One year ago today: December 8, 2015, north of Ona, bearing Mulberry.
Five years ago today: December 8, 2011, favoring the slow learner.
Nine years ago today: December 8, 2007, X * XI = CX.
Random years ago today: December 8, 2003, shopping in Miami.
MORNING
I got the yard raked before sunup, see the furrows. Five bags, that was it. The mighty me, reduced to raking leaves. Moi. I was supposed to be a millionaire a dozen times over by now, let somebody else at the yard work. Then again, them are my leaves and I didn’t waste a lifetime paying for them. It makes the work fantastically light. I sent this picture to JZ to remind him he’s missing on the “fun” work and the women up here ain’t getting any younger.
Her and I lived in a cabana on the Thai west coast, near Phuket at a place called Karon Beach. It was paradise until 1986 they built a damn Club Med on the point and the place got invaded by the worst of western civilization. But I was there before all that happened, could read and speak passable Siamese in those days. And that is why the movie got me where it hurts.
You see, I remember the real Thailand and also saw the changes. I saw how the Arabs acted the minute they got out of Arabia, and how the Germans owned all the major industries, how the Australians were universally hated, and the Canadians who had been there years because their mothers collected their welfare checks and sent them the money. I never met another American there during the entire 1980s, but I hear that’s all changed. It’s the one place the world should have left alone.
Thailand is where I learned if you want to lead an extraordinary life, you have to stop being an ordinary person. I knew the concept before, we all do. But not always the difference between knowing the words and living by them. You also learn that success is relative. I knew by 1984 I was never going to be rich and famous on my own but I was still young enough to find that one woman and we could make it together. In the end, they all wanted my money or my soul, I never found the one that dared to take the right chances.
The movie ends on the classic Hollywood sucky chick line with the King saying she taught him how a man could be happy with just one woman. The everything woman, that tedious box office draw. Of course, she is a single mother, that will sell another million tickets. In a way it makes sense. Give me Jody Foster and I’ll be happy quite possibly forever. One thing I’d care to point out is all of the women seen in this movie, even in the background, were chosen not to clash with Foster. But be advises they are far from the beauties that Thailand has to offer.
That’s not to say they weren’t gorgeous, but they were typical housewife types. They are the type of women that are best enjoyed by those who enjoy that type of women. None were fat, in fact, I have never seen a fat Thai woman. By comparison, the average American broad could pose for both before and after chili shots.
But don’t worry, if the system here collapses, I could easily still find my way around the country over there and maybe even look up a few old friends. Thailand isn’t there any more, and I’m so sad for that. Should I come into a fortune, first I’d go to Texas, then I’d go to Thailand. I used to feel sorry for all the old men, mostly Germans, who lived on the beach. They were all sausage-fat and 70-ish with their teenage Thai girlfriends. I’d see them barely make it walking to the beach every day and lying on the sand to watch the girls skinny-dip.
Now, I don’t feel sorry for them because I realize how happy they were. To hell with the west and their Judeo-Christian restraints on who can sleep with whom. Those old men all died there, I’m sure, but they would have wanted to go that way. Their attitude was use the west as a place only good for making money. One you have some, get out. Maybe I will too in a few years. I used to think Thailand was so far away but I don’t think that any more. In fact, it gets closer every time an American president sells out and every time another freedom is stripped away.
Did you know my ex-wife kept a picture of me on the refrigerator? So she would remember what I looked like.
Ivy-covered cottage.
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NOON
I thought this bright red leaf was worth a look. Isn’t that something else, such a nice Xmas color. Here’s some “Most Wanted” trivia for you. I was trying to find some details on the trial of J. Mark Allen. It seems to have been purged from the Internet. My interest was the prosecution lawyer, a guy named Trey Gowdy III. Unless you heard Trump is considering him for some fancy lawyership position, you don’t know this guy. He’s sort of America’s version of Nigel Farage. I like his style and he could give lessons to Ann Coulter.
Ah, the trivia. Did you know the person longest on the Most Wanted list is an illegal immigrant by the name of Victor Gerena. He’s been on the run since 1984. Go door-to-door in Miami, you’ll find him. And 10,000 others like him.
You know what I do when I get time? At the library, I [go into control panel and] change all the mouse speeds to the fastest setting. Why? Because I can’s stand bleeding hearts. I have nothing against people changing default settings on public equipment. It’s the pricks who don’t change them back when they are finished. This is another little Libtard test. Do you feel more empathy for the cause or the cure? Gimps should go to the gimp library.
And another thing, will you media knock it off with this Anna Wintour becoming a successful magazine publisher? She was born "successful" and on that count "became" nothing. Her father is the editor of this major London newspaper. And that line, “she became interested in fashion as a teen”. Like wow, how remarkable. Making on her own, give me a break. When some designer would not lend her a $10,000 for her first cover shoot, she just bought it cash. That’s like $20,000 in today’s money. Wintour has had so many face lifts she can’t blink any more.
