One year ago today: May 26, 2016, Jimmy Kimmel who?
Five years ago today: May 26, 2012, Cowboy Mike at Willie’s.
Nine years ago today: May 26, 2008, the term “white hunter”.
Random years ago today: May 26, 2007, the tse-tse economics professor.
This could be a wood lathe. It is sturdy and shows signs of great workmanship. But is it missing some parts? I’ll rig it up tomorrow and see what it does. If anyone out there recognizes it, I’d appreciate a note. The rail along the right edge moves back and forth and those holes are for some kind of pegs. There are wing nuts under the unit, but they would be hard to access if meant to be constantly adjusted. So take a look, show the picture to your grandparents or something. Because if I don’t find out what it is, chances are it will be made into something else.
So that was a mood-setter for this morning. I finally got over to Best Buy, but don’t you go believing Google. They’ll tell you it is the Lakeland store, but in reality it is nearly 8 miles up the Dade City highway on the road out of town. Not exactly walking distance even if it wasn’t on that dangerous, shoulderless stretch. I had to buy and external hard drive adaptor, so while up there I invested in a $36 MP3 player, the ones the south Florida branches never have in stock.
I tried to test it by listening to the on-board freebies, but they were so bad I opened up the carburetors on the Rebel and could not get home fast enough to erase that shit. Lest it contaminate the player. EmceeT-YayAreaSlapz, sounds like some Indie file built up from old studio outtakes. Or this Michael McEachern, somebody should tell that boy that Diana Ross and the Supremes already did all his stuff. Long time ago. And that they did a much better job of it. Because yousee, Mikey, when they did it, the music style was original. What? Oh, let me help you with that word, o-r-i-g-i-n-a-l. That’s the part they can’t teach you because it involves another word you don’t know: t-a-l-e-n-t.
Teen music today lacks any powerful or distinctive vocalists. I understand the influence of Michael Jackson’s “whisper singing” and the temptation to use pre-recorded disco instrument tracks. But you think there’d be a few really gifted individuals out there who read the market a little better. Even the rock music is vastly over-orchestrated. Kind of like the last imaginative guitar licks that came along still belong to ZZ Top.
Well okay, Trump is putting his foot down concerning the countries who are not paying their NATO dues. That woke them up. But that is too far removed from the man on the street who voted to have that wall built. It should be mostly up and standing by now, since it is an invasion of American soil. To the people who say that America stole the land from the Mexicans and Indians, tell us who the Mexicans and Indians stole it from. Since they are hardly the first people who ever lived there. So unless we stole it from Adam and Eve, we don’t want to hear that argument all over again.
But you know, come to think of it, that Garden of Eden could just be right here in my back yard. It needs a little weeding and some of that brown cow stuff. Otherwise overall, the similarities are remarkable and the birds sure seem to love it.
Oranges.
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Now this next set of events, you can make up your own mind. It’s my Friday, a traditional day off, so most of what happens is random. Afternoon and evening ran on together so, from the top, here’s a tale from the trailer court. By 4:00-ish, I had again forgotten it was Memorial Day weekend. What can I say, worshipping war was never that big in my belief system. So, there being no real women in the state of Florida, I decide to go shopping. Stock up for the weekend. I was in the north end, right across from the movie theater, tempting, but decided to just get my chores done.
After a half hour of trying to fish the broken part out of the tumbler, I realize I need a pair of pliers. That’s when I walked back to the club, which opens early on weekends. There are no pliers in the tool box, so my remaining option is to call Agt. R for a ride home. The old robot club has a complete set of backup key copies, so I’m waiting at the club. There’s band equipment set up for later and the guitar player finishes tuning and strums a sample. It’s a song with a lot of tricky parts, so I play air bass along with the tune. Ha, the guy is impressed, and asks if I want to jam one.
At first I was going to say no because they only had a full size bass, where I use a 7/8ths scale. But what the heck, I used to play a full size in a rock band. So he launches into Skynyrd’s “The Breeze”, a tune I happen to know note for note more than perfect. (There’s a slight recording studio error in the original, which other bassists leave out.) Then two more tunes and we absolutely brought down the house. What a sound, because he was playing proper rhythm. Did you lead guitarists get that? He wasn’t playing guitar, he was playing rhythm.
