me a free sample. All I could taste was the rum.
Sure enough, all five or six of my computers are either down, or useless in some way [for working on the lyrics]. I must have reliable gear for the new "Live" Karaoke show, so I raided my Internet shop and brought one of the towers home. Forget about back up computers. When you own six, it just becomes six times a likely they will all crash.
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