One year ago today: September 13, 2013, my dating club.
Five years ago today: September 13, 2009, so-so day.
Ten years ago today: September 13, 2004, some scenery.
MORNING
And what a storm last night. I've seen worse, but only in Thailand. What makes a Florida storm bad is duration. Normally the more intense the downpour and wind, the shorter the quicker the barometer resets. But last night, some say it was terrible and I say the same storm was fantastic. I moved a kitchen stool out on the porch and watched the show until 2:30AM eating ham and cheese sandwiches. I'm from Texas and I was married to an actress. Long as you got a sandwiches and a porch to eat 'em, it is like, "What storm?"
Author's note: representation. Not a photo of the actual storm.
What really makes a Florida storm into a hurricane is the wind. It was thus a mild storm, but the lighting was the real deal. And there aren't even any golf courses nearby. At one point there was roughly three continous minutes of brilliant light and no sound. Indicating everything around here got hit except my place. (My place is the highest ground in the area by around four inches, a regular mountaintop.)
Who should call this morning but Ray-B from the west coast. He is in my old stomping grounds and loves the women and the atmosphere. You see, now that he's been out west, he finally knows what I'm talking about when it comes to putting a proper working band together. And fully admits that like most Floridia musicians, he acted like I didn't know what I was talking about. Now he does.
And he is following the same route I did except he is single. From a band to a solo, to a band again, back to solo. And now wants to form a duo with a lady, a friend with benefits that saves him the dry lifestyle of a soloist. And finding out how incredibly difficult it is to find such a woman later in life. Ray-B is still in his thirties. If I was my brother, I'd say something like he came along and stole all the things I wanted to do and now I can't do them because he took all the good parts and besides everybody will say I'm copying him. Waaaaaa!
But I am envious, since he's living the life I wanted, the musical vagabond, seeing the world at other's expense. He is still concerned about the low income, but he has not yet realized the changes in the workplace make it untenable to work a job unless you have no choice. There is so little chance of ever getting ahead by working that really, why work? Work occupies your life eleven hours a day, figure it out, guys. And work keeps you out of the loop. Ray-B will be back in October, I've invited him to one of our gigs. Interestingly, he called to specifically tell me how right I was about music and bands, now that he's seen for himself.
Worse, he's met a rich gal who wants him as a pet. She's his own age, a rich stock broker from California that says he would be free to pursue his career. Of couse, she'll go back on that the minute she thinks he's hooked, but you gotta admit it is a better starting premise than most men ever get.
NOON
USA 1776 - 1976, R.I.P. Here is an interesting takeoff from Tyler, the professor who state democracy only lasts until voters learn they can vote themselves generous gifts from the treasury. In counties that Obama won, the murder rate is 6.28 times higher than those where he did not win. Also, if you count only taxpayers, most people who own their land or homes did NOT vote for Obama. That is, Obama voters are low-income tenements and welfare projects, where votes can be bought for a free cell phone.
I'd move in last week, but my reason for deciding against it [after the band breaks up] is the property is a "land lock", meaning you have to cross the neighbor's private property to get to it. While the right of way is embedded in the deed, there is nothing to prevent the neighbor from making access difficult. And I'm too old to take such chances.
Here is another place that is affordable as a last resort. Why not? Because it is a housing co-op situation. The land is yours, but subject to communal rules. As far as housing co-ops go, this is one of the better operations, but I shy away from strangers enforcing lifestyle rules. In a housing co-op, you cannot rent your place, it must be owner-occupied and not vacant, you cannot have company unless they show ID at the office. It keeps out the low-lifes (intentional typo), but only works when the neighbors are constantly keep tabs on each other. Like watchdogs. Noisy, half-educated watchdogs. With bad breath.
New owners must buy a "share" in the co-op which is normally $5,000. It ensures they show a little respect before they vote on property issues. This pretty place is located in West Palm Beach. The co-op is so wealthy, they are gobbling up nearby properties at bargain prices.
Duly noted, the sudden big increase guitarists and bassists advertising for work in Broward. Question for all you suddenly-unemployed musicians. Why do all your promo photos show yourself on stage and never the audience?
The following jpeg was meant as a placeholder, but it has proven such a good draw that it stays. Here you go:
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