One year ago today: July 20, 2016, end-of-worlders love a Tuesday.
Five years ago today: July 20, 2012, I go on a date.
Nine years ago today: July 20, 2008, 300 lbs & 90 mph.
Random years ago today: July 20, 2011, early electronics study.
The world will never recognize how adroitly I drove around all the thunderstorms today. It’s an art honed by years of memorizing cloud patterns and disbelief in anything reported on channels 2 thru 23, pardon if there are no such channels, you get my drift. I ducked into the library between thunderclaps and was being observed from afar. I had the streaming videos on to drown the gross pigs and snot-eaters who infest the public library, and an unusually well-educated commentator got my attention. I don’t know if he is from Greece, but he is solidly involved with their politics, even if he did resign in disgust.
Mark my words, this guy is up there with Nigel Farage and it is these unassailably strong personalities that will bring down the likes of Merkel. Wait, but, but, didn’t Merkel bail out Greece? No, what actually happened is she arranged a loan to Greece where not one penny of that loan went to the Greek people. It was used to repay previous loans from German banks, to whom Merkel is beholden. There is something ironic here about banks and Germany that I just can’t put my finger on.
This new guy was apparently an economist, never a politician at heart (because he talks too clearly), until he was thrown into the role of finance minister. That makes him dangerous. Like certain former democratically elected European leaders as long ago as 1930, this guy knows who he is up against. And he has that unique skill amongst continental Europeans who see the big picture—he speaks English.
Anyway, I mentioned I was being observed. By a blonde lady. Nothing happened, but here’s the scoop. Much later in the day, I stopped by a lounge to meet Agt. R and there she was, sitting by herself at the counter. My type or not, the thoughts raced around, but let’s look at the positives. She was indeed inside a library. She has the confidence to go out alone and sit at the bar. And talk to strangers.
The downside? I had to break the ice. I was not the only one she was looking at. She was wearing “fashions”. To me, the only fashions normally permitted are skin tight blue jeans and a halter top. Remember my history, I have never actually picked up a gal in a bar. Let’s go over that one more time. I’ve seen women in a bar that I’ve later picked up somewhere else. I’ve met women who I later ran into in a bar, where we quickly made the final arrangements. I’ve had women pick me up in bars. But, guys, I’ve never done the classic pounce for a one-night stand.
Never had to.
Dresden.
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Yes, I believe I finally found a replacement microscope. But the weather prevents it from being here until the weekend. The seller is a student of mushrooms, sharp as a band saw. A student of mushrooms, he got himself a fancy oil immersion unit and has unsuccessfully been trying to sell the Barska for months. I finally waved some cash and that was enough. If all goes according to plan, you’ll see something by Saturday. And by the way, I’m a little disappointed by the turnout of my readership on weekends. True, I don’t post on Sundays, but the equivalent effort is put in and I’d appreciate a little appreciation, same as everybody.
Soldiers arriving without weapons or housing, raw units that required expensive training facilities, constant infighting, and predictable problems of every nature. The American mindset of war as business is everywhere. Take for instance that in Saudi Arabia, you need the King’s permission to connect up a phone line. So we request something like 10,000 lines. And the army imports thousands of video cassette players and so on. I mean what kind of military secrecy is possible when the front line soldiers get to phone home every day? To help with that, here is a translation table of the more useful codes:
“Hi, Honey, love you.”
Translation: We are stationed in the Middle East.
“How are my darling lovely children?”
Translation: See page 17 of the blue atlas like I showed you.
“Don’t forget to feed the dog.”
Translation: I’m being watched.
“Say hello to Aunt Lillie.”
Translation: We attack at dawn tomorrow.
“The food is awful.”
Translation: The food is awful.
The bottom line here is that the military was not ready for war. Far from it. Now since I’ve put together three or four men in music bands before, I can appreciate that you are never going to get cooperation out of three or four hundred thousand. But I thought military discipline had some role in overriding any dissenters. That now appears to operate only at the buck private level. By page 50, I was convinced it was Generals and Admirals who needed a swift kick in the ass. The battlefield is not the place for supposedly grown men to be jockeying for position. Yet the book reveals constant arguments over who gets to command this or that missile or boat. Inter-service cooperation, my eye.
“Action is the real measure of intelligence.”
