November 23, 2023

Yesteryear
One year ago today: November 23, 2022, Cher again.
Five years ago today: November 23, 2018, times are changing rapidly.
Nine years ago today: November 23, 2014, mini-car, fat woman.
Random years ago today: November 23, 2009, ‘depressed’ women, my eye.

           It’s a Thanksgiving with no Reb. And pictures that will have to wait. The boys had turkey with “bit-o-rice” and we took off to the lake. We’re planning a feast later so let’s work up an appetite. Chooks has sure settled down from his days of lunging at everything. We walked around the entire doggie park with him ignoring all the yappy mutts behind the fence. I sent the Reb full pictures of the events and carryings-on because I know she frets.

           Getting home, it warmed enough for me to put in four hours raking leaves. I burned ten barrels, which is less than a fifth of what’s out there. I will never like the smell of burning roots and leaves but I dislike mosquitoes even more. I try to run a bit walking the dogs and today I managed a hundred yards without getting winded. That gorgeous lady from up the street brought another Thanksgiving tray, my word she is easy on the eyes. For those who ask, she’s a newlywed and has a newborn.

           Deciding I’ll go out for a few beers later, I made up another special meal for the pets. The boys got unsalted sardines, which they absolutely go slap-happy over. The girls, they got canned salmon pate, the non-GMO tins from Krogers. JeePee gets chicken, his standby. Watching them go at it is quite the sight, since it is a variety they don’t always get from the Reb. And you did not hear that from me.

Picture of the day.
24 y.o. Norwegian woman with no makeup.
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           We have some news about the jam sessions back in Florida. It seems they did not do so well without plenty of help last week. But remember that big fat guy I mentioned, the one I recognized as a guitarist? I’ve often told how these people come out of the woodwork once somebody else breaks the ice or blazes the trail. The Prez went over to jam, but arrived to find a full 3-pc group. Aha, that’s the fat-boy’s band from the sidewalk. Yes, they are good, if you like the AM-radio sound. They threw a chill into the Prez, who I wrote to assure him this is all water under the bridge.

           Of course they are good. But they are also bottom-feeders. Where were they for the past years while nothing was going on? I say the main thing they practiced was zero band management, thinking they will take over that jam as a Wednesday gig. Wrong, they will flop and fail same as every time before. They will not last, it costs money to put on a 3-pc show with all the trimmings and the club cannot support that. There is no crowd that will show up Wednesdays just because there is a band.

           But they sure did scare my guitar player, who still has not entirely gotten over the “full band” sound. He’ll come around once he sees we are the band that is left standing. I thoroughly know the trade and what this other band is trying to do. The Prez may take a while to see how we’ve addressed the unknowns while this other group thinks they can elbow their way in. I’m allowing for one exception, that out of the blue, the club will suddenly start paying bands to play that night. And my backup plan is just over on Highway 17. The other band is not too bright and they can’t be two places at once.
           I’ve set the Prez to work learning a strum to “Rose Garden”, as song originally meant for a male vocalist.

Last Laugh