March 14, 2007

           Ah, cloud cover made this a cooler day in the midst of this winter heat wave. Wallace has semi-confirmed he will be here in early April. Guitar Jeff did cancel tonight’s practice, a situation I am watching very closely. The other Jeff, the disk jockey, called for more pre-formatted faxes and I think I will hit him up for some radio advertising.
           Harold, my first student in this town, called out of the blue after a year’s silence. He has gone back to computer school, and sure enough, has found out that they don’t teach you what I do. We have a database lesson scheduled for Friday morning. Freddie called and he is going to try an experiment of hooking two DSL modems to the same phone line, with different jacks. I’ll give you the results. (Even if we discover it cannot be done, we’ll try to figure out why. Two MACs? We’ll clone one.

          [Author's note 2016-03-16: this is not a picture of water on the pavement. These are reflections of sunlight from the glass on the building pictured below.]

           This picture is of window reflections on a driveway. The waterwave effect caught my trained digital photographer’s eye. I’ve made a small change to the way I catalog the pictures you’ll see here. Right now, there could easily be duplicates and some days I have to use older material. I now have a photobank, a folder of new pictures that are not sorted by dates. All I can assure you is that most are taken at least in the same week as they are published. Got to keep my readership happy. Both of them.

           I’ve gone through the new song list, planning intros and outros. Guitar Jeff cannot practice on Mondays, seems I forgot he told me that. We have out thirty tunes, easily, but both know the importance of tight starts and stops. He likes the very country music I used to hate, but that was because at the time (until 1970) I associated it with cowboy greasers whom I really dislike even today. However, I will today take any money they care to spend on my music.
I see that wavy reflection photo is a winner, so here is another photo of the window that caused it, itself a rather novel scene. The sun in the upper right bounces off the panes, you can mentally match up the pylons in the two pictures, since both were taken from me standing in exactly the same spot.

           You have heard me on about the sellout crowds caused by the new gambling laws, and possibly my own frustration at not cashing in on it. Well, not so fast. In my hunting for gigs, I dropped in on the “Holiday Bowling Center”, featuring restaurant, bar and billiards. 106 E. Pembroke Road, Hallandale, FL. Where I met Bernie, the general manager, who does not seem to realize he is sitting on a gold mine.

           The establishment is smack in the northwest corner of the gambling casino and has an unused door facing the huge parking lot. I’ll ask him to fix that in a hurry. If you ask me, the place is an excellent alternative to gambling, and can easily be made to seem like a relative bargain. The bowling is all French Canadians, but the bar, with dance floor, is sitting unused.
           During a walk-through, I discovered the door I just mentioned leads right [from the parking lot] into the bar. The soon-to-be famous South Florida’s top country bar, if I can help it. I got from the staff that he has been paying as much as $200 for single entertainers, which I can work with. It would be too obvious if the casino did anything to impede access, and I know just where to advertise. I’ll get you some pictures and I’ll be talking to Bernie with a plan by Friday.
           Country bar, country dance music. Country capital of the east coast. Gambling up ahead. Bowling, dancing, coffee, friends, turn in here. The club has around six tables, a bar with eight stools and your standard 20x12 Florida dance floor designed for midgets. I will make time to drop in there tomorrow in the daylight, and if you are good, you will get a full report. Tomorrow. Maybe.

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March 13, 2007

           Now that the French guy next door has that granddaughter visiting “until Friday”, I have developed an intense interest in yard work. More about her later, but they are indeed watching her like a couple of hawks, from terrific altitude. With deadly accuracy. When I suggested if she wanted to go to Starbucks, she could come along with me, they almost said okay, but you know.

I’m fixing the awning along the west wall, the hurricane shutters actually. If you peer closely, you can see the old edge where the caulking tore off. It came away from age, there has been no bad weather this year at all. That does not mean pile the clan into the SUV (Stupid Useless Vehicle) and head for Florida. Only that there have been no disasters so far.
Teaching music is a lot more fun that teaching computers in the sense that you have more willing learners and the results are easier to gauge [for the student]. I’ve got considerable experience teaching music, but today convinced me even more that I may have a unique product. At least in Southern Florida. Music is dominating things for the these days, with the new band and the progress with Becky, my student.

           Music lessons are fine, but the goal of most beginners is not to become the best in the world, although many so hope. Particularly beta male guitarists. I’ve taught drums, bass, guitar and keyboards. That is why I claim to be the only music teacher around these parts who can teach you how to play in a band. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve heard great studio-trained musicians on stage.
           But there is a subtle point beyond which no matter how technically perfect the performance, they are regurgitating the same material. I think we’ve all been the victims of characterless experts that can note-for-note anything. Even their stage presence seems sterile. I can personally vouch that most music lessons do not prepare you to entertain. If you doubt my observation, go to any local piano recital. Force yourself to stay until the end.

           Marion called. She has not been receiving my emails, and some of them were irreplaceable. She is doing fine, but thanks to the cell phone company, I cannot call her. Only the other way around.
It was a rough day at the wig shop as well. Too many deadlines coupled with that oaf, Dave, running around. I said to him indirectly that I never realized that everything I said and everything I did would some day require fine-tuning. He did not get it. After work, I stopped at the Friendly Inn to check my personal email, but there was a guy playing video poker on-line. I mentioned to the server that they should get a second computer, and she said, “Why?” (I should introduce her to Dave.)

           The French brunette was out in her shorty-shorts today. Talk about impressive perfection. She does not play guitar, but who cares? I just want an excuse to show her a few things she ought to know by now. She is certainly far better looking than the model at the shop, some Portuguese lady surnamed Chavez.
           Guitar Jeff, as predicted, is already balking at the two hour travel time needed to practice (even though it was his idea), so tomorrow is canceled and Friday night is slated for his place. We have enough points in common to ensure the enthusiasm will carry us into several months of gigs while the fire is still hottest. The big picture means we must shoot for a house gig somewhere between the Ft. Lauderdale airport and Oakland Park. I’ll need to look into what is there.

           The cat is still hiding all day long, not even touching the food if I am anywhere in the building. The only sign of presence is the litter box. I went over to get the special caulk compound to affix the shutter slash awning back up. It must the only construction material left in South Florida that costs less than $5.00. Here it is, on Roland’s patio, being checked out by the neighborhood Tom cat, the one we thought was in here at first.


           [Author's note 2016-03-16: I'm saying here that these two cats had such a similar appearance, we were initially not aware that there was a cat living in my place. This new cat (not shown here), became Pudding-Tat, she was nearly named "DumDum".]

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March 12, 2007

           Yes, a cat has taken up residence in the trailer, and the only way it could have gotten inside is via Steve’s gear. I went over to find there are many places it could have laid quietly enough, and recall that I found just such quiet cats living in his dresser drawers. They did not move even when the drawer was lifted. I double-checked the perimeter and found nothing, so the cat did not wander in.
          There really is a trailer. Careful, I did not say what kind of trailer or what it is used for, but here is a picture of the “front yard”. This is the tasteful landscaping, using natural plants. Whether these weeds are indigenous or invasive is unknown, same with the people here. It gives the place a kind of rustic charm. That, with the allure of music and aroma of coffee wafting out the jalousies should be irresistible to real women. So, where are they?

          Mere hours later, I confirm it is a cat, and it is one of Steve’s. I cannot catch him, those cats were tame but also definitely the wariest I’ve ever seen. He (I hope it is a he) is living under that old A/C cutout along the east wall. It is a striped cat, similar to the neighborhood stray.