~ Napoleon Hill
There are rumors of two new night spots opening in the SE end. One may be a restaurant, but the very thought of competition is already making a mark. Today, for the first time in my experience, one of the existing clubs had entertainment on a Thursday. I have checked out every club with entertainment within a radius of 18 miles, and most clubs within 28 miles. My critiques of guitar players have nothing to do with these clubs with one exception. That is where the guitarist plays what he wants and tries to indoctrinate the room to his personal musical tastes. I know some guitar players who actually think that is the way it is done.
There was a new duo in the house, which I will describe, but try to bear in mind I do not for a moment carp about the musicianship. It was fine, but the rest was a fiasco. It was a duo where one guy played guitar and the other guy sang. I tackled that same problem for years and they solved it by using two people, an option I never had. What? Well, because I could neither play guitar nor sing well enough in isolation, happy now?
But now let’s talk setting. This is the bar that last Friday had a three-piece rock group so loud people had to go outside to talk. Now this duo shows up and tries to play new country to an old country room. They announced they were country but I recognized only one song, by Merle. Nobody at the bar was paying the least attention to these guys, not the least, they did not even turn around to watch them. Psst, Glen, that’s a fail.
That droll music they chose means these guys are in a larger group and moonlighting. They had the very best equipment money could buy, but they played nothing but clone music with that artificial “recording studio” sound. And it was with the greatest of interest that I watched that guitar player. He was technically solid, but good as he was, he just could not capture the feel of any song. He did the old trick of playing a great starting riff, then reverting to comping for most of the remainder. Fools nobody.
This is in stark contrast to my style. I mark absolute discipline that whatever strum begins the song, it must be maintained throughout, no matter how tricky that may become. This makes a lot of songs difficult to sing because so many vocalists elide and syncopate over the tempo. It also makes every song I strum different from the others. On that count, I was miles ahead of that guitarist. He also skipped many intros and passages where it would have been better if he had just chorded through or, as I do, applied some imagination.
Once again, here was a band that played at the crowd instead of to them. I recognize the guitarist’s manner, he’s taken a lot of lessons. Years of lessons. Bass is a single note instrument, so I tend to listen quite closely to the slightest shading of tones, which can’t be learned from lessons. These guys did not suspect how far they were off the mark. Age, you ask? Around 30-ish, but like myself at 35, could be 21. These guys were too old to change or learn anything new and thus heading full speed toward that old musician’s vanishing point without every really making much of a splash. These are the types of musicians my act is custom designed to wipe out.
The house pays $100 for such a duo and the house lost money tonight.
ADDENDUM
The telemarketing calls which my former doctor claims are pure coincidence have tapered off to two per day. Aurora reports 505-358-7653 and 423-205-1891. The first number is spoofed from New Mexico concerning carpet cleaning, the second the good old auto warranty scam. Yep, with my old phone, you could tell by these calls when I had my medical appointments. According to the same doctor, my ex-wife, who doesn’t have my phone number (email only) was responsible.
I just can’t see myself taking prescriptions from someone who allows his manager to tell him what to think and do and lets her override a patient’s wishes. That’s the manager who, in mid-April, told me she had a “right” to give out my phone number to whomever she pleased. I wonder if she told him about that?
Hold on, here’s another email from Aurora. Yep, another telemarket call. 619-369-4630. Spoofed California number, fake vehicle warranty scam, thumbing their noses at the so-called “No Call List”. Since my ex-wife is a millionaire and owns a bunch of radio stations, I just can’t see how my doctor concludes she is behind all this. Doc, I have a message for your office manageress and it rhymes with “buck shoe”.
In equally important news, I have again asked a question that, based on search results, completely stumped the Internet. How do I cool down the one room of my house that does not have air conditioning? I’ve kind of derived on my own that I should install a fan to the light switch that is slightly more powerful than the 4 to 5 times the room volume per minute. This would created a permanent negative pressure inside the bathroom, which in turn draws air from the hallway. It would probably mean installing a baffle which would also allow noise.
A more complicated approach would be to put in a small A/C unit and a vent up through the roof. I saw many instructions to vent the bathroom through your soffits, but that’s plain dumb. The soffits right beside it are intakes, which would draw the moist air back into your attic. One has to be a special kind of stupid to do that.
Without A/C, the summertime heat builds up inside the bathroom the instant the door is closed. I think to try the fan first, because it requires a smaller cutout than an A/C unit. If that works, it saves me a lot of work. Remember, I am a complete rookie at this renovation business. Sure, I could hire others to do it for me, but after I turn 65, if I pursue this, I’ll need a far better idea of how long things take.
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