April 5, 2016

Yesteryear
One year ago today: April 5, 2015, “Tote The Weary Load”.
Five years ago today: April 5, 2011, private penthouse in Caracas.
Nine years ago today: April 5, 2007, 144-1/2 extra beers.
Random years ago today: April 5, 2014, the evil sidewalk.

           So, we now know why one of the huge uninhabited areas of central Florida exists. The Babcock nature area. Something is happening out there, but what? There is a price drop but this has happened before without much consequence. It will still require a miracle to get something decent in my range. I spot the price drops are dated around March 1 and are just appearing now. Most of the time wasted is still bozos who list trailers as real estate. Everything non-obvious has to be checked with Realtor.com (who do not list mobile homes without the land, good boys) and all this takes time.

           Unless you enjoy good old fake gator wrestling, here is the most likely wildlife you’ll see in South Florida. Here is a gaggle of 17 baby geese, carefully tended by two females and guarded by the gander. This is over at Guitar Center. As seen here, I was feeding them breadcrumbs in moderation. Bread is not good for most birds.
I’ll tell you a little bit about the farm if you’ll keep it in mind that only my very early life was really farm. We moved to the house on the edge of town before I was school age. The problem was, the old man tried to move back to a farm ten years later when there was no farm. Just raw land.
           That came up because I wanted to tell you how few wild animals were ever seen out on the prairies. Very rare. You’d see the odd coyote in the distance, but never a fox or wolf. Why? Because every farmer had a gun rack in his pickup truck and everybody took pot shots at anything that resembled wildlife, including by best friend’s German shepherd. There was nothing left that dared show itself, so any idyllic scenes of farm life with rabbits and deer scampering about are pure bunk.

Wiki picture of the day.
Falkirk boat lift.
(Yes, it is a canal lock that lifts boats.)
           As for the remainder of today, you get different fare. Nothing is going to happen since I cannot get my sidecar in for the starter repair until Saturday morning. This brings everything to a standstill, including a surprise trip to Naples I had tentative for tomorrow. How about I tell you some tales from the trailer court that might just contribute something to an understanding of my character and actions. I’ll type instead of taking real breaks. I don’t know if I’ll ever adopt another pet, but if I do, it will be something that takes three naps per day.

           It’s getting hot early this year but there’s no avoiding outdoor work. Like this broken signal light lens. It fell off this morning and the actual plastic has become brittle with age, you can see the stub left on the retaining screw inside the fixture. That’s how old this scooter is compared to how long they are designed to last. If you remember the bright red paint job, the faded dark pink in the upper edge of this photos shows the effect of five years weathering or so.

           The first thing that would strike you if you had visited our farm would be the lack of tools. Other than a hammer and a saw, and a pair of those useless “fencing” pliers, there was nothing. That’s nothing to work or learn with, nothing to make repairs. When it broke on our farm, it stayed broke, often for lack of a cheap fix that nobody could accomplish. There were some mismatched pieces in the old man’s tool box, but nothing useful because he made certain of that.
           This dismayed me because I knew I was no farmer, I realized I needed a backup trade for anything I went into. This made sense to me from an early age and I honestly believe I would have made a dandy tradesman of some sort. I’ve already explained why I was not permitted to take any shop courses, but besides, I had my parent’s sworn word they would put me through university. Not college, university. And parents would not lie to their own children, would they? Not bible-thumpers like mine.

           Some of the trades that interested me included framing carpentry and electronics. (Only carpentry was offered, there were no electronics courses in my day.) I rejected welding because we were told it was the most likely trade to be replaced by machines. It was also poisonous and I did not like the type of people who took it up. Thugs and other thugs.
           I had also seen a diagram of a pipe-welding machine. For the first time today, I think I finally saw the actual device. They are laying new pipe over near Ives Diary when I passed this wagon on the roadside. It has a series of electrical control panels which lead me to conclude this is an automated welding apparatus. Not exactly a robot, but enough to put the crew out of work.

           As soon as the weather turned hot, my tires began to leak [air] again. Up they go on the hoist and into a tray of water. This was two wasted hours. The leaks are too slow. Even with the best procedures available, not a trace of a leak on either, even when tactfully overinflated to betray any pinholes. A gallon of peach tea later, we decided to lay on a double dose of bicycle green slime, which has disappointed us so many times. Other than that, it’s a special order 3.50x19 [tire] from Taiwan or pay the rip-off Harley joint in St. Pete’s.

           Same with the scooter tire. Not a trace of a leak anywhere.
           So, you want to hear more about farm life. There isn’t much more, it is boring as fuck. The same people every day, telling the same old joke each, so bored they pick petty fights, and year-in-year-out of nothingness. Any attempt at bettering yourself is punished back into line, Of course, somebody will ask what about the big outdoors. There’s a person who’s been watching too much Disney, for sure.

           Like Texas, most of the prairie has ten months of too hot or too cold, and one good month in the spring, the other in the fall. The problem is, nobody can tell you when that stretch is going to occur. You can’t plan around it because it moves every year. Winter is the dead season and summer is perpetual heat and choking dust. There are no fishing holes, all the places lucky enough to have a creek have been private property long before the Civil War. And yes, the farmers will shoot at you, always aiming high but why risk your neck?
           As for the outdoors, there really isn’t any. Most farming districts of today once had free-range cattle which totally wrecks the natural flora. And all the native trees have long since been cut down. Those tourist photos of aspen, a birch tree, are all replants on government land. All that’s left natural is imported trees and plants like cheatgrass that cows won’t eat. All the pine and buttonwood is long gone, I’ve never seen a native example of either, I just remember that’s what they taught us.
           The cow hooves also punctured the soil for thousands of acres and you can still see wide swaths in the shaded areas where trees take root, but never seem to grow more than ten or so feet. More like large bushes, useless for firewood. And any plant spread by cow droppings is now weeds that croweded out almost all the natural prairie grass. Most of the surviving plants came from Europe and smell a little off.

           I’ll tell you a little Texas lore. Not many people know that many of the oldest Mennonite families came to Texas (it was actually Oklahoma back then but nobody knew that) by way of the Ukraine, not direct from Germany. Fleeing Catholic Europe was a major source of immigration and many went to the Ukraine, which is where they learned how to plant winter wheat. They were semi-invited to the USA in the early 1850s for a simple reason. The American farmers planted spring wheat and nearly starved.
           Spring wheat ripens in fall, just in time for the locust plagues, drought, and killing frosts every third year. Just ask the Mormons. But winter wheat was harvested even before the birds could eat it. All the rest is legend.
           Except the legacy of the time in the Ukraine. It meant the elders, who insisted on nothing but proper German, could all converse in Ukrainian. And they often reverted to Ukrainian when not wanting us kids to know what was up. As for German, we were not allowed to speak it ever, not even counting. It worked. By age ten, none of us could speak German. Most parent could speak three languages, including Ukrainian but could not read or write it. To this day, I know swear words in Uke when I hear them, although I don’t know any meanings.

