September 23, 2017

Yesteryear
One year ago today: September 23, 2016, another wasted audition.
Five years ago today: September 23, 2012, missing post.
Nine years ago today: September 23, 2008, seriously for sale.
Random years ago today: September 23, 2004, I don’t like 152 people.

           Let me say, this car arrived on the scene just in time. Without it, I’d be stranded. I’m still out of commission. But you got to eat so JZ hauled me down to Denny’s where, like I warned us, the prices have doubled. Pancakes are $13, just pancakes by themselves. They still have the Slams, but those dishes have been tinkered with so much that toast is now a dollar extra. What kind of special is it when it doesn’t come with toast? In another move I don’t like, Denny’s, they hand you the regular breakfast menu, where everything with a coffee works out to $15 per person. This is the third time we had to specifically ask for the Slam menu.

           I’m not sticking around. The media says that no hurricanes are pending, the same media that a year ago said Trump didn’t stand a chance. Ha, did you hear him tell these striking sports players to take a hike. Sure it’s “unpresidential”, but it’s about type we had something beside a grinning party hack in the White House whose major talent is toeing the party line, that is, acting presidential. Here’s a photo of a McD’s sign that got blasted by Irma. I don’t intend to get caught by some rainstorm that decides not to follow the TV path.

           That means I was out of town by noon. Feeling somewhat better, I zipped up to Broward to see if I could find the Hippie’s flea market gig. No dice, he didn’t tell me it was indoors or under some kind of pavilion, so I wound up driving right past. Forecasting bedamned, I can see thunderheads gathering in the west. If I get a flat tire in a rainstorm (the two rear tires are the best of the four that sat for 12 years), I’m stranded. No way I could operate a tire iron. And there are still quirks in the car to be discovered, mostly the effects of it being parked for a decade. The tachometer kicks in sometimes, the air conditioner fan quit working (right before I really needed it), and the headlights won’t stay on bright, though that isn’t a big concern in Florida. There is no place totally dark to drive much.

Picture of the day.
Abandoned Soviet tank factory.
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           Stopping to visit Alaine, I agreed to make a slight detour past their new house out near Port Charlotte. The place is four times the size of my spread and they have hardly begun to move yet. I won’t be any help, but I checked the perimeter and made sure some gear they’d already moved was secure in the breezeway. Yep, the pool’s okay. That’s the Peace River in the background. It was already late in the day and I thought I might have to crash. That’s the philosophy behind the station wagon. I have a general aversion to driving at night mainly because Florida does not ticket jerks who drive install million candlepower low beams and then set them up too high.

           Nor do I care for driving in the rain. In this era of SUV trucks being used as commuter vehicles, almost every driver on the road exceeds his visible stopping distance. I rarely go over 60mph in a rainstorm. People regularly blast past me hitting almost 90mph. They don’t comprehend they are driving a truck and don’t allow for the extra weight.

           Thinking I might have to crash in the driveway, here is Unit 31 with a few of the hatches open. It’s a quiet dead-end street and I checked to be sure the flooding river is well below the banks. Florida night rainstorms don’t do much to cool the atmosphere. It can downpour here while the outside temperature exceeds 80°F. That is not comfortable weather so don’t presume you can sleep or work while it is going on. The trip tuckered me out but I did not relish the thought of crashing in that humidity. (The house is still locked up.)

           So I grabbed my book and read for an hour, dozing off but keeping an eye on that horizon. I still got fooled. It was getting dark but I saw a little sunshine between the thunderheads. My phone rang. It was the Hippie. He reports the flea market gig was “a success” but let me give you some insight into what’s really going on. The bottom line is that both the Hippie and I are past our primes and don’t individually have what it takes to break the sound barrier. (Create a successful band that makes real money.) Musical talent is only one ingredient, mind you, I realize that better than most guitar players.
           Hence, it was amusing to hear the guy once again describing situations I point out to him ten or more years ago. What’s the word again where you forget you’ve heard something and think it is original. Yeah, that’s what’s going on. But I’ve dealt with guitarists so long I can add that he is not solving the issue the right way. The obvious answer is to form a duo, but his idea of a duo is I learn his song list. A list that has gotten him nowhere in over forty years.

