One year ago today: December 10, 2015, Plant City, Florida.
Five years ago today: December 10, 2011, transistor gate testing.
Nine years ago today: December 10, 2007, no band, no gigs.
Random years ago today: December 10, 2008, a generic day.
MORNING
Brrr, she’s a yellow grits with bacon and fried green onion morning. And cherry pie for dessert. I got both heaters working in one room and I love it. At the risk of being punched, I say it is not the cold, it’s the humidity. This happens in Seattle too, the temperature is well above freezing, but the wind cuts right through you. Good, after all those years in Miami, I need a little weather. The phone’s rung four times since the Thursday jam. That means I get to brag, or I guess it ain’t bragging if you really done it.
Pssst, I’ll tell you a secret, I need that chord as well. But I can’t usually play it without detracting from my show, so I fake it by imagining the chord in my head a jiffy before I begin. Here’s a secret: I get it wrong around one time in six or seven, so try this at home, not on stage.
Is that bragging or reporting? Who cares? I’ll tell why it is even relevant. You see, it [singing to a solo bass line] generally impacts the type of guitar players I can't use. That’s the non-signing electric guitarist who won’t play acoustic as accompaniment. What happens is they see a shortcut to a power trio. If they can get me playing bass and singing, all they need to do is find a hack drummer. Then the drummer and I can back up their ten minute solos, see? It’s all so logical to the guitar mind. The actually vocals are only needed to legitimize the band’s presence in the interludes between his sizzling lead breaks. Now you’re getting it.
Gospel radio said the US is increasing the number of military personnel in Syria. When will they ever learn? We have no business over there. None. That’s why the world hates us. Sticking our noses where they don’t belong. Undeclared wars. Military aid. Supporting foreign dictatorships. Maintaining armed forces on other people’s borders. All of this is coming from DC, not from America. We go in and destroy their ancient regimes, but it isn’t “we”, it is the irresponsible corporations who really run this country. Coca-Cola, Marlborough, Monsanto. And we wonder why the foreigners hate us worse than they fear death. But how can we stage a revolt against a company? And it’s not like Microsoft don’t know that.
Now hold on. Did not India revolt, in actuality, against the East India Company? Let me think on this one. Maybe we can “curb the corporations”, but not without a fight. Don’t even think of making trouble. Like governments, the lackeys that work for the man are very good a following orders, especially when it comes to “restoring order”.
Not my piano.
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.
NOON
For those of you that come here for all the little tidbits you can’t get anywhere else, you are in luck. Take a gander at this implement. It’s a caliper, but what kind of caliper? You cheat by reading the inscription. This is an original tangerine/orange/grapefruit sorters measuring tool. These days it’s all electronic. Here you have the way it was done before--and if the anti-Trump idiots get their way, how it will be done again.
Agent R wants to split the logs [in my back yard] by hand. He has the axes and shims, but is he comprehending there is a ton and a half of logs just in the back yard? I’ve sketched out how a thirty foot “woodpile” fence could span the front yard. But hauling 2,800 pounds of mass cherry wood to the front yard is not something to, ha ha, take lightly. I prefer to ask around who’s got a hydraulic splitter. I watched some on-line demos of those log splitters, god they are slow.
The fence would be a basic structure, lying on the ground across some treated posts or planks right on the ground. The height works out to just under 24” across the span yard. I did find some photos of Russian woodpiles that are kind of artistic. Just thinking of chopping wood again in my life was enough to get me over to the donut shop, where men traditionally hide from work. I was dog tired and the coffee did not help. To make matters worse, when I got home, I used milk instead of water to make my hot chocolate. ZZZzzz-zzzz.
I was out like a light until 6:00PM. And I can tell you what doesn’t help. Dunkin Donuts has succumbed to Millennial marketing. They have constant overhead music, which is okay, but they go full retard. These private broadcasts are not subject to the rules against blaring advertising volume. They’ve got this aggravating set of low-budget talk ads for take-out orders. You know, the “Hi Honey, I’m home” type commercials. Try working a crossword puzzle in peace with that going on.
“If I Can't Be Number One In Your Life,
Then Number Two On You.”
NIGHT
I thought I had the Honda Rebel seller down to my price. I wrote back to arrange a test drive, but no reply yet. I mapquested the distance, 68 miles each way so I’m not heading there without an appointment. It would have to be at the warmest part of the day this season, but I’ve done that before. I found the same bike for sale in the auto-trader site, but with much better photos. I enlarged them and went over the bike in detail. It’s been stored inside and looks like a chick’s motorcycle, you know, no oil stains and the leather’s been polished twice a week. I’ll pursue the deal another week.