          The French brunette. She is being carefully mother-henned by Roland’s wife, indicating she is younger than I originally thought. But not much. Remember, at 21, virginity passes from an asset to a liability. They are leaving in a couple of weeks, back to French Canada for the summer. It sure was nice to look at for a while, sigh. She has poked around a bit, but you know women always do it in a way they can claim they were up to something different. Double sigh.
          I went into the computer shop, since there were no customer calls. This wound up being a half day of poking around. The kind of thing I like to do on the computer. I got the small things taken care of and came home to figure out what to do with the cat. It is far too skittish to come out while I am around, but food is the common denominator. I make noise when it is feeding time. It will learn to love me.

          Plus, the variety of diet here should put some meat on that skinny cat. Steve was feeding them dry food. After five years with Hebti (Robynses parentses cat), I tend to go for more natural cat food, what they would likely hunt themselves in the wild. The shortage of Wildebeest and Springbok around here means instead chicken and pork has to do. Hmm, does everything taste like chicken or fish to a cat? I accidentally spilled some of the dry food on the front patio. Even the birds would not touch it, I swept it up after a day.
          Much later, by which I mean 4:30 AM, I got up for a midnight snack – and I see so did the cat. I left out a quarter chicken. No, not bones, the chicken, set next to the dry food. I traditionally do this with a new cat to see how hungry the critter is, and also it cuts down on begging. Predictably, the chicken was gone but not the dry food and not the chicken skin. Purina, Dr. Ballard, are you listening?

          Don’t think I’m industrious. Never mind what your parents told you, only idiots with dead-end jobs get up this early in the morning. Did your parents ever get up this early? The fact is, daylight savings often gives me jet-lag symptoms. It is quiet even for Florida and gave me a chance to review this blog. Are you curious how it fits into the bigger picture? I’ll tell you anyway.
          This blog represents around 1/42nd of the available records [depending on the criteria]. It is the second largest collection of records not stored here, the largest being with Marion. Even taken together, only one picture in 60 is published. I have been planning on a second blog with mainly pictures, but that has to wait until the current pictures get uploaded. The goal was to get 1,000 articles published. That may not take too much longer, although the most I’ve ever done per day is 30. The material is already written, just not published. It is doing no good here and is not adequately backed up.

          So as not to mislead, the majority of my journals are not word-processed, but hand-written. Thousands of pages. True computerized records did not appear until very late in the game, and many have been lost through magnetic deterioration, hard drives left behind in other countries and MS software screw-ups. (I have at least three hard-drives that will not let me read the contents, thanks, Bill.) As late as 1999, laptops were not an option in my travels, being far heavier than a pen and paper and electricity was not always reliable.
          That is me doing a little spade work in the back yard, where the flora has begin to overgrow my 30 square foot patio. I, er, accidentally located the neighbor’s cable TV underground conduit, which I quietly left alone. What woman could resist those sexy gams?

          It seems that there is a new round in the battle of customer service. It has always been so, but now far more outfits are demanding to see documentation before even listening. They want to see the bill of sale or the sales receipt first. Human scum. The document is hardly relevant most of the time, the scum are trying to save money knowing that a percentage of people don’t have filing systems to keep all that crap. This is an outright dodge of responsibility, it is also un-American. This is nothing new, but the number of reported instances is on the upsurge.
          The worst example is, again and again, Sony. Pioneers of the “service contract” aka selling you your own product warranty, and the semi-legal practice of attaching that warranty to the purchaser, not the product. Bought it second-hand but brand-new in the box? With Sony, you are SOL.

          Last for today, or this is actually tomorrow already, let me say a word about companies like Motorola. They suck. They will not help you out and that includes once they have your money. One thing that all reputable electronic companies do is make drivers for their devices available for free on the Internet. Not Motorola. After an hour of searching for a K1m/L7c driver for a cellular camera phone, the conclusion is that Motorola wants $38 and your life history first. They spent a fortune on web pages with pictures of sexy girls, but not one penny on what they are supposed to be selling. In case anyone missed that, I said Motorola sucks.
          It is almost 6:00 AM, so I’m crawling back in the sack for a couple more hours. What are you doing up this early, anyway?

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March 11, 2007

           [Author's note 2016-03-11: this is the first known picture of Pudding-Tat, my faithful cat to the end. That's her end, not mine.]

           Dickens called, we decided not to open the Thrift today. He has a new security system, so we’ll probably do that some day this week. Shoplifting is a problem, more so now that he has expensive items beyond the usual bric-a-brac. I like that term, which I’d only ever seen in crossword puzzles until I got to Florida.
          We have a picture of the suspect. I don’t recall seeing this cat at Steve’s and Roland, the neighbor recalls seeing this cat around for three years. I’ll reserve a conclusion, because I never saw this particular cat around here, and I’m in the area year round. This cat is also exceedingly friendly; Steve’s cats were not.

           No picture, but there is one fine looking lady visiting next door. Late twenties, brunette and a body that belongs on a campus somewhere. She is talking to Roland’s wife, so she must be French. I have not dated a French gal in over thirty years. No introduction happened, but something like that is not wondering around unspoken for. The best that is likely is to catch one right after she’s been dumped – another good reason to play in a band. These type outnumber all others, probably combined but that is a guess. Certainly the largest minority.

           Which got me looking closely at Guitar Jeff’s notes. Er, I hope the rest of his sheets are more accurate. His chords and patterns for two of the three I’ve looked at are seriously wrong. This might explain several instances where he outright played the wrong chord and could not instantly adapt to the correct one. “Crazy Little Thing” goes nothing like what he wrote, I essentially spent 90 minutes going over the tune to straighten things out. I’m still very hopeful that our strengths in these different areas will combine to good effect.
           When Guitar Jeff said he did not play lead, he meant it. I suggested the chorus pedal and he has never used one. I do not miss the lead notes, as it gives me a chance to spice up an intro with a novel bass line. Some of my favorites are “walking” guitar riffs lifted from deeper in the song and adapted to bass.

           If, as is usual, Guitar Jeff has essentially played the way he will on stage, I may be able to shine. Thanks to The G, I have seven recent years experience playing better-than-nothing bass lines to tunes I’ve never heard. I’ve previously toyed with the idea of doing bass breaks rather than lead breaks. This would be very simple riffs, striving for effect rather than speed. I discovered several innovative methods while using bass notes to keep myself on beat during synchopated music, but have never had a chance to try it as a stage show.
           Except for one or two measure riffs, The G would never stop playing long enough ever, much less for an innovative feature like a 12- or 16-measure bass break. Yet, Brian and I found that I could easily flesh out a weak or thin guitar chord solo. By the end of January [2007], Brian and I were regularly using the technique. In some cases we came to prefer the bass pattern.

           The plan had been for Sunday coffee, you know, the Starbucks thing, even though I know there are never any women in the ones I go to. I had to smile at this article published on the Internet recently about a woman saying that she like to be approached by men in places like shopping centers. She stated that it was “okay” to walk up and start talking to her. So far, so good. However, then she added that most of the men who had already done so were “far too old”. Exactly how is that supposed to be taken?

