August 31, 2011

           Look at this photo. This is just a kid, a student whose main concerns should be passing tests and chasing skirt. Instead he is a victim of labor abuse. I don’t buy this “over 18” crap, nobody is an adult until they consider themselves so. I will never side with those who incite children to anger. Headliner for today is my boycott of Hershey’s chocolates. The conditions there must be particularly bad for the workers to risk deportation for speaking up.
           Hershey may not be the worst offender, but I learned of their participation in the obnoxious J-1 visa program. This brings unsuspecting students into factories for “apprenticeships” that amount to indentured labor. Even if Hershey has their own side of the story, what has happened to these students is unacceptable and I am ashamed America still allows such inequity. My boycott is permanent, Hershey, even if you rectify matters, the fact you ever sunk so low is unforgivable.
           I’m aware of the economics, that the students may have left worse jobs behind; that if the production is shifted overseas there would be no jobs at all, etc. But for an established industry to rook students into paying thousands of dollars to travel to jobs where they will never earn it back is not the act of patriotic, compassionate Americans. I myself was exploited as a student and will never be impartial to scum-bag employers. Those who refuse to pay a living wage don’t belong in a free country.
           That whole thing with Hershey puts me in a bad mood, which is a good time to bring up a music point. People who play rhythm instruments are expected to learn the right chords. That’s your job, not mine. Why should I figure them out and then teach them to you? It just isn’t right to be always asking the bass player what chord you should be playing. I often have no idea what “chord” I’m playing, since bass has no chords. You can play them, but that ain’t bass. I just know I have my part right note for note.
           Gold is pulling back. A week ago I calculated that gold was overpriced by $538.33 per ounce. This morning, Barron’s agreed with me. Gold peaked at $1,897 per ounce, hinting at the normal “correction” of 33% means a price drop of $632, making my error a hundred bucks on the safe side. Silver will follow shortly. If money won’t buy gold, it certainly won’t buy food. Let me look at the brochures in my mailbox. Extra large pizza $18.00. Bottle of Scotch $30.00. Good thing I don’t like either of those, but I’m so old I won’t tell you what they cost in my day.
           I needed to unwind. I didn’t leave the house, instead caught up on a couple movies. Do you suppose every assassin eventually gets betrayed by his employer and has to go after him? Does every retired Special Forces dude get called back for jobs nobody else can handle? Are the only really exciting women left in the world strippers or hookers? Can I handle another fifty movies like these? Probably. What I do know is that there is an executive order that every US embassy in the world must assist the CIA when requested to do so. It ensures an endless supply of themes for violent movies. Good, because in another 36 months, our economy may be based on making them.
           Of course, I honed my base lines for this Friday’s gig. I’ve discovered a novel riff, when I say novel it is based on whether or not I’ve ever heard it before in the thousands of tunes I play. Not to say it hasn’t been done, just that my excellent memory knows whether I’ve heard it before. The reason I insisted JJ and I each learn 15 of each other’s picks is because my method allows that in that time, we will become accustomed to what musical habits we have in common.
           I point out this is different from the way guitar players getting “in the groove”. That process always seems to resolve to standardized, predictable riffs hovering at a grade four music level. At the other extreme, as long as JJ turns off the auto-chord, we have already punched out credible versions of Jimmy Buffett and Don Gibson. These are by no means mainstream rock or blues artists and I’m saying we played the parts most other bands would leave out. Some may say this could not work, but it works mighty fine. It just takes more hard work at the beginning.
           Want to hear something funny? A lot of people reject this style of practicing technique instead of individual songs. So I have to chuckle when my riffs creep into JJ’s repertoire, the guy who said he didn’t want to play them. The explanation is simple. I play an extra element of what the audience thinks they hear. It isn’t really there, but it causes the other musicians to listen to the original music with a different ear. It then subconsciously shows up in their performances. You should have heard JJ play Spiders & Snakes guitar chop y’day. May I add this is all taking far too long for my liking.

August 30, 2011

           Against my will, I finally made the changeover to Word 2007, those MS crooks got me. It is not that 07 is better, but they designed it to keep conflicting with the save process of my existing files. This is what we’ve come to expect from those lowlifes. Imagine how angry I’d be if I’d paid for any of their software. And here is a copy of my most recent prescription receipt. Yes, those are all zeros, as this monthly bill is completely taken care of by my insurance. The very insurance some people still insist I didn’t have. Um, at $900 per month, imagine how angry I’d be If I’d paid for any of this medicine.
           Are you a Fox viewer? I’m not. Bill Nye was the star of a children’s TV show during the 90s. But when interviewed by Fox, he has been instructed to speak slowly because their adult viewers have difficulty following him. Remember the “War of the Worlds” panic? Nye once said “the world is getting smaller” (meaning communications are better) and next thing Fox was flooded with calls from their mentally defective clientele.
           Is it any wonder the world considers us ignorant savages? I gather this blog, known for its occasionally creative metaphors, must have few Fox patrons. Nye studied under Carl Sagan and his mother was a WWII codebreaker. Bill, you can speak as fast as you please around here.
           Then how about that ruckus over the sports games tickets. Seems the stadium did not sell out on a big game. I know nothing of sports, but I know I don’t pay $150 for a ticket to a ball game where they sell beer for $12 per bottle. Only the brain-damaged fall for that when they could be watching Fox news for free. Then again, if they can’t follow Bill Nye, they probably can’t read the captioning fast enough either. The culprit? High definition TV with instant replay. I did not know the baseball stadiums also charge to park your car. Some outfits deserve to go bankrupt.
           Besides, sports has become so trite it is nauseating to non-fans. One headline declared “Derek Jeter & Minka Kelly Call It Quits”. Who are these people? Does it matter who some jock is boning? Is that really sports news? In consolation, Derek, don’t sweat it. Actress my eye. She was a mousy-looking thing at best. Same goes for you, Derek.
           Despite rain, I made it to band rehearsal all afternoon. The piano player, JJ, is gradually learning my tunes, which is a good idea since we go on stage this Friday. He still thinks it is a plan to write the music out for several hundred tunes, which I refer to as “playing with one’s nose in the book”. He has valid reasons for his viewpoint when we recall that he comes from a era where every band could easily find nomadic musicians who could comp to chart music.
           [Author’s note: That explains why music from that era all sounds alike to me. It is. When independent groups outside the music establishment began producing their own music, it follows that tunes would begin to sound unique. A big band sound required a big band, which in itself is restrictive since with any more than three musicians in a room, channelization sets in. Maybe small bands also explain why guitar music became dominant during the rock years. With the right foot pedals, even a semi-talented dope addict could create a distinctive album. Ask Eric Clapton.]
           JJ also dislikes “garage band” music where I point out that who has been producing the major hits for the past quarter century. We’ve reached a compromise whereby he turns down the auto-chord a bit and adds the right hand chord riffs along the lines of what I’ve been showing him. The sound is still unique and if I’m reading the ropes, he himself is seeing the overall effect as quite superior to the “two soloists in unison” approach of every other local duo I’ve seen.
           Robotics is on hold for a couple of weeks while everybody recuperates from this exhausting learning process. When I measured out the time, it was akin to two full semesters without a break. If history repeats, we’ll launch back into it much better than trying to over-study. If we were rich kids, we’d break by spending the summer back-packing around Europe. Then we’d come back with empty heads and strange ideas about Dutch neighborhoods.
           I watched a DVD video called “Centurion”, yet another in that endless string about Romans in England having a rough go of it. Same tired old plot, marching orders from Rome the day before their enlistments were up, type of thing. It was recorded through a blue filter and the brightest color was the hair of the blonde witch. Now, there was a babe like you don’t find much in London any more. Plenty of gory battle scenes. What can I say? Wait for the book to come out?

