One year ago today: May 29, 2017, $1700 per hour.
Five years ago today: May 29, 2013, I begin cholesterol program.
Nine years ago today: May 29, 2009, sue, spam, dun, or arrest.
Random years ago today: May 29, 2014, romantic, my eye.
No excitement today, but I did go through another batch of guitar players. Not one of them made the grade. Mostly, I went around purchasing materials, which takes far longer than it should. But this country is not what it was twenty years ago. You can go to Wal*Mart and be the only English-speaker in the store. Time after time I’m getting the same advice from people about the town council. Ignore them and only to work inside your house. I talked to one guy with a beautiful place who said the only permit he got ever was when he had to replace his roof.
Doing some calculating, if I went by the book, it would cost me nearly $600 to have a 240V dryer receptacle installed. And $1,200 for a new front door. I don’t want to cheat, but it’s clear why everybody else is doing it. For that matter, I have yet to meet someone around here who doesn’t. Oh, and forget finding a contractor for any job less than $5,000. They’ll just tell you that their liability insurance makes small jobs not worth the risk. I consider compulsory insurance to be another form of income tax, and the first principle of tax law is that it is not supposed to distort the economy.
Things will slow down anyway, there’s another tropical storm making sure of it. It’s already been the wettest year and I’ve got work to do. In twenty years in Florida, I’ve never really, really seen a hurricane. I’m just now learning to do a lot of household tasks and the rain has a wonderful way of keeping me indoors. You know, I can explain that.
When I was growing up, it was very important to never show any aptitude for anything around the house. You quickly learned that showing any ability whatsoever would instantaneously and permanently make that task your unpaid responsibility. I spent a lot of time sitting around faking I was as useless as the rest. The monolinguistic bunch of them always did suspect I was playacting, but could never hold a thought long enough to figure anything out. I swear, to this day, they think I was one of them and only pretend to do things like play the piano or read books.
Guitar players. The guy who is best has a wife that doesn’t like the idea. That’s why I usually avoid married musicians. It could be a variety of reasons but the one I suspect is the same as when I have a girlfriend that can’t sing and dance. She quickly bores of attending the gigs, but learns darn rights, the temptations are everywhere. And like I first heard when I was 14 (from Lynette Bartholet), I only want to resist temptation, not discourage it altogether.
What, I never told you about Lynette. A little hottie, she would not go out with me, but one time I had dinner at her parent’s place. It was these meat thingees tied with a string and I could not get mine to open. I never saw Lynette after I was 16, but I ran across her kid brother in Montana some ten years later. He said she graduated, got married, had three kids, and that I “didn’t want to see her these days”. Sigh, well, you know what I have to say about high school. For me it was quite the adventure.
Other guitar players who did not make the grade include another one who said he didn’t want to play the pubs & clubs. I asked him where, then, did he intend to gig. Senior citizen homes, he said. Gee, that sounds like a fun venue for a Friday night. He kept telling me he knows a lady who has been doing it for years, like that would sway me. And what is it with Lake Wales? I got another guy who says he lives in Lake Wales, but he lives 18 miles east of there. (My ad specifies my commute cannot be more than 15 miles, though I have done 25.) I usually schedule rehearsals at the other guys place so I can check out the level of commitment and preparedness.
I’ve got two lined up for this week. One in Combee and the first guy in Lake Wales. However, I had been putting out feelers over the years and I got a call from this Mexican guy up in Haines City, yes, where I was y’day. The minute he got on the phone, I knew he was a professional. He got my information from the crusty lady at the Fubar. I was taken aback when he knew I had a “dynamite show”, but I’d forgotten how I had played that club at jam sessions over a year ago. Among the very impressed clientele were the barmaids. Talk about a heavy accent. I must audition with this guy. Even talking to him tells me he’s got the right experience and attitude.
Bosco Verticale (Vertical Forest).
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Who remembers that Karaoke bozo that always makes me wait until the list has rotated at least twice? So tonight, Bradford and I are talking local politics when said bozo walks in the door to set up his Karaoke. Except this time we only got four people. Says Bradford, the whole place notices how he makes me wait. Really, tell me more?
According to Bradford, who is not one to dish out compliments, the Karaoke bozo dislikes me because I make a mockery of his show. Huh? That wasn’t my plan, but now I want to hear this. Well, before I came along, it seems, the show was a string of big band and Broadway tunes. The one guy they call “The Captain” croons every song and there is this lady with a grating voice that sings the same song over and over. What? Well, they all sound the same.
My Karaoke hit, “Tequila”, is the antithesis of all that, not to mention my style. It contrasts with his usual deadpan show. Part of that style is to at least memorize the lyrics so I don’t stand there reading the screen. This tune has now become a standing request. All I would say is my style is quite a contrast. But I like that term, “mockery”.
Um, it was also brought out that it is noticed I rarely sing unless there are unattached women in the crowd. Makes perfect sense to me.
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