           The fact is, in music the solo rarely wins out over the organized team. The functioning word is “organized”. Most people don’t have the skill-set to even try. Alas, this ability is even more scarce in guitar players. You can’t point these out without each guitarist taking it personally. As long as the other guy thinks of himself as the stage superman and the rest of the musicians as his flunkies, the band is going nowhere. It’s like a top-heavy boat constantly ready to capsize. I laugh when I see so many guitarists who state “no startups” when seeking bands to join. That’s telegraphing a non-intention. If the guitar player has to learn even one new song, that makes it a start up.
           But yes, we would be a deadly combo. It will never happen unless by some miracle, the Hippie would agree to share the spotlight. That would mean the other guy gets some songs that showcase his talents on a par with the guitarist. Such a situation would be pure hell to the ego of every guitar player I’ve ever met. If there are exceptions, I have not met them. The ones I’ve dealt with often means an immediate personality clash as they attempt to turn you into their backup band. They cannot imagine any other order of things.

           I’m the other side of the street. I learn one of your songs, you learn one of mine. And you give me $5 for every time you say “bass is easy”. Even if it is easy, you can probably stick that song where the sun don’t shine. I don’t ask the guitar player to do trivial music like “Louie Louie” or “Gloria” all night long, so don’t ask me to play Eagles or Neil Young. Got that, boys? Ah, I see a few of you disagree. Let me guess, you are guitar players.
           Trivia. The metal bra strap hook was invented by Mark Twain. More trivia. At Starbucks, that hipster paradise, if you include all the sparkles and sugars, there are a possible 87,000 different combinations. A lot of people don’t believe that until they’ve been caught standing in line behind that guy.

Quote of the Day:
“father-in-law = near half-wit.”
~ anagram
           I took a chance and got back on the freeway. It is just a small hop up to the King’s Highway, the road that goes to Arcadia. I was not on I-75 a few minutes when it went from sunshine to visibility a few hundred yards. Shown here, the storm is just beginning and the skyline is barely visible. It was so torrential Alaine saw it on the news and called. Shown here, I’m just a few miles from my turn, but there are idiots flying past me full speed.

           Another annoyance of driving a car is people who will not pass you. They pull up and tailgate you a 70mph but will neither pass or back off. Did I ever tell you about my brake switch? In my first car, a Ford Maverick, I rigged up a switch under the dash that turned on my brake lights. Remember those four years I worked across the border in Canada? Well, up there people love to tailgate. I’ve had them ride my bumper for an hour when there was no other traffic on the road. Why do Canadians do that? My guess is the same as I said when I was a kid. Their own lives are so nothing that staring at you constitutes a form of entertainment.

           What I would do is a mile before my turnoff, I would speed up to 80 or 90 mph and the Canadian would speed right up to keep ten feet behind. Then hit that brake switch. You would not believe the number of Canadians I left fishtailing in their own tire smoke. I shouldn’t say but there were more than a few times the guy tailgating me got plowed by the guy tailgating him. Hey, I can put my brakes on any time I feel like it, so, like, take off you hosers, eh?
           I never tailgate. But Florida is proof that God must have liked stupid men and ugly women.

ADDENDUM
           Expenses from operating the car pile up incredibly fast. I can make a pure analysis of the car costs because it’s a sunk cost. I paid cash, thus every other penny is an operating expense, and that vehicle as already cost me $3036.28. I wrote in 1980 how the American system is designed so that a car and its attendant operation takes a quarter of your take-home pay in the long run. Yeah, well the first week set me back $2,700. Of course, most people who have never lived anywhere else don’t think of this as filthy government corruption, but it is. You get socked $236 for a “new vehicle registration” even if the new vehicle was built in the last century. Can you imagine the cost of some kid trying to put his first car on the road? And Florida wonders why people cheat them every chance they get.

           JZ reports getting hit with that fee as well. The one that hurts is insurance. It’s a nearly-complete lie to call it vehicle insurance. The fact that there is even a vehicle involved is a minor part of the process. My gas budget this month is toast. I’ve already spent $264, which is $112 over budget. The best news is the car is economical on gas, just like my last Taurus. It costs around $42 in fuel to make the round trip to Miami, where on the Rebel, it was $36. The entire trip to Miami was just $135 this trip. And I spent some of that on extra books and coffee that I didn’t need. Consider it therapy, I’m in bad shape, okay.

           The car also changes the parameters of making the trip. Friday I left early to arrive in time for the appointment. The trip is more boring but doesn’t require any rest up time. That’s not a necessity, but it is nice after five hours on a motorcycle. Next time, let’s try a late afternoon appointment. Then I can leave mid-morning, crash overnight, and head back nine or ten hours later. Such a trip could cost less than $50, less than the Amtrak. I’m further behind on everything thanks to the collision. Is catching up even possible?
           Note that my budget for the car is 1/2 of usual, that is, instead of a quarter of my income, it is slated to take one-eighth. One dollar in every eight I spend for the remainder of my life will be that car. Unit 31. The average car lasts me nearly 16 years. Will we see 2033?


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