August 29, 2011

           A watermelon smoothie for breakfast, with coffee machine and old photo from Seattle. A touching little scene. This notebook keyboard is giving out. Cheap ass junk anyway, but I need the notebook for bingo sound effects. And backup, as the super computer is just getting out of the shop later today. In the end, every major component was replaced, including brand new hard drives.
           This means I spent the morning in the library again. That’s not so bad despite the terrible selection. There is a new Jewish section containing books on how to translate baby names into Hebrew, and of course, how to prevent your son/daughter from marrying a non-Jew. Books that would be considered prejudiced the other way around.
           Agt. M is involved with some wedding at the church and working 80 hours a week. He is too exhausted to attend the club meetings, so I’ve been independently doing all the research and programming. That’s the minutes, I’m afraid. The unexciting work of coding will never inspire the masses. The hurricane weather keeps me indoors and I’m getting cabin fever.
           The new guitarist is still the mystery man. We’ve only met on the phone, but our circumstances are similar enough to ensure a common motivation. He wants to get into music after an extended hiatus. He’s never played anything but rhythm guitar. He was a hair stylist, likes to describe how he manipulates the ladies, how he was a barber for decades before cluing in that’s not how one meets the women.
           I’ve got to smile at the masses again, in this case the use of the auto-complete feature. It modifies itself over time when the user opts to have it suggest words from the user dictionary. Well, guys, it also reveals how educated or ignorant the user was by the nature of what it suggests. One can always tell when a “grade 12 dropout” was last using the machine. It’s another of the multitude of little things that dorks can’t figure out how you just know they are so dumb.
           Speaking of geniuses, guitar Eddie’s girlfriend introduced to a man whose “IQ is 175”. People do this because they think somehow I have a high IQ, which I do not. But I’m smart enough to know if it would work, I’d like to print a big sign saying only introduce me to young, sweet, unattached, slim females. So I told him, the genius, a joke in a popular foreign language. People with an IQ above 160 could probably speak all major languages. He didn’t laugh, so I guess that means he didn’t get the joke.
           Trivia. If you telephone any company that advertises on radio or TV, particularly insurance companies, to “see if you qualify”, your phone number can be taken off the no-call list for up to 60 days. The fine print says your call establishes a “business relationship” with the insurance company and any of its “affiliates”. Hint, if they aren’t going to do a credit check on you, then who cares if you “qualify”.
           You know what this country needs? A bank that really keeps the money in a vault. It has been said it is riskier to open a bank account than to open a bank. I believe that there is a good segment of the American public that would flock to a bank that works like a bank as perceived in the movies. Another thing I wonder about, with all the recent bank failures, why is it so rare to see a bank on the block? They can’t exactly have a fire sale with their used cash, but where to bad banks go? I recall the pizza parlor in Naples that let’s you dine in the old vault, but that’s what, one bank.
           My bank would make money off other banks. As manager, I would keep a certain amount of gold and lend out 10% of the client's cash instead of 97% as is common. So many billions would be attracted that the smaller ratio would outdo many larger banks. All growth would be out of internal funds. The idea is so sound, it is probably illegal. Depositors would only get interest on the tiny amount at risk because I believe that is what they really want done with their savings.

August 28, 2011

           Fancy breakfast at the Senor Café this AM, not a word of English was spoken. I rode the electric bike over. Their café con leche is still the best in town, on a par with what you get in downtown Caracas if you stay away from Sabana Grande. Here is sunrise over Federal Hwy, one of those dazzling mornings we get right after a hurricane near-miss.            I had the big breakfast, with the $3 glass of orange juice, an indication of how bingo went. Let’s just say it came within striking distance of a record, and certainly it was a record for a month’s end pre-rent long weekend. Maybe I’ll tank up the scooter and go buy some new shirts later today. That’s not a commitment, as the bright morning can mean an afternoon from hell.
           By 8:00 AM I dropped in on Dave-O. He’s fine, just working hard and needing rest. The stubborn cuss will not ever ask for help. He can lift weights again so his arm is responding to therapy. I do not know how the guy can climb stairs wearing a carpenter’s belt all day; he is no where near back to his old self yet. Always mention Louisiana, and if he starts in about old times, you know he’s okay and you can be on your way.
           Gold is top news again, this time hitting $1830 before Friday closing. My calculations show it is still not balanced with silver. I suspect flight from the stock market is over-pricing silver simply because the working class can no longer afford gold ounces, the logical purchase size. Gold is now something I think of in grams. It’s uncanny that I can finally look at gold again only when it hits an historical high. At least real estate is still acting like a sinkhole. Twenty houses sold in Hollywood this month, less than a tenth of normal. Condos are selling but because of exorbitant fees to cover huge vacancy rates, how the fools rush in.
           I finished the newest novel, and not a moment too soon. Even during their most passionate encounters, Sabrina and Dylan always kept marriage and children as the real goal. Sabrina was such a wonderful person that not one of the 30-year executive staff were miffed as she came out of nowhere, made vice-president and blunted their career aspirations. What a gal! How do we just know this story never happened in New Jersey?
           The young mechanic at the scooter store has reached the same conclusion I did months ago. The electrical wiring is crap and it needs a locally designed replacement. I’ve been through four headlights, two taillights and two side marker lights since March. The ideal replacement would use all solid state parts, including the lights. At this point, we don’t yet even know if that is allowed.
           If I didn’t say, I’ve contacted a guy who is going to coach me on the method and equipment of setting up on of the new programmable routers. These do all the things that older routers were supposed to. In particular, they have a secure sharing layer, where I can easily connect one high speed service line and rent it out to as many neighbors as the speed permits. This, incidentally, has always been legal, but the manufacturer’s don’t exactly want you to know about it.
           While up at the Depot checking on antenna parts, who do I bump into but one of my former guitar students from the Hialeah 505. She’s as utterly good-looking as ever and I am no longer bound by my student-teacher rule (at least one year of no contact) and she has been taking $50 per hour guitar lessons. What a racket that is. We are getting together in a few days for a jam session. She’s my type you know. Slim, blue eyes, pulls in $65K per year.