What a show, man that was a concert in the afternoon! That’s the good news. The bad news is the guitarist is in a committed band that has been together for years. Then Agt. R called, he got the directions mixed up and was waiting up at the donut shop. So I hiked back there to realize I had called him away from a graduation ceremony. He got me home and back with the spare key, what a pal. His mom was in the car, I took the opportunity to point out R was the most motivated character I’ve met in Polk County.
They left, I went back inside to finish the crossword, actually all three crosswords. As I go to leave, dang, I’ve still got the screwdriver from the club. It’s on the way home and the joint looks half deserted because it’s graduation day all over the place. I dropped in to return the tool and the band is now playing, it is a four-piece and the singer is that guy I jammed with on Eagle Lake Road. He wants me to get up and sing, but I don’t really know that kind of semi-jazz music. Old Mark buys me a beer, so I watch the show. Now the fun began.
Several hours earlier, when I was there, a fantastic-looking lady had seen my bass act. But she was way, way out of my leaque, so I smiled at her. Then, still waiting for my ride, I took out my scribbler and was doing a little writing while every other guy in the place was staring up her slit skirt. You see, I’m ex-phone company, so while I casually notice everything once, I never stare. Fast forward to now. It is four or five drinks later for her, so imagine my surprise when she walks up behind me and slips her arms around my neck. That perfume, I know that perfume, and up close she really was that gorgeous, so much so that I forget what she said. For once, I was dazed, seriously, the room went two-dimensional.
Then reality. She was drunk. She’d been watching me and decided I was the one. I looked back at the table she came from and motioned a guy about her age over. I asked him if he knew her, he said yes. I said time to take her home. He said he’d been trying to, so I pried her arms off me and nudged her to where he could get between us and eased her out the door. Sure, the whole place saw it, but I’d rather have them think I’m a fool than a desperado. Where I come from, gentlemen don’t take advantage of drunk women, but you be careful with that because once I left, there were no longer any gentlemen where I come from.
Yeah, I know. You wanted a picture of the babe and all you got was a picture of the broken key.
"The wireless music box has no imaginable commercial value.“
Response to early radio investment pitches.
It’s all dated technology, but that new little MP3 player of mine is quite the capable gadget. My only complaint so far is that it has been fixed so teens can’t turn it up loud enough to damage their eardrums. Just like back in my day, them jealous old losers who never got invited don’t want young people having any fun.
ADDENDUM
Here’s a treat for you more poetic, literary types. Most everyone in the generation before me is aware how the lyrics for Elvis’ [Presley] “Heartbreak Hotel” were from a suicide note found in a stall. Well, I’ve often said Craigslist is the world’s new washroom wall, and I found this posting. Somebody needs to start writing real songs again. This might be a candidate.
life is not fair...
i get that...
so don’t make it more difficult for everyone else...
don’t string someone on for a year just to jump ship without saying a word...
to think its ok because you were heartbroken and lonely...
ok...
rub it in my face...
that was just cruel...
you should of thought of that before you bailed...
you quit...
not me...
to tell me i have to earn my place in your comfort zone...
you clearly had no problem scooping me out of mine...
only to disappear...
to tell me how i should live and view human life...
just your down time...
that i wasn’t worth anything...
other than an object to fill your void of boredom...
you demanded and twisted me up...
wrapped me around your finger...
gave everything i had to give...
because i was in love with you...
because i was stupid...
thinking and believing everything you told...
when your actions spoke loud as day the opposite...
you left me and my heart hanging...
standing on the corner looking and feeling like an idiot...
like some jester clown
a clown that no longer had a use and now didn’t belong...
you used me...
you used me and my heart to make yourself feel better...
you women want to know where are the good guys are at?
we’re dying...
we’re today’s assholes...
because yesterday you wiped your ass with our feelings...
we’re the unstable nice guy...
because we’ve lost the will to settle down...
i don’t look at a woman and talk about how beautiful she is...
about how she holds herself and all the little quirks you look for...
i grade her on the amount of bad decisions I’m going to make...
and what kind of heartache I’m going to take...
and i stay over here...
to myself...
because it’s safer than you are...
Last Laugh
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