           Does that mean twenty-five is too old? Forty? Does that mean that she wants men so young they lack the confidence (or fear rejection enough) to dare such a thing? I am reminded that the classic woman’s definition of harassment as when a man under 5’6” winks at her. I could ask what is it with women and tall men, but then, with men it is breast size. I mean, other types of men than me, and other types of women than the ones I like, I mean. Those types, the ones you guys marry.
           Are such women are saying it is okay to approach them only so long as you are a young movie star. And that, my friends, is why you just knew if you waited around long enough, I would get you a picture of the French brunette next door. You don’t hear me complaining that she is too young for me, do you? Er, tit for tat and merci beaucoup to you, buddy.
           So instead, I stayed home and practiced music for over six hours more. I aced several tunes I have not played in decades, adding much more contemporary bass lines to punch them up to modern standards. Anyone remember the “Georgia Satellites”

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March 10, 2007

          This makes sense, the only things on the road at that time are, well, Florida bars close at 4:00 AM, so do the math. The FEC are very socially conscious and have only your best interests at heart. While too far inland and above sea level to open drawbridges at rush hour, they are doing their landlocked equivalent to keep condo prices below the magic half-million mark. A lot of people in this town need not be told that twice.
          So I will start the day going to a Cuban café, something most Cubans cannot do. I read that their government only allows family members to be hired, thus all Cuban restaurants are family owned. Vicious rumors abound that Florida has the same law.
          Sun up at 6:23 AM. I’m out the door, having successfully avoided practicing any music since y’day. Guitar Jeff called, we have rehearsal scheduled here at mid-afternoon, giving me hours to idle away and you know I can use it. I’ve been shopping around for PA systems again. No luck, but I’ve learned a lot more concerning the galaxy of knobs and slide-controls that clutter the front panel. Features that I am absolutely positive get used by somebody, somewhere.

          I was impressed by one thing, a clever outfit has designed a combination XLR and phono plug. Not sure what that is? Most PA systems have two input jacks (plugs), one for guitar style cords, the other for a larger “studio” type. This company put the smaller one in the center of the larger. Anyway, that is neat as far as I am concerned.
          Desperate for readership, I placed ads on Criagslist. along the lines that anyone “middle-class” may want to take a peak [at my blog]. I have attracted the wrath of too many deadbeat Arts majors. You know, the ones who hang around Starbucks. Myself, the word “deadbeat” is interchangeable.
          Guitar Jeff showed up on time (insert boatload of Florida jokes here). We commenced to jamming through everything we could think of that we both knew. Twenty-two songs, enough for a gig somewhere. Since everyone is dying to know what it sounds like, I shall accommodate you. Guitar Jeff is a country musician and yes, it does show in his chording. He really does have 500 tunes in several large binders. Most of it is photocopied, not word-processed. Ouch!
          Thus, while he definitely plays the country version, many of which I never knew existed, I tend to add the best bass line I can copy. Good example is Six Days on the Road. I believe I’ve already told everyone I do the bass line from the Charlie Pride version. The bass riff has thrown off every guitarist I’ve done it with, however, it is an indicator that they are definitely into the groove by the time I spring it on them.
          It went 90% well, we need only work on the intros, outros and chops. The tune selection is a suitable country-rock feel, even on the outright hillbilly songs (such as “Momma Tried” by the Hag [Merle Haggard]). Guitar Jeff is not the worlds best musician, but that is precisely the sound I am marketing. No matter how you perform, some bonehead will claim he can do better, so cash in on that.

          To make one thing clear, however, I have never had a bass player say they could do better than I. Most of them cannot do what I do, and today it had the desired effect. (This is not bragging, but a restatement of the fact that most bass players have a background in guitar and play less thirds and sixths than I do, eventually leaving them out.) Guitar Jeff was swinging to the beat even when trying to concentrate on the words and chords. Most definitely a good sign. My favorite new tune from today was Yoakum’s “Crazy Little Thing Called Love”.
          The non-music side is beginning to gear up. He drove a van all the way from Commercial, around twenty miles. He has an 8-channel PA system with good sized speakers. He has quality equipment and it looks good as new. Thus, I e-mailed him later about setting the PA up at his place for five scheduled rehearsals over eleven days, beginning next Wednesday (March 14, 2007), and I will travel there in the Taurus.

          I will also need time to set some initial bookings up, which Guitar Jeff understands have to be in this area for now. I’ll offset his mileage with gas money and maybe the guilt that I am actually doing most of the traveling. Again, I am set up for all these things, you might say I have a musical mini-bureacracy. It covers everything from pirated music to a database of club contacts.
          In all, I would rate the rehearsal a solid success. He is 47, lived in the same house 26 years, and plays in a larger group. My mission is to turn the duo, always a more viable option when I am involved, into a little financial powerhouse where he makes better money per gig than with “them”. Money talks. Trust me, in that group he is a background member, with me he is co-star.
          So, I just heard some people like the way my bicycle has evolved into a good substitute work truck. Here’s another photo of the rig, loaded up with gear for the trip home. Yes, the saddlebags do allow me to carry up to 80 pounds of material, as long as it is of the right size. Weight distribution hardly matters, you adjust instantly when you begin riding and often forget there is a load. It does make a difference in stopping distance. Remember that if you are drunk at 5:30 on some morning where I got an early start.

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March 9, 2007

           In a series of carefully controlled experiments, highly scientific to be sure, I determined that indeed, slime, the touted anti-puncture tire filling, does deteriorate rubber cement. I carefully noted and expertly applied a patch. The stuff is sneaky, it appears to take at normal pressures, but at double the pressure, something likely to happen when I plow up a curb or pothole, you can hear additional slime begin to leak under that patch.
           Then, (I have the video), you can actually watch the bubble grow under the patch until it reaches an edge and flat you go. You can almost hear it eating away at the bond between the patch and tube. Since this tire has a satisfaction guarantee, I may send it to the manufacturer to see what happens. I also noted the inside of the tire (not the tube) shows signs of rubber particles, like a fine set of shavings. It will not wash off but I will leave it as the tube and tire are from the same source. Aren’t these exciting times! It is now already 8:00 AM so I’m going out for breakfast.
           I talked with Guitar Jeff and we are going to rehearse at his place on Saturday afternoon, if it is okay with his wife. He [stated that he] uses crib notes on stage, but could that be from knowing 500 songs instead of the more orthodox 50? He has a job that takes him on the road that makes Thursday gigs a toughie.

           The rest of the day was a frustrating episode, one scumbag after another. Imagine trying to get something done in a room full of half-retarded nosy deaf people who want to borrow five bucks. Then, I just described most of Florida, the phone company and my upbringing. After breakfast, I thought I’d relax and work a Su Doku. Except you see, I forgot my pen back at the house. Try to find and buy a ballpoint pen in this town. After explaining to the fifth person what it was or what it was for, I walked a quarter-mile over to the Argentina place and borrowed one of theirs.
          Some of you probably think I am exaggerating. Ask yourself, “Why would I?”
           I have the vocabulary, but really not the patience, to spin a good yarn. Ask if I’m making this up: most of the people who did not know what a pen was also did not recognize the pantomime of writing. When I motioned like I was writing, there was no glimmer or spark of recognition on their faces. They are younger than I, so the conclusion is that they are all computer geniuses who word process everything, because they sure don’t know what a pencil is. One lady even looked to see if I was scraping something off the palm of my hand.