August 27, 2011

           It was the switch. The shoemaker’s sewing machine switch. The only part manufactured after 1945, and it was American made. Another reminder of the great quality die-off of the baby boom era. That goes for the supercomputer, which is still in the shop and now causing my books to get out of date. I spent the morning in the library, but their computers are so detuned you can’t get anything done.
           I’m actually typing this on a notebook computer, with the carpal tunnel keypad. This unit has that 999 virus that changes all your file names to a string of 9’s, and it is damn rare and hard to eradicate. Thus, a glimmer of good news was enough to make my day. Out of the blue, I’ve contacted a rhythm player who actually wants to be a rhythm player and is happy just to be in a band.
           I’m not canceling out on JJ, just having doubts about where I could market an auto-chord sound. I know of places that throw you out if they find a fake book on stage. There is no such thing as completely lost effort, as I now have four, maybe five, new tunes added to my song list, though a couple are on the weak side. I’ll be auditioning the guitarist as soon as Sunday because I don’t really have any choice, do I? Tourist season is around the corner and two blocks up.
           I was wide-eyed upon getting the word that the VFW near Buddy’s is looking for a bingo caller. That place has a rep for fantastic tips, I said a rep. They need somebody until mid-October. I intend to hit them with both barrels. They are otherwise a volunteer bingo and I like to impress upon these outfits that I have a professional act worth paying for. I’ve lately heard of other bingo shows, but they are a different format that interrupts the bingo with other acts.
           Better still, that bingo is on a nothing Monday and I need such gigs. The other caller is out of town for a couple months and I smell opportunity. Do you know anyone out there who thinks they can call bingo? Ask them to say, “Under the G, fifty-nine.” That’s fine. Now tell ‘em I want to hear it in Spanish. You just know how I love putting people to the test when they belittle my efforts.
           I’m 2/3rds through “Scent of Danger”, it is an increasingly tough read after chapter 15. Now I know what the jacket meant by romance-mystery. It gets bogged down with sex encounters in which you are asked to believe the 27 year-old bombshell is a virgin. My favorite lines so far are page 68, where she “set down the glass, tracing the rim with her fingertips”, and page 345 where he “called upon his failing reserves”. One wonders if corporate sex really does involve that much negotiation over who does what.
           But there is a note of reality in the book, in that the sex itself is a given. Everything else is separately negotiable. Failed marriages are usually the result of at least one party not understanding that. Do not hold out on sex, or you will be doing it alone. In this case, the author does a credible job of jazzing up the mechanics of middle-class antics. Yet, I get the same impression as when listening to the masses brag about their experiences—they have never had the real thing.
           How do I know that? Allow me to explain. I’ve had the real thing. Robyn. How do I know others don’t get it? Simple, by the assumptions they make. They’ll read into my last statement such things as “infatuation”, or “obsession”, or “imagination”. Those are the first thoughts of the weak-minded who’ve never gotten out of the bush league, the type that cannot even dream of real desire. What those simpletons don’t seem to realize is they are talking about ordinary emotions that eventually wear off.
           That’s right, their whole lives have been nothing but compromises because they never had what it takes to pursue the real thing. If they’d ever stood on both sides of the fence, they would know it and, hopefully, shut the front door and go away. Unlike those people, my life hasn't been a romance mystery.

August 26, 2011

           I’ve finally derived a basic seven-step procedure for the first robot motion. This required six hours of deep thought made available by the terrible hurricane storm cells off the coast. The robot motions of acceleration and deceleration are repetitive and should thus be called subroutines. But should they be pass the speed data or be voids? And should they call be from an if or a while command? Ifs are easier to program, but are trickier at recognizing initial errors, if you ask me. My college programs were full of if bloopers. Doesn't everyone at some point have a robot prototype on their kitchen table?
           I’m further into the novel “Scent of Danger”. I read fiction an hour each time my brain overloads on robotics. The book could probably be a third shorter if the author would quit over-describing irrelevant nonsense. I know she’s going for imagery, but do we really need to know the color of every carpet and how it affects their moods? The plot would make a boring movie adaptation, since all suspects are a result of police speculation rather than clues.
           I commend the author for being conservative with the name count, but after around halfway, she is weakening on character development. How many times are we expected to believe they can be right about everything? My guess is it is the accountant covering up embezzlement based on the author’s level of understanding about the office environment she is writing about. She doesn’t seem bright enough to pin it on anyone else, but I’ll keep hoping for a surprise.
           No major study will ever be done on it, but you know how I used to get a free laugh? The settings of the computer of a dodo. Microsoft contributes to that fiasco with gems like placing the delete and rename commands right next to each other. It is subtle humor, but it is intellectually hilarious examining the default settings on the computer of an idiot.
           Except maybe pondering the corresponding idiots at Microsoft who dream them up. Like “truncate font height”. The thinking must go, “Gee, this letter is too big. Instead of making it smaller, why don’t I just cut off the top half?” Yes, there is an actual command to enable that, and I once charged a guy $45 to disable it. You know about fools and their money.
           Later, I have slowed down reading “Scent of Danger” since that is what happens to the plot around half-way through. My personal experience with corporate heads of departments is they are more like a gang of nasty spoiled brats pretending to be nice about stealing each other’s toys. I mean, really, thinking they become a power figure by arranging meetings where they stand and everyone else has to sit. It’s this kind of shit, America.
           Now the protagonist is doing employee evaluations. In the eyes of the evaluator, everybody needs improvements, even if the weak parts of their personality are miles away from the job. Let me tell you about my childhood evaluations, called report cards. Almost every teacher I had from grade 3 to 9 gave me a C in something. This was to prevent me from being a straight A student like their little darlings. I know, you are shocked I got a low mark, me, a kid who would have posted his report card on the hall bulletin board if they’d let me. I can explain.
           But back then, nobody got a perfect score unless they had the right connections. What? You are curious? You want to know just what subject could a teacher possibly find to give me a failing grade? That’s easy. Music.
           Then later, guitar Eddie and I had the classic music heat-butting contest. While he insists he wants to play in a band, he only wants the band to play his version of songs, which he insists they could do if they had the talent. He views my “Play It Once” rule as unreasonable. This is where I insist that anybody who wants to play a song differently must let me hear them play it the “right” way first. We are a cover band, not an original band, so the right way is the version we agreed on before we started practicing.
           This rule is to prove whether or not the other guy himself has the talent he is barking about. In this area I have seen some of the most sophisticated lying and cover-ups in existence, particularly from guitarists using every slick and sly excuse in the book rather than admit they are the one who can’t do it right. Eddie is one of the best, going in constant circles, like if we aren’t going to play it that way, why should he have to learn it that way. To show you can, maybe?
           The outcome of this is always the same, not just with Eddie, but every time. They finally say playing it faithfully to the original can’t be done, when I bring out my bass and do exactly what they just said was impossible. Instead of admitting they were wrong, they sidestep by saying I am playing a different instrument. In the end, my rule stands. Before we play your version, let me hear you play the real version first. Can’t do it, huh?
           Expecting a band to play your version of things isn’t joining a band. It’s expecting the band to join you.

