One year ago today: May 15, 2013, the Sentient Bean.
Five years ago today: May 15, 2009,
test your remote control batteries.
The first big afternoon rainstorm of the summer and the water is up to your ankles in a minute. I’m snug inside and reviewing the weaker tunes in my repertoire. I finally re-wrote the bass line to “California Dreamin’”, there were too many muddy versions. I chose what I believe to be the original, before the other mama got caught fooling around with the wrong papa. (That’s Michelle Phillips, the skinny blonde, and still my idea of the archetypical sexy hippie chick.)
A few more stats on the Winter Haven trip. It is 211 road miles to that destination, or 422 round trip. Technically, one could save $10 off the fare by taking the tri-rail to West Palm Beach and catching the Amtrak later at the same station. On the sidecar, it would require three tanks of gasoline at $25 per tank, making the train overall less expensive—but as usual, the train strands you in the boondocks. And you don’t get there until past noon. I was a half mile from downtown, but it was beyond walking distance for me that day. By chance, I had crossed the correct road, but is was named “Avenue R” so I didn’t turn there. It changed to “Cypress Gardens” a block from where I stood. Message to the Florida mutton-heads who give streets multiple names: this is why you can’t have nice things.
This morning completes my six-month checkup. I might make retirement age yet. Here is the picture of the pirate with the rolling eyes so many asked about. You’re right, if you look at it long enough, it does start to look a bit like Edgar. And this pirate fifteen feet up the wall is a much better show than Johnny Depp, considering the broad similarities between Depp’s acting and a mannequin on the wall.
In other words, it is entirely possible to build every computer in the world today to do the same job without the extra software that is used to identify and track the user. There is no hardware or software requirement that those who provide, say Internet service, have any obligation to identify and record everything you do. They only do so because they know most people are too complacent to oppose the intrusion in any meaningful way. Plus, they’ve been doing it so long that dumb people assume there is no choice. There is. Spying and eavesdropping are human add-ons, not at all a necessary part of computers.
I’m reading “Bringing Down The House”, a so far cheesy account of the M.I.T. gang that took the gambling casinos for millions. I thought it would specify their methods but so far it is commentary on the personalities of the players. But I am very keen on learning how the casinos rough up and blacklist people who win too often. Apparently their hired toughs have a back room for “interrogation”. Forget Gitmo, torture is as close as Atlantic City. My stance is simple. If anyone can outsmart the game, let them win until the house cleans up their act.
Every gambler has a system, it should not be up to a goon squad to determine the limits. I know the games are designed to favor the house, which is unfair. If the players can only win by chance and not skill, the house should have the same handicap. Also, I don’t like the staff “atmosphere” of the casinos. They are only there for the money, same as me, but all of them hover. I get the feeling they all took a bogus two week course on how customers are supposed to behave and they pressure you to do that and if you don’t they get antsy. (Some musicians do that, too. They are called guitar players.) One item I can report is that I drink more slowly than average. So no, I don’t order a drink every time the waitress comes around on her queue. Next thing you know, I’m interrupting her important schedule. You know what I’m talking about.
I mentioned Nell’s Country Kitchen in Winter Haven. Today’s Idiot Award goes to Michael U, a freaky-looking bullet head from Ohio, for his Yelp review that misses the point--that he is in a restaurant, not an old-folks home. He walks in with Ohio attitude and bitches and moans when he gets the same back. Mike, the place is a restaurant, not a nursing home. You well knew by the time you chose to go into the place that there were no wheelchair ramps, so quit yer schoolgirl bellyachin’. If you are not reviewing the food, back off. Since it evidently escaped your attention, please note the people employed there are waitresses, not personal caregivers. Are you in the habit of walking into unequipped businesses and demanding handicapped services for free? It sounds like it. If you want extra, you pay extra or you know what you can do. Simple as that.
ADDENDUM
This is a photo of the aromatic packing plant across the rails from the Amtrak depot. It is the type of business that has been closing down in record numbers in the face of international competition. This plant looks like it stood the test of time. I had mixed feelings about such factories since day one, but no doubt there are people who made a career working there.
I remind you again, Mercator projections make Florida seem smaller than it really is, so look on a globe and see how large Florida really is. You’ll see it takes hours to drive anywhere and the roads are perpetually either in bad shape or congested. Florida builds for twenty years ago, not the future.
It is further unlikely I regard small towns in any way you might recognize, but I can certainly describe my views in terms you’d understand. My reluctance to live in a small town goes back a long ways. The consumer version of that story is that I, like most young men who played music, felt that variety was my entitlement in every area of teenage existence, but particularly that one. Small town living has obstacles to that lifestyle. I’ve discovered that most people are not jealous of your accomplishments unless they personally know you, and in a small town, every half-bastard and his dog knows you.
What has changed now, forty years later, is that I seek variety internally rather than externally. I’d be happy to find one decent woman. I used to put it that what I want in a wife is the opposite of what I want on a Saturday night. Well, my Saturday nights are over—but I’m not jaded. I still miss those nights good times. Now consider how the interdependencies of small town living are no longer present in my life. Another change is I would be bringing with me most of what I need, never relying on the locals. In my opinion, those are the only circumstances under which I would live in a small town.
Here’s another factor. Music. For the tons of experience I have, I’d guess three-quarters of it has been in less than large cities. That’s a plus, as the crowds were larger than today. How decisive is this influence of music? Near total. I doubt I would move to a small town if I could not play in a band once I got there. That’s what’s changed, now let’s look at what has not changed.
Foremost, town or country, I do not empathize with those content to sit in the audience. In a small town, you are either on the paying end or the receiving end of all the available nightlife. If, within a few weeks of arriving, you are not on the side you want, you never will be. Small towns also have limited opportunities for extra income and the bass-playing position is already taken. So be careful, in a small town you are what you do, and you don’t want to be known as the indigenous rat-catcher. Or the bragging ex-contractor who came with the territory.
So, I am not moving to a small town, unless Boynton Beach qualifies. Dang it, prices there are rising, too. But that’s okay, it’s very manageable. Plus, I’m in a band already. To anyone who thinks otherwise, if you do not fit within a very narrow range of highly compatible and adaptable personality types, you won’t last a week in a band, much less a year. While I fully admit I’m into music for my own reasons, my playing in a band so long already flies in the face of anyone who suggests I don’t get along with people. (That’s also a dig at a few malcontents who stubbornly insist it is my fault I cannot find a good guitarist for my duo.)
I admit to a serious mistake, however, when it comes to Florida bands. I made the mistake of thinking because I was an accomplished entertainer, I would find droves of similar musicians. Wrong, for this town is sunk to the axles in the 1990s. That’s when big bands were breaking up and computerized backing tracks were appearing. Not only is Florida still there, they don’t realize that era is already dead and gone. As for my paid practices of Jan-Feb this year, I finally pulled the pin when I realized even money is not enough pull this town out of the hole it dug for itself. Until further notice, I’ve concluded the musicians here cannot change.
Young Jag knows my tunes, but lacks the resources to help out in any other area of band work. I’m doing 90% of the work for 50% of the payback. I have done that before, but it is a real disincentive.