           Being over that way, I swung past that apartment I told you I wish I’d bought, the one that was a burned out shell. The guy fixed one unit at a time, and in this nearby picture is what the place looks like today. I believe it was twelve one bedrooms that he revamped into eight two bedroom units. One day I’ll find my original photo but see how nice it is today. The fact that the parking is always full tips us off he always has the units full. That balustrade is newly painted, it used to be dark brown.
           True, I missed this deal, but my hesitation was largely because I did not know enough about repairs to be sure it was fixable. The sharp dude who got it lived in the first unit for years, but I imagine he’s got himself set up in much fancier digs now. I believe after the fire, the place sold for $40,000. Now it must pull in around $100,000 a year. And I’m still looking for a place that might never happen unless there is another bust.

           I checked the listings and went back to read that last statement again. We’ve always known something funny was going on in the Tampa-Orlando corridor and this afternoon it looks like entire subdivisions of mobile homes just went up for sale. I call these a “bloom” and here is what looks like just north of Plant City. I’ve never checked these out because I won’t buy again unless I get the land, but I’ll hazard a guess: The trailer park has just announced a huge rent increase. This is why I want to own my own land.

           Any land, and it does not have to be in Florida, but living here does spoil one against the winter cold. Third world as it has become, Florida is still the only “tropical” place on the planet that is reasonably safe for everybody and still have a certain amount of rule of law. It’s the rich man’s law, but for the most part, you can walk the streets at night.

           Another book, this time about Ghana, the African other African country with gold and oil besides Nigeria. I’ll get you the report, but for now, I’ll say the book, published this year, is exceedingly well-written. The author is either part genius, or top of the class journalist. And accurate, because he describes the illegal Chinese miners in the countryside with an accuracy that cannot be imagined, he has seen it. Right down to the inflections of the Cantonese words and habits of the mining provinces.
           Now Ghana, corrupt as it is, beats Nigeria any day. They at least have an infrastructure that works, albeit at a glacial pace. A police detective gets transferred to a northern town and is assigned first day to a murder case. Someone killed one of the Chinaman operators and put him in a pit where the diggers would find him. The author also knows police procedure down to a T. It’s no different than here, the idea is to trick you into a confession by bluff, bluster, and threat before you realize you have rights.

ADDENDUM
           The Internet is such a hodgepodge that I still buy books when I need specific information at hand. I regularly comb lists of top music because there is so much of it I have not heard. That’s correct, as a musician I have a preference for individual tunes, not artists. I often could care less who recorded a song so it often surprises me to learn many of my favorites never had a hit on the Billboard Top 40. Yet people I’ve never heard of got as many as fifteen.
           Why a book? Try to imagine the task of finding out, say, the birthdates of all the hundreds of recording artists who had a hit. Unless you got lucky, you could still be searching weeks from now. Get the book, which is how I flipped to the pages of birthdates. Scanning down the lists, I was amazed to see how many of the top names were born in the 40s. Hasn’t anybody really famous been born since then? Plus, the majority of recording artists that endured got their first hit in their twenties. Those any younger didn’t seem to last.

           This was only my first glance, I may just read this book over a period of days to gain some perspective on who’s where on that age scale. I mean, Ronstadt turns 70 this month and I haven’t released my first hit single yet. My excuse is that I was a bass player or something like that. Hey, it took me decades to get over the notion that bass players can’t front the show. Which reminds me, shouldn’t I give Cowboy Mike a callback? Who knows, this time he might see the light.
           That is wishful thinking. I still have never met a Florida guitar player who could learn new music. They play what they play, same as me. Of the 61 tunes I learned note-for-note with the five piece band, not one remains because it was the “wrong” kind of music. I would have to relearn the music to play it again. You’d think we (Cowbody Mike and I) could just pool our tunes and go play, but it doesn’t work that way. Instead, I wind up learning all their tunes and they learn none of mine. When I point this out, they say idiotic things like “bass is easy”.
           You got it. In the songs I play, the guitar is easy. So easy, they don’t want to play it. And round and round she goes. I’d say the biggest difference in attitudes between guitarists and bassists is that a guitar player will refuse to learn any song he does not personally like. That also accounts for the rotten boring three songs they play for every good one.


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April 4, 2016

Yesteryear
One year ago today: April 4, 2015, . . . except a straight answer.
Five years ago today: April 4, 2011, 1,000 scooter miles.
Nine years ago today: April 4, 2007, atop Chichen Itza.
Random years ago today: April 4, 2005, Rip-Off Alert: PC Professor.

MORNING
           Gadzooks! Did you see the silver pound-down this morning? See the blue line, from $15,40 down to $14,85. Do you have any idea how much money that represents? The big banks are getting desperate and when you get desperate, you get obvious. How about I explain it one more time? While banks don’t trade in precious metals, they are supposed to be in some form the repository of all the gold and silver upon which investment houses have been selling “certificates” for the past forty years. It is now estimated there is 300 times as much metal in certificates as there is real metal. In theory, the banks have this metal safely tucked away in a vault.

           That’s theory. In practice, the banks have long since “rented” the silver out. The formula is that if anybody asks to see the actual silver, the bank will have made so much money in loans from the rent money that they can buy enough of it back at the going rate to satisfy any curious inquiries. Ah, the flaw in this plan is that it only works when the going rate is predictable. And predictable means around $15 per ounce for several years now.
           And as far as the world knows, outside of a single New York class action involving a bank charging customers a storage fee for the non-existent silver, nobody with certificates has ever made “any curious inquiries”. Talk about wearing blinders and hoping nothing will go wrong. By now, the upward pressure is tremendous (if you ask me) and it will start to climb again immediately.

           Now reality. What happens during any economic crisis? People seek that which holds its value over that which does not. And can we think of anything that cannot hold value much longer? Any currency in the world, that’s what. Greece and Spain barely avoided collapse even with the bolstering effect of the German-backed Euro. Germany will not likely do this much longer.
           Enter silver. People with money suddenly want real silver and the price skyrockets. Those with certificates rush to the bank to get real silver, but there isn’t any. The banks must now buy or fail, either event pushes silver even higher. Those who say $6,000 per ounce may not be talking through their hats. Let me see what I would be worth if silver ever hits 6Gs. Jesus, not bad.
           And furthermore, I have a plan in place of exactly what to do with all that money long before the economy adjusts to the higher price levels. Silver can double overnight, but the price of real estate cannot. I have a convenient if awfully private database of what to buy, I serendipiticiously know the way from here to Colorado by back roads only, and have the infinite advantage of having learned from the times that money has acted funny before.

           Don’t expect any help from the Liberal media. They have consistently downplayed this aspect, preferring to focus on the value of the dollar. It’s fun reporting because the dollar changes every day. That daily fluctuation is merely a symptom of the underlying rot, but it is one that can be reported in many different ways, most of which blames foreign money. This is irresponsible but we are talking the press here.