August 25, 2011

           Read down for a review of the novel shown here. How do I know the new band is making progress? Because we finally had our first pissing contest. This is 100% normal and to be expected, or it ain’t much of a band. Symphony orchestras don’t have a conductor just to read the music sheets, he’s there are a point of final reference. Today’s discussion was directly to related to a musical fact that few people realize: playing in a band is a different skill than playing an instrument. I’ll explain.
           Every instrument can be used to solo, that is, play a melody line that dominates the other players. Alas, this leads to people who try to accompany others in a band while still playing essentially a solo part they think is turned down enough. Well, it ain’t. I’ve never yet seen a music teacher focus on accompaniment parts, though they do give it lip service. There isn’t an instrumentalist out there that hasn’t dreamed of a hit solo.
           The problem surfaces when that mentality is applied to band membership. There is no place I know of that you can study the different ways you’d play your instrument in a duo, or a trio, or a larger band. I suggest that is why too many rock bands sound like a bunch of soloists in collusion. The reality of the matter is that in a band, the part each person plays usually is far simpler than what would be played as a solo. This is so obscure it is rare to meet even a virtuoso who understands the concept.
           Well, JJ is right on schedule with the expected. He feels that the piano riffs he is playing on my tunes are too unprofessional on stage. That is, I think, totally due to his experience playing solo to the auto-chord feature and he’s conditioned his ear to hear that full orchestra. His instinct is to go for as full a solo sound as possible. He has zero experience in keeping it simple, no experience in the most effective musical technique in the world—letting the audience fill in the blanks.
           As a band manager, I’ve gone through this transition countless times. In a duo, each “soloist” has to simplify their part to allow for the other components to mesh. This sounds to some like detraction from playing, but in fact it is a subtle chance to add notes or frills that get left out when soloing. They are not there unless you know how to listen for them, but anyone who listens to me play bass knows how nice it is to hear those extras.
           The reality of the matter is that JJ’s piano parts are excellent. I know, I showed them to him. But I have to be careful around touchy egos since I can really play piano as a soloist. I’ve shown him how to punch out a piano line in the lower to mid-range octaves that lends a driving energy to the overall sound. But he is not yet able to hear it for himself and only hears how sparse it sound when he tries to “solo” the part after I’m gone for the day. That’s par, for most keyboardists can’t play such riffs until they are shown how.
           Like many who have never deeply contemplated why some bands are successful, JJ doesn’t understand how to blend in with others all that well. Hey, at least he’s not a guitarist with a mental block that it is everybody else that doesn’t get it. In a good band, the individual parts are indeed thinner than usual by as many members as in the group, or you get people overplaying the band. I know there is progress in the sense that JJ asked if I would give him a recording of myself doing the bass parts to a drum beat.
           No chance. That amounts to musical suicide. If I do that, I’ll never see the other guy again. That would be handing somebody an original backup band. I cautiously make sure I teach nobody anything they can run away with, I tend to build in assurances that what I teach only sounds good to my bass playing. Some may say that is hard-nosed, but hey, they are supposed to be joining a band, not getting free music lessons out of me. At the same time, I’m making concessions to obey my own rules when I learn the songs they want to play. I understand each person in a band is his own dictator.
           Now pay attention as the wryest smile in twenty years creeps onto my face. I’m reading a novel with the author has discovered my mating call, or at least made a credible story out of my technique. Don’t get me wrong, every man and woman has their own way of communicating sexual overtures and I stand by my assertion that I have never had to talk a woman into the sack. The book is called “Scent of Danger” by Andrea Kane, and the relevant details are in chapter 11.
           As she presents it, Kane is just writing about a casual encounter but had my methods down to a tee. Ignoring her constant insinuation that only smooth, wealthy, socialites have sophisticated moves and there I saw my reflection. Like myself, the man never mentions sex or propositions a single thing. He’s wise enough to merely create the circumstances and a decent woman will put the make on herself. A fantastically successful ritual, I can confirm, and it weeds out the losers. If a man is at fault for it, a woman is equally at fault for the same.
           The rest of the book is a good mystery, if a little stereotyped. The police are right off basic cable and you have to regularly put up with the annoying fallacy that rich, conservative parents produce superior offspring. All the main characters are wrapped up in the self-love typified by American corporate culture. To a one, they have impeccable taste in steaks and wine, know every vogue catch-phrase, and would be devoured by their own irrepressible creativity if not for golf, yoga and oriental massage. It’s a wonder how they find time for all that inner city charity work where, disguised in dungarees, they so instantly behold each other’s true merit.
           Could be the designer labels?

August 24, 2011

           This is a model airplane engine. It is a six cylinder radial costing $1100. I was investigating alternative power supplies. This tiny engines, ranging from 0.020 to 2.50 cubic inches are far too noisy for use on robots. They are glow plug two-stroke, making them annoying even when muffled. I was looking into radio control as well, but more as a method of feedback than guidance. The mufflers for model airplanes are called “bolt-on expansion chambers”. That alone doubles the price.
           The big sewing machine is broken at the shoemaker’s. I’m going in this Saturday to fix it. Where did I learn this trade. I didn’t. But I not only know how to read, I often do. I assure everyone that the machine will be working again that same day.
           America! Still the land of opportunity. I received a phone call from the committee at St. Jude’s. Their annual festival is the weekend before Thanksgiving and it seems they have not had the best of luck using amateur bingo callers. Now fancy that. Folks, there is no substitute for my show, no substitute for a pro behind the microphone. Watch me work the room and I’ll show ‘em how it’s done.
           I can reckon how many heartbeats to pause between numbers. Nobody can copy my mysticious trick of knowing which number is going to be the winner. Whether it is the 4th number or the 57th number, I can always play the Jaws theme at exactly the right moment. Sure, it’s a trick and having an MBA with a minor in statistics does help immensely—but I’m not telling. Trust that I don’t do anything for two years without taking it to a new level.
           St. Jude’s is about to experience the bingo of their dreams. By coincidence, I recently finished amalgamating a complete new series of background disks and sound effects. My show can be dumbfounding to newcomers who don’t know about my foot pedals under the table. Being invited to call bingo in Miami qualifies as my unique event of this year. How was your day?
           Hewlett Packard must have distributed another automatic update, since I’m getting printer trouble calls. That company can really suck, often their equipment horizon is no longer than 18 months. After that, their drivers and support drop off faster than any outfit with the possible exception of Sony. Nothing but thieves and sons of thieves, those people.
           Plenty of progress to report with the new keyboardist. The bottom line is still that he isn’t what I originally wanted, so the ad stays up at Guitar Center. We’ve played all the easy things and I’ve noticed that while I’ve learned every tune on his list, he is auto-chording through my material. That’s eight hours of work for me versus a half-hour from there. It’s not wrong, but I notice. And, I’m not sure if auto-chording is a sellable commodity no matter how well I accompany it. Therefore, I’m still keeping an eye out as historically that is the best policy in this town.
           Reading some history on military leaders, I was surprised to learn that Moshe Dayan, the Israeli general and later defense minister, was not an academy man, but a farmer. It’s not something I’d expect reading his military career. He lost that eye fighting the British in Syria during the mandate. But of course, if you want the real facts, you go ask Wallace. Unlike me, he has never read a single book on the Middle East, so his mind is spotlessly free of Jewish media control.
           He could probably also fill you in on the facts that it was the Turkish administration, not the Arabs, who allowed settlement of the coastal marsh areas. The term "arudi maut" means "dead land" in Turkish, nobody lived there. You can confirm this many ways, including reading the travels of good old Mark Twain who went through the area in 1867, describing it as a wasteland of caves and cactus.
           he descriptions of a "land of milk and honey" were completely false to try to sell what was an uninhabited malarial swamp. The original sellers, two Arab brothers who had never seen the land, got ten times their money from a buyer in Gibraltar. A doctor who visited Jerusalem warned people the land was so desolate not even birds flew over it.
           But you'll have to ask Wallace for the real story, he's often said he has inside information about the whole affair. The bottom line is the Palestinians who are claiming the area as their homeland never owned the land and did not live there before the Jews, and these facts have never been denied. I'm not Jewish, but I'm on their side on this one.

