One year ago today: December 4, 2016, another deadbeat guitarist.
Five years ago today: December 4, 2012, my first robot toll payment.
Nine years ago today: December 4, 2008, Tyrone Shoelaces.
Random years ago today: December 4, 2013, the porch I didn’t buy.
We got the new porch blues. I’m referring to the materials cost. Each joist is $11.32 and I’ve got 16 of them. That wasn’t bad, since I bought hand-sorted top quality. Even made the lumberyard break a lift to get the best. It’s the hardware, shown here. This is not the best, these are galvanized 3/8”. I bought only eight sets (bolt, washer, nut) to test for suitability and each combination cost $1.94. That’s what is going to cost. I still have to buy a few lengths for new beams but the deck frame looks like it will come in under $250, which is nice. I’m just antsy that I can’t always substitute labor for materials where it would keep other costs down.
The next step is grunt work, laying in the cinder blocks as level as possible. Each pier has to be painstakingly placed by hand in a trough of the correct depth. That’s another example of labor versus expense. I could pay to have forms and concrete that are far easier to level, but instead I opted for cinder blocks at around $1.26 each. Then work with a garden trowel a scoop at a time to get them level. The decking material can’t be skimped on, so expect that to cost in the neighborhood of $400. And that’s just what I’m guessing now. The budget for the entire porch, including finishing and shingles remains same as a year ago: $1700. I dunno.
The Taurus is now equipped with 120V outlets and USB rechargers. Why do we get the feeling a little winter trip is on the books? Oh, before I forget, the lady guitar player called back to say she is serious about this duo. We watched each other sing and it seemed impressive both ways. I assured her I was not kidding that if she can strum that guitar, I’ll make her sound like a million bucks. She added that she enjoys playing in bars. I’m used to that by now. Hell, if the last bar ever burns down, every guitar player I know would be homeless.
My estimation of this gal? Well, she’s about where I was at her age, and you know how often I’ve lamented how I wish someone had come along and showed me the ropes. It’s not like I constantly met professionals who took the time to steer me right, I never actually met anyone who could be bothered. I realize to them it was is like them giving lessons, a disincentive. Yet for me it would not have taken that much. This young lady seems to have clued in right away that she’s on to something. She has an excellent all-purpose voice. And every serious blogologist knows that over half my list is chick songs. Most of all, she’s got the hunger. Not much, but it’s detectable.
The last time I met a gal with the hunger, I married her.
George Straits’ old cabin.
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Here’s something new. It’s a still from the new dash cam. Here’s an idiot cutting in front of me at 45 mph in the intersection. Folks, it is illegal to change lanes in an intersection, and that includes swerving to the right during a left turn. The dash cam was on sale for such a low price I could not resist. Wish I’d had one on the motorcycle, but these cameras cannot survive the outdoors. This photo makes it look like there is plenty of room, but I had to squeal my brakes. (That’s a figure of speech, my car has ABS.)
We got us a problem. I need to be able to play bass three or four hours at a stretch. And I don’t mean the Hippie-level “bass is easy” trash. Serious bass requires stamina. I am unable to get past ten minutes without pain and numbness. I was at the therapist within the hour. Sad news. My right shoulder muscle is badly damaged. I’ve got a regimen of exercises and all of them cause discomfort. As for bass playing, don’t worry. My bass playing will still rescue the world from millennial new country music. And not a moment too soon. Even if I have to play it lying flat on my back.
All this at the worst possible time, as the gal mentioned above seems committed. She texts me if she works late, so I’ll set up a practice asap. I ran into Bradford at the coffee shop and as expected, he has not put in one minute of time since our last get-together. A month ago. That pretty much excludes him from being in any band. How so? Well, it’s been my experience that the reason for no practice is the band material isn’t their favorite tunes. Such people rarely get beyond arguing which songs to play. I say, if you want to play only what you like, go solo.
You’ll quickly find out how solo your act will be. You can’t become a success trying to sell what you want instead of what the customer wants. Compare musicians to used-car salesmen on that count, it’s a fair analogy and both occupations have the same failure rate.
ADDENDUM
Once more I get involved with a guitar player to the detriment of my own guitar act. But I love bass and always will. To that end, another tune has emerged that gets my “treatment”. A custom bass-rhythm line that totally captures the song despite the missing lead guitar. Folks, I specialize in this type of arrangements and play full instrumental breaks on half my songs on the bass. This time I’ve picked Miranda Lambert again, “Momma’s Broken Heart”.
This type of bass line is actually harder to emulate because it is “studio sloppy”. Recorded in sections and overdubbed by a mediocre bassist or failed guitarist, same thing. Think of it this way, if you became a tennis pro, it becomes difficult to play like a rank amateur because your acquired good habits are geared to a better standard. Thusforth, “dumb bass” (dumbass) is harder to play because you are trying to capture the sound of a greenhorn.
That is rarely a problem for me, I take a lot of pride in replicating the exact sound. And god knows I’ve got experience figuring out how idiots think. Speaking of idiots, I’ve been getting hate mail from Nashville. The posting of my trip seems to have totally offended some millennial type in the region. It seems he didn’t like the post about the toilet paper coupon from the Grand Ole Opry. Too bad, because he’s really going to hate what I post now.
Last Laugh
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