Wiki picture of the day.
First production Corvette.
NOON
           Here’s why we need Trump. This article says the Everglades restoration project has doubled to $16 billion due to unforeseen blah-blah. Listen, I’ve been through the Everglades, you either dig a ditch or make an embankment or you don’t. Trump only has to go in there, take one look, and start firing these people. Or pressing corruption charges against them. Ain’t nothing in the Everglades costs twice what you thought except for unforeseen greed. The Army has 100 years of experience digging out there, so find out exactly what took them by surprise. I think we already know—that they could put in cost overruns and never be questioned.

           Then, using this as an example, start going after all government projects, one by one. He’d be remembered as the greatest anti-corruption president since ever. America knows why its bridges are falling and why the railways don’t run on time. They know why the freeways and airports are third world. But I’m not so sure about taxing American companies that relocate overseas. They may have had no choice due to labor costs, things were grossly out of hand when the exodus began.
           However, the lack of tariffs is an age-old empire-killer. Those products produced elsewhere could be taxed, but that does not instantly translate into high-paying US jobs. Ask the people who used to work for McDonalds once upon a time. America prices are going through the roof already without the increased labor costs of rehiring people who have gotten used to food stamps and free phones and cable TV as a necessity.

           Trump is assuming all of America wants back to work. I say they will be forced back only by threat of severe deprivation. I forget which Greek said that democracy only works until people figure out they can vote themselves a free ride. And the time just past taught 63,000,000 otherwise hard-working Americans how easy life is on government welfare. They’ve had their taste of handouts and that is now going to become treated much like another job benefit, just you watch.
           The logic is simple, it happened right after World War I. The returning soldiers could not understand how the government had enough money to train, feed, and arm every soldier on a lavish scale, then ship him overseas for two years. He was prepared to die for them, but when he came back, the government suddenly didn’t have one penny to get him a house, or car, or an acre of land.

           There is no way Trump or anyone else can flatly remove all those programs without raising the squeals of the entire welfare class and their Liberal allies. But he has sensed that there remains a slight majority who recognize as he does that if we don’t do something, there will be no next time. It is hard enough to get some people to work at all, much less after they have been sitting around for five generations crying the blues.
           He also has to confront the entire sub-industry that has arisen due to unfair taxes, healthy people who have conned disability to an almost Canadian extent, and foul practices that always accompany any society that glorifies money-lending. It will be hellacious giving some people a choice of work or starve, but handing them that situation is always a good start. We are dealing with a class of society whose entire life is basically leisure time.
           For Trump, the low-hanging fruit where he can instantly save billions is welfare, education, and government fat. No more burgeoning bureaucratic messes, at least for a while. He should freeze all government projects until a case by case independent review is conducted, immediately canceling anything that does not produce a clear social benefit. He would also be wise to curtail American interference in global politics immediately. All “consulate” and “diplomatic” missions permanently eliminated across the board and let private industry do their own proselytizing. No more spying and “diplomatic” pouches or immunity. They are an ancient European cancer on our way of life.

AFTERNOON
           JZ wants that Alva property I showed him on the way north last week, the one on the canal with the big oak tree. Since I called the seller twice with no reply, I have only the neighbor’s crazy notion that the place is listed for nearly $70,000, I’ve agreed to get through to the agent and find out the facts. But I’m not buying anything on a wing and a prayer. If I can’t afford it myself, I can’t afford it. It looks like the agent and the seller are the same person. Who knows, maybe he is short money or something?

           For the second time in history, both when I was house-hunting, I’ve run out of cell phone minutes. So I put some extra dollars on the account only to find out that the dreaded Virgin Mobile is charging me 15 cents for each minute. Scumbags. My plan restarts tomorrow, this puts me a day behind. What should I get up to?

           Slightly later, JZ is not going to be happy. The neighbor we chatted with across the fence was accurate. The agent himself bought the property in 2014 for $35,000 and is listing it for $65,000. Built in 1920, it has a “park-like” setting. It needs major work. Yes, I know that 2013-2014 was the time to buy, but back then I did not know I’d be here in 2016 so I diverted money to other causes. But I still could not have afforded any Alva real estate. The place has astronomical prices.
           We took a quick look around and backtracked a mile in the process, whereupon I noticed a sound barrier on the south of the highway. I wondered what was behind that, JZ said just another subdivision. He was right. Lehigh Acres. Prices in the high 300s. Maybe three hundred feet away from that “sleepy little town” I breezed through on my sidecar less than a week earlier. I was on the other side of the canal, you see, but it won’t be the other side for very long now.

NIGHT
           Okay, so I go up to the Dollar Paradise to get some plastic rulers. What? Well, I go through rulers here a lot, it’s called getting things done. Anyway, I go to thinking you know how some guys got real class and they buy the old lady a glass of wine now and then? Well, I don’t got no old lady, but I got to thinking of Jessie and Chrissy, the two barmaids at the old club. They were there last Friday and all.

           I get to figuring how dem nice broads like doze guyz who buyz ‘em presents an like, so I went all out. Here’s two glasses of wine for my favorite babes. Lookit right there, it says “San-gri-a”. The label says an Italian product and them wops know real good how the wine goes. It says this is aromatized wine-based drink, so I like that word aromatized. And best of all, it says by my thumb you get two whole glasses for a dollar.
           Ya don’t need one of then screwy things either. It says here you tear off the top, then you hold it upside down and squeeze. Out comes the wine-based drink, just like ketchup, or like when you have kids. See, this cowboy knows how to keep my women happy. I hope you was takin’ notes, Sparky. You gotta learn all this sometime.

           Um, I don’t drink wine. I don’t like the taste and a glass gives me a hangover. But I’m reminded of how often back at the phone company I got or won all kinds of wine in the weekly office shenanigans. Like the time I knew I was not going to have the best holiday costume, so I walked out of the washroom with a strip of toilet paper dragging on my shoe. Just a flash memory. Let me tell you something extra, however. There were 15,000 people on staff. And I was the best-known except for a tiny group of the company brass.
           I didn’t say popular, or admired, or accepted, or well-liked, or famous. I said best-known. What, with the way I drove a brand new Caddy, dated an actress, played in a band, and owned a taxi company in South America. You bet I was in the public eye.

           Oh, and when I gave the wine to one of the ladies, I think she took me seriously.

ADDENDUM
           Ah, what’s this. A typo on y’day’s post reveals a quirk that HTML does not seem to handle properly. I’ve tested it and it certainly works on this blog. Next step is to test it on Craigslist. Why? Because I have been their nemesis since the day they didn’t follow my advice about “one post one flag”. True, they don’t have to do what I say, but that means I must use other methods to point out the flaws in their system. Think of it as proactive user feedback. Millennials will easily follow this logic.
           Basically, Craigslist has disabled links. Or at least they think so. The problem is, they have written a series of rules that bypass the standard HTML tags. But what about typos? Nobody can account for every possible typo. We know that Google and Craigslist don’t hire real programmers. It takes them months to catch on to anything. Maybe there is fun left to be had with them people after all.

