Other than the odd post which shows semi-naked women, were you ever curious what the top dates were in this blog? When compared on a week-to-week basis (not the only basis, just the one I picked), it is October 26, 2011. I have no explanation why that date is so popular, but the same date is also a contender in 2012. Maybe it is one of my reader’s birthdays or something.
My plans to buy a new PA are stalled. It’s a disappointment but the Fishman Solo has not dropped in price as expected. The newer units are asking $1,500. I’m prepared to spend $500 and that is only because music actually saves me money. You would not guess that looking at my books with expenses running at 42%, but stepping back you’d see I spend less in a year “going out” than most men do in a month. Like tonight while the world partied, I stayed here and picked out a custom bass line to the pharaonic Johnny Horton tune “North To Alaska”.
[Author's note: Um, I stand informed there is no such English word as “pharaonic”. But I heard it in Venezuela years ago to describe anything ancient, like the Pharaohs. I thought about it and the word stays.]
If you’ve not heard the Horton song in a bit, give it a listen from my perspective. He doesn’t actually yodel, but he regularly breaks from a chest to a head voice. The song has a range beyond beginners and I learned I could do it by surprise at Karaoke. I have to transpose it to the key of C to hit the lowest notes. It’s probably conditioning but I sing better after a single drink, so I’m here with my tea and lemon gin. You know the slang term for lemon gin, don’t you? “Panty remover”.
Now we reach the human interest portion of the blog. This is where you read without passing judgment or get lost. Ready?
My red scooter would not start. I tried everything I knew. Finally, I pushed it from my place all the way to Miguelito’s. At my age and condition, this 3.25 miles required an hour and fifty minutes, arriving tonight after dark. When he asked me to show him the problem, guess what? That sumbitch started. Ran like a charm. I said, “Screw this, I’m going to Jimbos”.
As Miguelito’s laughing subsided down the road, a pickup stopped and said hop in. I did, and the driver said, “The reason I stopped for you is an hour ago I saw you pushing that motorcycle up the street. I saw you stop for a rest and take a “Popular Science” magazine out of your back pocket. That’s when I knew you weren’t a bum.”
I said thank you, got off on Dixie, and that’s where I spent the evening until I caught the 9:30 bus home. I sat up at the counter, which I never do, and did a few hours of deep thinking. Like why, at my age, am I pushing a scooter three miles up the road. Deep thinking about what? Well, earlier today I got me a situation that tugged at my heart strings. Do I step in or not? Nobody stepped in to help me, you know. We may yet return to this vein as I know the difference a tiny little help would have made when it counted.
