One year ago today: September 27, 2018, to an empty house.
Five years ago today: September 27, 2014, up yours, Java.
Nine years ago today: September 27, 2010, non-existent jobs.
Random years ago today: September 27, 2011, raft the Mississippi.
For once I can say, where did this month go? I’ve been back two weeks and I have a partial explanation. I’ve been working, and when I look back on my working life, there are entire years I don’t remember so well. I can’t recall a thing about the year I was 35. But, unlike most, I could go look it up. The big back in April. The place with the canyon cut through the building. I found it from the alley, so did not recognize the street view. Turns out this is some major historical restoration. I read the article. It is to become some high-priced touristy place.
What? Other’s take pictures in the bathroom what? You mean like in the mirror with most of their clothes off? Are you kidding me? In the shitter? Get outta here. Then they post them where? On the Internet? Now I know you are pulling my leg. What? To attract members of the opposite sex? Come on. To attract flies, maybe. Nobody is that stupid. By the millions, you say. Must be something in the water? Or maybe Common Core? And none of them suspect this is going to come back and bite them? America is doomed.
It is now 6:38AM and I’m heading to Winter Haven for supplies. I’ve looked into newer toilets, pardon me, closets, to find the ones JZ says are designed for today’s broader beams. Harrumph, I’d have thought 12” on-center joists would compensate for that, but he insists this is no shaggy dog story. So I get the fat-arse model since the prices aren’t much different. The problem is my latest cash dispersement is already late. I might have to sit around and wait for it at some high-priced touristy coffee place. And I just found out dispersement isn’t a word, so I should have used disbursement. I dunno, doesn’t my word sound better? When they say English is a living language, they meant me too.
Being my day off, I opted for breakfast right here. The Reb has me sold on Earth Balance, a butter alternative that actually has great flavor. On whole wheat, with two eggs, no salt. Maybe I’ll get healthy yet. Let’s see, in six days it will be 16 years since I had a cigarette. I’d say I’ve got that beat. I thought to throw on a disk about the National Parks to wait for the stores to open. Bad choice. I want to see the scenic wonders, not listen to them go on about the hardships of people who climb them. What do I care is some jock freezes his toes off? Serves them right, these people are not explorers. They are glory-seekers looking for a shortcut out of their otherwise pitiful existences. Want proof? Ask them for the blog they wrote about their last little stunt.
One more thing. The narration for the disk was written, I think, in around 1950. When there must have still been people who didn’t know the tops of mountains were cold and windy. Others who pause quite regularly to reflect what “Denali” meant in the Athabascan tongue. And still others in awe of, well, just about anything, really. The Swiss Army knife crowd.
Coca Cola bank.
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I’ve got the materials to finish the floor, which is coming in at around 10% of the lowest bids on-line. I often check that by comparison. If I include the vanity and plumbing I should save close to a thousand dollars. I dropped by Agt. R’s today and he’s got me a burning barrel. It looks a lot like the bigger drum from an old clothes dryer, take a look. But let’s not quibble about appearances. I was over to see if he had one of those long pry bars, and he does. It’s a matter of finding it. I found the fat-arse closet that is supposed to be more ergonomic. It has an “elongated” bowl and the seat is now “chair-height”. Y’know, never in my born days have I ever had cause to ponder the size and shape of, well, you know. But okay, soon the world will have one more modern appliance. Isn’t that the other part of the dryer in the background. Ut-tut, I said no quibbling.
The materials are here, but I’m not. My most productive time of day is late afternoon to nightfall. Y’day was no marathon, but it caught up with me. Loading the materials into the station wagon and driving home. That’s my day. Except I stopped for an extended coffee while in Winter Haven, pausing to post letters and a parcel to Tennessee. Somebody is going to have a surprise laugh. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need a power nap. Okay, I’m back but not much good for work. Instead, I made a big pot of chicken soup, five ingredients and some spices. I got backup buy my ambition didn’t.
Where’s my gear? Agt. R. said he’d drop them off while I was gone. Looks like replacing lightbulbs and feeding the chickens is all that’s getting done this afternoon. I’ve taken to putting a single capful of their favorite seeds (orange flavored parakeet seed) in between the mother-in-laws, kind of keeps the area scratched out. I’ll make you a deal. First, I get myself a hot cup of coffee, then decide what the rest of the afternoon is for. Even if it is just taking pictures.