           In related news, I found by assigning my account a fixed IP address, I can knock down the Canucks who plug in their Skype phones against the rules. At 9:30AM and 7:30PM, more or less, my system slows down. So rather than grab an available channel, I program in 001, which clobbers the first guy and sets off a chain reaction. I get around twenty minutes of air time before they all redial and we do it all over again. What? You say that is inconsiderate? You are right, they should obey the rules.


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April 3, 2016

Yesteryear
One year ago today: April 3, 2015, punks, gas cans, Coast Guard.
Five years ago today: April 3, 2011, questioning olive oil.
Nine years ago today: April 3, 2007, a generic day.
Random years ago today: April 3, 2008, Wally’s Folly, by satellite.

MORNING
           Spending the day at home means you get lots of editorial. I consider a day a loss if I don’t get out and learn something, so maybe later I’ll dip over to the coffee place. Otherwise, down time for ma and lots of reading. Today, I will type for one full hour.

           Ah, didn’t I warn you Google and MicroSoft are conspiring to get you on file? Did you ask for a “Google Account” or a “MicroSoft Account”? I know I didn’t. Mark my words, one day soon, you will find you cannot access anything you do on-line without telling those dickweeds who and where you are. They want a pipeline into your most private of affairs—your mail and what you read. Most likely, you will be locked out of your accounts until you comply and new users will have no choice.
           Where is that long-awaited new system that replaces the Internet? (I believe it may exist but is being suppressed.) The world needs you now. Why isn’t there anyone smart enough to see the stop-at-nothing demand for privacy on-line? If I knew how to write the code, I would do it and be rich and famous by this time next year. And if McD’s really paid $15 per hour, hell, I might show up. There are 30 million students in American colleges who would consider it lucky to get that kind of a job. It always was difficult for me to imagine the mentality of drop-outs and laborers demanding high wages, even when I began to criticize it in my early twenties.

           Kiosks. I first heard that word at the age of 18, in college. That was the little store that sold prophylactics after hours. I was a regular, while most college boys bought chips and dip. It’s a European word resurrected for the “robot cashiers”, which vendors like to call them, but they also replace jobs that involve just taking your order. Good, you don’t have to tip a robot. These machines are already installed and tested in Europe, which has always had some pretty outlandish job benefit laws. Didn’t I read in Italy, the employer has to pay 55% more than the employees wage in job benefits?
           Thus, these are a tested technology about to be implemented nationwide. Hey, I don’t much go to McDonald’s, so if you are rolling your eyes, it is at your own poor life decisions. These businesses retain a few human servers along with the kiosks to give customers “a choice”. But read my lips, Trevor and Aaron, the writing is on the wall. You are about to move your Liberal ideas back in with mom and dad until they kick you out on your 28th. Maybe you can get a job repairing the kiosks, at least until some robot replaces you.
           Sorry, folks. No mercy. We had the same bunch of minimum wage whiners back in my day. The only difference was the numbers and the older technology. They did not grasp basic economic theory that you have to produce more than you cost. I, too, was one of those students who could not get a job in my field (computers), but dammit, I took a union job that paid $5.85 per hour back in my teens. I had to get up at five in the morning and worked 22 miles out of town, but I had a job. (Mind you, I also realized working for any wage anywhere was a dead-end proposal.)

           There were lots of overpaid people in the world back then, too. Everybody from garbage collectors to civil servants were considered “on the take”. I remember at age 26 deciding that if I could not afford to become a doctor (I’d looked at dentistry), the combination for me was a union job that left me energetic enough at the end of the day to pursue getting ahead. It was a recognizably sub-optimal decision, but I was short the $70,000 required for medical school. And at that age, I’d already lost out on my generational demographic. If you did not have five years’ experience and were not in management by age 30, you could kiss the career boat goodbye.

           And what about silver, the pressure cooker? The longer it stays manipulated, well, let’s just say the silver people are probably the only ones more greedy than the oil mafia and the gold hoarders. Silver is also unique in the way that everybody knows it is being held down, but so few people will accumulate any. I’m concerned about not being able to afford a house if there is another round of either inflation or bubble buying.
           You can find videos predicting every event, from silver dropping to $4 again, or climbing to $6,000 per ounce once somebody succeeds in unseating the US dollar. Should anything happen to silver on the upside, I’ll have the house of my dreams. Myself, I’m noting the increasing number of reports that the next run on silver will not be industrial, but financial. That’s what I’ve been saying all along, but unfortunately, I expected something to happen in 2013. I can’t win them all, but if it hits even $100 per ounce, I won’t exactly be hurting either.

Wiki picture of the day.
Crepuscular rays.
NOON
           I was on the phone for an hour, that’s rare. It’s not right, but there are so many musicians who have completely false notions about making money in this business. Remember how the Hippie wanted to record a “demo CD” and I said just hand the club an old Beatles disc. What? Well, he wanted a studio and the whole bit to make the tunes “professional”. I held it was a fake, we had no drummer, no rhythm player, no harmonies, so if his plan was to bring people in for the recording, handing out a Beatles disc was better. At least there was a chance it would get listened to.

           You can’t talk much sense to such people. The clubs and producers don’t care how good you are, they are in it for the money. They want a band that increases sales. At the club level, that leaves three choices, often in combination. You can bring people with you, attract the sidewalk crowd, or cause the regulars to stay longer. This is why I get the crowd making some kind of noise quickly. People are more attracted by the sound of other people having fun than by the best guitar solos in the universe.

           Here’s a link to an open letter that gets most of this right. Give him a break, he is not a musician himself, but he’s got the lerts to figure out music. He grasps the same points I’m making from his bar manager’s point of view. I’ll recap his points for those who don’t want to read the link. This is why, when I get a guitar player who will listen, I can guarantee high-paying work.

                      1) Play simple music that people recognize. Pssst, Glen, that’s me.
                      2) Make your money from the crowd, not the house.
                      3) Live music is a form of visual entertainment.

           [Author’s note: bands that are not run like a business fold or get nowhere. That means elements such as curb appeal and showmanship take precedent over musical quality—and that flies in the face of what guitar players “know for sure”. After all, most of them did, at some single point in their careers, actually make good money one night. And each one magically believes their music can do it again, if it wasn’t for a world full of people who have no musical taste whatsoever.
           Consistent good gigs and income are no accident. The only tactic I can guarantee works is to learn what the audience at a given joint does not like. Initially, anyone will listen because your sound is novel to them. It is easy to get fooled because rock and blues fans tend to be more loud-mouthed than pop and country, so watch your tip jar.
           However, cutting a CD is a complete rip-off sub-industry of people trying to sell you studio time, lame recording devices, and duplication services. I know countless musicians who knocked themselves out over a demo CD and got nowhere but broke. I’m considered an outsider because I’ll play for tips only, but that’s because I know I’ll make, on average, half again as much as if I ask to get paid.]