The plan is to run a 22” or 24” high woodpile right across that stretch. I’ve calculated the volume of wood required to match the logs, though I may opt for a lower and longer wall. Behind that barbed wire is a large vacant lot and the kids play there. I would not want one of them running through the trees after a fly ball and hitting that fence, but then, I don’t really know if it is my fence. It’s on the property line. I think the idea of a woodpile-fence is rather creative, thank you. And if it doesn’t work, I have an excellent rustic woodpile.
He also does not believe my plan to place the soffit (undereave) vents along the north side only will generate enough natural convection to cool that attic. But since I’m replacing the old facia boards, it is a trivial expense to give it a try. I will be placing remote temperature monitors in the attic space anyway, and I intend to place cardboard baffles to ensure any air flow will be toward the gable vents. You may have to wait until well into 2017 to hear any results. The attic in winter is not a main concern.
ADDENDUM
Later, being wide awake, I met up with Agt. R at the club. He says to just let him know and he’ll run me out to Largo to look at the motorcycle. He adds he thinks he does have a bottle jack in the yard somewhere. Yes, but have you seen the yard? That is the same source Howie got most of the machinery he’s restored. I talked to the barmaid with the tattoos and listened to the band. It’s that duo with the guy who looks like John Gardy, the guy who’s wife broke up my west coast band in the 90s. That’s the fat lady. Louise, who claimed she saw me pocket $10 from the band’s pay. The band was called “Three Good Reasons.”
There was no journal in those days, though I’m sure I’ve written about that incident before. If not, here’s a recap. At week’s end, I’d go up to the bartender who paid me the agreed $300 for the gig (Thursday thru Saturday). I took my $30 management fee and split the remainder three ways. We played this excellent gig for nearly a year, until John started bringing Louise. One day she says the bartender gave me $310. No proof, no witnesses, just said I stole ten bucks.
She was a big-mouth troublemaker from the start, but John was so pussy-whipped nobody could say anything. When I denied stealing anything, John comes on with the “you callin’ my wife a liar” bit. I said nope, but starting now, my management fee was doubled until Louise quit interfering with the band. A few weeks later, they (John, Louise, & Annie) staged a palace revolt. Saying I could not fire them, rather they were firing me. Really?
I removed my PA head, speakers, microphones, cables, in fact, the only thing on that stage that did not belong to me was John Gardy’s guitar. Yeah, this is sounding familiar. They said they were “taking over” the gig. I began to receive calls from PA rental stores as a reference, which I of course said no. Later that week, my old guitar player saw them pushing a set of home stereo speakers in a shopping cart down the sidewalk toward the hotel. Har! Even the wherewithal to move the equipment belonged to me, those stupid shit-heads.
I heard later they played one week. When they went to get paid, their beer tab came to more than the pay. Although I’ve bent my own rule on that, around that same time I decided no more bands larger than a duo. I want to play music, not babysit.
To visually balance the display of this page, here is a photo of the prairie terrain of the central Florida plain. I though you might want a pic of what I meant when I say there is usually a distant pile of mine tailings. In this case, if you look closely at the horizon dead center, you can just make out one of them. It looks like a flat topped rise. These piles are the same material under my house that is causing the floor to warp over time. It’s also a great view of a late afternoon motorcycle excursion. Ah, freedom. No GPS tracker on these trips. (I take the battery out of my cell phone.)
Back to this evening, the band was a duo I’ve seen before. The guitar player is a tough-minded old hand, convinced of his musical talent. He has another guy who plays dobro and sometimes a regular guitar on his lap open-tuned to a G chord. The band woefully lacks a bass player and plays only dreadfully slow dirges. But plays them well, as is expected these days. Zero entertainment value for most people. Once again, I mentioned I played bass.
The stickler there is the guitarist knows the band lacks a low end, but he if he gets a bassist, he only wants to play originals. That’s the same as saying he doesn’t want a bassist. If the music is “original”, you’ll find that means written by the guitarist. That’s the warning shot across your bow. Have you ever noticed how often a band’s biggest hit is written by the drummer or the piano player or anybody except the guitar player? There’s a reason for that.
You see, if the guitar player writes it, all the other instruments, but the bass line in particular, will never be “right” until they are played only in ways and volumes that flatter his guitar work. (That also explains why most indie and “new country” music sounds so two-dimensional.) I’ve always said, there is no such thing as a guitar player so stupid that he can’t write a slow, dragging, ballad. Pardon me if I won’t join a band that specializes in them.
national debt
Last Laugh