And because it was unusual, today I walked into a store in the northeast area of the city, to buy some spray paint. I’ve never been in that area before and don’t know anybody, certainly not at that store. Yet the moment I got through the doors, the lady cashier took an instant dislike to me. What the hell is with that? I don’t know her and if I remind her of somebody else, that’s tough. She was the only checkout line and she stared knives at me the whole time with people wondering what was going on.
Nothing, folks, nothing was going on. I don’t know this lady or what is wrong with her. And you know me, I just ignore such women and expect them to do their job. I paid the $5.99 plus tax without speaking. It’s not like she was a young sexy thing, in which case I might have cared. Weird.
NIGHT
Here is a house jack being “unseized”. The unit is upside down, allowing 90W motor oil to soak into the threads. The jack has been coated with brake cleaner and is down to a single layer of rust. I dunno, it is in pretty bad shape. The jack is borrowed, that’s my snipe bar and hand sledge. It isn’t budging but we’ll give it more time. I’ll wire-brush the rust if I get it working. It is, alas, too tall to fit under the house.
Fortunately, there was another musician there doing what I was doing. Looking for another musician. He’s only 22, but instantly picked up on how I could sing melody while hearing only the bass notes. There are a lot of professional singers who cannot do this. The band was on a beer break so I explained to this new guy how I did it. For those who don’t know, a few years ago I thought I’d give a whirl at learning to sing harmony to enhance my marketability as a bassist. I knew by observation the trick was to think one note while singing another. That made me a keen observer, not a good singer.
Well, having nobody to practice with, I sat that the electric piano. One day, being lazy, I thought to just use the bass. I realized I was singing melody, not harmony, and I’ve been singing ever since. The point here is I explained it to this guy and he was able to do it on the second or third try. Within five minutes, we were singing and playing. The guy is a natural—and he is a Johnny Cash fan. I’ve always been admitted envious of people with such talent.
True, I understand the comparison ends there. While it took me decades to do it on my own, the world is full of people who can always do something once they see somebody else do it first. It’s always easier to follow a trail than blaze one. Ask my brother. He may even demonstrate how to use it to wreck the other guy’s band.
Anyway, back to the singer. He owns a guitar and knows a few chords. That’s good enough. And he knows a golden opportunity when he sees one. We traded phone numbers; he is certainly as enthusiastic as I was at 22. He’s got enough haircut for the both of us and we share the common goals of women and money—in that order. (Right? You never hear a guy who has all the women he wants complaining there isn’t enough money.) Plus, having a “kid” in the band justifies playing college venues. That keen observer thing again.
[Author’s note: could this be the re-emergence of “The Johnson Twins”. Remember that band that failed, me and the 20-year-old black lady? I think she suddenly remembered she had to be in Birmingham again. I forgot to mention, the new guy today is black, with a Kramer haircut, and he’s a rap singer. Roughly 40 years age difference. Remember the classic rejoinder when people asked how we were twins?
“Different mothers.” ]
Back to the rest of the band. They could play well enough the material they’ve been jamming with. The standard blues-rock fusion. They had two bass players, both Guitar Center types. They could slap and pop and play two or three such tunes each. If they could lay down a track otherwise, it was not in evidence this evening. I jammed along with every number, spotting they were not big on fancy turnarounds. They had a lead player who wasn’t “leaning into the breaks”, which is rare. But remember, on stage you are never going to get a written invitation. Especially not on stage next to me.
Were they any good? No, but they are the archetypical types who know it and say they only play for fun. I’ve seen it too many times, so it’s not for me. The 13-1/6th bar blues, sometimes. Like dating a fat chick, it’s fun that leads nowhere, so always bring enough beer. When they did play covers, it was the other guitar guy playing the intro to what I presume is some big hit and asking if anyone else knows the song.
ADDENDUM
What gives? At near midnight a single-engine aircraft is buzzing the town. It’s too dark to see. I’m not worried as the engine sounds fine and the plane has made several passes. There are plenty of lit and marked airfields within gliding distance, but he is pretty low. But I’d rather get some sleep and hear about anything in the news tomorrow.
Before I forget, the truck driver guy from Mulberry canceled out. I kind of knew he would never find the time. That’s the guy that we played ten of my tunes but he was very tight-lipped about his own music. He also said he knew theory, but when I explained anything using it, he got lost. I often do not know the notes I’m playing on bass and would tell him it’s the fifth or the minor, and he’d get lost.
I recognize that situation, although it did not happen during our audition. The guys who don’t know the circle of fifths will always ask you what the chords are. The point it, they don’t do this just once, they want you to tell them every rehearsal until they memorize it. But they won’t memorize the circle and if you try to teach them, they complain it is a “bass lesson”. Reminds of that Sharon lady that lived straight down the road. Every time we drove between our apartments, she wanted directions.
Last Laugh
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