December 8, 2020

Yesteryear
One year ago today: December 8, 2020, the bell choir.
Five years ago today: December 8, 2015, Okeechobee, 9:30 AM.
Nine years ago today: December 8, 2011, reindeer poop.
Random years ago today: December 8, 2012, the UN pity vote.

           Bare bones posting today. I’ve got the car alignment lined up for later this week and a follow up appointment to check how well this physio is helping. It is, I can now reach the pain threshold with ease. The weight of the 5-string bass still gives me trouble. The day was too cold for work. That’s the big events of the day. I got home, heated up some soup and fell asleep for 14 hours. I mean, sometimes you gotta snooze as long as you like. I used to call them lost weekends back when I had a job.
           Blog rules, I have to report something accomplished today. Um, okay, I went through and blocked the forty scam calls on my smart phone. The people who designed it are ass-clowns. Because you still have to stop what you are doing to determine it’s a scam. I can’t find the feature that allows only calls from numbers in my contact list. It could be the snooze button, but I think that is what keeps setting my ringer volume to zero, so I miss the call until I wake up. Only a screw-brain millennial can come up with such garbage. I mean, I think the damn phone still rings to "inform" you there was a blocked call.
           Where do they even?
           Here is the Zoom drum box, about to be revived and on stage.

Picture of the day.
Acapulco, bankrupt & deserted.
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.
           Later, I went to check on my PA and confirm the Xmas party is the 11th, and another on nthe 18th and I ran into Bradford. He has a short memory span, as he describes to me how he is finally fed up with jam sessions. They go nowhere, people don’t show up, they don’t learn any new material, the guitar players just take turns showing off, gee, it sounded like an echo chamber. Was it not three years ago he said I was missing out on all those wonderful things? Well, I’m not blaming Bradford, in fact I’m impressed that he drew the right conclusions, even if in this instance he was subliminally following an example.

           But he’s too late, I’m resolved to get my solo act happening before ever wasting time relying on others again. He’s also noticed the declining quality of guitar soloists in Polk County, the worst ones are the head’s down ones who don’t interact with the audience at all. The Hippie had a mild case of that, ,those dumb peasants out there don’t know fantastical guitar playing when they hear it, so crank the volume so they can’t talk.

           Bradford is moving toward soloing or a duo, but maybe 20% of the way there. He still thinks in terms of practice as being, I dunno, music lessons rather than rehearsal. Be patient, it took me a lot of years to figure out you should know your part before you show up. Yes, but Bradford is many years older than I was when I got it. Therefore, be patient. Also, he is resistant to setting up a system whereby he can play and swap tunes. I have no way of sending him an MP3, yet that remains the standard, a standard that beats DRM. Oddly, Bradford does not quite understand the need for everybody in the band to have the same copy of the agreed-upon tune.
The photo shows the view out the back of the workshed, where there is nothing but amost a block of empty field. This is the downrange side of my shooting gallery. The backdrop will stop a .22 short, so it is many times more than needed to stopp BBs and air pellet ammo. Two sheets of shed metal sandwhiched with carpet and fence panels. Nothing so far has made it past the first meta sheet, but this should allay any worries about what is behind the wall.

Last Laugh