One year ago today: March 18, 2022, 600 chilling hours.
Five years ago today: March 18, 2018, I mean Percy Somebody,
Nine years ago today: March 18, 2014, finally, my indoor saw.
Random years ago today: March 18, 2005, this turnip field . . . .
The van needs replacing. Like the other (newer) KIAs, a design change in the motors has caused internal troubles. I will try a detergent oil change to reveal if the oil is contaminated but it is brackish. I was at the dealership first thing in the morning to hear the bad news, Today will be short, I have to catch up on some sleep, the Prez called for an extra rehearsal, but I’m not in that space until I get a day of solid rest. First, take a look at this Drug & Gun store. Only in America. Beer, guns, ammo, what could go wrong?
I will again clarify what I mean that bands which don’t make money split up—I don’t mean for, or because of, the money, only that there is an undefined correlation. Without that money, no matter how little, there becomes something lacking in both the formation and cohesion of a band that goes away when the band makes money
Since nothing else will happen today. I’ll get you some band gossip. Bradford’s latest gripe is that I won’t jam, though he’s known my dislike of wasting time since day one. Not all jams are a waste, but this one is, so his take is that I should go out of my way to be pals with Keith. Let’s be clear, I’m not enemies, I just don’t like the guy’s manner. The point is, what’s with Bradford taking sides? That’s what he’s doing by saying it is my chore. As if I have not enough dead weight in my life already. Wait, there’s more.
Bradford is also convinced his music is so vastly superior that those who don’t think so just are not getting it. He’s convinced he could to go Nashville and show them how it’s done. Folks, Bradford’s musicianship is well-described as a “very high level of mediocre” but as an entertainer he does not pass muster. There is nothing wrong or unusual about this, no, there is something else wrong, or at lease seriously off balance. If I had to testify, I’d say it’s a combination of Bradford cannot solo and he’s the wrong disposition for a working band situation. If you can't meet either of those criteria, where are you?
Meanwhile in Germany.
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Bradford has other issues, one of which he dislikes it when others have intellectual or academic pursuits. You can imagine how he views my habit of randomly calculating the Sun’s geographic position or Wilford and I discussing transistor circuits. When I stop at the old club, it is known I will use the excellent digital clock they have on the north wall to check Greenwich Mean Time. That’s mean time, Bradford, as in average, it isn’t really noon because that depends on how far the Earth is from the Sun at the time of year. Bradford says knowing if it is light or dark out is enough. His hobby is watching other people play baseball.
The way he talks, I don’t think he’s ever been in that town. He thinks he stands a chance and he must have spotted the invisible smirk on my face when he said that. Maybe I drive to Tennessee to see the daffodils, dude, but I don’t go there to hear boring jam sessions or to watch baseball. Same as music, Bradford is quick to deny the role of money in that game, but is equally quick to point out how much his favorites make at it.
That’s all today. I need ten hours in the sack. Sometimes insomnia hits me that way, reminding you what I have is mild and I never waste a waking moment over it. In fact, I think I’ll read a chapter on navigation now.
