Five years ago today: April 30, 2011, Mennonite borscht recipe.
Nine years ago today: April 30, 2007, Sanibel Island.
Random years ago today: April 30, 2010, trouble is brewing.
MORNING
What’s this? It says here in the writer's magazine that blog writing is healthy, physically, mentally, and spiritually. Dang, they missed financially. Anyway, the keeping of a journal or diary, it continues, has "long been recognized" as the activity of organized people, and the blog carries with it an instant audience. Ordinary diaries do not. Makes sense. It continues to say I should be careful what I write about and that once started, I should strive to write an entry every day. I don’t know if blogging is physically beneficial, the jury is still out on that one. The article also says I have a 19% less chance of contracting breast cancer in my 30s.
When I first saw it I thought the designs were working contraptions, but they are decorative. Hence I view it as another fad of the immature, like the whole King Arthur thing. Some think it is neat, I think people who believe in it are simple minded and too easily distracted.
I suppose what I’m saying is that if it serves no purpose other than to decorate then it belongs over in the art or New Age section. Make magazine and others use this non-functional “retrofuturism” to thicken up their editions. I first recall it as a lad in movie adaptations of Jules Verne classics and thought, “that’s a good cheap use for old parts”, and moved on. The last thing I imagined was adults would start wearing this stuff.
That’s a dreary start of the day, so how about some happy news. In all the chasing around last month, I lost track of a journal entry. Imagine my glee when a statement arrived saying I didn’t record April, so now I have double the supply of cash this month than I thought I did. If so, I’ll have that Fishman in a wink. Let me go check if it is still for sale. Nope, it’s gone, oh poo. But wait, here is another identical unit on sale for $225 less. And look at this photo, the think is in excellent condition. I’ll pick it up on Monday after I sign some papers.
However, I still have my Yamaha “bingo” speakers, top of the line gear. These are pole mounted, but if you turn them upside down, that pole receptacle is exactly the same size as the Fishman aluminum stand. End of bass problem if I ever get a big room. Those bassman speakers were $600 apiece back in the day. They do the job.
I just thought of something. Trent is near the sellers address and he was talking about dropping off my wireless mics later tomorrow. Then, I thought more and I can’t ask anybody to shell out that kind of money so I’m on my own on this one.
It was with great satisfaction I had a conversation with Pat-B on the phone. That’s the guitar player who struck out on his own. Snicker, snicker, old boy, it is amazing to hear you finally draw the same conclusions as I did when we met ten years ago. And you figured I was all talk about the better music scene out west. Now that he’s traveled there, his observations parallel mine. South Florida is a haven for dumbfeck guitar players who think they are rock starts—but have never played anything but seedy bars.
That, and around a dozen other strong aspects that he was well into describing before realizing he was preaching to the choir. The major topics represent a complete 180 to what these folks thought at first. Now they realized it is not worth it to be cool just to put up with guitar-player nonsense. Those people are not cool in return, they are lying scum who will say anything to get into your band and then try to take over. They throw sissy-fits when they don’t get their own way.
Now that I’ve got real stage time with my new guitar show, I’m further satisfied that I was right about those douches. As usual, I give myself a few months to get ten years’ experience and I already see all the “conditions” and “can’t-do” excuses they handed me before were sheer bunk. It’s one of those cases where if I can wax their silly little acts when I have only a few hours practice, don’t be telling me what is and isn’t possible.
Tower of Hanoi.
NOON
Shown here is the recording unit, it belongs to Trent. While there are eight sets of controls, folks, unless it has eight independent input jacks that work simultaneously, it is not an “eight-track” recorder. There are only two usable inputs, see the back of the unit. Inserting a plug into either set disables the others. And, if you ever actually try to record more than one at a time, you’ll give up on that.
Do your homework and lay down the drum, bass, and a rhythm track, but don’t give away the motif with the rhythm—it will predicate what the guitarist plays. Instead, use a sparse accompaniment and let the guy play what strikes him. Record it multiple times on the unused tracks. When you have three or four takes, you’ll find they get progressively better. And you can use Audacity to overlay the best.