One thing I’ll be happy about. Back when I scabbed the joists under the front bedroom, I ran the new pieces under the wall to the edge of the old bathroom. It was extra work at the time. When I peeled away the rotten old wood, I’m now very glad I did. The room is actually starting to look like it was intended, though I still have to see about moving those medicine cabinets up the wall. It’s seems like forever, but all of this is getting chalked up.
Ah, but that’s good coffee. In the end, I spent nearly two hours clearing out the space where I will be working. I will raise up the entire existing foundation rather than fix spots of it as I did before. I also took inventory and I have all the major parts and pieces to complete the job. As soon as that new floor is done, I’m open for business. Out go invitations that are, in many cases, 18 months overdue. Everything else can wait, as far as cabins go, this one is getting pretty nice.
What’s this? Remember the rehearsals I attended in Tennessee? The one where they had that bass player too good to be true? Nobody has it all, so I reviewed the video of both the gigs and the rehearsal. He really is that good which left no room for me. I was not looking for faults, but for any strong points I might have to draw on to keep going. Then I saw it. The guy never plays a single note except “behind” the band. He never cranks out a single solo note, when the band stops, he stops. Even where a bass flourish would work, he never plays. I went back over the entire set—the guy never solos a single note.
In which case, he’s found the perfect band, because the guitarist never stops. I’ve seen this before: bass players who can follow to perfection. That was a standard during the Clapton era, because Clapton insisted. Nowadays, I’m not so sure. I am not, repeat not, saying this is the case here, only that I’ve seen this before. There were two spots where he could have played a run. Dang, both times the camera swung away from what I wanted to see. His style, while amazing, is not distinct enough to always know what tune he’s playing. Whereas my style is musically quite opposite as I solo every tune, though I don’t see where I’d ever get an opportunity with this band to apply that. My point is only that I’ve noticed he is always following, where I am the other extreme of having played entire gigs without a guitar player even present.
I never thought of any big band, including this one, as anything more than a way to get discovered. That is what everybody else is up to.
ADDENDUM
For afternoon break, I played a DVD called “Golden Compass”. The usual revolt against the tyrant theme, but the gadgets are steampunk with historical accuracy. For me, the machines and scenery are fascinating. Is that really Svaalbard? The items like the paddle-wheeler and carriages are all accurate to the time period, that is, logical for the time if a power source had been available. I’m impressed. The movie must be part of a series that I don’t know about. It has no ending, except people promising they will do something and sailing into the sunset.
Subliminal or what, whoever wrote this script had far more than a working knowledge of the New World Order. Outwardly it is your classical good poor people against bad rich people, but the messages are all over the plot. How so many people don’t know what is good for them (which I agree) that it is good for others to help them (partially agree) but that situation soon turns into a ruling class that compels everyone to do their bidding (which I strongly disagree).
I see my burning barrel has arrived.
Much later, I went to the old club for a few. The only person I knew was the guitar player, who has relatives in Nashville. He’ll be visiting there in December. I’ve thought of us working up a set since he is not that great as a solo and tends to comp. But, he did play two shows today and got himself $300. That part, I’m okay with. Where this is leading is he knows the all-girl band I’ve kept an eye on. That’s the mother-daughter group that I almost joined until the daughter got mixed up with some cowboy. Well, tonight I found out all the bad predictions I made about that situation have come true. Turns out he knows them.
There is only one more prediction, this one he made, and I agree. It is only a matter of time until the daughter is pregnant, decides to keep it, and that will be the end of the band. That will put the mother alone and she cannot solo. Worse, that guitar cowboy got them to drop most of their chick tunes. I got ten bucks says she winds up back in Bartow, likely on welfare. It was the duo that got them anywhere and that arrangement is already gone. To think what could have been if she’d kept our appointment 31 months ago. I would not have tinkered with that, where the cowboy’s every intent was to turn them into his backup band. Guitar-think.
It’s a clear case of what they had going was over the fantasy-provoking image they provided. To those who don’t listen closely, it sounds like I’m saying that’s how they got anywhere in life. I didn’t say that at all. So listen carefully to my phraseology. I’m not saying they used their sexuality. I’m saying that pretty women never realize until too late what a huge role it played. I don’t know how to word it exactly, but it’s a point where their charms are spent and suddenly they have to begin doing everything for themselves, a process for which they’ve become grossly ill-equipped.
As my ex-business partner used to say, or at least quote, the only problems in this life that pretty women have are the ones they create for themselves.
