One year ago today: September 30, 2022, a second raking.
Five years ago today: September 30, 2018, I can’t run it alone.
Nine years ago today: September 30, 2014, the aura of myths.
Random years ago today: September 30, 2012, we’d be rich.
What a month! Many firsts, which generally become vanishingly rare for most people after a certain age. And I mean real firsts, not the my-cat-had-kittens variety. Items like the band gig and 100k+ blog hits, and others that will still rank with the best accomplishments of my time five years from now. To celebrate, I baked chicken corn pie for breakfast. I’m taking most of the day off to putter, something I was supposed to be doing the past three years non-stop. How about this clip of the stereo birdbaths. The satellite dish is now “off-level” so the birdies can stand in the shallow part better.
Wait, there’s more politics this morning. The border security troll just had his salary reduced to $1 per year. The memes of Feinstein broad have begun, the one who was so old they assigned a nurse hold up her arm to vote “yes” on Democrat budget bills. GOP donations continue to fall at the same rate as Trump’s climb—I still think Trump will declare a third political party at the last moment and take 104 million votes with him.
Hats off the to Democrat gimptards in Wyoming who spend millions on electric busses, and the company (Proterra) went bankrupt. The last of eight busses went “inoperable” this week due to lack of spare parts and nobody around with the skills to repair them. Yep, cars they can’t start, phones they can’t turn off, and cash they can’t spend, that’s GenXYZ-ism for you. Milley(?), the top US General says he fears for his life due to Trump’s speeches. What message does that send? (My version goes like, “If Patton was around, he’d volunteer to pull the lever.”)
Here are the morning highlights for comparison purposes. A second avocado has sprouted and I’ve decided to propagate the devil’s backbone in the front yard to see if it will take anywhere else. It cooperates by growing around three feet high and staying there. Too bad it isn’t thick enough to blot out other weedy plants from growing in between. It’s a lovely 85°F by noon so I’ll keep going. The Prez is okay with band practice tomorrow, making this a nice uncomplicated but also unlazy autumn afternoon. Anything is better than sitting around with nothing to do—but what a time for my computer headphone jacks to quit working. I can always work around such things, but what a hassle.
How about some gossip? Who remembers Gary, or whatever name I gave him? The guy who decided to “get back with his old church band”. That’s nonsense, an excuse, so I wrote the guy off after I got back from Tennessee. Because I dropped off a stick of tunes and he never called back. I avoid people who don’t know a good thing when they see it. Plus, this guy had some kind of hidden agenda. My guess is he had a bad case of guitar-think, and I was right. You see, good old Barb, the granny singer, got stuck on several of my distribution lists and she got ahold of a video from last Sunday’s gig. (Sorry, you don’t get those.)
Cabo Polonio.
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Here’s another unique view for you. The same paint configuration as in Tennessee, years ago. Yep, the saw pony legs dipped in paint a preservative of sorts. There are sixteen painted legs visible here, reminding me I forgot to head up to the used paint place this morning as planned. I half-forgot it was Saturday, which is okay around here. I put a baseboard in place around the compressor footings as part of a planned sound cabinet. For some reason, the sound is loudest directly toward the neighbor’s yard.
Musically, Polk is a small world. It would seem Barb knows the guy, and was the once who suggested contacting me. Gary wanted a bass player, she said, but he did not tell her he had contacted me and that we had auditioned. She knew about the stick of music, so I take it the wives all know each other. So, the facts come out and confirm my conclusion. Gary is one of those delinquent guitarists who only wants to play leads and fills. To do that, you need a backup band of a particular sort. A flock of obsequious “followers” who think guitar is God’s instrument.
My radar picked up several warning signals, like his hang-up on playing guitar instrumentals. My ad specifies a duo, and that means instrumentals need to be very highly arranged. Problem, most guitarists have spend decades “perfecting” their material and can only play it one way. It is somebody else’s job to back them up. Barb says this is the case, but her focus is on singing. He would invite her to jams, but then just get her up for a couple of numbers while he and his guitar buddies hog the stage.
Now it makes sense. Gary is your typical guitar loser who wants a band of flunkies and that is not me. Another personality on stage, somebody who does not “follow”, and a person who can keep going even if they stop or refuse to play—it’s enough to scare the pants off all these wannabes. I was mystified at the time, because the set of tunes Gary and I had rehearsed were stage-ready. Ah, but he wants that stage all to himself and musical greed is one of the worst. Now his reaction makes sense. Anyway, Barb is leaving town, destination unknown. This just in. Feinstein, the fossil politician who died two days ago voted today on the Democrat spending bill. Is it a meme? If not, told ya.
ADDENDUM
Midnight tonight is the usual deadline for a Caltier distribution. Not much activity this month, either in or out of the fund. That’s not a loss of priority, rather a general seasonal slowdown around here. If I had my way, I’d be returning to college this month, but they even took that away. Caltier has only been a factor ten months so far, but I have other lesser-performing items I’ve not decided on yet. If you like following these decisions, I’ll have some shortly. Right or wrong doesn’t matter, it is making no decision that gets people to have nothing.
