One year ago today: February 21, 2024, wow, every day.
Five years ago today: February 21, 2020, buggersome.
Nine years ago today: February 21, 2016, Steadk ‘n Shake, meh.
Random years ago today: February 21, 2001, an okay gig.
While I prefer working alone, that doesn’t mean I’m in isolation here. The always-prolific Bryne from Texas writes about the box pics I attached him last day. He knows a lot of people in the Keys who have adapted to survival and the lack of resources, hence relating my boxes to coconut shells. He knows a guy who burns pictures onto coconuts with a magnifying glass. It is also done by branding, an art known as “coconut pyography”, see photo. (Did I just use ‘attached’ as a verb?) Hang on, we got a noise in the kitchen. Florida means it’s likely a foraging varmint, I’ll go take a look when it’s gets light.
Put it all on hold and let’s drive out to Nicols for some stamps and a downtown breakfast. It’s too cold to cook today and I need to find out if they convict Marjorie, the librarian. I say no, and to have a happy ending, Alice’s husband gets taken out and she can marry the carpenter guy. If this doesn’t make sense, you haven’t been reading this blog enough. Hey, I’m carrying my end. And it was a healthy young lady rat in the Hav-a-hart, shortly on her one-way to the Confederate Cemetery. You might as well come along for the ride, we are not getting outside very long today.
A spot of news, I may have an opportunity for a place to stay in Miami for the surgery. It will take some fancy scheduling, but Agt. R is taking his family to Europe for a month. And who is the world’s favorite house-sitter for total reliability? Just stand by as this is breaking news and we’re just getting over a quiet spell around here. Well, quiet compared to the coming food riots in Belgium, where eggs are $15 a dozen. (The American bird flu only kills American chickens, not Mexican chickens where the eggs still only cost $2. Now that is some border wall!) And we know some an article in American Thinker isn’t going to please some. It links today’s transgender absurdity to single mothers with mental health issues.
Gigs or not, I still play bass every day and this time I ran over the latest song list. This has a pleasant side effect that improves the necessary muscle memory to play the instrument right. Always a proponent of capturing the essence of each tune, I find (at least for me) that going back over old material improves that aspect, or as I’ve historically put it, you make it “sound more like the original”. I was surprised to find I’ve reached that level with many of the tunes imported by the Prez. It’s a result of sheer repetition and a mind’s-eye sense of how to subtly reinforce what the other band members are doing. It’s a subdued effect, but hell yes, I jump in and take a bow every time the crowd lets me know I’ve done a good job. Rewards are too few in this trade.
Rolex showroom.
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.
A trip to the bank revealed an unexpected surprise with one of my CDs recently mentioned. When not renewed, they are supposed to be deposited into my checking account, or the funds continue gaining interest at the CD rates while the funds are not locked in. I withdrew the extra $25.01 and treated myself to the noon special at Catfish County. Why, I don’t know, it isn’t the superb place it was nine years ago. And the noon special is now $19.50. But I’m stuffed and that was the plan. Notice the signature puzzle on the table for company.
I could, went my thinking, work around this by not becoming an old and boring nobody out of touch with a changing world. The snag is that while I largely accomplished that—I still wound up with nobody. What was my miscalculation? Ah, we’ve been over this before. My error was presuming if I had something to offer, there would be somebody worth offering it to. Every woman I ever met in the past 40 years that walked into my place did not see the library of books, the musical instruments, or the wealth of accomplishment. They do not see the trophies, the projects, the specialized tools, or the manuscripts. They wanted to know why I had no television.
Yes, I admit to this mistake and that I clung to it past the point of no return. It’s not like I can dump everything and become a shuffleboard player just for some companionship. I’m more likely to die with 15 unfinished projects than I am to wind up in a bingo hall. It’s actually even worse than I’ve said because even with music, I am no longer even meeting women that make the grade, much less someone I could fall in love with. Oh sure, you blame yourself for a bit, but my standards are completely reasonable.
Funny thing about this is I more identify with the women than other men. How so? Well, I mentioned having something to offer, and I have geared those offerings to both find a good partner and to avoid a bad one. I do not consciously do or have anything that should attract the wrong sort of people. I see so many women who find themselves in that same situation in reverse. They attract nothing but barflies and toads. But here is where one has to be careful of comparing apples to oranges. You find even when you have the assets, you still have to find somebody to has some in return. So there you go, I do think about these things before I make any decisions. I seriously thought after enough time I would find a woman who was my counterpart in these matters.
So wherever you are in the world, don’t go thinking America is a pool of hot babes eager to make good companions and wives. You’d be lucky to meet one who is a good stamp collector. I’ve been invited out again, but by the staff who know that I will get up and sing or dance for the crowd if asked. There is nothing in it for me, but if I make it out tonight, I’ll make a note of the women present and get you a critique, so you know I’m not just auto-rejecting anything that does not look like Taylor. (Bryne says her eye’s look like she’s just been pepper-sprayed.)
Later, and it is not good news. The transformation is complete, the old club in a year will be a black or a gay bar. Cathy has ruined the place with her own good intentions. As predicted, the place was packed—by strangers. I kind of asked Wilford and Dexter to keep an eye out for the changes, and sure enough, between Monday and last night all week, they had eleven customers total, four of them y’day. Cathy is to blame for this, but she’s riding high because six days business is now all on her shift—for now. It is a finicky out-of-town bunch. She’s turned the bar into a big city night club without regard to one simple fact. This is not a big city.
I walked in to a shigga-booga racket full of middle-aged married couples, no single women, the guys drunk and the wives doing the lesbo dance act. Hardly the atmosphere for a local pub. All Latino rap music with that crowd I truly despise—the parents who deny they are old by pretending they are “into” their teenage children’s music. It’s a disgusting spectacle. Two years ago I would recognize everyone in the place, today it is all the payday/weekend troop and they are a fickle bunch who will disappear when the next club charms them away.
ADDENDUM
“The Giver of Stars” audiobook is over and it was a surprise ending. Nope, it was not the evil mine owner or his son. We do not know if Alice went back to England or what. The death of the 57 year-old hillbilly was ruled an accident based on the testimony of his suspiciously pregnant 20-year-old daughter. After an arduous trek up to the isolate cabin by the library staff, the daughter testified her father had left to return the book while drunk in a winter storm. It was the only time the daughter had ever left the cabin, so we will never know for sure if she lied about the book. Left all the other sub-plots hanging. Yes, it is worth the listen for the superlative imagery.
