One year ago today: May 28, 2019, one of these cars is not . . .
Five years ago today: May 28, 2015, I was $9,000 short.
Nine years ago today: May 28, 2011, scanning the bargains.
Random years ago today: May 28, 2012, early guitaritis symptoms.
The morning high points are again yard work. For you, this could be normal, to me four years ago it was only imaginable. I want to get things done and take a break as much as the next guy, except maybe the Big Kahuna. I formally admit, Trump is busier than I am—but only because he got a head start, is all I’m sayin’. And I’ll fill in the blanks for this morning, subtitled “Why I Got Nothing Done”. It’s garbage day, and this week’s garbage was no different than any other. Except I go to put in the last bag and the interior is covered in wee little maggots. So I clap my hands to bring the chickens running as only chickens can and they go to it, got every one of the little buggers in a couple minutes and friends for life.
So I go back to the shed and decide to put in a mini-eaves trough. There’s a spot that cannot be flashed and cemented. Have you ever tried to get a piece of tin to bend by hand? Then, the drill bit that I’ve had so long I bragged about it has disappeared. I keep it on the clip behind the drill grip and after a half hour of struggling with the tin, it was gone. I believe I’ve had that drill bit since 2003. I’ve repeatedly lost it and found it, so this may not be the final chapter.
In the search, I found the missing drawer handle to a set I wanted for handles on my custom drill box. Another ten minute job that took a half-hour. Waiting for glue to dry, I decide the swing planter is “too square” in the yard, so angle it more toward the street, forming an alcove for the birdies and my lawn bench. Sounds easy, huh? Not now that the planter is hanging with two baskets and the bird feeder arm is attached. By now the chickens, gorged on you-know-what want desert. For them that is the orange flavored bird seed. That reminds me, we have a second pair of northern cardinals, this one by inference.
That is, they always appear in pairs and either I’ve not seen the male or thought it identical to the other. But this female is so different, I’ll try for a picture. You know how wild animals get when you want a picture. Anyway, she is not tawny like the other lady, rather orange and yellow. The colors remind me of a clown’s yellow suit and red-orange wig. Like most birds in this yard, she’s plump, trim, and healthy at the same time.
If this blog reflects anything, it should be the long-term changes and nowadays, I don’t have any constant energy. Still, I decided to learn basic buck dancing. What’s that? Um, it’s a kind of cross between tap-dancing, line-dancing, riverdance, and Texas two-step. For years, when I dance with a timid or insecure lady (they make the best followers), I got into the habit of shuffling. Thinking this would spice that up, I’ve taken on the basics. Where can you see this, let me ponder. Oh, I know, have you ever heard of Hillary Klug? Watch how she dances while she plays, she took lessons. I’ll never be that light on my feet, sigh, yet that is the effect, which she emphasizes by stomping on a box.
I’m seeking only to enhance my shuffle step since I’ve been doing that unchanged for many years. Some call it clog dancing, but I don’t wear clogs and only seek maybe three basic patterns.
[Author’s note: Please watch a couple of videos of Hillary Klug at my request. While I don’t believe her “starving artists” tales, I do know about people showing up in Nashville and finding out there is very little at the beginner’s level. (Besides, if she was really that broke, how did she get to Nashville, where did she live and how did she eat? She don’t look that skinny to me.) I’m not trying to make you a fan, but pay attention to anything she says about combining things with her act, it rings true.
What she says about the developmental process, how she learned to dance and play at the same time out of necessity—that is the creative process I applied to my bass show long before I’d heard her story. She’s got it right, on the streets you have to keep learning to do what works. Play slow music in the streets and you go home broke. And that element is missing every time some guitar player pulls out his list.]
Best bakery in Iceland.
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The Togla gif remains. I was unaware Togla was such a common Turkish moniker. However, I will state again that most of what special interest groups call bigotry, bias, and racism all have, if you dig deeply enough, some basis in fact. You can draw your own conclusions about how relevant that is.
Togla the Turk is the goof from Turkey who could not take this blog's criticism of his super lame low-effort posts (I exampled one solitary instance). Instead of going toe-to-toe with me, he snuck around back and put in a Google copyright complaint. But you can thank Togla (if nobody has shot him yet) for the emergence of the Last Laugh feature.
