One year ago today: June 13, 2017, To Miami, by motorcycle.
Five years ago today: June 13, 2013, my aerobics instructor.
Nine years ago today: June 13, 2009, the endless journey.
Random years ago today: June 13, 2010, Kelly's Pub, by bicycle.
This is the most entertaining photo you’ll find here today. That’s Reese Weatherspoon and her daughter. I’d say there’s a family resemblance. Photos like this will soon become increasingly rare, two blue-eyed white people in one place. In another two generations, the demise of the white race as we knew it, will be assured by sheer weight of numbers. And to think it was all predicted 85 years ago, if something wasn’t done. It wasn’t.
Moments later, I find out. He’s canceled rehearsal, health reasons. He had obvious high blood pressure, a fact of life in my generation. Stress related heart problems, unheard of a century ago. Of course, back then, you just up and died. You were not around fifteen years later and crawling around in an attic supercharged with 95% humidity. I know this blog has hit the blahs for a bit, it is either music or working on the place, but bear with me. If you want activity back at the old levels, it means music has to take a giant leap. As soon as that picks up, you’ll get lots of new adventures. Although I don’t supply the details, you do have an imagination or you wouldn’t be reading mostly-prose blogs.
Today’s events were necessarily slow, so I’ll group them together to give the impression it was fast-paced. First off, I did the laundry, which makes the grade because the lady who normally runs the place is the girlfriend of Cowboy Rowdy. He wants to take off to Nashville, though I can’t figure out why. Going to Nashville as an entertainer is kind of like trying to get rich working at a bank because that’s where they keep all that money. Ha, great analogy there. I skipped over to the donut shop during the dryer cycle and the place was full of women. Is there a sexpot convention? That’s a joke, if there was, this is the last venue they’d hold it. And the little hottie was there again with her mother, or maybe really older sister. One day I’ll get her alone, she watched me working the crossword and stuck her tongue out at me. I think she works at the airport.
Collin was on the computer, he wanted me to look at a video of the G7 meeting. Apparently the Canadian Prime Minister had an eyebrow malfunction. It’s mentioned because the media seems to have tried to block it. I found it on a UK site, yep, them’s fake eyebrows. I’m surprised nobody hasn’t shot that bastard yet. Like his father, using taxpayer money to enhance his own reputation. Out west people can’t heat their houses, but he’s donating millions to “poor countries”. That country is going to be a shambles when the next generation takes over, they are a completely brainwashed tribe of liberals unlike anything seen before. The government-pwned education system had them for twelve years of indoctrination and man, did they eat it up.
The tax system up there is from Zork. They don’t need a department of homeland security, they have Revenue Canada, which is far more covert and sinister. If you hire a contractor who does such crappy work you refuse to pay him, you must report that amount as taxable income. Your kid go a paper route? He’s okay because he’s under 18, but did you claim him as a dependent? If you play bingo every week, watch out, that is “in the nature of a business”.
Taking a break, I threw on this video “The Way of The Gun”, thinking it was maybe a western. What a convoluted plot. I was working along so I could not follow it. Two guys kidnap a surrogate mother, who’s baby isn’t who the paying party thinks, but they pay $15 million and everybody else is after the cash. Maybe. I lost track of who’s who in the first half hour. Plus I don’t know all the gangster terms like bag man. Unless it it’s the guy who carries the ransom money. Lots of action but who is shooting who, and how do these criminals all know what the other guy is thinking? Myself, I think playing bass is a far superior way of making a living. You don’t get shot at as often.
Taylor, without makeup.
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Then arrives an e-mail for Agt. R. He’s got to get into St. Pete to sign some documents and he’s home free. Well, except, his mortgage payments start next month. But he keeps the house. Time to get that hot dog cart. Here’s a better view of where we will park it. Behind a chain link fence, except nobody is supposed to know the gate can easily be lifted out of the hinges. Value of this deal? Around $14,500. Totally my doing, but hey, the guy needed a hand. He’s got an option to go work in Texas for $1,000 per week. I think he should until he gets that mortgage down below $20,000. After, of course, we set up and learn to run the hot dog cart. That is now a viable plan.
Now it’s Jimmy on the line. He wants a dress rehearsal for the Saturday gig. He’s got the jitters, which is a good thing. Means he’s less concerned about the music than the show. Myself, I have zero pangs about getting in front of a crowd, ready or not. I think I have maybe negative fear, because I can cause others to bolster up. Our sound is great, but I foresee that we have to choose those spots that pay enough to make such a long commute worthwhile. We probably can but that is a colossal bet that nothing non-musical will go wrong.