           My method is a vastly different approach from the guitar player who pre-calculates his set list to educate the audience to his best material at the end of the third set. Hell no, the crowd will come and go, very few people sit out the entire four hour gig. Guitarists have a difficult time with that, especially the ones whose performance is dependent on their mood that night. You know who you are.
           So you’ll know, the drunk driving laws put an end to band followings at the local level. My set is designed to tweak the interest of anyone who catches a few notes. Then once they sit down and order, I watch like a hawk to see which tunes they pay the most attention to. And that is what I play. In a bigger room, it is majority rules. The music? Well, it quickly sifts out the overplayed standards and before long, you’ll find you play nothing but country-based items that people can toe-tap or sing along to. And you avoid slow music. Those who disagree are those who never tried it my way.

           Now, I’ll make another little confession of no consequence. It’s another trick I use on stage when I get a guitarist who tries to dominate the show. This is for music theorists, mainly. I’ve pointed out how guitar players like 4ths. Because the only convenient thirds are on the B string. So when I hear a show-off leave out that 3rd, I’ll sometimes throw in a flatted 3rd. You might recognize this as a minor chord, but I bend it slightly toward the 4th. It creates a dissonance in the guitarist’s ear but is a crowd grabber.
           This sound is actually the most common “twang” you hear on a steel guitar, so it must be used sparingly on the bass. There is another catch, and it’s an important one. Since the note is technically wrong (on the bass), you must have supreme confidence on the instrument to play it just right. Ha, I can’t tell you how many times a guitarist has told me, after a standing ovation, that I played it “wrong”. I just nod and promise to do better “next time”.

AFTERNOON
           To drive the above music point home, here’s a link to exactly the WRONG way to promote your band. Those tactics are a waste of your time and assure your group will stay small and local. Almost everything in this “wiki advice” is the opposite of reality. I cannot believe that article was written by anybody with any real live music experience. Let me refute the major points of that insane post.

           A) Music quality is important, but there is no need to be the best. If you think your music is the best, try booking yourself across from my gig and we shall see.
           B) Believe me, don’t change band members unless the guy is obnoxious. That writer makes it sound like it is easy to find replacements. Try it.
           C) Embrace change? All musicians only think they do, few actually manage it.
           D) Don’t take your squeeze to the gig. Okay, he’s got a point. But my modus operandi is to date a gal who plays in the band or pick up a new one from the crowd as the situation merits.
           E) Establish a “look”. Ha, then you are stuck with it. I say unless you are a singularly characterless weakling, no names mentioned Kim, just be yourself.
           F) Booking agents are the cockroach parasites of the live music industry. Then again, letting one of the band members handle your affairs is usually even worse. Do it yourself.
           G) Flyers, youTube, social media, t-shirts, CDs? All group-think crap. The only thing that gets gigs is gigging. Play for free to get started if you have to. It is the ONLY thing that will get you hired in most venues by this weekend. Jump on gig cancellations, if only by reminding the bartender he can call you at the last minute—and be ready to either play or say no on that little notice. (That was the original reason I rarely went out Fridays.)

           Moving from music in general to bass playing, here is a video of everything that is wrong with bass playing. As the comment says, “a bass being raped by a fat man with too much makeup”. Yet, I say this represents the ultimate outcome of anybody who takes “bass lessons” from a guitar player. Or, if he uses a limp wrist instead of a pick, from Guitar Center.

           And I dare you to watch this guitar player all the way through.

           And if you’ve read this far, good for you. A musical quirk. I watched a number of videos of Putin and son-of-a-gun, he’s got the same thing I do, except on his right side. I backed up the videos and sure enough. I’ve sort of kept it as much a secret as I can because anyone who knows what to look for can easily spot you in a moving crowd. I wonder? But we will never know for sure unless he tries to play bass. Hint only. Watch his right wrist when he is walking.

NIGHT
           Okay, you talked me into it. I’ll return to Panera and use a kiosk—if there is a cash pay option. I viewed a few youTubes that didn’t capture the experience. I see a defect in the process already with the kiosks that don’t take cash. That means you may gain no time at all if you have to stand behind your average Florida gimptard and wait for the oaf to pull out his wallet and pay. Stupid people take twice as long to pay a $10 tab as a $5 tab. And Florida is chock full with more pouring in every day.
           Kiosks appear to accept a credit card or equivalent smart phone app. I’d go for a cash card, but not a credit or debit card. Folks, you should not be letting anybody scrutinize your money-spending habits. Trust me, they have no intention of “serving you better”. They are devising ways to squeeze you for the last billionth of a penny. It’s the new Millennial marketing. It is now mass con jobs for fractions of cents per mark. It’s the last resort of the desperate, who no longer possess the brains to actually invent anything new.

           As far as that goes, there have been no breakthroughs in America for decades. Everything “new” is either just something old now in plastic, or like nanotechnology, mostly talk. But no alpha events, no discoveries of new and untapped sources of energy, or of anything really.
Did you know college costs an average of $24k per year? The economy simply does not have enough high-paying jobs to pay back the trillions that will be borrowed. Or the news this morning that two people were killed in a train wreck. Way to go, USA Today. Nobody on the Amtrak was killed. But face it, when your target audience is Millennials, that sells more than two die in backhoe crash.

ADDENDUM
           What’s this, an over-weekend plunge of house prices in the interior. It’s averaging $4,100 each, but don’t get your hopes up. That just brings it back to late last year’s prices. And it is only the low end properties again, the ones I described as junk for sale. Most affected are the least sought-after. Bad neighbors, major repairs, or high crime. Still, I’m watching the situation.
           Plus, the database reveals a few places returning to market at lower prices. What would you make of a place that sold last month for $31,000 listed this month at $27,500? Somebody got taken by surprise. Or the place that has been on Trulia for 2,848 days? I may revise the database to keep track of more detail. What a pity Deland was completely taken over by some monstrously wealthy outfit last June, but they got taken a bit.
           They bought in bad areas and are trying to flip. Won’t work, as they plug the same ads every day. Area “in transition” and “ready to explode”. Ha, like we don’t know what that means. Or how about “blank canvas” or “near Stetson”, or “start from scratch”, or “good rental market”. Yeah, if that area doesn’t explode, it will get burnt down next riot season.


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April 2, 2016

Yesteryear
One year ago today: April 2, 2015, 61 mph for food.
Five years ago today: April 2, 2011, my last official pizza.
Nine years ago today: April 2, 2007, picking up sexy things.
Random years ago today: April 2, 2012, watch me speed-solder!
(rare embedded video)

MORNING
           Saturday already? Good, I’m going over to the Panera for a change. Sometimes there are okay women there, but always buried in a laptop or cellphone conversation. Even the common mashers won’t approach them. And right off the bat, allow me to say something to my detractors. If I spent as much time “obsessed” with this blog as you say must be the case, whenever would I find time to do all the interesting things that I write about? What? Of course they are interesting or you would not keep coming back. I’m beginning to like the “Broward Haircut”. (See y’day’s post.)