           Multiply that out a few times, and you’ll see my day. Worst was this new guy, Dave. The staff hates him, where I merely consider him a vociferous idiot. Gruff and uncultured as well, look out people. He’s got his nose in everything already. The dodo does not know the basic rules of Internet security. I won’t go into that one. Get this, he printed out a three page invoice, and threw away the middle page. When I get there, I see the first page and last page but the figures won’t total. A wasted half-hour.
           I asked why he did that, he did not apologize. Instead, he goes for the klutz defense that the pages had “paneled out”. WTF? The guy does not even know how to reformat a page! However, notice that he knew how to duck the searchlight, the sure-fire trademark of anyone who’s been to an American college since 1988. That, and the incessant jargon. I’ll bet the guy bullshits in his sleep, too.

           Ahem, Steve, the cancer guy. He has some guy who looks after his finances. The deal was I clean his place out for $50. I’m afraid I got roped in on that one. Clean up became sort out, package up, haul over to my place, unload and store. I told them they had until Monday to rent a storage bin and arrange to have the stuff moved because it is outdoors and I am not responsible for it. The reply was that I should rent the storage and send them the bill. Fat chance. Monday, so quit wasting time talking.
           I drove around close to ten miles to get the correct [non-slime] tube for my bicycle. It is ready to go, but as always when the tire is changed, the brake pads need adjusting. Guitar Jeff emailed later. It seems his wife has a soiree on Saturday, so we cannot practice there. I sent back that he should arrive here and we’ll rehearse without a PA. I should practice tonight, but I think I’ll put on a movie.
           Later. I did, the movie was Blade II, with the “II” part displayed as stylized fangs. Another vampire-killer movie. On one hand we are told that martial art teaches goodness and virtue. Now explain how all the undead learned it. How could they even afford the lessons? The movie has one scene where all the vampires are at a rave in yet another abandoned LA warehouse.
           What? Well, yes, the parking lot was empty. Maybe they arrived through the sewers or some other cheap-to-film conduit? The music was disco, so I can confirm that, at least in America, being immortal is not enough time to acquire taste.

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March 8, 2007

           Something new today. I saw a crew ripping up the yard of a gasoline station to install new underground tanks. Did you know they are made of fiberglass? Tons of safety gear and environmental equipment. Ever seen a thousand gallon carboy? It holds the gas out of the old tank until the new one is ready. You could make enough beer in that contraption to host a dockworker’s reunion.
           I delivered some gear to the Day’s Inn. Yes, I remembered to tell you what problem had us mystified for so long. The Day’s Inn had two nearly brand new flat screen monitors that had exactly the same defect. Both Fred and I used standard procedure – swapping out the components to narrow the problem by elimination. That did not work this time at all because at first nobody considered the unlikelihood of two identical new monitors sharing the same fault. See? Just when you think you’ve made headway.

           Then, six miles from home, I get another flat. This is beginning to get annoying, since I have the best and most expensive puncture-proof, thorn-proof, heavy duty tires and tubes. With slime. It did not work worth nothing. A hole developed near the nozzle which would not take a patch. Upon inspection, it appears that the slime itself may be a problem. This slime is a green liquid inside the tube that is supposed to self-seal punctures “up to ¼”. They might just as well say up to ¼ mile, because it won’t do that either.

           However, the slime does leak out of holes up to 1/8th of an inch. It may be coincidence, but you will have a hard time telling me it is an accident that rubber cement and patches will not stick to any area around a puncture that has been touched by the leaking slime. The slime seems to cause rubber cement not to stick, even after the area has been carefully wiped clean.
           There I was up on Sheridan and I-95 late for work. Freddie had called to explain he took one unit into the store for repairs and I mentioned my plight. In a most neighborly fashion, he volunteered to pick me up and drive me over to my place. I owe Freddie a big favor. No way I could have predicted that none of my precautions would fail to patch a flat, so he really bailed me out on that one.

           Over to the wig shop, where I met the crew from CBC. Dang, the gal was just not my type, but certainly friendly enough. The segment will be just five minutes when complete, and that will not be for another five months near September. There was a six-foot model in the shop earning $200 per hour but she didn’t even know I was alive. That’s okay because I heard her talking Spanish with Maria in the back. Although the model had what I thought was a perfectly molded backside, she was going to have it made fatter “to look like Jennifer Lopez”. She said it was “because that is what men like”. Goes to show you how insecure some people can be, and that she doesn’t know any real men.

           The order problem [from overseas]. It seems to have been resolved in less than 24 hours once everybody understood what was supposed to happen with the money. Except, the totals are wrong. Not very wrong, a few thousand dollars here and there, but enough to confirm the factory just does not have the system we’ve already put into place. The unblinking eye of our database has never been wrong yet, so another confirmation letter is due. Nothing serious but such items have to be straightened long before they grow roots. Some of the extensions are two pieces per set, and the factory charged double what was supposed to be.
           Kudos for me. I composed a letter, a very intensely worded letter, which Ruth asked her grand-daughter, a lawyer, to review. The lawyer complimented me on the work. Hey, I just got the thumbs-up from a lawyer, how was your day?

           Over to Anna O’s for the guitar lesson with Becky. Loren seems to have lost the will to practice, which happens. Music is not for everybody. However, Becky, now a veteran of four lessons with me, was jamming to the 12-bar blues and playing “These Boots” (Nancy Sinatra) in real time along with the MP3. The earlier work is beginning to pay off, she is already able to clue in to events around her and get back on track, something that took me several months when I was around the same age (14). Mind you, I was alone and hardly had a professional coach paid for by my parents.
           I had to [back then] concentrate so much on playing that it would throw me when I tried to listen to the whole band. Don’t chuckle, I know people who play in working bands that never got past that stage. Becky was astonished to learn that it was possible to play along with a properly tuned recording. Like myself, she assumed it was something only total musical geniuses could pull off. I think she will definitely practice more now.

           The youngest girl has picked up a violin. One of those tiny instruments around 2/3 the size of a regular unit. She is around eight years old. Did I tell you I once tried violin myself? Seriously, my neighbors moved out. That was in Los Angeles. I would practice late in the afternoon when everybody leaves their back windows open. They would call out “Close your window!”
           They had a couple of very young children at that screech-cry stage. I would call back, “Close your window!” They moved out the end of the month.
I hope not over me, because I moved out fifteen days later, in November, 1991. I also gave up the violin, it is just too difficult for me. I’d rather listen to crying babies.

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March 7, 2007

          
           Good, fast, easy money today, so I had a little spare time. I’m getting better at selling people what I know. I didn’t know enough today, though. I was over at the Day’s Inn and one of the computers in the Internet room would not drive the monitor. I’ll tell you what it was, but later, so you can guess the problem on your own. The hint is you can see two monitors hooked up to one computer.
           It baffled Fred and I for a couple of hours. No matter what was tried, the monitors would cut out after a few seconds. Every possible combination of cords, cables and devices was tried and nothing worked.

