One year ago today: July 31, 2017, some budget numbers.
Five years ago today: July 31, 2013, I warn the world.
Nine years ago today: July 31, 2009, on my first prescription. Ever.
Random years ago today: July 31, 2014, I miss the Russia store.
Here’s a find. This is a Mitsubishi 3.5” floppy reader, extremely high quality. I got it for $3 at the Thrift this AM, probably because nobody knew what it was. It is brand new, banana for scale, photographed on the green table, on another coat of paint that dried overnight. This reader is a real treat because I have an awful lot of the 3.5” floppies, we are talking nearly a thousand. Most will contain files that cannot be opened any more, but what I’m after is a series of letters I wrote between 1989 and 2003, when there were very few diary entries. That’s the period where I scribbled on calendars and who knows where those could be.
Plus, during the 1989 to 1994 stretch, I was heavily involved with playing music in the last four-piece group I started. That was the era when I banked my paychecks for several years, that’s how well bands used to pay. The writing was on the wall, I switched to a three piece with drum box, then a two piece, but in those days I could not sing, so that is also the zone where I learned not to put up with shit from guitar players. If I find the old letters, you might be in for a fairly complete and comprehensive description of the phase in my life that led me to country music and what I do today.
“Walking Tall”, the DVD. I’ve been watching some classics these days. There was more attempt at realism during that era in Hollywood, along the lines of what English movies were like. It was a reaction to declining attendance due to television and, eventually, the Internet. It didn’t help when movie prices soared into the exosphere either. Movies changed from an art form to spectacularism. A shift from the artist creating his masterpiece to what sold to the masses. It seemed to start with the Indiana Jones series, but one thing is certain. It was deliberate.
All the plots became identical, copy what worked before was now the guideline. Plot became secondary to stunts and special effects. Like rock videos, it revived interest in the short run. Movies were no longer meant to be timeless, the industry based all on opening week box office receipts. Whatever their intentions, that has now become the standard. The studios cannot survive producing quality. An industry has grown around movie cloning, the current rage being the comic book hero adaptations. I have yet to spend a penny on any such movie except “Superman”, which was a disappointment. Lois becomes a single mother whose first question to the man with X-ray vision was, “What color are my panties?”
Ah, but live music has not yet been touched by this move to shallow content. You can roll all those layered indie and new country tunes into one big ball and heave it off a cliff. They are a devolution, new country is just old rockabilly slowed down with strung-together lyrics. One of the last things I see becoming automated is music; the quality is just not there with recorded material. I’ve been having immense fun with this old classic, “Boney Maroney”.
In a matter of hours, it went from an interesting old tune to one of the flashiest I play. It’s due to the two different hand positions I’ve described. In 1992, I sat down learned to switch them instantly and now it’s paying off, thanks to that catchy saxophone riff. For those who simply must know, it is because the change of hand position happens in that split second I move from the lowest to the highest fret positions, so it seems impossible. Unless you have the fretboard memorized to a degree you don’t really need to just to play bass like a guitar player.
In fact, I remember the exact tune that taught me the value of going the extra mile, that being just another bassist was not my shtick. It was the Monkee’s “Last Train To Clarksville”. That was in 1987.
It's autumn in New Zealand.
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.
I found the grill, or a grill. I had to bend one end over to make it fit. It’s a heavy piece of steel, probably around twenty pounds. And I picked it up for six bucks. It was too large, but a few minutes on a grinder and we’ll have saved $ 40 on the replacement. You can tell by looking this is the real thing. With the savings, I treated myself to a mini-drill, an 18 volt pistol grip model. These beat the screwdriver type by a mile when you need to control the torque. My intention is to use it to raid the hardware off the many curbside dressers and desks in this area.
There was an interesting article on JimmyR. The contributor draws the same distinction I have for years, that today’s coders are not anything like the caliber of older programmers. To code in C+ requires only 5% of the knowledge required to perform real programming, and this variety of C+ coders exist by the hordes. He correctly points out real programmers need to learn languages, editors, compilers, and operating systems. And today’s coders don’t have any idea “what these are or any clue how they work”. He points out that level of their complaints and questions on-line show they have never had taken even a basic computer course.
In music, Twood had sent me an e-mail Saturday saying he couldn’t make rehearsal. I replied reminding him I do not have home Internet and to please telephone. I didn’t get the delivery until this morning at the library. At least he didn’t wind up in the ER. I am again going to push for some stage time even though he is not ready. Consider it the initiation test of the music industry.
And the photo? That’s my new “toy drill”. Not because it is a toy, but because it is small. When I got my first battery drill, 18 volts was considered top of the line, and was priced accordingly. Nowadays, this toy drill cost me less than twenty bucks. It is small and light enough to lug around in the scooter box, so I expect my collection of dresser and drawer hardware will expand shortly.
ADDENDUM
Central governments simply cannot allow a successful Libertarian state to exist anywhere, which is why there has never been one. There is no form of government anywhere that is compatible with just letting people do what they thing is best for themselves. Politicians have never forgotten that the Pharaohs were worshipped as gods.
The plot is the USA gets splattered by some meteorites and large “swaths” of the country became ruled by warlords, religious cults, or no one at all. That last one must have particularly irked the Northerners. Taking the worn theme of brothers fighting on opposite sides, this time it is the father and daughter conflict. Most of the commanding officers are female, by the way. The author, Dietz, is careful to always describe what they wear when going to bed. You know the type.
Return Home
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
