MORNING
Jordan or Nike, I don’t know from these brands, but move over. Here is the $990 sneaker for the man who “constructs his elegance style with his intellect”. Who in blazes would spend . . . what? Oh, that generation again. But it would be different if they had to pay cash, I point out. The maker of these shoes, Tom Ford (no link), also sells men’s lipstick and cases to carry it in. To be fair, I could be mistaken about that lipstick. It is damn hard to figure out what the guy is really selling.
The motive [for the automatic transmission] was not entirely luxury, but to make British war vehicles easier to train the drivers. It’s a snap to forget that in 1940, the majority of non-Londoners had never ridden in a motorcar. The car eventually evolved into the James Bond car, minus the ejector seat. The Aston Martin, although in his earlier movies, he drove a Sunbeam. Trivia, it was borrowed from a friend on the island (Jamaica) to save costs.
I was not shopping for rinky-dink sports cars with 28 hp motors, I was seeking data on mechanical speed regulating devices for a wind turbine. I found nothing useful.
NOON
Here’s the picture of my fave Xmas gift so far, the jar of home-made pickles from Alaine. The label says “Judy’s”, who I don’t know, but she’s got this recipe right. The other item is just a can of V-8 juice, of which I am a fairly steady consumer. Yes, I’m aware of the salt content. But I only ever tried vegetable juice without salt once. It's enough to make you race to McDonald's.
Next, I got into “Don’t Rock The Jukebox” in my old style, take the song apart and put it back together the way it should have been. This is a far cry from some guitarist deciding to play the “Zydeco” version, my methodology involves a thorough consideration of the harmonic interplay of all the instruments, and in my situation, often instruments that are not there. Ever heard me play saxophone on the bass? I do it all the time. Guitar players, if you do not know what florid harmony is, then you don’t know what I’m talking about.
I miss bingo. Actually, I miss the steady income, but don’t go there yet. The bakery lady is about to have her first, a daughter. Any time now. Which reminds me, the clinic has not called me back about my latest tests, tipping me off that something is wrong. Whatever it is, I blame the quality of the food. Until further notice, I am transformed into a devoted label-reader. Did you know I even examine the inert ingredients in any prescriptions? Plainly, Nabisco, Kellogg’s, and the like have irrevocably lost my trust.
Here’s some stats. I’ve played in bands for [the equivalent of] 19 years of my life. The gaps were for school, starting new bands (it takes six months to do it right) and stretches when shift work and circumstances made playing impossible. I’ve started six bands that went out and played, and around eight others but pre-existing bands are not the easy ride some think they are. You have to fit into a situation of people who have pretty fixed ideas about music and why should they learn anything new when you have not caught up yet. Also, no matter how good you are, you will always be the newcomer.
Which prompts me to go read Craigslist. Drop back and I’ll tell you my take on what I find. I cannot count or recall the number of unsuccessful bands I've associated with. My guess is 35 or 40. Most common reason for band break-up: refusal or inability (same net effect) of a band member to learn new music.
AFTERNOON,
Craigslist, we have us another Craigslist spat going on. Some anonymous spammer troll, always a low-grade guitar player type, being called out by the local players he’s been ragging on. I watch these sometimes because I see both sides. One, the spammer who is afraid he’ll get a shit-licking if anybody finds out who he is, and the other side, the “Englishman” who insists getting your identity on file is more important than valid criticism. (I side with the first guy—you will never get an honest opinion out of a man if he must identify himself first.)
Most of the local musician’s list is commercial. Like the dimwits who want $20 per hour for private lessons for a gigs that probably pay less than that. The south Florida market is over-saturated by 1980s style wannabe rock bands. Old guys playing the same tunes dreaming the Hendrix-Clapton era will come back.
The one consistent theme is they would rather remain unemployed chumps than change and get with the times. Why, they are so great they will dictate what the audience wants to hear. Such was the Hippies attitude that got us fired from every gig we played. Hold on, that’s not fair. There were a few times when we didn’t get canned until the second show. He could fake out most clubs once.
What gets me most how the ads list bands I’ve never heard of. I’m way out of the Internet indie loop, I'll say that. To me, the Internet bands are like disco, some like it, I don't. But when one Gen X-er can list fifty-three bands and draw a blank on me, that tells you something. Either I don't know music, or there are too damn many go-nowhere bands out there. I’ve been to every club (of normal persuasion) in the county and never once have I seen one featuring any indie band, much less anything local. All I can say is many people have tried to mass-produce music before, but the live musician is the one who endures.
I did attend an "indie" open mic at the old MegaByte café, but they were not bands in the formal sense. And for the record, not one of the under-35 bands I’ve jammed with played any of that indie music. I know, because I recognized everything they played and I don’t do indie music. It is too mass-produced for my liking.
EVENING
Okay, you get a special edition because last evening I skipped the Dupont ads. This entry will later be moved to the evening section, meanwhile see what we have here. Enjoy.
Where do rich men meet their dates? Not scrounging the pubs and clubs, but via private introductions. So where do they get this service, since the attitude to get and stay rich does not often make for the best of personalities? Easy, says the Dupont Registry. “Model Quality”, is the blurb, and here is a picture from their portfolio. Oddly, this fake blond didn’t get my attention, it was the agencies assertion that only the top 2% of women are worth bothering with. That jives with my own experience.
The company really pushes the fact they are male-owned and thus know precisely what you want. And, unlike me, you want a model chosen from their array of perfectly posed and air-brushed selection. The ultimate trophy wife. What's next is odd, because these women are the ultimate gold-diggers and know you must have the big bucks to even take them out. Mind you, the club professes to “protect you from overly materialistic women”. To know how they accomplish this would be priceless.
My motive? Comedy. At that site, there exists a huge selection of advice on how to treat women. Read some of them. “Compliments Women Can’t Resist.” “Using Your Masculine Energy”. The kind of nonsense an entertainer like me sees every payday from the VIP lounge to the local saloon. Everybody's rich on payday. And in case you are wondering, these are not ordinary women, they are models. They don’t want poor dates, they want rich hucksters. With masculine energy.
Most of it is claptrap, basically advising the men to be as shallow as possible, advice you would not give to a teenager. However, there are gems of the truth in there, if you dig deep enough. I’ll admit one of my few "tactics" (I don't usually bother with such things), but I tell now only because it is covered at this site. And it's a safe revelation, because most men can't do it even if they try. Where most men, when they meet a woman, will obsess with being polite, I do not do that. I focus on making her laugh. It promotes spontaneity. You can’t do both, and I instantly dump women who insist on the “nice guy spend money” approach.
This, from the Dupont Registry.
Today’s Togla Treat
Did you know I have never, even once in my life, ever watched a Fox News broadcast. Never.
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