           Spare time for me means over to Panera for morning coffee and a relaxing puzzle. Somehow, I showed up for a lesson on A1A (another local road with several different confusing names) which had not been scheduled. The student showed me it was not written on his calendar, but we decided to go ahead anyway. Turned out to be a super productive lesson. This is easily explained in that with adults, the first few lessons can seem meaningless, but one tied together, things fly.
           The groundwork has to be covered and I am proud that I have at least a measureable ability to make those critical first lessons interesting enough to sustain the enthusiasm. I had a lengthy conversation with the other Fred, who from now on I will name Freddie to avoid confusion. His computers have something serious by way of virus infection and it is taking almost five minutes to boot up. I cannot troubleshoot that kind of problem in the field, and I hesitate to hook up his wireless system on computers that need the operating system worked on.
           From there, I went over to Lorraine’s, she is the French Canadien waitress at the Friendly Inn. I spent close to two hours showing her the ropes with anti-virus ware, and be damned if her computer didn’t have a record 2,322 viruses or spyware files. A lot were something called “Viper” I’ve not seen before, but it was watching every move she made on that computer via the Internet. She tipped me $20.

           This interesting picture was the top of a metal grate table at the Panera. I’m having a coffee and thought this effect was “spiffy”. Just as I settled in, I got a call from the wig shop. An astonishing series of events resulted in a serious setback. I could not go over, but I wound up walking that new guy, Dave, through some paces. He is not going to last, he is too pushy without anything like the experience needed to begin to fool a real professional. He is good with various software packages, but no good at overall computer usage, so he continually tries to steer all conversations toward his limited realm of knowledge rather than what has to get done. I had enough of that claptrap before I was ten.

           The problem was the two orders already placed. I have corresponded with the factory regularly but I noticed they were hesitant when asked what something cost. I could not insist because the financial arrangements are not my area, nor would the owner let others handle it. So between us, we placed the order and were waiting for the factory to send us a pro forma invoice. Everyone understood that the first order would be part guesswork and it was expected.
           Now don’t laugh, but because everybody was being so damn polite, a truly sorry misunderstanding reared up. We knew the factory needed the money to get started, so we gave them the order expecting them to calculate the estimated cost, and invoice us so we could send them the money. The factory sent us the price list and apparently expected us to calculate out own invoice and send them the money. So we are waiting for an invoice that never arrived and the factory is waiting for money they have not asked for. Due to the two month lead time for orders, that is how much time passed before anyone noticed something was wrong.

           Goodbye Jane, I’ve exchanged song lists with Guitar Jeff, as he is now called here. He lives up on Commercial in Ft. Lauderdale, so we are not exactly neighbors, but it is freeway the whole 14 miles, actually closer than Brian’s. Guitar Jeff is solidly a rhythm player with no background in lead guitar, and his analogies show that he has experienced the same hassles as I have. Good. We can focus on music. He also owns a PA system.
           Here’s a point, my bass playing is still evolving in lots of ways. You see, although I’ve done this and that, I never played bass as a serious instrument until I was in my thirties. That means I am just around now at around the mark [in years] where others begin to look at the instrument in its own right. The biggest recent change I spotted while reviewing videos of my performance was good-sounding mistakes. I’ve learned to hold my left fingering patterns in such a way that when I screw up, it sounds okay. And I surely screw up regularly, but instead of hitting wrong notes, I hit false notes that make it look like I was leading to the correct sound. Give me money.

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March 6, 2007

           I went out for breakfast. Los juevos revueltos y hamon con papas fritas y pan tostada. Senor Café, a half-mile from here, through the Greyhound track parking lot. Even knowing it would be a busy day, I was up so early I just had to give myself a reward. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not anywhere near middle-class enough to think of eating in a restaurant as a reward. It was the relaxation to do a puzzle and take it easy.

           Steve, the cancer guy, called from jail. Yep, he’s locked up and cannot afford bail. I gave him the bad news about his belongings. He is going to be starting over when he gets out. I know he had a ton of tools, but what you see nearby is what was left when I got there. Three wrenches and three screwdrivers. That is it, pal.
          Whatever he had, he got hit supremely bad. He talked about renting a 10x10 space, I assured him that the smallest of 5x5 was too large for what remained. Just rent it soon, since I don’t have any storage space over here. I lost $600 in tools the first year I was here, landlady’s welfare case son broke into my car. How do I know? Well, it wasn’t my roommate and the landlady’s dogs didn’t bark.

           Off to Bal Harbor by noon, I gotta quit doing that, since any start time past 10:30 AM places me right into rush hour later in the day. It then takes up to 45 minutes to make those ten miles in this town. The police simply refuse to ticket drivers who run yellow lights and block the intersection. The driver always act like it is the fault of the person ahead of them, with that stupid Florida, “What am I supposed to do?” shrug.

           I see that the new computers don’t want to share the printers. So much for the theory that I had that one aced. Nothing I tried would make the new computer see the printers. The workgroup and network yes, but not the devices. What I did see was an Afghan hound with a pink wig. I’ve only see Afghan crosses before, this animal is very poodle-like in demeanor. And aroma. It is, in my opinion, too large a dog for the city. This one is high-maintenance, the fur is long and shaggy.

           My famous Argus camera is starting to age. Notice how except in bright sunlight, the light colors over-expose. You see the dog, but barely the wig, and it clashes with the white sweater of the owner in the background.
           Speaking of clashes, I have some new co-workers. One of them, while trying to be helpful, seems to think he knows more than the people who’ve already been doing the job. He fancies himself an expert on Chinese culture, yet does not appear to know even one word of the language. Anyway, I’ll write it off to new-job insecurity. He says he’s worked in Thailand, which should be easy to cross-examine.
           It was a day of catching up over there. This can be exasperating over little things like the e-mail not getting checked when I’m not in for the day. This puts people on hold and opportunities get missed. I spent an hour setting up a shipment tracking database, you see, a package showed up today that nobody knew anything about. It was just a sample and some tags. Still, we can’t have orders showing up that were not confirmed before shipment. I fired off a second email to Indonesia kind of insisting the point.

           To make a point, we already have a database for the product numbers and this has already given proven results, to the point that it is highly respected by the factory. We just need to do the same with shipment numbers. Now something else to report, I have the Thirsty Syndrome. Sure, I’ll explain. For some unknown reason I was incredibly thirsty all day. Let me take stock. Ten cans of soda, four cups of coffee, two large tumblers of mango juice and a bottle of grapefruit juice. (Yes, ten cans, consisting of six colas and four lemon-limes.)
           So it must be something going around. I figure if they can have Sleeping Sickness and Attention Deficit whatever, there must be a Thirsty condition. I’m not dehydrated and all my vitals are to spec, so I’ve got something, it stands to reason. Hold on, I’ve just been informed that you can get dehydrated to death without feeling thirsty. Is that true? Any doctors in the house, tell me. Any politicians, try it and see.

           Something new. I’ll have to look it up, but there is a web page in Ft. Lauderdale called “Stop Snitching” which addresses the problem of lawyer expense at the level where the demand is created – highly theatric and humiliating police arrests in public or at the workplace. A simple knock on the back door would produce the same arrest most of the time. The problem, to be more exact, is police immunity from prosecution for false arrests when the defendant is later found innocent. My opinion is totally formulated on the existence of that time interval between an arrest and an acquittal.
           I would not have given the matter any attention except the guy hit on exactly an argument I’ve had for years. The police know that due to publicity, an arrest is nearly as bad as a conviction in the effect it has on a person’s career and reputation. Evidence and records are NOT destroyed just because you are innocent. The best way to prevent such abuse is to remove temptation, the best way to remove temptation is swift and certain public exposure. It is just so not right for people to be arrested for speeding. Ticketed okay, but arrested? There are some people who say that the police could never do their job if they have to obey the law. I say they are not doing their job if they don’t.