He’s got some stage time, my guess is a few hundred hours, none of it recent. The music we know in common was, well, uncommon. He split a rib when I sang “Hey Baby Que Paso” and another with “La Bamba”, the Mexican version. He doesn’t sing but I’ve heard him do a few fills just chanting along. I have a notion that there is an undiscovered set of music we both know. That, we could turn into a little gold mine.
The afternoon had me re-wiring the kitchen lighting. It needs two overheads because of the shadows. But one light just will not work, the wiring has been triple checked. I’ll get it, but the summer swelter is upon us. It was a bit of a stunt, but I managed to heft the new A/C unit up shoulder height and into the new wall mount up front. Had to, the atmosphere was muggy before the sun even came up this morning. And I wear a hardhat. I’d planned a second layer of drywall mud but instead bogged down in the kitchen ceiling fan. There is not much work space once the support bracket is installed, so every time I tucked the wires up into the octagon box, I got an open.
What’s happening in my crowd? JZ has not been answering or phoning back for over a week now. I wrote Marion a letter. Trent is putting in 80 hour work weeks, I’m sure of it. Everybody else is dormant. You’ll see how important this band becomes once you start reading the results. Alaine is planning to volunteer at the rescue pet center, but didn’t I already tell you that? Dawn is packing on some of the weight I’ve been losing. The lady at the library has finally begun to accept me as a regular patron. And I think my accountant finally retired. He’d be like seventy-one or so by now.
And I found time to fire off the June newsletter. It takes the place of me writing some twenty letters per month, so I can make it a bit elaborate. But only the chosen few are on the distribution list. Circulation is like 8 or 9 people. I’m still seeking a new subject I can study that has a meaningful challenge. Sure, there’s lot of New Age theories and celebrity scandals that must take a lot of daily effort to keep on top of, but I did specify something meaningful.
ADDENDUM
I think my place is due for a privacy hedge. I like the concept of Howard scooting over on his mower to do the lawn, but if anything, I need to put a stop to people who pay too much attention to what residents have parked in their back yards. I don’t mean a nice trimmed hedge from 50’s TV, but something that grows ten feet high and then stops by itself. It would block Howard from mowing the lawn.
For no reason, I wonder if our favorite fugitive, Brown, is still on the most wanted list. Check it tomorrow, remind me. Yep, he’s stayed ahead of the Feebs so long, even if they catch him now, he’s made history. I wonder if they’ve ramped up the smear campaign on him, it’s a curiosity in cop-think that if you call the guy a pervert, a Nazi, or a showoff, people won’t know it’s a stunt. My original guess stands, that he’s hiding out with the Mormons and there’s plenty of them who have been done wrong by the system. I’ll bet he’s completely changed his appearance.
What was the name of that other high IQ prisoner that had them all over Mexico and Australia? The programmer who was selling military secrets. Boyd? Anyway, the press made a big deal that his IQ was 140, but that doesn’t explain why, when he escaped, he kept in contact with old accomplices and girlfriends until they nailed him. But still two years was a remarkably long time to evade the authorities. I don’t understand why so many people don’t understand the police lean on their friends and family, cajoling and threatening them with false arrest. And, they trace and track down every phone call. The first thing you do on the run is ditch your old phone, get a new one, and never call anybody you used to know. Nor can you write to them. They’ll keep the letter and it is evidence. Boyce, that was his name.
And let me tell you about dieting after the first six months. Unlike smoking, which I never missed, not even the first day, food is the opposite. You dream about it and wake up, like I did at 3:59AM today. The dream was about something I can never touch again: chocolate milk. I’m far enough ahead on the calorie counting that I poured a half glass of fat free soy drink. The reason I don’t constantly report any hunger symptoms is because they come and go. Six months since I ate a full meal and I never did reach a point where I stopped thinking about food.
Which food? Eggs, chocolate, cookies. Everything else is random. If calorie counting worked, I should have lost 101 pounds by now, instead, it’s a third of that. The recommended intake of 2,000 calories per day doesn’t match my metabolism. Even before I dieted, I existed on 1200 - 1600 calories per day for the previous five or six years. My daily weight can ebb and flow up to three pounds, which is also not supposed to happen. Strange, how I once weighed the same from 1979 to 2003.
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