August 23, 2011

           You’ve seen the new Kraft product Mio marketed as a water enhancer. Watch out, the stuff is addicting. A boon to dieters who seek a recommended daily allowance of zero, it reminds me I have forgotten that term for people who lose taste for the real product and prefer the artificial. It makes ordinary water seem boring the way Robyn did the same to ordinary women. Try a shot of the berry flavor in your ginger ale. Sip it and enjoy this classic photo of Florida roadside scenery.
           Last evening was one of the most draining club meetings yet, dragging on past four hours. As we approach the initial construction stages all kinds of technical problems happen along. Furthermore, the on-line forums are getting tedious as we have started to notice a lot of the experts are a bit too self-styled for my liking. A few examples will define my point of view. While we are still novices at robotics, we are well-informed about what we don’t know and can pick it out in others in a flash.
           So, imagine what it is like to encounter an “expert” who has not solved any of the problems we know to be on the beginner’s agenda. One of these experts wanted to know why certain lines of code were present, to which I replied they were needed when the robot bumped into something. It took twenty minutes to convince the “expert” what we know for certain, that everything in the universe is sooner or later going to bump into something else. I dropped out of the chat. What was I supposed to do? Try to convince the guy why Einstein proved that nothing can ever stand still, relatively?
           Another huge group on line are those who plainly must be lying because they have not solved the type of problem that our club knows to be a part of the learning process. M and I joked about how several times we had to run out to the yard with an unplugged glue gun to fix something before the glue cooled. A true professional would quickly understand that is because our extension cord wasn’t long enough. Instead, we got squid-brains who told us we must be doing it wrong.
           The same goes for authors who publish videos that only show the finished product or write instructions that can’t be followed without resorting to external help. Like the Pakistani whose page keeps coming to the top of any search for a cell phone remote ringer. I want one because I can’t hear my cell ring in my pocket when riding the scooter, but that guy is no help at all.
           I’ll tell you who is a posse of losers: guys who put backing tracks of their stupid taste in music thinking it will convince the world they are not only into electronics, but so kewl, too. I’m trying to figure out the missing components and on comes blasting some synthetic Paki-rock that sounds like singing class at the retard school.
           A partly cloudy day found me doing the outdoor chores. I’m going to replace my scooter headlamp with a waterproof halogen kit. The new computer is going back to the shop for the fourth time, I’m afraid it is the chip itself, which means I will likely have to do a forced upgrade to Windows 7 and begin to relearn everything all over again. I’ve wired up and tested a turn signal warning light on the scooter because it is so easy to forget to hit the cancel button.
           The sun came out just past noon, so for siesta I began reading an odd book called “The Statement”. The worn-out theme is the hunt for ex-Nazis which makes no distinction between justice and revenge. But this book does it nicely plus throws in a political theme not too well known outside of France. The Allies portrayed de Gaulle as a liberator, but France knows he ran to England and hid out doing nothing while taking all the credit.
           What’s more, the French Resistance was really a communist-led guerilla force who were convinced that Stalin would roll right over Germany into France. They were prepared to take over the government, which was their real motive from the start. But what keeps me reading is the rarely published view of the Catholic church protecting Nazi fugitives on the run. They do it, but not many people understand why.
           When you have separation of church and state, the church then has the opportunity (and if powerful enough, the option) to dispense its own justice. This is particularly true of the Catholic church where the heads of monasteries and convents have enough autonomy to act without permission from the Vatican, or even telling anyone for that matter. Myself, I note that most of the Nazis who persecuted Jews did so with complete legality at the time and once hostilities ended, many became outstanding citizens of the new communities. That includes the Nazi scientists who spearheaded the US space program. I will never champion ex post facto law.
           Later in the evening, I put in some extra hours and believe I have the pseudo-code ready for the robot. It is seven main modules, two in the setup and five in the loop. Without connecting a single wire yet, I believe this robot will be able to navigate a maze just difficult enough to prove it is not acting either randomly or in a predetermined fashion. I designed the maze for that expressed purpose; it looks like the letter ‘T’ stacked on top of itself three times.

August 22, 2011

Yesteryear
One year ago today: August 22, 2010, the autorun.inf virus command.
Five years ago today: August 22, 2006, early Dragon entry.
Seven years ago today: August 22, 2004, the last free generation.
Random years ago today: August 22, 2008, I wrote that?

Blog missing, but I'll find it around here somewhere. The new super computer is proving to be a pain in the . . . neck. It's back in the shop.


Last Laugh


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August 21, 2011

           See the tree stump? It’s not really the stump, but somebody did leave this outside the shopping center where I now troll for used books. It’s the corner of Hollywood & State Road 7 and the book selection is comparable to small library except it has more real books. The public libraries in Hollywood are a joke. Ten racks of useless books on what to name your autistic child and prevent your Jewish daughter from marrying a gentile, but not a single tome on robotics.
           Besides library books, I also review my own books, an activity not often spotted amongst the proletariat, I see my music expenses have dipped below 15%. No, that’s not good, that indicates that routine maintenance isn’t up to snuff. I know from experience the ratio that has to be maintained. So I commenced to cipherin’ about ratios. Fort Knox.
           They say there is gold there, and they’ve been saying it for years. Without any projections, I’m right now going to calculate how much gold there is supposed to be in Ft. Knox for each US citizen, and see how that compares to other things. Stand by. Okay, back again, and here are the numbers (as opposed to facts):

                      Alleged gold reserve: 147,200,000 troy ounces.
                      Adult population: 206,000,000
                      Troy ounces of gold per adult: 0.71456
                      Gold spot today: $1,853 per ounce
                      Current value of gold in Ft. Knox: $273 billion
                      Current value per adult in Ft. Knox: $1,324.08

           Jeez, I better get off my butt. That’s not very much money and the real inflation starts next year. Trivia: Ft. Knox isn’t the largest depository of gold in the USA. Nope. The big one is gold held for “foreign interests” and it is in an underground vault in New York City. At least it was the last time anybody checked. I suppose New York makes more sense than, say, Tanzania, but barely. There you go, folks. If you steal enough of something, New York will provide you a safe place to keep it.
           The supercomputer is going back to the shop for the fourth time. Sorry, but it is not performing and is still full of software problems. Like forgetting all the drivers, or shipping a file into MicroSoft neverland, or taking eight minutes to boot up. I’m beginning to think it is the microprocessor. It is only my elaborate back-up copy system that saved me a few times on this one.

           I scored a good one while at the used book place this morning. A practically brand new radio controlled toy truck for $1.99. The guts inside were nicely compartmentalized for ease of manufacture and therefore a boon to the club. I was getting dismayed by the prices for components, often in the $75 range for DC motors. I intend to use these toys as prime movers so as to focus on the servos, sensors, and code side of things. Why build mechanical parts if the price is right?
           Let me state I am content with the new band, but also spew out a few words of advice. Every musician I have met in Florida, JJ included, that wants to join or start a band has shown themselves to be woefully unprepared to do so. Playing or being a band member for X number of years means nothing if you are not prepared for the non-musical aspects of forming up with others.

           When I show up and find you don’t have anything except your own instrument, trust me, you are still a scant novice compared to me. JJ writes his music out, but last session had no pencil, no paper, no photocopier or scanner, no nothing. I’d say it requires around $600 in gear above and beyond your instrument and amp before you can seriously claim you are ready to join.
           This brought a funny coincidence to mind about George over at the scooter store. He must have went through ten mechanics who showed up without even basic hand tools. I’ve had singers show up that didn’t have their own microphone. Music is different in that a true professional will naturally hold themselves to superior standard of preparedness. But as long as things surge ahead, all is forgiven. It turns out JJ has two music degrees, so between us we have six university or college degrees. Between the Hippie, Wallace, and I, we have four.


Last Laugh


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August 20, 2011

           What happened to robotics? Why so little about it lately? That’s easy, we are taking on larger projects which require more time before there is anything to report. For instance, now we know to make a robot move, we need much more than the motor. We additionally need as a minimum, a dual H-bridge, transistors, and a flyback diode, and that doesn’t even get into controls, sensors, software and a power supply. Each item must be mastered. It’s not like the fairy godmother leaves these things under your pillow.
           This is the chassis of a 99 cent toy from Goodwill. When it became counterproductive to find any useful information about gears on the Internet, I decided to leave that for the engineers. I purchases several of these toys to provide the running gear. Upon inspection, this chassis seems ideal for robot control. The drive and steering, see photo, are basic DC motors just begging to be attached to some smarts.

