One year ago today: July 17, 2021, the laundry a year ago.
Five years ago today: July 17, 2017, the fiddler jam.
Nine years ago today: July 17, 2013, typical pre-Trump post.
Random years ago today: July 17, 2006, yet another whiz kid.
What a thing to wake up to. I had just put on the coffee when the radio timer decided I wanted to listen to Tampa Sunday broadcasting. Normally the weekdays are decent music, but not Sunday morning. It was the weepiest, simpy, bleeding heart nonsense I’ve heard in years. Want to hear some of it? Good, the sun won’t be up for two more hours so I have the time. To hear that lady, the majority of Americans are teetering on the edge of mental health and could go crazy at any moment. The reality is these people are merely suffering their own consequences of bad behavior like trying to take the easy way out.
Here’s your first peak at the sidecar in around five years. It needs painting. Like predicted, the Democrats got gas up to $5 per gallon and now let it drop to $4.50 announcing a huge victiory for their policies. Sadly, this motorcycle only gets slightly better mileage than a small car. Of course, that’s where the comparison ends.
Back to the radio. So, you lost your job, but I did not see you in evening school beside me for five years preparing. What, your wife left you? Listen, you working class hero, next time pick a better hobby than poker or bowling. As I traditionally like to put it, there is a strong distinction in my view between people who are suffering and people who are getting exactly what they bargained for. You know why I’m in a cranky mood? Because I drove into town to get my internet working and found out it was a dumb mistake at this end.
I split Horatio over two pay periods so I would not stream over my limit with a calculated spare 24 gigabytes. Customer service says I’m over on both pay periods. That’s impossible. She comes back and says you are streaming right now. How odd, my passwords are unbreakable by English-speakers. So, I begin to unplug devices. Finally I yank the keyboard and the transmit stops flickering. It’s a good think I have spares. Near as I figure, I had blasted the keyboards with compressed air outside and somehow jammed up the works. This computer does not use 100 gigs per year.
The rest of the morning was not much better. I stopped to get bird food and there was a foreign couple blocking the shelf, debating over a $3 price difference. In Florida, you learn not to let people know they are bothering you. I walked over to hardware and priced a limb saw, $35. I returned 15 minutes later to the pet food and the bastards were still at it. I wound up buying the premium brand, so the birds are lucky this week. I arrived two hours early, so I went for breakfast downtown. Twenty bucks, and it was okay but not great. Because of the Reb, I don’t think I’ve gone out for a meal myself from home in at least four years.
Politically correct Congo money.
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The limb saw reaches 12 feet. Back home I took a 12-foot stick and walked around checking every branch I could cut. You know, if I had something just 30” high to stand on, I could get at almost three-quarters of the branches. I may be able to reach them with just my pruning saw lashed to a pole. I’ll think on it, as I drove home with that mechanical counter on the dash. I confirm there are 643 pavement stripes between Spirit Lake and Eagle Lake turnoffs.
The latest guitar player is a dud, but I’d rather play than not play. He thinks a duo has four to five members and a sound man. I show up seeking a guitarist, which has not worked for me yet, but at least it gets further than waiting for duds to answer. What usually happens is I get their list and learn it fast, then carry on looking. These people are dumb, the highest paying gigs available work out to less per member, but these guitarists gotta daydream. It’s just sad for the ones like Frets who is really not nearly good enough.
A rainy day left me mostly indoors, where I watched some footage of the1986 troubles off the coast of Libya. The American aircraft carriers regularly launched planes over the “line of death”, a demarcation by Libya that has just as much legal force as Americans do off their own shoreline. The Libyan MiG pilots cannot hope to have the flight time and training of Americans, many of whom have combat experience.
Hornblower is safe. Not only did this other guy admit to pushing the captain, Horatio has an extra 18 gigabytes to finish the tale. I’m beginning to see where they cut corners but it was still an expensive series to produce. That it keeps me interested is also a feather, since I never did care for all this English sea-lore and sailor talk, that gunnel and fo’ksel stuff.
By late, late afternoon I got a couple hours in on painting and yard cleanup. I’m going to have to take the reciprocating saw down on all fours and cut the tree stumps underground. Small trees I mean, the ones that just keep coming back. I’ve got a dozen of them and my back is still aching when it wants to. I also straightened the siding but it all has to be replaced.
ADDENDUM
Another message from Frets, the nickname of t he latest guitar guy who can’t read. Hey, that’s my signal that I’ll play in his band but be on the lookout for what my original ad said. This extra mention is because he’s making a big mistake already. Maybe “mistake” isn’t the right word, but here is how it goes. Many guitar players out of obsession choose music that features themselves and consequently don’t listen to the bass. A lot of it means simplistic lines, but this can have the opposite effect. One such tune is “Spooky” by the Atlantic Rhythm Section.
They choose that tune for their guitar parts without realizing that tune is made for show-off bass. But since they generally stumble across half-baked bassists, they never think much about what happens when they meet a real one. I’m the past master at showing off on that song. This is not overplaying, but playing it exactly note for note. Then presenting it as such on stage where the guitar player can’t really say much when you steal the show. You are playing it right and he chose the song. Let me dig out my old sheet music on that tune.
Put another way, I can play the livin’ shit out of that tune and only the finest guitarists can make a dent on it. You know, I dislike that song except for this feature. I find it boring and stupid but custom-made to let a real bassist show a lame guitarist it’s time to put on his big boy pants.
