One year ago today: February 25, 2014, seeking the honest computer.
Five years ago today: February 25, 2010, all music, bass, & guitar.
NOON (The only entry for today, folks.)
“There is no dilemma compared with that of the deep-sea diver who hears the message from the ship above, ’Come up at once, we are sinking.’” --Robert Cooper”
Here is what Florida con-men look like. These two came in the bakery claiming to be from the “National Gas” service. I stopped the guy on top and challenged him for a company identification card. He instantly became defensive, saying he was there to help people and was I the business owner. I immediately asked him to leave because he was plainly not a customer.
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Trying a new dodge, he tells his flunky (bottom photo) to show me his ID. I said no thanks, I wanted to see his own. Since he was the obvious mouthpiece. He tried to flash his Florida ID card but put it away rapidly when I asked to examine it closely.
I informed he was now trespassing and noted that he bought the Snapple with a credit card. That was good enough for me (it was either stolen or had his name on it) so I sat down to wait them out. They calmly left.
But moments later, people from the adjacent businesses came rushing in to see if we had been robbed. Why? Because they had just seen “two black men” running like banshees across the parking lot and peeling away in a truck.
Today is session (week) 82 of my clinic trials so I’ll be out most of the day. I have a funny tale from the trailer court, though some of you may not find any humor in this. But folks, anyone can make a mistake and I assure you the outcome was okay. The lady got her medicine. In more ways than one.
I digress to tell you about the “Star Trek” injectors. This is the space age plunger syringe that you place on a fleshy part, hopefully something without too many nerve endings, and push the blue plunger on top. You can’t see it in this photo, but the other end, shown here, has a white plastic tip that you remove and push a grey retaining cylinder back into the casing. With a whoosh of gas, the needle jabs through your skin and you get a perfect injection. Almost foolproof.
Until today. The lady, who has been in the program twice as long as me, picks up the device. Upside down. She proceeds to push the blue end into her calf and depressed the business end, sending the needle deeply into her thumb. The noise! The confusion! The good news is that she seized up for the 15 seconds needed to hold the injector in place, so she got her shot. Oh, yeah.
My contact at the clinic, a no-nonsense type lady, has heard every excuse about fear of needles. Every third month, you go in for a “check-up” but in reality, they just take your blood pressure. The real intention is to physically watch the patient use the injector. I can’t blame them if they don’t trust everybody to take the shots. I assure you my fear of needles is very real. I have simply numbed myself to these gadgets.
The good news is the treatment has been wholly successful in my case, extending my life expectancy by untold amounts. I was not supposed to be here today, you know. But I hope I live long enough to hear the end of the Zimmerman case. It was all over the news the fat-heads in DC are not going to try him for a racial crime. Dammit, you guys, you have already milked that one for every legal fee it is worth. Now leave the damn guy alone.
Why can’t you pick a worthy cause, like the Lauderdale cop slapping the homeless guy? Even if he sorely needed it, the slap should not be administered by a policeman. If you have not guessed so already, I am a supporter of severe curbs on police behavior and the rights of the public to sue, not only the police department, but individuals who cross the line. I am no cop-hater, but there are just too many valid instances of brutality, excessive force, planted evidence, and false confessions due to beatings to ignore.
Not to mention the countless cases of police intimidation, unlawful detention, faked evidence, cover-ups, and abuse of authority. There is no way this is the same trusted and respectful police force that was around when I grew up. And police confiscation of money and private property under the guise of suspicion has become systematic.
For the record, let me point out that I have never been arrested, but I have been stopped and questioned a few times. I was never charged or arrested nor even gotten even speeding ticket. In my entire life, I was issued two traffic offenses, that was last year, and I beat both within minutes—but I now have a permanent police record. My point is, I was threatened with arrest on every occasion and told I was “obstructing” and “not cooperating”. Me?
The point is, the police have too much immunity. Their methods of intimidation have become pervasive and standardized. I’ve heard them lie on the witness stand. If they will mistreat me, one of the most clean-handed lambkins you will ever meet, then things have gotten out of control. I was questioned in tones that unambiguously telegraphed to me the answer that was expected or I would be arbitrarily charged with some drug or similar offense, the kind where they bring on that dog trained to pretend he smells something. Their rehearsed tactic was to let me know that insisting on your rights at street level was not at all popular down at the police department.
Besides, it just ain't right the police go strong-arming the public while crooks like the above are roving about the neighborhood in broad daylight unmolested.
ADDENDUM
Totally concerned with music, or the formation of bands, which is a social knack, a tough one. But it is also an acquired skill and once it comes into play, the cost is no longer the point. The musician I visited this morning is the only one I have ever met in Florida that created and held together a successful working band. If you are not playing out or recording, don’t talk trifles to me. I already have a hobby.
The guitarist from Davie, the guy who has played in the same band for 35 years, we had coffee. He told me that he has the virtually identical problem with his bassist that I have with guitar players. That shocked me. In all those years, he tells how the bassist learned maybe five songs on his own. All the rest of the time, he has had to teach the bassist what to play and then patiently wait for him to work out the harmony parts on stage.
Another less-discussed item came up about song choices. We have both noted that each additional band member brings a severe limitation on songs known in common. So much so that in every successful band, there is one musician who knows around ten times as many songs as the others. That made sense to me, I have to be able to play some 160 songs before I find another person who can play just 20 of them. He reports closer to 200 in his case.
Now this same guitarist showed me his calendar, he’s booked eight times this month. And it is country music. Seven last month. More gigs per month than my rock band played in 17 months before I quit last August. When one band gets hired more than the next ten put together, it’s time to take a hard look at supply and demand. Things did taper off a wee last year, but the market is again saturated with clone bands, all rock and blues.
The recession hurts. It causes the wannabes to flood the market. I glanced through the listings after our chat. It’s the same bunch of dead-enders who’ve been running the same ads for five years now. They evidently don’t know when they are being ignored. The same 15 or so twerps as last time I looked.
Hence, I’m seeking a guitarist who can hang up his song list. Unless you can get the guitar player to do just that, you are dealing with an egomaniac who will ruin your best efforts. No exceptions to date. Is my view unreasonable? That depends on what you consider the same attitude in every guitarist in the area, only toward his band-mates.
And don’t blame ego, everybody has an ego. It’s just that guitarists think theirs is justified. I’ve concluded the same as ever, that guitar players fantasize their song list as a reflection of their personalities as they imagine they are perceived. What they don’t understand is their personalities are predominantly illiterate, egotistic, and conceited. Right, Glenn? Eddie? Mike? Dom? Willie? To be caught playing the other guy’s music is, to such self-infatuates, a tarnish on their flawless images.
They want their road to fame to be paved only by a history of having played their perfect song lists along the way. And I’m from a large family, I already seen everything that the average person needs to see of such blustering vanity.
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