The advantage of this approach is that the various parts, while musically related, avoid that trashy indie sound where all the instruments sound played by the same person. (All too often, they are.) You know what I’m talking about. Listen to Green Day where every instrument is channelized to the same theme of each song, then listen to some old James Gang for the sound I want. Every part fits, but is practically a solo melody or beat in itself. That’s symphonic arrangement and that’s the sound I strive for.
This is also part of my stage act. I look like I don’t have a clue what’s going to happen next. We’ve chatted about this before, and I assure you it is all carefully polished for appearance. If there is a window nearby, I’ll pretend to be looking out it. This often throws guest guitarists on stage, especially the troop inculcated with the “follow me” malady. They assume you are going to miss your cue. Wrong. Just play your stoopid guitar and don’t worry about me, I’ve already stolen your thunder.
AFTERNOON
Here is a photo of your typical real estate scam ad. This ad is plastered with a sticker price of $33,000. Until you bring up the final photo, where it specifies that number is a “foreclosure estimate”. A meaningless price. The price that matters is the bank's "reserve bid", which never, ever, appears on the ad surface (but does sometimes appear camouflaged in the fine print). The scam is to get you to invest resources looking into the place on the theory that once you’ve put out the effort, you can’t quit without having wasted your time. Total scumbag mentality, but scum are a majority in this State.
That [Arcadia] place was advertised for cheap but there was a bank shill present “authorized” by the seller to make sure the price was $78,000. Auction, my eye. You know, that was only eight months ago. We’ve come a long ways. JZ and I were talking about this progress and you know, in the end there was not one person who ever gave me useful advice or had anything to contribute. As for the money part, I did it entirely on my own.
Florida is one of those places where it’s all talk and no action. The average Joe seems to live his life at the lowest, simplest, grunt level possible. His opinions are garnered from television and he is useless for any help that requires more than a sixth-grade education. I’d formerly only seen this strain of stupidity in third world countries. Face it, in Florida the few people who exist above an intellectual subsistence level are the academic class, probably less than 1% of the protoplasm on the entire Atlantic coast.
And now that I’m back on my feet, I’m remembering who helped me. In a large scale meaningful way, nobody. Arguably, there was JZ with the truck, but hold on. Define help when I am paying for the gas, food, accommodation, and entertainment. Who’s helping who? It is well known that the total amounts spent is always lower and the fun factor higher doing things my way, so much so that it is entirely possible people want to “help” in this way.
As these bogus “auctions” rule the websites as the legitimate offerings drop off, it has me once again thinking of playing them for their own game. Sooner or later, somebody is going to have to sell and my database contains a curious field. It looks like this: 07-13k. As you likely have figured, it is the year and price for which the property last sold, in this case 2007 for $13,000.
Once I sign the papers on Monday, I’ve figured out the same small core of money can be used over and over to bid on every property, “subject to inspection”. The one that passes inspection will have as its primary quality a price that matches my bid. This practice bounces beginners out of the game, but hey, eight months ago, we were beginners. Nomsayn? If you do, than my bid of 16-14k will make sense.
NIGHT
For relaxation, I watched a documentary of a Brit film crew doing the “film it before it’s gone” thing. Already-aging Millennials roughing it in the jungle at a helicopter-supplied base camp with the butchy-looking lady in charge. This is not going to surprise everybody, but right in the middle of said jungle in Borneo, no less, these doofs found a vertical cliff wall that needed climbing. In the worst way. This discovery took place whilst they were ostensibly trailing elephants, who last I heard have no knees so they cannot even jump. Much less scale vertical mountainsides. But hey, to a jock, one excuse is plenty.
There was nothing in the comments to say how many weeks the “scientists” had to scout around before finding this rock wall. But since we know very few mountains have sheer cliffs, they must have circled a goodly number of them to find something photogenic. The rule appears to be vertical, 80 or 85 degrees won’t do. Even if the cliff is only a few hundred yards wide, there is no going around the sides. Not if jocks have any say in the matter.
Last Laugh
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