One year ago today: May 23, 2014, it’s all German.
Five years ago today: May 23, 2010, “looser” is correct.
Six years ago today: May 23, 2009, “moran” is correct.
Don't forget to check last evening for a late-in-the-day post! Also, remember to click back to 2009 when you see a link. 2009 was much more interesting than 2010.
MORNING
Okay, what’s going on? These super-short blog entries and we know the batbike is ready to travel. All I’m saying is the batbike is not going anywhere this weekend. But I am so disappointed about missing Saturn last evening that I have been scanning the weather maps for some clear skies. And the nearest ones for tonight are fifty miles away. That’s not so far for a prairie-raised individual like myself.
Thusforth, I have to resort to manual forecasting. Wind from the east, falling barometer, I have one evening of clear skies if I head north or northeast for about an hour. The alternative is to trust weather stations that can’t spell Doppler. I mean, “Doplar”, talk about seriously hooked on phonics.
Have you ever read the Craigslist “Rants & Raves”. It’s okay, I’m not asking for a show of hands. My point here is the degree to which it is an American craze. You go to most other countries or cities, and except for a few misplaced personal contact ads, Rants & Raves is practically an empty list. And I am the party responsible for the Internet spellings of “looser” and “moran”.
Remember those spellings? I'm the one who popularized them, right here starting in Florida in 2008. Some say that is an impossible claim, that they'd sooner believe some wild tale about a blog-writing bass player on a sidecar with a trunk more full of scientific instruments than clothes. My skeptics know BS when they see it.
NOON
“Having a family is like having a bowling alley installed in your brain.” –Martin Mull. Mull is of those near-actors who never made the big time.
Noon. Maybe, after all, the batbike is going somewhere. Because there is no sign of JZ by 12:30PM. This surprises no one, JZ has never kept a schedule for fun time. It is still within the traditional five to six hours leeway needed to get things underway. Just you watch, he’ll show up too late to get underway. That’s my buddy, JZ. No, he didn’t get lost. He used to live in this neighborhood. If he cancels out, the batbike is now promoted to Plan B.
Aha, that was the man himself on the phone. You see, to take any real trips with his truck, he first has to unload all his tools. A) This takes time. B) The elevator at his condo jammed, so he had to cart the gear up four floors by hand. It’s a good thing I rake all of these delays in as part of the escapade. Wise attitude, don’t you think?
Having the time, I browsed the musican’s room on Craigslist. What is with all these theme and tribute bands? Um, I just paused to think about that. Could be this generation is so wasted for any heroes that they have no choice but to reach back into the past. If you think the drop-outs at the weather stations can’t spell, you should try reading music teacher ads. It’s bad to the point of strange, but hilarious if you like Freudian slips. Like “softwar”.
JZ finally showed. Told you, and we are on the road by 2:20PM. Running late, we decide to take the freeway up to Vero Beach. The plan was to bypass the tedium and traffic of S. Florida until we could hit the scenic route. Guess what? We get to yakking like two old ladies and missed the turnoff. It was smooth sailing in the new truck, this is the first trip out of town. Did you know JZ has never had cruise control before, while I have seldom lived without.
One day you will have to listen to some of the recordings of our trips. Recordings? Yes, simple recordings of our conversation used later for backing tracks on videos. We made good time but could not catch up on a half day. We even stopped for coffee Ft. Pierce and still managed to sail past exit 60. No radio, mainly talking about all the gorgeous women we are going to meet.
Now, this delay means we will hit town late in the day on a holiday weekend. Sure enough. Great scenery, JZ hasn’t seen the real pine trees in twenty years. We finally headed inland through Holopaw, if you like small towns, don’t go there. Because it isn’t a town. Like many of the has-been settlements in the state that got bypassed by a train line or freeway, it is nothing but a gas station at a tired old intersection.
EVENING
You bet, the old motel is booked up and Peggy (the designation for my lady friend in Deland) had gone out with the girls. We were on our own. I have some good news. Driving south toward Orange City, I see a motel that is very similar to my old place in St. Augustine. Who remembers my association with the motel there, the people that really like my sidecar?
This picture is random, it is JZ looking into one of the houses we found undergoing historical restoration. No, we were not going to find a vacant house and do the squatter thing for the night. It turns out there were, contrary to what I was told last month, at least six motels within easy distance of downtown Deland. JZ and I would have no trouble fixing up an older place. We have the tools, experience, and money.
McCabe's. Where the bartender was a complete fried brain. Lived here three years and could not even pretend he knew the town. I’d asked where the street past the pub went to the south for a practical reason. The small town fuzz were out in force, ticketing tourists, and I wanted an alternate route back to the motel. The bartender gave us the wrong directions four times—I kept him going to listen because I could not believe he would lie about that.
Next, we make our way back to Da Vinci’s, the place I found the seven piece jazz band last month. Again, top of the line entertainment. A, get this, bass-fronted band that must be recording artists. Drums, keys, guitar, and the front-man a singing bassist who was doing an incredible job. I gave him a standing ovation. The rest of the room did not appear to comprehend what they were hearing.
Nor could JZ believe the number of women in the place. I love a college town. He was in paradise, seeing entire groups of unescorted white women buying their own drinks. South Florida this is not. Women here have to dress up to get noticed. And we certainly noticed. I chatted up six women over the evening, JZ zero.
We walked over to a club called “Issues”. More women, including one who was selling home made pickles. I bought a round of dill pickles for one side of the bar full of single blond women, who promptly gave us the predictable show. To the roaring cheers from the guy side of the bar. Alas, none of the gals were my type, but they had the right attitude.
Last Laugh
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