September 9, 2019

Yesteryear
One year ago today: September 9, 2018, a job, not a career.
Five years ago today: September 9, 2014, instant heater, my eye.
Nine years ago today: September 9, 2010, you try countin’ ‘em.
Random years ago today: September 9, 2004, today in 1945.

           Here’s a square stone from Cosmic Connections. I have no idea what supernatural powers belong to this specimen. It sat there when I said shazaam, but I have a dollar off coupon to make up for it. An early start today, but I have to be heading back home soon. What’s happening is each time I pet-sit, I seem to be staying a bit longer. I’m busy here all the time, where I should be busy back at the cabin. The more things look, that cabin is by far the most economical place to be living. I would not live in Tennessee if I had to pay the going rate.

           Up the street on the one-mile dog walk, somebody dumped one of those trampoline swing sets. It’s been sitting there a week so this morning I went over there with a wrench and took away the parts that will make me a planter back in the toonies. The pieces are out in the yard being washed and getting rid of the ants. I’ve been packing up slowly and there is no way I’ll be able to crash in the car on the way home. This return leg is my summer vacation 2019. These other trips may be adventure, but they don’t qualify as a real getaway. St. Augustine is on the agenda.

           What’s this, some people don’t like the way I take swipes at social media. Listen to me, social media is a cute term that makes things sound like meeting up with strangers in dark cyber-alleys is some kind of improvement on tradition. There are far more descriptive terms than “social media” for it, most not repeatable in polite company. I understand the question of how else are people supposed to meet? In person may sound so last century, but it must have worked back a lot longer than that. All I can say to men who have trouble meeting women face-to-face is Nature is telling you something. And that is why your parents have basement suites.
           Now, within two years they say you’ll be able to take the Volocity copter instead of a cab. I say hogwash. The thing may fly, but the price will be out of reach for people with time to read or write blogs. The developers say it will solve the problems of airport-to-downtown connections. Yep. Like the bus system did, and the taxis, and the rapid transit, and the high speed rail. The problem is the design of the cities. You can’t get where you want without a car at some point. Quadcopter taxis look good on paper but seems just another scheme to displace the congestion.

           Who would ride these “taxis”? Let’s see, a small turboprop or light jet averages $2,700 per hour, a mid-size jet takes that up to $7,950 per hour, and a big jet, without the playboy bunnies, is $12,500 per hour. As long as they don’t have to pay for it themselves, it seems the executive class has the money. As for the rest of you schmeebs, there’s the short bus. Provided you get through customs before the last run of the evening, for I’m certain some airports time the flights that way. There is a reason I quit with air travel shortly after 9-11. There is also the factor that if the copter is a hit, the system will put some kind of chip in it to make it a sinister contraption. You only think the driverless car will obey your commands and nobody else’s, and flying machines are already highly robotic, nomsayn?

Picture of the day.
Texas ranch house.
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           I put some finishing touches on JeePee World, the turtle camper. It still lacks a shelter for the little guy, but he’s got his water dish and has been dining al fresco. The guy romps from one end to the other though it is too early to say if that is just the novelty. He’s lived the last thirty years in an aquarium. I ran short of supplies so the cage is a little heavier than was planned. I won’t be around to see how he takes to it after a bit. This isn’t the greatest shot. Can you see JeePee in one section with his salad lunch in another. Life is good in turtle town.

           Somewhere nearby you may find a tiny little carved turtle. That’s from the cosmic store. Reb found it, I bought it, and now it quickly became dubbed “mini-me”.

           Today’s Tennessean has an article concerning how to make it in Nashville’s music scene. It’s more of a rewording of the obvious, but he has lived here ten years and toured with some big groups. Top of his list is that this is a relationship town, you have to go meet people. But his point of view is the introvert.
           I’ve been in this town half a year and not met even one person I’d care to have a conversation with, much less become chums. Last evening I had an hour’s chat with an utterly gorgeous twenty-year-old gal who’d dropped out of college. She had no inkling of how indoctrinated she was.
           When she asked what I thought of Trump, I said he was a disappointment because he’s moving too slow to do the job he was elected to do. Get rid of the illegals and most other problems will disappear by themselves. She was stunned, then said she had never heard anyone say it like that before. The hint that Trump was unique among modern politicians in at least trying to do the job that others lied about to get elected. It was clear she was expecting a left-leaning answer (she was a sex-pot and used to men a little less focused on what she has to say), but now she said she would think about my words. She said she had a sneaking suspicion she had not been told the whole story.

           The column also says Nashville is a 10-year town. He’s right in advising newcomers to get a job and learn something besides how to play an instrument. A lot of players, especially bassists, dream of becoming a session musician. Yet that was a fading career from as far back as I remember. I didn’t care for such music either because a session musician should be versatile where instead they try to imprint their flavor-of-the-moment style onto the whole band. His playing background is evidently a tour group, where mine is a local band. I think the furthest I’ve ever played from home is 80 miles. I would not want to be cooped up in a bus with many of the people I’ve jammed with in the past decades.
           He’s right about one thing, that music is “the greatest, most interesting, most adventuresome” time of your life, even if you only brush with it. My view is much harsher. You know it. Shakespeare said all the world is a stage and I said after you are 30-ish, you are either on that stage or doing things the hard way. And I’ve been on both sides of that. Music is better. Where do I fit into the Nashville scene? Barely, for the simple reason that I cannot begin to compete with people who have real talent. I still find it freaky how good some people are.
           But that’s in Nashville. I do not feel that way at all in central Florida.

ADDENDUM
           One ad that gets a chuckle out of me is these people selling mobile homes with the condition that it must be moved. I always presumed it was because it was on leased land and the clock ran out. That’s the laugh. If it must be moved, you pay me to take it. Tell you what, give me a moment to look on Craigslist for prices. Here we go. $19,900 and $15,000 with the codicil that they must be removed from the lot within 30 days. Something here just does not jive. These ads would not persist if there wasn’t a way to make money at it.