           The new band will play somewhere shortly. We have most of the material for a full set ready for stage, though we need stage time to sparkle things up. First dibs go to all my old contacts, especially the beach area, then inland toward Dixie. Last, I try west side of I-95 where dwells the Lost World of Neighborhood Pubs. It is no longer a question of if, we will play soon and often even if we have to undercut to get established. That was my management decision.
           Mind you, I am hearing from several sources that some clubs are having trouble finding musicians and for the first time, I heard a complaint about what I’ve been saying for years: All the local rock and blues bands play the same set list. That might be good news for I put out some of the most eclectic music in town. Who else plays Nancy Sinatra and Mary Chapin Carpenter?

           But why can’t pubs find players? I predicted as the economy imploded, more middle-aged men would dig out the old Strat. Maybe I did not look far enough, for there is a point past collapse when even playing for tips won’t help. That must certainly be true in many cases, as proof I point out there are 260,000+ foreclosed houses in Florida. The mortgages that are solvent owe an average of $161,800 each and according to the Sun-Sentinel, average credit card debt is $6,445. Them’s mighty grim numbers to wake up to every morning. But that’s what they get for borrowing and spending when times are good.
           We will never be the band known for authentic copies, but compared to what else I’ve seen, we are a model of organization, efficiency, and cooperation. I’m playing ever more root stomps, JJ is learning to tack on distinct intros and outros. It is a working formula, and a keyboard-bass duet in this town is beyond one-of-a-kind. If only because nobody else had the guts to try it.

           JJ’s first instrument is a trumpet. We may be doing a little Herb Alpert. Trivia, Herb was the “A” in A&M Records, which he sold for half a billion (with a b). Herb’s was one carefully managed career, did you know he wasn’t Latino? Nope, the guy was Ukrainian and his band, the "Tijuana Brass", never existed. Although later he hired some people to fake it--all his early hits were himself overdubbed. Moral: having your own recording studio in 1964 proved a real plus for producing hit records.
           I spent a few hours mastering new bingo music. Now that Limewire is gone, it takes a little longer. I left the TV on in the chance I’d find a NOVA channel but instead the cable is clogged with old Elvis movies. You know, back in 1964, all the women wanted to marry him. Everywhere he went, nothing but women who wanted to get married hard and put away wet. So I can finally say it, “Did you know going through university, I married 35 women?” All top echelon stuff, too. Officer material.

           Another ugly scam appears on the Internet. I know it’s been around a while, but I was usually able to work around it until today. The scam is companies that no longer supply their drivers for free, so if you need them, you become the victim of resellers who charge for them. For non-computer types, drivers are the little software programs that make things like your printer and webcam to work, software that should be rightfully included on a chip inside the device since it won’t work without it. My optical disk drivers need replacing and all searches lead to thieves who advertise “free” but want a credit card. If you still haven't figured out that the word free is being abused then stay gullible. Nobody will say anything, ahem.
           A poor showing at bingo means a quiet weekend at home. Encouragingly, there were some new people but the core group shrinks in the summertime. As a distraction, let’s look at some trivia. Did you know the downtown of Los Angeles is 75% foreign-owned. Not that they aren’t welcome to it, but it changes the character of the town. Like Miami, the city becomes a liability instead of an asset.

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August 19, 2011

           One of my favorite humorists has a book on bachelor advice. P. J. O’Rourke published this in 1986 but since I don’t read Playboy, I’m just getting around to the book. You see, in 1987, I was too busy doing the real thing to get into looking at pictures of the girls who do it for money. What? You’re not trying to tell me those “models” weren’t being paid, are you? Here’s PJ’s recipe for popcorn.
           It isn’t imagination, this is a record hot spell since 1952. Something like 40 days it has not gone below 90 in the daytime. My new place is comfortable only when all fans and coolers are on full blast, a better deal than the last joint. I’m finishing up another James Patterson novel, “Swimsuit”. The plot is significantly better than expected, concerning an author who is forced to write the story of a serial killer. Look for many fascinating twists in the story.
           The plot is a little thin at times. Patterson describes an electronic bug that could not exist as told. The killer needlessly gives away some of his better disguises, like the time he becomes a black man in Paris just to issue a threat. And the world needs an author who isn’t sold on the police as all-gracious and self-sacrificing, that crap.
           Take a look at reality. The local police nearly killed a twenty-year old kid for continuing to walk while they questioned him. They claimed his walking was violent resisting of arrest and put the dogs, boots, and tasers to him. They then fabricated a story that he had superhuman strength. Sure, the kid was an idiot, but I hope he wins his million dollar settlement. I believe the Constitution gives citizens the right to resist unlawful arrest. But if you do, make sure there are some witnesses.
           I fell asleep in the armchair studying last evening. It’s a good sign for all who’ve done that lately. During this snooze, I dreamed about being back on the farm and was reminded why I left and never went back. I never could stand those pitiful excuses who need constant reminders that you are thinking of nothing but their comfort and ease. The losers who develop a paranoid interest in everything you do; every move you make becomes their business and they demand an explanation. When you finally pull down the blinds and lock your door, they call you the paranoid.
           I’m fond of relating how I once worked in a department at the phone company that was full of that brand of loser. It was just that one department, called the PLB for Private Line Board. It seemed to attract uneducated losers. I was force transferred there, so you can imagine how we got along. But thanks to my family, I was well equipped to deal with that pack and it drove them crazy.
           One particularly dismal prick almost got fired for pretending to be security and trying to locate my home address. Claimed he had a “right to know” where the people he worked with lived. That’s the height of paranoia, yet his defense was that I was paranoid by not supplying idiots like him with my home address .
           I had dozens of ready-tested tactics to deal with such scum, the type who would snoop into your desk when you left for coffee. (Leave an army manual concerning booby-traps on your blotter.) The sort who read the union list to see who came on duty when. (Couldn’t do anything about that.) Even though it was 17 to 1 them and me, in the end it was pretty much 50:50 in terms of who got the short end. I hope they all still work there, I really do.
           You should subscribe to Now You Know. . They send you an email every day with a tidbit of information. Today I learned the Mona Lisa is not painted on canvas, but rather three slabs of lumber. It was stolen back in 1911 by a workman who stuffed it under his coat. What’s with the French, not noticing somebody with lumber under his coat? Yeah, I know, they were too busy surrendering to a family of German tourists who missed their train connection.
           It looks like the band will be ready for September, although we still have not decided on how to move the PA equipment. I had planned on eventually getting the Roland. JJ has mentioned he is really feeling the financial pinch over the previous year. Yeah, him and everybody else in the music business, and it will get worse as the economy pushes the fringe people into the arena. They can always undercut us.
           JJ doesn’t own any recording equipment at all. He has a tape deck, but it has no microphone jack. As I suspected, he has learned the tunes off his car radio. How do I turn that into a positive without detracting from my own duties? Should I even have to make the effort? I’ll decide later. Hey, after I made it through last season with no music and no income, and it turns out with no help from my “friends” either, this year will seem like a piece of cake.
           But how are we doing? It progresses far better than predicted. Differing styles can conflict but they can also complement. Neither JJ nor I seem averse to playing material not on our personal agendas. I am a firm believer in proper intros and outros, that the body of a tune is merely another component. JJ believes the lyrics and vocals are the supreme and ultimate of a song. Put together, we get a semi-tight intro that warms the audience up, a song that brings back memories, and an outro that keeps them tipping.
           Trust me, unless there is an earthquake, nobody is going to quit now.

