August 16, 2020

Yesteryear
One year ago today: August 16, 2019, a Nashville audition.
Five years ago today: August 16, 2015, not foreign enough.
Nine years ago today: August 16, 2011, JJ comps everything.
Random years ago today: August 16, 2010, actually making money.

           I have the speed starter drill clutch for the weeding tool, but it’s still to early to fire it up. There is an interesting tale from the trailer court surrounding the purchase. Let’s see, I’ve got 4 minutes before exercise time, let me tell you the tale. I got to the box store late, there were very few customers inside. But one lady and her husband were blocking the exact display I needed. The clutch tool was right beside the string trimmer lines. Oh, they knew they were in my way, that I wanted something just beside where they were standing. So I said nothing and waited a full six minutes as they went on and on about which string to buy. I know better than to say excuse me to such people. You go right ahead, but I know better.

           For a moment they parted just enough for me to quickly reach in and grab the package, then dart away. They were mortally offended, but such people are not to be endured. I’ve often wondered what the motive could be for these inconsiderate morons. I know in my family, it was a tactic to get you to explain to them what you wanted, which resulted in even more wasted time. As in, what do you want that for? Sometimes it was just a way for them to get some variety into their boring, nothing lives. Other times it was a power trip, them getting you to ask them for the favor of getting past. With this couple, I could not tell.

           Sadly, the tool would not start even with the cranking and a shot of starting fluid. The gas smells funny but it has not yet gone bad. I will shortly check the plug but this sucker should easily have fired up by now. It won’t even turn over as much as I had it with the pull cord last week. My neighbor who collects tractor says he’ll take a look. Meanwhile I was out in the new shed, installing hurricane straps until the heat index hit 100°F, that’s in the shade, folks. This is a semi-effective procedure, as no building is really hurricane proof unless solid concrete and deeply anchored. It just means my shed will blow over in one big piece.

Picture of the day.
Voter fraud.
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           I hauled around half the lumber needed to enclose the shed, working until past dawn. That lets me finish the entire shaded side of the building today without getting sunburned. As soon as that area is secure, I’m ready for a road trip. My last appointment for the month is the 19th, so anything goes after that. Stay tuned, that will have to be my summer holiday for 2020. Expect pictures. And before I forget this blog is a journal, I must record the effects of my first steroid shot in the arm. It’s a strange thing, it restores easy movement but not mobility. I can now raise my arm up to the pain threshold without a thought. And working on small projects directly in front of me is much easier. No twisting from the waist to reach for things.

           To spell it out so I won’t forget, the therapist says the steroids may be an effective treatment but they are not a cure. I would need injections for life, a few times per year. If the treatment in combination with the exercise does not prove adequate, then the joint replacement should take place within the upcoming year. Turns out Bryne knows somebody who had this procedure. He says after a “sustained” recovery, the musician found out he was just as good and had no negatives to speak of. Those are the only encouraging words I’ve heard on the topic.
           This does not make me forget I’m dropping so many notes, and worse, often they are smack at the spots where I normally do my best transitions. With Shania Twain, think those short fiddle passages between vocals and the turnarounds. I play them on bass as fills. Without those, I’m just musical spare parts. Bass playing is the most competitive standard rock-blues-country instrument. Drummers the least, and guitar players are a dime a dozen. But bassists? I should be specific, the entire competition just mentioned is centered around the top 2%. For the most part, so many bass players just comp along that it has become expected.

           That’s why I laugh when I see a band desperately advertising for a bass player saying they have bookings to meet. I know most bassists don’t up and quit, there is usually a long lead up to that point. But the prevailing attitude is “bass is easy” so they don’t miss the guy until he hauls ass. What saves a lot of these bands is they all play the same music, so they eventually find somebody new. This is where my music fits in. I can play those tunes with a flair and a half. What a disaster awaits if I lose that full ability and resort to comping myself.
           Ha, some homeless guy got into a Tampa stadium luxury suite and camped out for a couple of weeks before anybody noticed. Helping himself to food and clothes, he was arrested for stealing food and team clothing. It is unknown how he evaded staff for so long, but you know how hard it is to get good help these days. They had no app that said look out for intruders, type of thing. Tampa authorities are baffled by how a street bum was able to live in a public facility or so long, which is strange considering who Tampa voted for in 2012.

ADDENDUM

           Here’s my first real handful of radishes. The maximum grow date from the package says tomorrow, but the average bulbs are small than these. Can’t beat the flavor, though, and my guess is the entire planter needs deeper soil. It is roughly 8 inches now, I’ll take that to 11 inches, but that means the wire lid I made becomes ineffectual. No big deal, now that I have a work shed, I can make all the lids we want. This picture shows what a long way I have to go to grow radishes anything like the picture on the package.
           I got a note from the Kaiser, he’s still gigging in the Nashville area, but points out he must commute up to 75 miles some weekends. That Sunday show on Printer’s Alley has re-opened but he plays that one for tips only. Last time I was there, the $5 bucks I kicked in was the entire take. Then, forgetting it was Nashville, we dropped up the street for three beers each, I picked up the tab. $45.

Last Laugh