           You could have a lawyer over any matter, but the cost is prohibitive. It is far cheaper to defend yourself before you are arrested. I have always maintained you cannot get a fair trial where the prosecution team has access to unlimited records, crime labs and money – and you do not. The solution, in part, is to make it less of an attraction for the police to go on snooping expeditions. If a cop can get on the stand and make remarks on your character and behavior, you should have full access to the same information on him so you can return the favor. It is not the cop on trial, some say. Yes, but as soon as he slanders you to weaken your denials, he’s made it personal. How many times has he been disciplined? For what? You see my point? Well, so does some dude in Ft. Lauderdale.
           I do not support criminals, but I believe if the cops maintain good citizens do not need privacy, then neither do good cops. Remember that the next time a cop tries to illegally entrap you, for example by saying, “Do you know why you are being stopped?”

           That is entrapment. He is baiting you. How many people are in jail today for giving the wrong answer? I personally know one eighteen year old who, when asked if had “smoked all his dope” blurted out “well, most of it” and spent three years in the slammer.
           All over a momentary, youthful lapse of good judgment! Today he drives a cab. Do you want your son to ever be ambushed like that? Ask yourself another question – would the police be so keen to say under oath that you were a suspicious and bad character if they knew they would be blacklisted if you were acquitted. (You cannot sue people for what they say under oath, but neither should the witness stand be a one-sided forum for police mud-slinging.) Blacklist them, like the guy in Ft. Lauderdale.
           See, with me you even get a little philosophy at times. I guess my point is that these days you often have to choose between obeying the Constitution or the law. I choose the Constitution. The Constitution forbids self-incrimination, even if you willingly want to do it. The police should not have a bag of tricks to help you along. So there.

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March 5, 2007

           Sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do. I drove over to Steve’s old place and rounded up the last of the junk. A few hours later, I zipped into Fred’s, who had the actual Steve on the line. He wanted to know if I had saved his backstage passes, which looked like “stickers in one of the drawers.” It’s a good thing I took a lot of pictures.

          Then, and I’m not exaggerating, his clothes as stacked up beside the East wall of my trailer began to get over-ripe. I proceeded to call Ruth that today was not right and lug what turned out to be 13 loads of Steve’s laundry over to Hallandale Beach. That’s wash, the drying took another four loads. See the photo? I’ve got thirty more incase anybody wants to look over the Japanese puzzles I worked waiting for the lovely sound of a dryer winding down.

           Steve, I must say, wears heavy clothes. I got out of there by mid-afternoon and checked a computer at Day’s Inn. It is north of the Denny’s I used to patronize at I-95 and Sheridan. They had a MBR virus so bad I could not even boot it up in safe mode. The Day’s Inn has an excellent quiet and air-conditioned Internet room, run by Al. He’s agreed to take an hour lesson with me to prevent this kind of trouble again. One of those budding manager types, he will really shine on what I show him, if it works out.
           I took an hour off and went back to the shop, giving me plenty of time to think through, to fathom. I wrote to Wallace, indicating that he should make his planned visit half as long (3-1/2 weeks and not 6 weeks) and wait until he has reliable people to conduct his affairs. This all must happen within the next three months. I once shared a place with Wallace and his wife, Maggie, for nearly a year and I do not conclude he will find anyone reliable beyond the holiday as recommended.

           At this point, I sent some email to Jeff, the vocalist. I cannot separate what I tell him from the earlier prospects. He seems cool with that, and we exchanged song lists. He’s the guy with 500 tunes. Later in my career, I junk vocalists who underspecialize. He must either slough them off, or play the exact type of guitar riffs I seek, since nobody knows 500 tunes by heart. His list was nearly 50% country tunes I never heard. The good news is we would already have 25 tunes we both agree on.
           Then a network and Internet install on Johnson. For whatever MS claims, it is still far too easy to lock up your computer. The client had a mess of equipment problems due to neglect. It was easy money to who the man who knows the game, so I had a great day. I still advise against MS Vista, it has too many problems and it is not much of an improvement. The changes are cosmetic and did not address dozens of major flaws.

ADDENDUM
           Anything new? Well, Mitchell, up in Ft. McMurray, Canada, went snow-jogging. This is where you join a club of like-minded drinkers and race two kilometers through deep snow. They have championships and monthly meetings. No less. For unknown reasons, two years ago all the Radio Shacks in Canada changed their names to “The Source”. Possibly, like myself, they discovered it was no longer possible to buy radio parts there?

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March 4, 2007

           Allow me rattle off the events today. First, I decide to sleep in, a wise move, because as predicted, Jay the Disk Jockey called early. Wants his documents. So I get on the bicycle and meet up with him at the corner of Hallandale and Federal. When I mentioned the station sounded a lot like Black Gospel, he said it was. Didn’t I say I found the station, but did not know I had found it? Praise the Lord at 1520 cycles per second.

           Jay is also a wee unclear on the fact that just because he has offered “free” advertising, does not mean we are okay with that. For openers, it is not free, he never paid me for the hours of work I put in with him. Secondly, we have not decided if the medium is appropriate – exposure is just one factor. We could spray paint our number on the bus shelter. Third, his offer does not obligate us to accept and he plainly found my attitude on that a first.

           He is one broke dude, no car, no room, but a radio show. He applied for a job at Dunkin Donuts and got in a shouting match with the owner who, it seems, does not phone all the applicants to tell them when the job has been taken. So we couldn’t meet there. Fine, I made it over to Starbucks, just for variety, for I neither like their coffee, prices, nor clientele.
           It was glorious bike-riding weather, so I took a tour of the area, winding up by ten at the Argentina coffee place, where I dismounted and worked a Su Doku. I had started it earlier at Starbucks, where some mouth-breather was staring at me. I called JP, who was sheepish about his excursion y’day. I assured him it was none of my business. Remember that fridge his brother gave him? Well, JZ figures it is too expensive to operate, so he wants to bring it out here. That is the unit I originally wanted. Expensive you say?

           Really, it is not. It is that JP can bring home fresh vegetables every day from the restaurant and has no need for a large or powerful fridge. Yeah, he is also cheap as hell, but that means nothing in this town. I’ll bet you five bucks he doesn’t make it. He said he would be here around six tonight.

           Over to the flea market at the Greyhound Track. This is the one I told you was selling out regularly. It is a tremendous draw for the gambling crowd, the operators have really hit their own jackpot. Which is good, because I dislike the attitude of the competition, Gulfstream Park. Make no mistake, I dislike all gambling places. Anyway, here is a photo of the huge crowds they experience every weekend.
           There are a good six hundred people at any time, with a fantastic high turnover. These crowds would make some people’s eyes water. An older crowd with tons of Canadians (take that anyway you want) all paying with cash money. Good luck trying to come up with something to sell, mind you, all the booths are saturated with the standard flea market junk. They have tons of room if they ever do expand. I called Dickens about this (many times already) and hopefully he will take a look. There must be something we can sell over there – we are lucky to get ten people in on Sunday.
           Mind you, all ten buy something at our place. Also, the $700 a month rental puts weekends only out of range. The parking lot has electric power available, so let me think a bit. I got another Sunday off, because Dickens may have broken the front lock and can’t get inside himself. I was hoping for the day off. It would be different if the pay was steady. Instead, I came back here to practice.
           Not with Jane, however. She is not responding to my earlier page. If she doesn’t call soon, I’d be tempted to recommend her to Dunkin Donuts. I wrote a lengthy email to Jeff, asking many questions but mainly about his stage persona. What? Okay, mine is that slightly distracted, slightly bored dude who never, ever misses a beat. I do several things to make it look like I’m off somewhere in space, then come back smack on. With a big grin if any ladies pick up on my act.