August 18, 2011

           This picture means nothing. It is here out of habit. And one of my habits isn’t paying $9 for a package of balsa wood. Today, you get Music 805 – Facts About Advanced Band Membership. You’ll find I have to use emphasis and repetition a lot. It’s a management tool.
           It is my profoundest opinion that playing music in a band cannot be accomplished without delving into its philosophical side. In fact, I was getting concerned enough that JJ and I were making too much progress without having any differences that I finally prodded him into speaking up. I assured him that I expected confrontations and that I would not quit now no matter what he said. Today is a chronicle of what was revealed, often resorting to said philosophy.
           Music is an industry where you can have a lifetime of experience and still be dead wrong about even being in a band. The point is that my background as a band manager easily encompasses most anything a musician can tell me about music, but it never, never, never works the other way around. Without exception, no matter what musicians know about music, it does not apply to playing in a band unless they’ve approached it from a management point of view. It’s the one reason bands come and go, but managers and agents live forever.
           This describes some fundamental divergences between JJ and I. Allow me to detail this subject as a kind of “inside” on bands that you can’t get from any course, book, school, or apprenticeship. Do not conclude JJ and I are arguing, we just comparing opposing viewpoints. JJ’s perspective is that of a musician, mine is that of a musician PLUS that of a band manager. Having done both effectively, I never confuse the two, whereas 100% of all musicians I’ve ever met conclude they are one and the same thing. It’s like musicians have never noticed that foot soldiers don’t make good generals. I’ve never had a band fail that allowed me a free hand.
           JJ believes with the right sheet music one makes the most money by playing virtually any song the audience may request. Aha, the traditional stance of an experienced musician. My background says that you cannot possibly please everyone and that no band that ever existed can do a good job of too many pieces of music. Aha, the standpoint of a manager and musician. Note how my position covers both disciplines.
           Most musicians only think they know about management. That’s why there are many startups and few successes. The old saying goes there are no bad bands, just bad managers. You better believe it or you will in no way understand what I say next. I say the most money comes NOT from having a vast repertoire, but from doing an outstanding job on select music that showcases the talents (plural) involved. You will not disappoint the worst audience IF you have crackerjack material. Even the wrong crowd will listen to a good job, but fake it and you are toast. I suggest those who disagree should try it my way before talking back.
           Here’s an example of a situation where management and labor differ. JJ and I readily agree that someone making a request will appreciate you at least trying, which represents the conventional musician’s inflexible thought pattern. As a musician, I get it. But now step into my office, where a request is a strong signal that somebody is bored. It is unwise to feed one dog in a pack--unless he’s waving a hundred dollar bill. My counter-claim is that I’ve played rooms so well that they were anxiously curious what I would spring on them next. Nobody dared make a request.
           Next, why don’t I believe in sheet music? It can never capture the feeling of a song, and today we put that to the test. Let me back track a little to say I underestimated JJ’s age. He has been playing professionally for more years than I have been alive. His opinions are to be respected; we put music, not opinions to the test. I had him show me how he accompanies the auto-chord. Then I asked JJ to turn that function completely off.
           Thence, I showed JJ how I would play a country style pattern without any accompaniment if I was a keyboard player. He was wide-eyed. He tried to play what I just did but could not, his fingers would not obey. There you go. He asked me to write it out and I was ready for that, too. He went wide-eyed again, shocked that there were only five notes on my chart. I was careful to assure him he would, with practice, be able to do what I just did. Less is more, but it requires restraint.
           As a manager and a musician, I know what has to happen better than taking just one side. (Boxers need trainers, right?) I still have cards I didn’t play, for I have Grade 8 in classical piano. Experience, by itself, cannot explain why JJ, with 50+ years on the job, could not play that five-note riff. I should mention I was polite enough to use two hands.
           [Author’s note: It is partially because it was a guitar riff, and not many people consider that the logical array of guitar notes is from lowest to highest, due to the nature of the way that instrument is laid out. To play guitar on a piano, you have to mentally lock out ever playing a note lower than the last one, and the fingers won’t abide by the brain without a little unlearning.]
           I was further careful to assure JJ that once he began to play such patterns, he would quickly prefer to turn off the generic auto-chording. I was surprised he agreed so readily. I went on to show him how by taking away each layer of music, first the drums, then the lower keyboard notes, then the auto-chord and so on until he was playing only a sparse right hand, that we could do a fantastic version of the song that the audience wasn’t expecting. He’s always assumed a rhythmic and busy piano line was all that was ever needed. Wrong.
           I’ve belabored often to anyone who will listen this business about working hard to capture the feeling of a song and keep it simple. I may have a convert, but mainly for the negative reason that he could not naturally play the riff. Myself, I don’t make a good keyboard player because of an ancient wrist injury and the fact that I can’t get musically expressive enough (for contemporary music) due to my Mozart background.
           In conclusion, a lot of turf was covered in our two-hour meeting today. I was ready with my compromise of not faking 200 songs without actually refusing to do so. It was that we stick to learning 40 tunes along the lines of these new piano riffs that he finds fascinating, using the process to garner knowledge of the other guy’s style, then only at that point begin faking music, which he can see we would, by then, be rather damn good at it. We rehearse again tomorrow.
           Why is philosophy so hard to put in writing?

August 17, 2011

           Here is something most people have never seen. A gram of gold. It is the little pellet in the lower right corner of the package, shown here about life size. After numerous questions upon publishing this picture elsewhere, it makes the blog headline today. At roughly 28.3 grams per ounce, what you see here is around $64.42 worth of gold at today’s quote. Beware, you pretty much have to know a dealer to buy it at that price. Usually smaller pieces sell for considerably more than they are worth.
           There has been an upsurge in demand for these grams. The logic is sound: a full ounce is over $1800 and most people can’t make change for that. Ounces are out of the price range of the working class. I said working class, not middle class, for that crowd would be dumb enough to buy a whole ounce with a credit card, and fancy themselves clever. Hint number one: Buy precious metals only with cash.

           JJ and I had the Jaco Pastorius conversation last rehearsal. Jaco is a bassist, no doubt very famous and very talented. At the same time, it is extremely unlikely you could dance to his material, or whistle the melody, and that is a big part of my point. He essentially plays jazz guitar licks on the higher registers of a fretless bass. A lot of people confuse this with playing bass.
           So, I decided I was going on-line once and for all to see if the guy had produced any top sellers. Not hit records, but top sellers. The only thing I found was vague references to “Birdland” and “Weather Report”, plus plenty of commentary on his “electrifying” showmanship. Okay, I concede on all that. My conclusion is that Jaco and I are universes apart when it comes to the “right” way to play bass in a country band. I said country. I said band. If Jaco was my bassist, I’d have to fire him. He plays too much razzle-dazzle. To those who say he was a great bassist, I ask who told you that? You certainly didn't come up with it on your own. Can you hum even one of his riffs?
           Then, of all the crazy things, I called JJ by a different name. What the? Sure enough, we’d been talking about the Holiday Lanes where I’d met another musician with a similarly spelled name with different pronunciation. I showed JJ the other guy’s business card and what a laugh. I guess when you program as many decades as I have, the old brain starts to function logically without being asked and that is not how the real world works. What’s the term for words that are spelled similar but pronounced differently? Like “good” and “food”. I keep thinking “heterophone” but that isn’t quite right.

