I wanted to get out of the shop early today but my best computer got virused up. It is a strain not seen before, where the anti-virus won’t wipe it out, rather it only corrupts the files and you get constant pop-ups about faulty IE scripts. Worse, it corrupts your other browsers so you are stuck with the disreputable IE. The install takes two hours, including downloading the updates. During that time I got some interesting work done.The Red Devil programmer himself answered my questions about the licensed version and I came away disappointed. Thus, I sent him a page of information about the specifications I would like to see in a stage unit and I believe as a team we could produce the world’s first true digital specialized for the stage drum box. If he can program what I saw, he can show me how to tweak the system to include the features I have deemed most craved for in such a device. I hope he’ll work with me, for if he tries it on his own he’s going to miss some important concepts.
Then, just after concluding that Carlos had disappeared, who calls from Ocala? He is working construction. And wants his barbeque. And the TV I was going to use for Karaoke. I looked outside and cannot find the barbeque. It was made from a propane tank and it is gone.
Dream interpretation time. It has been decades since I’ve seen snow, so I remember this dream. Theresa and I went to a swap meet in North Carolina and I forgot something back at her place, which in this dream was across three huge bridges to the east. She had to stay behind so I started walking on the footpaths which were covered in hard, packed snow. Like you get after a blizzard. Somehow I was joined by hundreds of other people trekking across the bridges in a scene much like Dr. Zhivago. The paths were slippery and made treacherous by huge trucks rumbling across the bridges.
Even more weird was that everybody was thirsty, but the fumes from the trucks had polluted the snow. The trucks were carrying loads of sawdust, which also coated everything. People were still eating it and spitting up sawdust. What does all this mean? We already know not to eat yellow snow.
Okay, the car. Years ago I had another Ford with the same gasket problem, so I tried an old trick. Pour a mixture of half diesel and half gas in the tank. I forget how it works, but it sometimes makes a stubborn engine start. It did. You get a boost (from a Latino guy in a pickup truck) and keep cranking it until it fires, around a minute. It gets a little smoky and smelly but I drove it home. It is sitting out there even as we speak. Last time I did this, I got another 18,000 miles on that car. But they don’t make them like they used to.
No photos, I’ll let you find them on your own, but during the search for the USB footswitch, I found many other USB powered items. The ones mentioned are foot warmers, a tiny vacuum cleaner, a humping dog, a stripper doll on a pole, small Glade-type air fresheners, a fridge for one can of soda, and a mini paper shredder. The one useful item was a 200x scanner that looked like a short telescope.
By 10:00 PM I can tell you I rarely had so much fun without playing music. I accepting the invitation to call bingo and wisely wore a formal shirt and tie. Additionally, I made up a copy of the classical music disk burned for Wallace’s car before we found out it didn’t play MP3s. My logic was if I played what was requested (light rock) there would be, due to the distraction, requests for repeat numbers. I aced that one. My PA system was such overkill for bingo that my act is a hard one to follow. Um, in fact, don’t even try, I was getting compliments from people who hate bingo.
That old HP 3740, the classic ink cartridge rip-off model, I finally gave to Eddie. The concept is that any printer is better than none, hardly an endorsement for said assembly. While Eddie has temporarily lost focus, he assuredly is aware of his chances as a solo act and suggested a rehearsal tomorrow, say mid-afternoon. He is ready for something most guitarists dread: a live demo that a good bass player has more audience control than even the finest lead player. You can’t dance to a lead break, and if you think you can, you are really subconsciously hearing the bass/drum lines. Try it.
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