Top is a sextant, next is a lighthouse lense (about 20 feet high, it is really big), and some globes. Keep in mind, I went to both exhibits, sailing and maps. The globe on the left has a curious feature, a brass compass built into the triangular spars holding the legs. See it? Overall, the map show was impressive but it requires far more study than I’ve done. Thus, I’m also rating it as a great social experience.Not that the maps themselves are all that colorful on their own. They aren’t, although most are embellished with sea creatures and Neptunes in the margins. The show had a pastel feel to it, not the same as picking up an atlas, if that is what you are expecting. Other themes were on show, such as a mural of European naval fleets and books of which only one fold-out page was a map. In all, the show is worth the admission fee of $15.
All my lady friends missed out, too. I went alone since none of them called at all, much less in time to get ready for the trip. You’ve correctly concluded I’ve drawn a little ack-ack over this, but honestly, when the phone didn’t ring, I never gave a second thought about going by myself. I have little idea what other people do on Sunday and I’m too old to start concerning myself over it. The interesting things happen over here, so it is first come, first serve. There is a lot to be said for being first. And if I live long enough, I’ll tell you all about it.
I still can’t practice my bass lines, that shoulder is slow mending. Here is a style of bass solo that is fantastic in my view. But I can’t play like that. Plus it is likely far beyond my talent, since I pick single steady notes, while this guy starts off with Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata”. If you didn’t, I recommend you listen to the entire link before hearing what I have to say about it.
First of all, I know the guy is unbelievable. But one may ask how is his bass playing so different from mine? Easy. Can you hum back even one of the tunes he was playing? You can with mine, nothing to it. If you listened to the entire three minutes, I’ll bet except for the one stretch where he played that bluegrass/polka, you never once thought of dancing to his music. Could you listen to this guy go on for hours? Neither could I, and yet that was obviously his best material. I doubt even if he sang that he could accompany himself playing those riffs. Yet I regularly do a two-hour show with people dancing and singing along to every tune. Plainly, there is more than one type of bass soloing. I rarely play anything complicated, in fact, I strive to find the most basic elements of each piece of music.
Were there any common points? Yes. He and I rarely play two consecutive same notes. He keeps things up-tempo. He watches his hands on the fretboard. He knows when to drop an octave rather than lose his wrist position. He makes it look easy. He projects confidence in himself. He knows the value of a great intro and exit. He keeps you wondering what’s next. We have a lot in common, just not the same things many take for granted.
How goes it with “Explosive Eighteen”? The book is not your usual cops and robbers, but close enough. It involves a bail bond crew that seeks out skippers. It reads like a Seinfeld script, if only because you know real people need far more time to come up with such witty sentences as this book does. Or I could read slower. Still no hint what the title means, and the cast of characters is excessive, at least twenty so far. Why spell out the names of people who get mentioned once and who are not central to the plot? Unnecessary names are the tapeworm of authorship.
Later, I finished the novel. The title has no association with what is inside. The characters are stereotyped but that does not make up for their colorlessness. Really, the 21 year-old is of course, named “Jason” and is a super computer hacker. I did know a real hacker once. He was 47, ex-IBM, fat, worked as an assistant bartender. The book gets irritating when the lead is portrayed as a liberated woman who has two sex partners, like wow. She comes across as a sleazy airhead who can’t make up her mind. Plus, clueless as she is, she evades and wounds a professional hit-man at least five times, usually diving for cover just as he pulls the trigger. Pass on this book, wait for the sitcom.
Here is a candid photo of America’s well-equipped homeless. There are two of them in this photo, across the road from the Miami Cultural Center. You never find the homeless except near population centers, which I think is not given as much significance as needed. See the one sleeping in front?Got his latte with flavor shot (look close), insulated ground mat, clean new quilt, and late-model electric wheelchair. Rear wheel drive, reflectors, these retail for around $2,500, that is, more than my motorcycle. I got no closer, but maybe you can see his embroidered pillow and hipster knapsack (on the handlebars, brimming with stuff).
I’m not saying homeless is good, but compared to poverty, which I know a thing or two about, this isn’t all that bad either. And compared to the boy that inhabits the penthouse of this same building, our guy has a positive net worth. In case anyone is wondering, the least one can get on “welfare” in the state of Florida is $741 per month. Namely, $710 cash plus $31 food stamps. And only single white males get that little, everyone else gets more, in some cases, much more.
I am dissatisfied with the new Nikon camera, the Coolpix S30. I use it, but it is a terrible design. Most annoying are the terrible navigation menus. What appears is inconsistent and changes depending on how you got there. This is intolerable stupidity on their part. Also, the camera settings disappear when you turn the thing off. Particularly bad are the timer setting (it has to be reset between each picture), the flash (turns itself on automatically, to the annoyance of the museum staff), and the take-picture icons appear when you are trying to review memory. Nikon, if you are proud of this camera, you need to fire your entire design department.
ADDENDUM
Enter stage left, Tina, blast from the past. We were on the line for a half-hour of the greatest memories that could be hoped for. She settled down, got married, bought a place, had kids. Practically the opposite of me. Tina is a nickname, so don’t go looking. By coincidence, there was another lady with the identical name in the same town, both of whom say they did not read my blog. Search engines work in strange ways.
Tina is near the old places and may still know a lot of the people. Sigh, a half-lifetime apart, she is now has grandchildren. And I’m still looking for Miss Can-Use-A-Fork-And-Knife. By coincidence, her husband has a Goldwing. It is a wonderment if her and I have much in common but there is a ton of catching up to do. She remembers RofR from the pre-Saudi days. The things she mentions brings most of the time back to me in what I’d say are panoramas of memory.
Tina says we had agreed to meet at a certain coffee shop across from the stadium in ten years, but neither of us made it. I’ll see if I can get her to take a photo of the place, I barely remember driving past the stadium, yet I went to school nearby for three years. Those were hard times, indeed. I have no doubt she will remember things about me that I’ve probably not thought about in decades. I really hope we get reacquainted, we were both solid types back then and it’s been one hell of a ride.
