One year ago today: September 24, 2020, the table from Tennessee.
Five years ago today: September 24, 2016, don’t install dirtware.
Nine years ago today: September 24, 2012, foreclosures in West Palm.
Random years ago today: September 24, 2005, early trailer shopping.
Good morning except to all the leftoids, who if they all disappeared tomorrow, this country would not miss them. I’m geared to hear what’s happening with the audit report, but so far all that’s on-line are prepared disclaimers from propagandists like CNN. Blasting headlines that declare the audit confirms Biden’s victory. Now I really want to hear what the audit says. I’m dismayed that CNN, with all their experience at spinning, only came up with this old fake announcement tactic. It’s over. Nothing to see here. Go home.
A glorious Friday morning, here is your view of the sunrise just over the workshed. I used the time to make pancakes and eggs, then practice an hour of bass. I do want to get out there but getting started isn’t what it used to be. That neat sunlight is caused by the cameral lens interacting with a pinhole opening in the leaves. Kind of a “Tony Curtis” effect, for any who have seen that old movie.
How goes the new band? Terrible, but things are still embryonic. We covered 18 tunes last day, representing a slash in half of the list I had spent so much time on. All tunes the keyboard player does not like have been cut. Of what’s left, there are 32 songs we’ve at least played once, enough for a gig if you ask me. The longer the delay, the more the problems, yet these guys have no sense of urgency on this point. That’s odd, because every one of them has mentioned they need the money. And it looks like I’ll be singing “Memphis”, a song I abandoned probably forty years ago. But for the lead player, I’m the baby in this band. He expects I’d remember the lyrics to “Memphis” like it was y’day.
They also tend toward drinking music, which I’m okay with but some of it has no message for me and I blot out the tunes. For example, I only know parts of the chorus on tunes such as “I’m Always Here At Quitting Time” and “Friends In Low Places”. I’m not pretending I’m too young, I know all these tunes, what I’m saying is I never listen much to them. The drummer, who is 71, presumes everyone knows and likes bar music. Myself, I’m toward dance music and am more totally okay with any barflies that might like it. I play music for money and to meet women. Yes, I still like meeting women, as long as they remind me of Taylor. I’ll quit looking if I live to be 150.
It looks like for now I’ll sing eight of the pieces, somehow they are sure I won’t mess up. I do it by memorizing certain scale notes and I will often skip bass parts and play a note if I’m not sure. In a band this size, it makes little difference. They have harmonies that, well, they work but I’m not really sure where they get them from. My focus remains on the bass. These are not real rehearsals if the term means learning things, but are rehearsals of the sort I call “run throughs”. Go over and over the tune start to finish in the hopes everybody “gets it”. Not much of a formula for success.
Balconies at the Cardero.
(Vancouver, Canada.)
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I dropped in for a ten minute visit that went most of the afternoon. It was about real estate and the market. There is almost no inventory. Some say it is because prices are too high, I think it is because another bust is eminent. I know I’m not buying unless somebody is desperate to sell. Florida is big on estate sales but those listings have recently dried up. Not much else happened today, I was on the phone again for over an hour. Guess who?
So that’s it for today. Except this picture, can you see the trench? Nope. Good, then neither can the inspector. It’s done. Nothing to see here. Go home. I rehearsed my singing tunes and yes, I’m going to screw up on stage. But that’s not stopping me.
