One year ago today: September 4, 2024, Airbnb apparently sucks.
Five years ago today: September 4, 2020, 40% of banks . . .
Nine years ago today: September 4, 2016, “Door’s open!”
Random years ago today: September 4, 2022, papayas, potatoes, pallets.
I have this theory that every evil in America today can be traced back to Brooklyn. Election cheating, forgery, censorship, you name it. No, I can’t prove it, because if I could I’d be rich. And now more inflation. Eggs at $4 a dozen up from 94ȼ four years ago. It’s lean September and we’ll be spending more time at home, which means you will see posting defects in the blogs. Why? Because at home I will put movies on in the office when I’m working on bench projects, quickly using up my air minutes (or whatever), and going into overtime slows down the display of other things, like proofreading this blog. Let’s check the news anyway, we’re going into Winter Haven via Bartow’s thrift store in an hour from now.
Will we have any adventuring happening today? I think so, although a trip into town isn’t that big a deal around here. First, we stop into the Thrift and get a bag of supplies including dust masks, power supplies, and possibly the last 50ȼ 300W incandescent light bulb to be caught in the wild. The masks are really the COVID stuff, but those are getting pricey. This is why I like half-price Thursdays, I got the whole box of 50 for another 50ȼ. Then I see this unmarked package on the bottom self. Looks like a shipping carton, no label, but marked down from $50 to $25, a rare high price for that store.
A quick check shows all the parts are present, think of it as a sort of expensive model you may have used in a school lab, complete with dust cover. I can’t find the manufacture date but this puppy has no plastic parts. It does not have a base light but this is not a challenge for me. It can be converted to digital with a camera that fits over the eyepiece tube but this is not a priority for now. There, aren’t you glad you stuck around this morning?
I was at the lumber yard and strolled down the sheeting section for a little sticker shock. Yep, a sheet of 3/4” MDF is now $55. You know that crappy hardboard I sliced up for bottom panels? $39 per sheet. This is why I drive all the way to the south end to check their cull cart. It’s cheaper in the long run.
Stepantsminda townlet, Georgia (SSR).
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Jack the drummer. I dropped off his mic stand and turns out he has a great Shure mic. Let’s review the situation over there. Jack is not the world’s greatest decision maker. He’s what we used to call “property poor”. Owns a house only to find once it is paid for, the taxes now equal his original mortgage payment from 1986. The roughly 50 people I know in Florida who own a house are in this same predicament.
My focus is on his suitability for playing in a band and my snapshot at this time is probably not. While he can play most tunes, he does not rehearse them. And being flat broke does not make for band reliability. So, I invited him out for drinks at that pub from last day. He does know everybody and I got a list of pubs and clubs that do not appear on the Internet using a generic search. It’s an important point, since all the big clubs around here are fully advertised—and fully booked. He knows the real neighborhood clubs, the ones who would not call themselves by any title like that.
Another consideration is that adding Jack is like a startup and I doubt he has the time or energy. He’s also “quit” three times already since I first contacted the guy, wasn’t that about a year ago. Anyway, I figured his situation was not the best. My decision, and I told him, is to carry on with his practicing when he can, but unless the right gigs happen, I can’t promise anything. He’ll probably quit and join back a few times, but he will never play in a real band again unless I call him back.
Folks, the band era is over. You’ll always have bands of every variety, but the dominance of the full rock five-piece is gone. There is a whole foundation of business needed to support such bands that slowly crumbled since the past century. Jack still lives in that time zone, so I’m putting him “on call”, mainly because if there is a gig, he can help me find it.
As mentioned, I got us out to the pub where two rounds cost me $33. But I have a list of seven pubs I’d never heard of before. In my lifetime, all of the best gigs I’ve had (like Jimbos) were nothing places that did not have entertainment until they met me. I have nothing on the table at present, but now I am looking again. One obstacle created by changing community standards is many pubs want to be known for “great food”, yet all the food comes from the same supply house.
The result is these days I’m more likely to get a gig in a steak house than a saloon. I would have no aversion to that, but I’m old-fashioned on the social aspects of this evolution. I have never taken a lady out to a pub for dinner, or go to a movie theater for dancing either. You see my point? I don’t watch sports, romance, or bands on TV. There’s more of a match-up to how I go about things, such as knowing the difference between the library and the laundromat. That reminds me, I had two women on my case today. One at the Thrift kept crowding me, even at the till. And ladies, I don’t know what station you are all watching, don’t take a job at the till of the lumber place just to meet men. It’s too blatant. And seriously, if I can't carry my package to my van, how is some lady five years older than me going to help?
ADDENDUM
If there is one thing you can count on in Florida, it is the random behavior of the lower IQs. How can one mess up garbage day? Easier than you think If you forget the day and try to dash out, you’ll see the truck has blasted off down the street at 5:32AM. If you are ready, and set the bin out a day early like I did, the truck lolls along at 11:56AM, making lots of warning racket all the way from Canal Street, plenty of time to put on your slippers.
The nearly two hours driving time today got me to disk 7 (of 10) with the audiobook, “No One Cares”. I can’t say I’m adequately entertained, but I have learned a lot. For instance, if I screw up out of sheer stupidity, I’m now feminist-armed with a dozen “medical” terms, such as “autism”, “bipolar”, “depression”, and if all else fails, “I tripped over the dog.” Accountability, what's that? Plus, if I’m ever caught enjoying something for it’s own sake, I have a battery of excuses. I was drunk. It was my meds. I’ve grieving something or other. I was tipsy that day. The good news is these ladies have long quit using the old standby, “I was young, I needed the money.”
