America’s new hero, the flight attendant that jumped plane. No name yet, but let’s see how well he, if you would, fares. Of course, all the two-bit female TV reporters are saying he was wrong because he “was rude” to a passenger. It’s expected they never consider the provocation, just the flare up. That’s why they’re all aging serial divorcees with tattoos. Who else thinks it is fine to provoke others unto anger? Why, the passenger was just trying to help him work on his patience.It took half the day to get a few simple things done since the vicious heat returned. That is why that scooter is a priority. Routine matters are taking too long, and this weather is not easy on anybody’s health. I read a history of scooters, and there have been a steady stream of winners and losers, mostly designed in Europe. The most enduring model is certainly the Vespa. It says a lot the design hasn’t changed much since 1947, the earliest picture I found.
The current Reader’s Digest covers an interesting crime investigation. Under Texas law, nobody can be charged with murder unless they have a body or a body part. Some 29 year old skank tortured her boyfriend, everybody knew it but—no body. That compound that makes blood appear showed the victim’s blood was all over the walls and floors. It had been carefully washed off.
The novelty here is that they called in an expert who was able to determine that the amount of blood that caused the stains was deadly, that is, such an amount of blood loss was lethal. Therefore, the blood was a body part. The skank got only twenty years. And you wonder why men won’t date older women. One look told anyone what she was; an aging serial divorcee with tattoos. Yet, who recalls the case where the suspect was male. No body that time either, but he got life.
Back home for a movie, another of the old Viet Nam prison camp breakout theme. It had everything, the corrupt police, corrupt army, the rickety bridge over the jungle river with incredibly blind sentries, even a handy waterfall to jump off when the good guy gets trapped. Everybody is a double agent except the triple agents. The only realism I detected was how useless the American embassies truly are.
I’m having doubts about new Ed, the rhythm guitarist. He is not staying in contact despite his twice-stated optimism. In case he turns out like the rest, I also need that scooter to move to Plan B. Open mics are cropping up all over town as clubs seek ways to get cheaper entertainment. With a scooter, I can take my show on the road, or as it were, the street. I’ve identified five open mics within an eight mile radius. The object is to show up from out of nowhere with material they never imagined, then announce I’m looking for an accomplice.
How’s my singing coming along? Glad you asked. Getting over the flu, I’ve found something else I can do on key: falsetto. This happened by chance trying to hit a couple of Roy Orbison notes. Is this important? I hope so, because I can almost do it on command and if I work hard, I may attempt a yodel or two. Nobody yodels in Broward, not even the Bluegrass bands. My recent club study shows I am totally right about the market for a country duo. Plan B is premised on exposure to rhythm guitarists.
This is where doing my own vocals gives me a decided edge. No longer can a guitarist pull a Hippie on me and claim he’s doing “two jobs”. No, you stand there and play guitar, because the chances of a non-singing guitarist ever getting into a band these days are below zero. Unless human nature has changed, where I’m getting no help starting up, I’ll have guitarists up the ying-yang once I’m on stage. But that stage will not have the convenience of being just over on Dixie. Yet I suspect the reason for no country bars in this area is that nobody has even tried.
I don’t say I will sing falsetto tunes, heaven’s no. Listen to “A Long Time Leavin’” by Toby Keith(?), I think it is an old Roger Miller hit. That’s more what I have in mind, the type of tune nobody will try to copy. Guessing you’ll want to know the lyrics for the last two lines of the talking part. It goes, “And he's whoopin' the big legs on my Levi's, they go woop woop woop woop woop woop woop woop.” That's right, and I sing that on stage.
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