One year ago today: December 11, 2022, airlines are “the enemy”.
Five years ago today: December 11, 2018, Texas, probably Tuesday.
Nine years ago today: December 11, 2014, marked for life.
Random years ago today: December 11, 2002, built to 1990 specs.
Nice and chilly with everything drying out from the drenching overnight. Winter’s here. Maybe hibernation’s the reason I’ve been sleeping half the days. This morning, warmed up with oat bran and coffee, I shopped around for a used bass amp. What I want is a unit just portable enough for practice and a small gig, they used to be quite common. Now, I wish I could just find something like my old Karaoke amp, the unit with the excellent built in radio. I’ve given up trying to get that computer Wilford sold me to play videos and no way the controls can be made to function correctly. Opening a file takes up to six mouse clicks on the tiny icon beside the file name.
The three panels show, left to right, the window to the right of the doorway cutout, the interior of the wall to deaden the sound, and looking down the length of the lean-to, past the compressor to where the vacuum is intended. In a few hours when the town opens up, I’m downtown to pay bills but also to shop the Thrift for any Vin Diesel DVDs. I’m in the mood to think of insurance companies and watch him bust up some foreigners while our government denies his existence. You know, the secret ops that have been going on since 1935.
Later, the closest I found was “Behind Enemy Lines”, a semi-documentary tale of the war against the Columbian cocaine cartels. An enemy that is better equipped and trained than the US forces often deployed against them. It is almost open warfare but rarely reaches the news here, as it has become a sub-industry for both countries. Most of the government is on the take anyway, so at least some of the foreign aid returns as arms sales. There are few realistic documentaries but one accuracy is the contrast between the battle-hardened guerilla professionals and the government “sweeps” that employ what look like toy soldiers with ill-fitting uniforms.
So far, the movie is about the USA training the Columbian boy-soldiers the tactics that failed in VietNam. Flying over the jungle spraying useless bullets out the door of a noisy helicopter. Wading in formation across open fields toward dense undergrowth. But for sheer news media favorites, nothing beats surrounding a building full of hostages with snipers and arguing with the kidnappers. What? Negotiating, I meant, negotiating, I’m informed arguing is the wrong word by people who watch a lot more TV than I ever will. When you point guns at people, you are negotiating, they say.
Thirty minutes later, maybe we will get something done this morning because the movie is a partial repeat. I’ve seen parts of this movie before, probably on the overhead when I was playing some gig somewhere. Let me check the jacket, yep, says 2009. I know, after 9:00AM I’ll go shop for a bicycle. Between now and the three weeks after Xmas, you can find some pretty swell deals. With me, bicycles are a low priority that comes and goes but I’ll ride if I have a nice once. One final note on the DVD, I’ve only been near Columbia once. One accurate depiction I can verify is the Columbian hookers are by far the best looking in S. America, they have no tendency to fat until years later than their counterparts. (I’ve never sampled, but I would have few reservations if I ever decided to. Maybe when I’m a lot, lot, older and somehow get desperate?)
I wish these band member web sites had some way to filter out the “Christian” people. If you can do by distance or instrument, why not ideology? It’s the same crop of people all the time and they live in places you never heard of like Kenneth, and Lakewood Ranch (both are suburbs of Tampa). They are not anywhere close to my 25-mile limit. And they vary from trailer courts to massive estates. All I want is someone to strum guitar and my ad these days specifies not taking auditions at this time. The majority of bands seeking a bassist are because theirs just quit. Without any more input I can tell you those bands were playing metal, blues, or gospel. And if you talked to the bassist who quit, the top reasons are boredom, and he was not allowed input into what the band played. The latter could mean he’s another bass-wimp. What’s ringing the alarm is my own little group is not immune to guitar-think as we get close to paying gig time.
This year the 23rd and 30th are both Saturdays and I would like to end the year with a few dollars at least in the old tip jar. I’ve classified our 30 best songs into three equal lists of hot, medium, and cool. We absolutely ace some of the material and are completely flexible over mistakes, surprises, and audience whims on that stage. If they keep dancing, we can keep playing. The previous five or six stage appearances at the jam have paid wonderful dividends. The Prez has several instances said compared to his former groups, he’s happy to just jam. Ah, wait until he’s happy to get $100 in his wallet for doing the same thing.
Emerald Hills, WA state.
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Here’s your unusual photo of the week. These are cupcakes and we know exactly who they look like. The Reb got an instant laugh out of this one, I’m certain she’s now able to keep ahead of things but no word on the helper. Since it was doctor’s orders, I’ve not asked how the new meat diet is going, but my spider sense tells me it is mostly chicken. I happen to be very good at making chicken, I’ll have you know. And if you take away all that icing, them cupcakes are the same as mine. And I’m throwing another batch on because it is getting freezing again. Will it freeze long enough to get a crop of peaches next year?
We won’t know today, I chose a siesta and woke up at dusk. I’m reading a book that compares Wake Island to the Alamo, an interesting angle. The new Argentine leader (who looks like Benny Hill) didn’t take long to flip. Elected on dumping the fake climate accord, within hours of taking power, he endorses it. Knowing how are C code is to read, congrats to the people who found the batch files in Arizona removing the voting machine security restrictions just before the 2020 election. As usual, nothing will happen because America has no “vote police” but Dominion isn’t going to like this at all. When the climate crazies told Saudi Arabia to curb oil output, they got in return the Musk message. If you don’t know the Musk message, you’re not paying attention. Disney tried to blackmail Musk.
Entrepreneurs continue to sell 3D printed guns to the New York government, reminding us of the 1902 Rat Massacre in Hanoi. The French government offered a 1¢ bounty on rat tails only to find the Vietnamese began breeding rats in the sewers the colonialists built for their fancy flush toilets. The temperature has been near perfect all day so I’ve had no fans, heater or A/C, resulting in that elusive and nearly forgotten silence. The quietest ever knew was one winter day lying on my back in a parka in the middle of a snowfield one night in January. Tonight was that quiet. At one point, I heard something undefined. Then I realized the office door was open a crack and it was the ticking of the clock down the hall.
ADDENDUM
Ray-B gave me some web pages to check out, plus his take on dating clubs is hilarious. Women are right about one thing, men just flip past the photos most of the time. They also do this with cars, hunting knives, and vitamin ads, but you are supposed to take it serious with dating, that is, ignore that women do the same with men’s ads. What would I do, asks Ray-B, if I to make the women stop at my ad? Well, this relates back to my advice last Saturday, have something more to offer that is positive and different. The question itself reveals the divergence in approach. Most men want women to pick their ad, I want only the best woman in the room to pause just a split-second at mine.
I’d probably skip my picture and put a photo of JeePee, the turtle, and list his life story in the bio. I can hear the macho-men laughing, but we’ll see who gets the gal, dude-sters. Ya bunch of rookies. Taylor is only single because she is far too undemanding in her choices. Make that under-demanding, since she plain has standards the pretty boys can’t meet, am I wrong? She’s shopping at the wrong mall, barking up the wrong tree, casting her pearls before swine, flogging a dead horse, and a dozen other clichés at the least. When she wants her muffins baked in a real oven, she’ll find my profile. It’s only 16 million words long.
