One year ago today: March 26, 2018, yet another first gig.
Five years ago today: March 26, 2014, the first yesteryear post.
Nine years ago today: March 26, 2010, 22 ¢
Random years ago today: March 26, 2001, I failed it, twice.
So, late last evening after I bedded down the snoop troop, I headed out for a rare mid-week libation. The pub is a weird location but I’d seen it from across the tracks when I investigated the rapid transit. I liked the name of the place, “The Rusty Nail”. And, it is much nicer than anything else I’ve visited in this area. That’s not to say it is classy, but the crowd is younger and the staff are all Generation something or other. They have Karaoke, but not the time I was there. From the outside, it looks like an ancient watering hole, but inside it is pure plastic and aluminum.
Yep guys, I got scoped six times. There were plenty of spaces, there was no need for these women to walk to the far end beside me. And two of them ‘accidentally’ bumped me, but I ignored them as well. None were my type, in any order they were one or more of the following: bar bunnies, husband hunting, last-chancers, overweight, poor-looking, or too obvious. Not one of them struck up a conversation, which is too bad because the situation warranted it.
Then, I was about to pack up when along comes Kaylah. No games, she sits on the empty stool and says she’s been watching me, and she liked the way I behaved. I’d place her around 34-ish possibly a bit more, but very well-groomed. She engaged me in chit-chat for just a few minutes and then openly said she was attracted by how I had never hit on her. That, she said, was so rare, she wanted to see more of me. I flat out told her I was not going anywhere with her, which did not discourage her in the least. She but called the next move right on by saying the three magic words, “I like trivia.”
Tomorrow evening, her and some friends were playing trivia at a place called “The Pourhouse”. I’ve passed it, near the Tulip Grove intersection. I’m invited and she wants me on her team, although she added that there were no formal teams. I changed my mind about leaving and stayed another half-hour. We talked quite openly about meeting. She had seen the other women hovering and told me she decided I was worth “advancing”. Must be some new term, I would have said break the ice, although with me and pretty women, there is no ice. She read me like the proverbial open book. Blonde, blue, although her being single means something is wrong with the picture. Another time and I would have jumped her bones in a wink, darn tootin’.
Tomorrow should be interesting, she said so. She complimented me on one thing only, and it was how I did not hit on her in the least. She said it was a natural and comfortable fit, and yes, she was aware by now most of the other women in the place were watching. As it happened the next two chairs beyond me had this 35-year-old man trying to pick up a 50-year-old woman. We could hear the whole thing, including the corny pick-up lines. The lady was responding, which shows you some women never learn. On he went about how she should not do anything to her eyebrows. Her eyebrows were perfect. Of course, this provided Kaylah and I superb entertainment, as it was the opposite of my conduct.
Okay, guy readers, I know you are wondering. I did not take the offer. We did talk about sex in quite some detail, but also very objectively. She’s had her share of losers and appreciated how I gave her so much room to think. To me, that is not a tactic, but a consequence of my own preference that I don’t enjoy any woman’s company unless she is a willing participant. I told her I was flattered but that I’d also been drinking. If the glimmer is still there tomorrow, I said we could take it from there. To the astonishment of the room, including the bartenders, I said goodbye to Kaylah and headed out the door.
How was your evening?
Somewhere in Montana.
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.
Off to the mansion on the pike, I took the dogs to the grounds behind the old horse stables. I’d like to tour that museum but the dogs are too spoiled to be left in the car. Totally spoiled, they will not each raw meat, it has to be cooked with a little salt. Before this trip, the last time I recall being at a mansion was the Bush House, in Oregon. Where I accidentally insulted the senator’s granddaughter. In case that episode never gets published, I’ll recount it here.
“Hell,” I said, not knowing who she was, “you could have just told me she was adopted.”
The tour ended abruptly.
Now over at the real Taj Mahal, India has announced a successful anti-satellite test. The prime minister pointed out the technology was not directed at any particular country, though the list of potential enemies is mighty short. It’s a sad joke how these third world nations copycat western systems, right down to the crippled claims the weapons are for peaceful purposes. The west produces many wonders, but it also suffers the consequences. We have nuclear capability but also the waste disposal problems. We have great bridges and towers and they are crumbling for lack of maintenance. We have a political system that allows the election of outright thieves. Yet these wannabes continue to copy the technology oblivious to the known outcomes.
Or how about the latest leftist claim that Trump has caused a 45% increase in embarrassment. How does one go about this measuring this? By the number of times the word has appeared in tweets in two periods of unequal length chosen by the pollsters themselves. Sounds legit. Same with their claim there is any connection to Trump whatsoever. Personally, I hope Trump proves a 500% embarrassment to libtards. Because they are most embarrassed when exposed.
ADDENDUM
“Longfellow Serenade”, that tune may be my only accomplishment the past three weeks. I’ve finally memorized the notes, the Guitar Center method. It was the only way. I see the connection with a piano riff, that is, there are passing notes easier to play on piano than on the bass. Overall, it is a unique as bass line as I’ve ever seen. For me, that makes it fun to play. There is a non-musical consideration for me, kind of a trade secret, so listen up. Most crowds, if they watch the bassist at all, are accustomed to dull and repetitive movement. Alas, most bassists contribute to that and those who play “war club bass” actually deprive themselves of any opportunity to do some real entertaining.
When I find a bass line that makes a lot of movement, I emphasize it quite a number of ways. My top two remain the same as ever. One, acting like I have no idea what comes next. Two, pretending to paint myself into a bass corner, then hitting the note at the opposite end of the fretboard with lightning speed. “Longfellow Serenade” itself makes for left-hand movements that are pronouncedly non-basslike. This situation, on stage, is like granting me a wish.
I resorted to on-line tutorials to get the passing notes and found several “guitar player” errors. I systematically went over the piece note-for-note and changed each of those up or down a half-step to become a harmonic of his vocals of where warranted, the chord being played. This is trickier than it sounds because the scale is different depending on the direction of the run. And that is also how I know old Neil did not write that bass line himself. You can research yourself why vocalists don’t like certain scale tones. I got each note to fit, just a little ahead of the melody, giving things a slight push.
The result seems to be a super-version of the song. I was not expecting that. But you bet your tush I’m going to add some flash to it. Woe to the guitarist who tries to shuffle through that song around me. I wonder if I can sing Neil Diamond? This tune would make an interesting, though not accurate, solo.