           Frenchie, the guy across the back, was outside so I roped him into an hours practice. This time, I brought the drum box. He has trouble practicing when I am not around, but today we ran through the twelve bar blues, country and rock. I suspect he once worked for the government or something because he is rich enough to spend the winters here, but incredibly slow to catch on to things written down.
           This is not a derogatory statement, I mean it in the context that I’ve known many Canadian government workers who develop an inability to follow written instructions as a career move. For it is far easier to “misunderstand” if you can claim it was the spoken directions (and not your performance) that was wrong.
           Remember, I worked for one of the largest non-military bureaucracies in the world for fifteen years. The phone company. Recalling that job always reminds me of O’Rourkes statement about competition, because it applies so well to phone company policy. “Maybe they think basketball would be better played if all ten players were on the same team and they got rid of those baskets.”

           By mid-afternoon, it got hot. Up in the 90s and I am slightly sunburned. I ducked into my Florida room and played some guitar music on the Fender. Maybe I’ll give some Johnny Horton another listen-to in the upcoming week. I strongly hinted to Jeff that I would prefer to play “non-Beatles, non-Stones and non-Clapton” and that there are hundreds of other artists to chose between. Plus their music is not so over-played.
           My philosophy on that is easy to grasp. There is not enough work for every band in this town. That means we have to be good enough to take away work from some other band that is not pulling their weight. Playing the same song list makes that harder to do, but all new material can sway the crowd and the manager. The G was blind to the fact that the best audience response we ever had was in the unusual music we played. “El Paso” comes to mind.
           It is not late evening and JZ did not show. It is cool enough to move around so I may spend the evening reading. It was dark before it got comfortable so hey, I washed and waxed the tile floors. This was considerably more exciting that what was on TV after the tape finished. One of those weird programs about lady lawyers who try to act tough. One thing I will never understand is what some women find so attractive about pretty men. My experience is that only around 20% of women fall for this, but that is also the single largest category of women. They truly don’t know any better, but aren’t they supposed to?
           Where’s my five bucks?

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March 3, 2007

PICTURES DELAYED UNTIL AFTER MARCH 8
           [Author's nore: Maybe delayed forever. I still can't find them in 2016. Meanwhile, here's a photo to liven this page up. It's called an "erg", a rare type of desert sand dune with no vegetation or rock outcroppings. Totally consisting of drifting sand.]

           Ah, see that truck scooting around the corner? I can just make it out. JZ, who never drives out this way was caught pulling out of the BK parking lot. Where I just happened to be munching on lunch after a few more hours of cleaning up Steve’s place. What JZ did not know is that an older couple came over and asked me questions about the Su Doku puzzle on my table and Carrie, JZ’s ex-girlfriend recognized my voice. Or actually that it was me because I was “using big words”. Since I’ve only met her once five years ago from twenty feet away, but her recognizing me instantly may tell more about Florida than her memory.

           This will provide much fun and ammunition as JZ will have a hard time living this one down. Trust me, you don’t know the real story about her. Myself, I caught two of the four cats over at Steve’s. They came back, so they must know a way in and out of the apartment. I put them in boxes and one got away while I was calling the SPCA. The other was friendly, so I brought it home. Remember, these cats are as wild as tame cats get. If it moves in here, I’ll feed it as an outdoors cat. If it disappears, sorry, but at least here it would have a chance.

           Jay the disk jockey didn’t call until past noon, when I was already committed to working at Steve’s. You watch, he’ll call on Sunday morning, the one day I like to sleep in. A downloaded listing shows WEXY is part of a nation-wide family and Christian radio network. I was able to pick it up on the car radio while downtown. Sure enough, some revival material going on there.
           Maybe it is okay Jay got lazy, as it gave us more time over here to plan what we want with this [unexpected] radio time. If I said I have not heard of any computer stores or thrifts that radio advertise, that could be a function of the fact I don’t do much radio-listening. Or as Cheech would say, “I’m not into AM.”
           It was a good workout (heart rate up to a healthy 107 and totally aerobic). Get a laugh out of what I tell you next. All I did was take Steve’s clothes in three hampers, drive them over to my place and put them under a tarp outside the East wall. They smell funky, so into the tubs they go tomorrow. That was y’day. This morning I get into my car and yeow! Hundreds of fleas, like I was being attacked by African killer bees. You try to brush them off, but they are like a rash. Fortunately, I am equipped for such things.

           I got out the fogger and my ant poison. Ha, fleas don’t stand a chance against ant poison, fleas are the wimps of the insect pest world. Eat this, garden raiders! I doused the car, then drove around with the windows open for an hour. End of problem. If only society could do this with politicians.
           Speaking of chemicals, Steve had taped “Alcatraz” and left the tape running, so I have several hours of National Geographic. For those who are unsure of it, I am not a fan of NG on several counts. The worst is that they glorify “conservationalists” who are really trying to prevent development near their inherited wildernesses. Well, they did a show about Agent Orange, the Vietnam era defoliant. This reveals another thing I dislike about NG -- they get political without getting the facts straight.
           For one, while it is well known a great element of the North Vietnamese “victory” and the US “defeat” was political (through media pressure in the States), NG was very one-sided about their presentation of the issue. The evil USA sprayed Dioxin on the good jungle. No mention was made of the Viet Cong hiding there. This bias is a regular part of their editorial. For example, I have never heard NG cover anti-war protests in North Vietnam. Surely there must have been some. What does that tell you? The dead don’t speak?

           Anyway, it is always “American” bombing, never “anti-Viet Cong” bombing. Hey, while I’m on the topic, two other reasons I don’t buy their magazine are

           1. If the author is over six foot two, he will mention it.
           2. If the author is married, he or she will mention it.

           These “facts” rarely add anything to the informational value of the article. Another magazine that has the same defect is Mechanics Illustrated. The sports car/cockpit/gangway is always “roomy, even for a six-footer”. Along on the cruise/safari/expedition is always the “first mate”, even if it took several divorces to get there. You follow my point on that one. Mention if the female is young, slim and sexually available, but otherwise, shut the firetruck. Sure I get cantankerous when my day starts with flea bites. It may have been bedbugs from a chair, I later discover.

           No word from Jane. I will call her tomorrow but [if nothing] by Monday, I’ll be talking to Jeff, the guitarist. Oh, that band from Ft. Lauderdale is a Beatles impersonation outfit. They wanted to know if I looked like Paul McCartney. I insisted on a song list because I hardly like everything the Beatles did, especially their blues-jazz stuff or the heavy guitar work of later years. Like Blackbird. And other tunes whereby the Beatles lost their direction and began using their fame to plug overbearing guitar music.
           A Beatles tribute, hmmm? The reply specifically mentions that they are working steadily in the Ft. Lauderdale area. Maybe I’ll email them or find out where they perform and go play customer for an hour. Check it out. The word is the band members average 50 years old and their last bass player died. Overwork? Overdose? It’s a rough trade.