           While getting ready, I threw on a documentary on flying boats. Sigh, too bad those didn’t catch on, but anyway, I caught a glimpse of this picture. I paused the video to look at the rudder tailfin. Queensland & (and) N.T. (Northern Territories) Aerial Service. Ah, so that’s where it comes from.
           In fact this Australian video is so accurate and informative, I recommend that you view it. It left me with the impression that Australia, due to its remoteness, was a natural for flying boat service and development.

           I have a long-standing fascination with flying boats, though I’ve never had the privilege of a flight. Have been on several pontoon planes, but these are a different aircraft concept. You know, where the airplane sits on a carriage that floats on the water. One thing I can assure you is that there was a time when air travel was glamorous even for the passengers. I was among the first in the world to ride a 747, which is why I report that was the end of the classy era of air travel. Very few people knew it at the time.
           Since then, it has been a slow decline to the “cattle car” version of air travel you get today. There’s no going back, but yes, I have fond memories of the people coming out to the airport to greet the airplane that flew just twice a month. When the stewardess had to be single nurses and the food was cooked on-board. Yes, I’ve been on flights where the menu was typed up by the navigator each flight. And I was once on a flight where the staffed baked fresh breadrolls as a surprise for breakfast. (Wardair.)
           Hence, I lived through the transition from the era of “fun” flying to the bureaucratic mess and lineups of today’s operations. I rather liked the days when only the reasonable well-to-do could fly and there was far less of the “assembly line” aspect to the whole affair. The 747 ushered in the age of mass travel for the proletariat. I tried flying first class only for a decade, but credit cards made that a meaningless way to avoid the rabble. I quit flying domestically in 2000 and doubt I will fly again unless I head overseas.

           You may miss it in the histories, but flying boats are totally a military development. It was England that pushed their development as scouts for the navy and anti-submarine patrols. To anyone who still thinks the Germans started World War Two, maybe question what England was doing during the 1930s when they realized their Empire was bankrupt. There are still people around who believe that crazy story about the Germans dressing convicts in Polish uniforms and attacking a radio station. Folks, that lie has been debunked so many times you don’t know. The Germans didn’t need any excuse, the Polish army was about to cut off East Prussia.

           Now, a tale from the trailer court. Once the Frenchies leave, there are nine vacant RV spots in this court. Five are on the street, three in the interior and one hard-to-find spot right next door to my place. The lane is one way, so it is a real feat of driving skill to back anything in there. As soon as they clear out, I can park my sidecar back there where it is somewhat sheltered and cannot be seen from the street. Due to a planter that belongs to the office, the clearance does not allow an RV and the sidecar to park at the same time. The lane is 8” too narrow.
           Now, occasionally a latecomer from the Keys will want to rent a spot for a few days before the long haul back to Quebec. So, guess which of the nine spots the office rents them? Come on, guess. So I have to move the sidecar, but that’s not my question. My question is how on God’s green Earth did the office know that this one time my starter was broken?
           That’s the same office that pulls stunts like that on everybody around here and yet expects that nobody will notice they are the religion everybody loves to hate.

Wiki picture of the day.
Utah.
As far as I’m concerned, anyway.
NOON
           The budget says something has to change. I have to cut something out or cut back on some category. Don’t wait for them to announce inflation on the news, it is here and this time the primary culprit is food. Look at this, $20 in groceries. Milk, bread, cereal, and the smallest package of cookies in the store. That’s 40% inflation in 2 years, 100% inflation in 5 years. Which brings up the subject of nutrition.

           I make a portion of my food from scratch and unfortunately, good ingredients are not cheap. To avoid the big bad three, modified corn starch, high fructose corn syrup, and bovine growth hormone, I have to pay top dollar for real food. Shopping is also more time-consuming, as American near-food companies like Nabisco, Campbell’s, and Kellogg’s have begun naming and packaging their chemicals with labels that resemble imported stuffs from areas that ban Frankenfood.
           If it says corn starch, modified or otherwise, back on the shelf it goes but that often means the lowest-priced article. That’s one part of the budget that remains. No Monsanto allowed. On my return trip from Arcadia by sidecar, I passed a Monsanto plant or experimental station out near Moore Haven. They’re everywhere.

           I’ve begun asking around about the process of re-releasing some oldies with vastly updated bass lines. Like most, I tend to remember the version of the tune that became a hit in my generation. By the time I was 35, I generally learned which ones were covers. I’m often amused by Millennials who don’t know a cover tune despite the easy availability of this information. Other than Trent’s estimate that the rights owner takes 13%, I don’t know of a single person who has ever got to that stage with their music.
           Yet there is no shortage of those who have sunk a fortune into producing their own CD albums to no avail. Are they afraid to pay royalties? Have they been sold a dream by the recording studios. Or by Guitar Center? Or has not one of them ever really amounted to a hill of beans?
Well I remember how Cheap Trick made it with rock, but possibly that cannot be pulled off any more. I was thinking more of individual releases of hand-picked tunes that I find are amenable to stronger bass lines or you might say weaker guitar parts. Since 2012 or so, I can see how learning to sing and failing to find an adequate guitarist has changed my bass playing. Before, I was like many guitar players for playing the tune note-for-note and getting a good sound.
           That has now been superceded by presentation and unique note-attack. I now seem to have around 30 different ways I can play any given note. I tend to emulate the texture of the melody notes or during instrumental breaks, the sound of that instrument. While 30 sounds like overkill variety, not so, as many times the consecutive notes of a passage use sometimes ten of those techniques.
           Primary example, “The Breeze”. That bass player half-misses the 5th below, plucking the string a split second before he’s found the fret. Then he tries to compensate and that doesn’t work either. Before, I could brag and prove I was better than that, but I’ve changed my style. I now copy the mistake like I would anything else unique I can find about a hit song. Result? Standing ovations. My kingdom for a decent guitar player.

NIGHT
           An hour at the Panera, which is usually the case as they have the slowest lineups at the counter. There’s something new they are calling a kiosk, but it appears to be a small screen where you order by tap or swipe, then sit at a table with a numbered metal plaque. Why, I would have asked how it works, but the lineup was too slow. Not too long, too slow. Also, it appears you now have to ask for butter for your bagel. Duh, Panera, who eats a dry bagel?

           Off to the movies, this time an Argentine film called “The Clan”. Pretending to be a rebel organization, this father gets his sons involved in a kidnapping racket. Quite well done considering Spanish acting is still on a par with 1960s Hollywood. I think it is fact-based because at the end it copied that TV show that told what happened to the people. You remember the show, I don’t. Where it printed things like “Figaro was sentenced to life and died in prison in 2008 at age 59.”

