One year ago today: July 24, 2016, reads like history class.
Five years ago today: July 24, 2012, info about trains.
Nine years ago today: July 24, 2008, she’s just too weird.
Random years ago today: July 24, 2004, early pondering celestial navigation.
Pitter-patter, let’s get at ‘er. Up at dawn to fix the batbike. It stayed at the motel overnight by itself, so I had to go easy on the old girl. I suspect what happened is the gas pump sputters when the fuel is low. If it stalls, I’ll hit the starter and it takes quite a crank. The positive terminal overheated and flashed on fire. No, I don’t have a picture because the camera I had on me was a Vivitar. It’s not like you can leave the fire burning for the full 15 seconds it takes that damn model of camera to boot up.
The batbike is home in the yard. I have to trek back to the motel since everybody I know with a car is at work today. No problem it’s only two miles and it is a near perfect day. JZ is still not answering his phone and this afternoon I may zip up to Ybor Cigars, a famous open mic. Not to be confused with Ybor City, a famous hard to find tourist trap unless you already know the way.
I have a few comments about how this guitar solo thing went. Off the top, I’m considerably happy that I finally broke completely away from my dependence on guitar players, a milestone in itself. Now I gig whether or not some bone-head guitar player promises me the world and then pulls the old can’t-won’t learn bullshit on me.
Plus, my song list contains none of the boring guitar-centric standards and last night showed the full advantages of that. Everybody in the place watched me start to finish. Then turned back to their beers when the big band took over. That’s right, I may not have [musically] outshone the five-piece orchestra, but I had more customers paying attention. The gig analysis is already done, there is no reason not to continue following my guidelines over what to play.
The venue was not a tipping establishment. The band stage is set far back against the wall furthest from the juke box, pool table, bathrooms, and normally busy part of the bar. I prefer to be no more than a few feet from the front row of occupied seats. Few people are going to walk forty feet through and around an empty moat of chairs and tables to stuff a bill in your jar. Who remembers that restaurant JZ and I like down in Bartow? They are thinking of some sidewalk entertainment, also on Thursdays.
[Author’s note: you watch, if Thursday works, the café will quickly change that to Saturday, and as soon as that happens, count me in. My lifetime average in Saturday tips, with all adjustments made for inflation, is $62.05 And damn rights I’ll play for that. Why? Applied logic, that’s why. When I played before, I necessarily had to split that money with the other musician. (Face it, most musicians I’ve played with were notorious for not getting tips.) I was never as cheap as the Hippie so there were nights I took a loss.]
Brussels.
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Wait, I’m not finished with the music part yet. The natural comparison is to what other soloists do. The plan is to avoid their mistakes and avoid becoming a clone. This is so tempting, because playing the same as everybody else is a comfort zone. Music is eccentric that way. If you want to be a hack, you can get away with the peace and flowers trip forever. But if you want to get ahead, the competition is ferocious. I’m competitive, therefore I compare.
Now I know I’m not the worst. But I also know where I’ve put in more effort than some of the others. And I know who does all the comping. One thing more than ever that gave away my bass heritage last evening was that I did not skip or omit parts just because I could not play them. Otherwise, I’ve been in this situation often, where I have a few months at most to get five year’s experience. Took me long enough to get here.
Next, let’s have a big “Boo” for Barska. This is the brand of microscope, and their web site does not publish the driver. It does not even have a button to search or download the drivers. Such people should be shot, you know. There should be a law that anybody who sells any device that requires a computer driver should either have to use standard issue apps or cause to be published that driver on-line for free in perpetuity. Not making the drivers available is a deliberate rip-off. Once you have a site, these are static files that cost you next to nothing. But creeps like Barska will deny you that. Nor can you contact their site without relinquishing your identity in the process. I detect the stench of millennial.
“I can’t imagine anything worse than being required to have fun.”
~ Scott Westerfeld
The batbike was not back here until noon, and the scooter until mid-afternoon, so I wrote the day off except to shop for supplies. Electrical supplies, like outlets and switches. I wound up walking two miles. So by late afternoon, I zipped down old 37 to check out Ybor Cigars. It’s as middle class a watering hole as you’ll find any more. Another side-effect of the lounges closing down from the cruises is it left the local bars with an identity crisis. If you didn’t want to slum it, you had to settle for fewer, older customers. They have more money but they don’t stay as late and you have to get used to the same faces every night. I was in this place so long ago, but the only décor I recognized is where the stage used to be. It is now occupied by pool tables.
They have a Tuesday jam. Once again, it is geared only to the vocalist or guitarist. That’s okay for the most part, except when if you want to play your own instrument, you have to hunt around for somebody willing to unplug their channel, a task that can turn up empty. I’ll see how I feel about the trip again tomorrow.
I got e-mail from back west. I have a friend reporting that to make lasagna right these days, it costs $50. Out went my request for the recipe. My take is that I don’t have a pot big enough to hold $50 worth of food, but let’s see where this goes. One thing for sure, I’m getting sick and tired of this entire media-contrived bull about Russian interference. They’ve invented this out of thin air and seem to think if they drumbeat it, we’ll somehow get convinced there is something to it. These liberals are sick in the head that way. It’s so amazing our highest institutions of education turns out these wusses who hate their own kind.
On that note, I have an upset tummy. As you know, I am rarely bothered by such conditions, so I’m staying home with a good book or two. In fact, it is so rare, I mention it because something like that can have consequences at my age. It’s not my diet. Everything this week was home made (pork roast, baked chicken, peach pie, lemonade, quiche, hold on, I made a mac & cheese casserole out of a box). But now I’m stuck on chicken soup and wondering what $50 lasagna tastes like.
ADDENDUM
Nearly finished “Every Man A Tiger” has taught me how little respect the world has for the American army. The world doesn’t like the special forces or the weight of air power, but time and again we are not paying attention to what prisoners are saying about why they dared to attack in the first place. Time and again they did not surrender to American soldiers as much as they gave in to overwhelming material superiority. The Gulf War was no different. The Iraqis stated they only surrendered when they found they could not coax the American soldiers into a one-on-one fight or a situation requiring bravery.
This is why your scrappy little armies can pick a fight with the Yankees. They want a negotiated settlement. The Viet Nam experience showed Americans don’t like to take casualties. Clancey emphasizes the air campaign but the old proverb holds that only troops can occupy ground. And the war is not over until that happens. The Scud missiles are derided as inaccurate but how much longer before somebody connects a GPS module? Even the Israelis can’t find the mobile launch sites.
[Author’s note: the GPS actually would not help much because no matter how precise the guidance system, rocket itself is inaccurate. The rocket aims itself by vectoring or gimbaling the rocket exhaust. This system can only push the rocket in the general direction of the target during the powered part of the flight. The fins only keep the rocket pointed in the general direction after the power is exhausted, they don’t usually steer. After that, the trajectory carries it the rest of the ballistic arc without guidance. It works like a giant peashooter.]
Last Laugh
(Pressure cooker.)
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