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March 2, 2007

           I found myself reading "Hell in a Very Small Place" for around the sixth time. You see, there was not one book at the sale y’day that interested me or that I had not read before. There were a couple of grade school history books, you know, the crappy ones that teach how Columbus discovered America and Germany started World War II. I went through the thousands of books and could not find anything new. There was a law text that delved into subtle tricks a lawyer is likely to use on an unknowledgeable witness, but it was not deep enough, and focused on civil law.

           It was interesting to read the passage on the rule of best evidence, which I gathered to mean where there are several degrees of evidence, only the best is allowed. It seems logical, so I probably have it wrong, you know lawyers. Suppose you had two witnesses that said one thing and I had a piece of paper saying another – the court would have to go for the paper since it is the best evidence. What I liked was the argument when the best evidence is missing. The fact that it was once not missing can still make it the best evidence.

           The cats were gone. Except for the one that gets behind the mother of all beds. I cannot move the thing myself, much less pick up the top mattress. Somebody went in overnight and swept up a little and took away the other cats. I snapped pictures so Fred could see that everything of value is long since taken out of there. Tomorrow I’ll go in there with some Hefty bags and a scoop shovel.
           It is my day off, so I hung around all day working the computer and Internet items. I even dug into that problem whereby if you send a document to a printer that is not there, you cannot change your mind and “unprint”. This is unusually annoying on a network, where you often cannot see the printer.

           Guess who called? Jeff, from Cahoots, the quarterly paper. He explained that although I did not make the last issue, the article on the bike path was “laid out” for the next issue. That was nice, and incentive to put in more material. It turns out somebody else has already used the angle of the lamp posts in the middle of the sidewalk. The City planted a row of them down the middle of a jogging path six months ago, but in my own defense, I never heard of it. My suggestion was original, just not first.
           Still no word from Jane. I sent her an email by early afternoon. I do not know what to make of her but I cannot wait forever. There was another ad for somebody who could play the “Beatles”, I sent in for a song list. No more auditions until I see a song list, or at least a list of ten tunes. The 70s was a wild time and I like to learn a few tunes before I show up.

           In a confusing development, another Jeff has been in touch. This is the guy who I helped fill out the on-line welfare application. I must change his name to Jay to keep things clear. It seems he is host of a sports radio talk show, “The Voice of Champions”. One hour on Sunday mornings. In return for some basic forms design and word-processing of standard releases, agreements and contracts, I get some radio time.
           Slow down, I just said the time. He has offered to plug the shop or me, or the lessons but I told him to wait until I think this thing through. I don’t even know if other computer shops advertise on the radio, although any exposure for my school is always good for business. Is it a family sports show? Is it reporting, talk or commentary? The station, WEXY (1520 AM), is in the heart of Ft. Lauderdale poof territory.

           Jay also does not remind me of a disk jockey, not that I know that many. (Three, in my life. Maybe four.) I do know, radio broadcasting or not, he is still looking for full time work. I talked it over with the gang and they like my suggestion. That is, instead of placing formal ads, we get honorable mention on the show. I thought AM was extinct. I could not find 1520 on the car or cupboard radio, just a ton of static and some vague Spanish. Yet, I am only 14 miles from that locality and Florida is probably flatter than the ocean on most days. Mind you, my radios don’t pick up any stations all that well.
           What I have in mind is he mentions that he gets his computers fixed with us (or would if he ever buys one) and everything from lessons to where the band is playing that weekend (if I ever find a partner). There was a Fender Passport 250 on eBay for $380 with 3 hours left. Add $60 for shipping makes it $440. Should I go out and bid on it? No, I am tired and the bidding will soar at the last minute. It is the eBay way. Identical units are selling for $551 on the same page. I’ll wait until I’ve got a few more rehearsals out of the way.

           I know what you are thinking, that if I can’t play on stage, I won’t even go out on Friday night any more. (That's worded badly, I rarely go out Friday if I'm not performing anyway. I think I wanted it to sound like a sacrifice.) Well, okay, you are right, but only because there is nothing else to do in this town. Except things like going out for dinner, which I rarely do. If I can’t get paid to go out, I can find any excuse to stay put. Um, okay, Publix has gotten past that batch of bad coffee and I just made a pot. Right there, I can’t leave.
           There were some commercial VHS tapes in the box from Steve’s. Let me hook up a tape player in the Florida room and see what we have. There is a good mid-winter heat wave making it hard to get anything done outside. That has not stopped FPL from parking a huge truck with the motor running just outside my back door. What are they up to, there is no power out and it is after dark on Friday? As they used to say at the phone company, “The nice thing about overtime is that it creates more overtime.”
           Ah, here is a tape called “Hurricane”. Where’s the popcorn?

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March 1, 2007

           If bad news gives you trouble, skip today. I went over to Steve’s, the cancer guy, to check on his place, cats and situation. He must have contacted Fred with a plea to save his clothes, bed and private stock. The cats are goners, they are not the kittens I saw a month ago. The SPCA comes to pick them up if you catch the cats first, which I think I can do tomorrow morning. I estimate there are five of them.
           I went through the place for a look but I think somebody got there before me. There was nothing left but up-ended drawers of junk with missing parts. A lot like my place. The bed alone is half again the size of anything I have to haul it away. I could pile it on top of the trailer, but even that is just six feet wide. The place shows the normal signs of a bachelor living there for months on end, but also like somebody (the police?) went through and up-ended everything,
          Police? Well, yes, because only the most obvious places had been searched and both the latch and deadbolt had been closed afterward. What I tried to get is sitting out there in my car, including his laundry. He did have a decent microwave but I’m scooping that for the trouble of going over there today. There was a lot of “Jewish” food around, which was close enough to Lebanese to make JZ’s eye’s water. (He loves all Middle East food. By the ton.) Along with that VHS collection.

           The landlord offered $50 to clear the place out, but that would not amount to the cats and salvage, if any. There was a big bag of feed in the kitchen they had gotten into themselves, and I set out a pan of water nearby. They were hiding in the counters, drawers and under the pillows. Steve had said the bed was worth $3,000 but I doubt I’d get $50 for it today or tomorrow.
           The other Fred, the guy with the wireless networking troubles, called back. He took my advice and called up Bellsouth to find out if they had a problem. Yes, they did, and he was on the line with them for five hours. Glad I was busy with something else.
           That something was biking over to the Fair, the one that Anna O said to check out. Except for a used book sale and 40 feet of used clothing, the entire Fair was an imported midway. Nor was Anna there. Allow me to make some comments about such “Fairs”. They lack any local flavor and I do not like that. With few exceptions, the rides are the exact same models you can see in 1950 magazines. What shocked me was the prices. The little Duckie Pond was $8.00 a pop. To win a balloon.

           Wallace emailed with a far more balanced plan of what to do with his recent windfall. He has often mentioned a hip operation or replacement that he is contemplating. I know he’d reported an earlier operation that left on of his legs shorter than the other. So as to be clear, he needs a second operation to take care of this. As I figured, he is hesitant to leave the small dog with strangers. I don’t think he has any choice. His plan is to stay here up to six weeks.
           During that time, he wants to see the Keys, Tampa and Ft. Meyer’s. I advised him to check out the distances involved. The size of Florida is easy to underestimate. Mind you, if he wants to go see the Dry Tortugas, I’ll go along just to get out of town for a few days.
           Today is one week that Jane has been gone. She said she would email me a complete song list, which did not happen. However, I don’t know the nature of the trip or if she had Internet access while away. I will give things one more chance and move on to Jeff, the persistent guitar player, but what a pity if she does not follow up.

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