           The action is the kidnapping, the drama is the man’s family, the plot is pure Americana. You know, where Capone’s entire family swears under oath they had no idea he was into crime and never heard the screams in the basement. The only new twist is the more modern defense of claiming some unknown higher-up forced them to do it by threatening their family. How this defense every holds up is beyond me. Just ask them how they paid at entity’s cut of the ransom and watch them choke.
           The trailers show the upcoming movies are another batch of Holocaust revenge themes. I’m wondering when some German will produce a full-length movie telling the other side of the story and see how many film festivals that wins. There are two sides to every story. Too many people know we are being fed only one side, but never question that policy.

           Joke time. Did you hear about the politician who hired some civil servants to teach him to play poker? He reports that he is now good at it but the lessons were really, really expensive.

ADDENDUM
           And Englishman friend sends me this report from the London newspapers about a “wardrobe malfunction” involving a Mexican weather forecaster. She continued, they said, oblivious to the camel toe. I wrote him back the clarification.

           “Malfunction” my eye. The editor of that newspaper has evidently never been to Mexico and knows sweet-all of fat broad psychology. “Oblivious” my eye. You think this heifer wants to be a weather girl until she hits 150 kilos?
           As for the way the entire weather report was continued, a lot of people also do not understand the mentality of Mexican TV cameramen. She was later “voted the world’s hottest weather presenter”. By whom, Oprah and Whoopi? World’s sweatiest, maybe. Real men do not like hip bulge.
           What? Well, if they argue the point, they are not real men. They are little boys who like the big butt big boob child-bearing types. Reminds them of their mothers. That’s most of what I got to say about that. Read my blog, think about it, tell your friends. Tell your enemies, too. They might learn something.


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April 1, 2016

Yesteryear
One year ago today: April 1, 2015, buckwheat and brakes.
Five years ago today: April 1, 2011, music, robots, etc.
Nine years ago today: April 1, 2007, an extinct American concept.
Random years ago today: April 1, 2009, Fear River, N. Carolina.

MORNING
           You get lots to read today. It is too hot to work outside and I have to stay near the phone. I’m listening to NPR, so stick around for some bitter commentary on my part. You know, to remind everyone how much I hate Libtards, those subhumans who can only exist where other people are forced to pay the cost. Birdfeeder? Yeah, I like the little finches that live in my backyard tree, but when I put seed on the ground, the ugly pigeons sometimes show up. Like flies where there is manure and Libtards whenever there is tax money.

           Since I know everybody is waiting, here’s the news. I have not heard from the house people yet. This is not encouraging, since if they accept, they are known for giving a reply the following day. This is the second day. JZ gave me the rundown on his finances and although I do not dispense advice to family, I sometimes don’t know if he is talking about family. I’ve decided on my own that the guy needs a hobby. Now before anybody snickers and says this is trite advice, I’m going to say a few words about what I mean, connotatively.
           Darn rights I know plenty of people with a “hobby” that is a waste of time and money, and I don’t buy that line that it keeps them busy. Too many people use a hobby for that, so get it clear in your mind that is not what I’m talking about. A hobby should be both productive and mentally challenging, something you can’t say about golf, stamp collecting, or pub darts. Are we forming a better picture already? Because I count among my hobbies the study of robotics, celestial navigation, and electric bass. I built model airplanes as a child and grew out of it. Over 21, you don’t build kits, you design them. I won’t listen to anyone who thinks all hobbies are the same.

           Problem. JZ figures he is too old to take up anything in a meaningful way. Nonsense, the old you are, the better equipped you become to move fast into unfamiliar territory. You’ll waste less time covering the basics (exception is celestial navigation) and find that good hobbies, although not cheap, are a major bargain in one gigantic sense—they provide something to do besides go out when times are slow.

           So, I know he won’t try music, but let’s watch what he picks up. This could be hilarious, because the one time I showed him how to budget for a hobby, he ran for the hills. Why? Because he realized keeping track would reveal to himself just how much cash he was wasting on a daily basis to keep entertained without a hobby. This overlaps with a lecture I gave him three years ago that he was not spending enough time at home. Beautiful condo on Snapper Creek, marble tables, a galley-like kitchen, dining area with chandelier, and he won’t stay home a read a good book.

           True, staying home is behavior I laughed at until I myself was over 40, but I saw it coming. I made sure I had things to do. And right now, I think I’ll look into building a birdfeeder for $30 instead of buying the same thing at Wal*Mart for $12. Then, I’m checking the oil on everything I own that has it, then I’m going to bake chicken in tomatoes and vegetable sauce, then I’m going to take Morse Code for 15 minutes and 5 seconds, then I’m going to play “Momma Tried”, “Long-Haired Country Boy”, and all the Trisha Yearwood worth listening to.
           Compare to other people’s Fridays when they have no hobby. Here you can examine today’s oil change where you can see the spotless sparkling oil drop at the end of the dipstick. It never even gets a chance to get dirty. That is how you keep a vehicle on the road three times its lifespan. Shown also is the new muffler and the home made oil cooler air scoop. I removed the plastic “plate” that covered the underside of the scooter long ago. There was no chance of gravel damage, it blocked access for repair work, and cut down on air circulation. So off it went.

Wiki picture of the day.
Matterhorn.
NOON
           Forget the bird feeder I was going to build. I opted for a siesta, what a great concept. Except the apres-siesta requirement to get started again. Anyway, I was just going to practice some wood joints as I really want to learn how to make dovetails. It makes for fancy robots. You know, if you want to follow my primary source for easy woodworking with basic tools, go anywhere in this site. They can teach you how to cut anything in half and make bookends. It says nothing about getting permission first. My kind of site.

           NPR, actually I can’t carp because they got told off on the air. A few truly sharp callers were onto their journalistic tactics of tripping up or cutting off anyone who begins to get the upper hand or express any opinion that NPR has trained its people to disagree with. Uh-oh, you see thanks to Mr. Trump, the callers are far less sensitive to being labeled politically incorrect and often shove the DJ back. NPR had better retrain their staff in a hurry, but since they only hire indoctrinated Liberals, they’ve got themselves a rapidly worsening situation.
           The topic was real estate. Funny, isn’t it, how the people who don’t read this blog are just now beginning to catch on that the banks have been holding “middle class” properties off the market. They refuse to grant mortgages, so the only thing moving since 2006 is the high-end oceanfront and luxury pads being fueled by South American drug money. Cash deals.
           This blog can only cover the preliminaries but all attempts to upset supply and demand always backfire. While Miami’s population grows, the number of middle-class buyers has already dropped past the point of no return. Nobody has been building middle income homes in the area for a long time, so what is available has suffered ten years of neglect. Who wants to pay a half-million for a house they move into and have to start repairing?