           Back in the mid-80s, I took a serious tour of the area around Merida in Mexico. I doubt I’ve published anything here, but I’ll try to locate the hand-written files. It is the nearest city to Chichen Itza, where I climbed the pyramid both inside and outside. (Mayan pyramids had another layer added every 52 years.) The point is, the city of Merida has now been “discovered” by the American retirement market. It was a remarkable place, I attended university there. The university with no roof, since it never rained. It rained while I was there, just my luck.
           That’s the town I asked for a “taxi” and the guy showed up with a cart and a burro. I truly admired the city, it is so far away from the Mexico one sees in the news that it could be a different world. Alas, that will change now. Back then, I stayed in a first class hotel for $12 per night and was astounded by how little the place must have changed since 1850. I saw families riding 5 to a motorcycle and Saturday dances in the downtown marketplace.

           There was no evidence of crime. I told of the little monkey that would snatch a pen out of your shirt pocket and stay just out of arm’s reach until he led you back to his owner’s fruit stand in the Mercado. I knew when they built that Club Med at Cancun 75 miles away the days of this peaceful city were numbered. I was last there in 1986. I shudder to think what the influx of strangers will do to paradise.
           It was a waypoint for European tourists making their way through the pyramids and ruins. I went to Uxmal (Ooosh’-mawl rhymes with Foosball.) and sat in the Emperor’s throne, and wrote about the similarity of the interior rooms to the grass huts of Polynesia. I traveled independently back then, by that I mean not the military or tour groups. If I had done the itinerary thing, I would not have had any adventure. I have fond memories of four blonde German girls I met in that town on the two occasions I was there.
           See also June 9, 2006, December 23, 2009, and January 30, 2004 . It is almost impossible for a publication this size to avoid all repetition dealing with the past, but I was surprised to see after so many years the same items come to mind about Merida.

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August 16, 2011

           Examine this bicycler’s paradise. Smooth, uncracked concrete twelve feet wide with no pedestrians. No tree roots jutting up, no crumbling shoulders, the only things I’d add are enough trees to make it a shady tunnel. It’s all for show just east of Presidential Circle. The remainder of Hollywood is so bad I’d once considered doing a documentary on it.
           No sign of Dave-O, so he’s working that job. That kills our plans for a jaunt out of town until I dunno. The replacement computer for the replacement for the super computer is acting up itself. Why didn’t I stick with Apple? Instead, I’ve got a half day of copying all files and replacing hard drives. At least it keeps me out of the direct sunlight. You know, like the way some people should keep out of direct moonlight.

           Music is the dominant theme for now, another lengthy practice this afternoon brings us up to 20 tunes. It’s a mixed accomplishment, however, because it is the type of band I said I’d least prefer—but of course I meant any band is better than no band back when I said it. I’d hate to miss the sixth consecutive tourist season in a row and that is just around the September corner. I hear the questions already, so give me a little room and I’ll explain.
           JJ, accomplished musician that he is, does not really copy any cover tunes, that is to say, he makes little concession to playing them authentically like the originals. In many cases, I suspect he has never heard the originals. This type of music can be easily accomplished by anyone who buys a fake book, if you’ve ever seen those. They list hundreds of songs and show only a basic melody line and the guitar chords. They do not show the countless little things that make that song unique.
           Hence, especially when coupled with the auto-chord rhythms built into a keyboard, every tune pretty much sounds alike. Anybody who patronized the Seattle lounges in the 1980s will know what that sounds like. Still, any working band in Florida is better than nothing and I have no reason to complain as long as things move ahead. They are moving, for we have already the 20 plus songs needed for a short set.

           Like many non-bassists, JJ has never listened to a tune specifically to hear out the bass line start to finish. This is not unusual, and many such musicians think of the bass as a root and fifth instrument, that familiar country “stomp” sound you often pick out when listening to bluegrass. But that is essentially grade one in bass, and it is not used anywhere near as often as some think. Probably because it gets boring fast.
           Where I spend the past few days learning custom bass lines, it turns out I often can’t use them. That may sound odd so let me elaborate. Just like a Bb sax or an Eb trumpet, the bass has a natural key [of E] in which it is the easiest and sometimes only key to play certain hit tunes. But the most difficult keys are sharps and flats, in particular Eb and F, both popular piano keys. Guess what JJ plays a lot? This is not wrong, but I can say I’ve never heard “Good Hearted Woman” played in F before. If you tried it, you’d know what I mean.

           That reminds me of a story. Years back, you may recall my mention of that bar in Montana where I heard a half-blind and half-deaf native Indian play every song on the hit parade with three chords. Even “Proud Mary” that has 12 or 13 chords. While the rest of the bar roared in laughter at the guy, Bill and I sat there in total appreciation of what he was doing. I sort of admit that I had to laugh out loud a few times myself, but you get my point.
           I am the opposite of the fake book style. I believe every tune has an essence, a “spirit” that the talented musician can and should try to capture. You know when it happens, we’ve all seen a small band or soloist do a stunning rendition and we’ve also heard the opposite when somebody strums through. That is the difference between JJ and I, how I intensely study and analyze a tune to get it right. (Note I do this only for what I play, not what I listen to for my own relaxation. But still.)
           Rather than play 500 songs in the “ticky-bop” fashion, I’m inclined to pick around 40 tunes and play them as accurately as possible. Atypically, it turns out JJ does not even have any method to listen to originals. That’s right, he does not even own a “record player or a tape deck”. Whereas I search, download, file, clip, transcribe, convert and burn the lyrics and chords to disk for him, JJ takes the disk and sets it on the counter. Doesn’t know how to operate it. (His son has a computer but no printer, read Internet toy.)

           So no matter what I do with my famous country boogie or southern fried rock bass, everything comes out like ersatz Karaoke. And JJ has two speeds, too fast and too slow. He plays “Good Lookin” and something like 160 beats per minute, way out of dancing or singing range and leaving no chance for my bass runs. Nonetheless, this is what I have to work with and so it goes. Any band is better than no band, even one that lacks color and dynamics. Plus, there is always a chance it will lead somewhere.
           Otherwise, things are as expected. Musicians are not always the most technical or cerebral crowd. When I mention a my aversion to playing slow music (the concept), JJ often takes this to mean I did not like a given specific tune. Not so, there are dozens of slow pieces I like, but I find them unsuitable for stage work. You don't play opera to a drinking crowd and you don't play too much old Neil Young, either. JJ figures that limits my repertoire, I figure it gets rid of tunes that don’t provide the greatest good to the greatest number. Anyone who recognizes this as the Fallacy of Composition is right, but the difference is I totally understand the small picture view. And it is wrong. Ne’er the twain shall meet.
           So, let’s see how it progresses and we’ll come back to the same topic after a few gigs. Here’s some trivia.

           A study in Buffalo (New York, not New Jersey) says women who want to be “romantically desirable” are less likely to take math or science courses. Well, gee, if it is genetically programmed, why that lets them of the hook. And all along we’ve been blaming such women for their immature fairy tale fantasies. What I can’t figure out is why men who want to be desirable do the same thing, never growing out of the tough guy stage and joining gangs. But what do I know? C’mon now, answer that fair and square.

           [Author's note: I know it's tempting to think of the woman who did that study or other similar studies as an unattractive apologist, but this one may be okay. This may be her picture. Lora Parks, no relation to Mao Tse Parks. Very doable, at least when she's all dolled up like shown here. Love you long time.]

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