           The laugh was how the NPR commentators kept getting bested by evidently knowledgeable phone-ins. They could pound back the NPR blabbermouths even when two or more tried to gang up. They kept cutting in on the caller saying thank you for calling where normally this would drop the call, but now they are being told to knock it off. “I’m not finished yet, Roger.” I love it. Even the old disk jockey last-chance fall-back argument that you “can’t judge all Blacks/Syrians/Latinos/Whatever by the actions of a few” is getting ever more flak and backtalk. It was hilarious.
           But you like this blog because of how it is accurate as to where things are going. And Miami real estate is so economically primitive a business that sure, I can tell you that. While it has not made the news in South Florida, soon you will begin to hear another round of “affordable housing” talks. All smoke and mirrors, same as New York.

           The “developers” have maxed out their properties and bribes. So they will start to push for those micro-apartments. You know, the 400 square foot one bedroom, where the shitter and the food counter are 18” apart. They’ll give us the sermon of lower costs for Millennials entering the workforce, blah-blah. In the end, no net improvement. Prices will not be lowered except at first. Once the organized capital gets an inch, they will quickly charge the same outrageous prices for tiny shitboxes crammed by the thousands into the tiny remaining open spaces left in the city core.
           There, could hardly be said better.

           [Author’s note: I call these tiny boxes “cubicle apartments” or just “cubes”. (In Canada, call them "igloos.) The entire concept is riciduous, I cannot be the only one who notices that people who live in confined spaces develop psychological defects far in excess of the norm--same as at the workplace. The fact that there is a “roommate finding service” for 260 square foot apartments in New York tells you those people are already crazy.
           Do the cubes cost less and become affordable to people who have already cut every corner? Hardly. One micro sold in late January for $630,000. Rents already average $2,640. So the first $30,000 you take home every year goes to rent.
           And some numbskulls are going to try this in Miami?]

           And while we are talking about the media, I’ve got a point to raise. When meeting a person like me who writes a blog like this, desist with the comparisons, please. After the first thousand posts, a real author gains understanding of what is out there. So I don’t believe anyone who says they have a blog like this one, much less any wild claims of readership in the six figure range. Bull. It doesn’t work that way. I know precisely what is required to acquire dedicated readership and I can instantly tell who does not have what it takes.
           I won’t recount the parameters. But there is no getting around the prime directive which is to create, not copy, some persuasive inducement for the reader to return. I’m dumbfounded by people who have zero original brainpower, who can’t keep a conversation going two minutes without mentioning drugs or beer, who haven’t read a book since grade school, yet who will tell me they have a blog with a hundred thousand plus followers. Even funnier, it is a blog I’ve never seen in the top lists that I scan regularly to see who is doing what.

AFTERNOON
           Trent called so we are getting together at the club after work. No doubt we’ll be talking more real estate. I am miffed by how Florida agents, who are legally bound to represent both parties, will lie when asked what is wrong with a place. The usual lie is they’ll say they don’t know. Hardly possible in a small town. But at least in Arcadia, they have not figured out we are using their little city to test my theories and learn the ropes.

           I propose a new term. “Occam’s Razor” is where when faced with a baffling situation, you opt for the simplest explanation that fits. My tender is the new phrase “Broward Haircut”, where when faced with any unknown, immediately opt for the most evil, malicious motives on the part of the other party. Anything you don’t understand, blame it on somebody else’s ulterior motives. Let’s try it, see how it works.

           There is a two-hour gap in the tale from the trailer court, and it was spent on the birdfeeder. What, you want heroics and feats of endurance? No way, you get birdfeeders. Like most other robotic projects, I’m more concerned with grasping the engineering than feeding any birds. Though I do like those little finches because the remind me of Memphis. The online schematics are really big on cutting a fancy groove to slide in the plexi-glass part of the seed holder. This pic is the birdfeeder frame, upside down with a weight as the glue dries.
           Groove my eye, I don’t even have any plexi-glass. But do you remember that flat screen TV thing Agt. M and I dismantled a year ago? It had all kinds of layers or plastic laminates and such. I happened to keep them and it turns out the material is drillable. So nix the grooves, I will simply screw the panels directly to the flat surface of the underlying structure. Woodworkers like to cut grooves just because they can. Maybe one day when I break down and buy a real table saw. Why, I’ll even learn about dados.
           This birdfeeder is designed to keep away the pigeons (or larger) and allow only two finches to alight at a time. Maybe see if we can attract Orange-Beak, if she is still around. You know about Nature, red in tooth and claw. This birdfeeder is not an afternoon project unless you are very good at hammering small nails. My version is glued, which requires a lot of hours between stages.

NIGHT
           At the club until 10:00PM, it was a guy’s night out. The worthwhile woman count was zippo, the music was jukebox pseudo-rap, the place was short-staffed again. I told you, the old formula works. The cheapest beer in town and hire only sexy waitresses. The place went from total dive to only semi-dive in a years. At any given time, there are 15 to 18 married men in the place, plus the 1:6 standard ratio of hookers. What? Explain that ratio? Can’t, except to say I learned it at the phone company. Six married men, one hooker.
           The place is a watering hole, nothing else. And of Fridays, the first working class hero who can get in there is going to put $60 in the jukebox and play Millennial loser music for you all night. Because he knows if you get those tribal beats pounded into your brain long enough, you’ll become as stupid as he is and when there’s enough of you, it begets a bigger selection of hookers.
           See, I told you the Broward Haircut was the way to go.

ADDENDUM
           Quarterly review. Gee, April 1 and it is done already. Well because, guys, all I have to do is push a button. It’s the little expenses that kill you, so I’ve been keeping track extra to find out what I’m really spending. I’m not giving you the whole picture. Only what I find interesting. Since the bakery left, I spend nearly half as much on coffee as I do on groceries ($53.24 vs. $123.15). These are 3-month averages, not exact amounts.
           My gas bill, thanks to house-hunting, has increased six-fold since January, and the sidecar gets around the same gas mileage as the truck. I spend $50 more per month in restaurants that I do on groceries, but face it, I eat pretty darn well. But the figure most men will find a surprise is that my total average monthly cost of “going out” is just $228.50. Most of that would be dropping into the club after a hot day on average three times per week, my average tab is $11.50. I often buy for the ladies and play the jukebox, which accounts for any difference. Hey, I know one guy who spends $75 per day just on drinking.
           The sad news is that in the category Misc., which includes everything from scooter drive belts ($80) to the foreign cinema averages $499.10 per month. These are expenses that could theoretically be avoided at the cost of quality of life. I didn’t have to buy band saw blades ($20), but I insisted on the $160 for the new sidecar starter motor. None of the above figures include the rent.
           When I buy a place, my rent will drop to equal the monthly taxes, that is, drop by 82%.

           You been good so here is an Englishman joke I heard in boy scouts. This old English guy gets out of the bathtub with boner, and his valet asks, “My goodness, it’s been months. Shall I summon the missus?”
           “No, no, Archibald”, says the old guy, “fetch my bloomers. I think I’ll smuggle this one into town.”


Last Laugh

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