February 14, 2007

           A good day at the flower business. What’s this? It is a picture of the shoe polishing machine in the washroom of the Bank of America building. That’s where the flower shop is located. In the building, not in the washroom. Anyway, how’s that for class, or what passes for it? Can’t have executives about with scuffed shoes, we know how many millions are made on image alone. Don’t be putting your hard cash into any bank before checking for unpolished shoes.
           This year, Jo was more organized. He hadn’t slept in a day and a half, but once a year this business really hops. These flower arrangements are not cheap but that means they are also heavy. Jo can put the arrangements together with incredible speed. There are three basic types of delivery.

           One is in the building. This is extra fun because you have to get to the eleventh floor before any of the elevators will take you anywhere. Many of the businesses are not yet open so the vase gets left outside the door. This is not any kind of risk. When some were mis-delivered, they called and we picked them up.
           The second type of delivery is walking distance downtown. Most people would not like the area, because it is not user-friendly. The streets and avenues are reversed and have that ridiculous quandrant addressing scheme. There are four “firsts” downtown, that is first avenue and first street, which can be northeast, northwest, southeast or southwest. This causes nothing but headaches. Add the Florida dodo system of giving each road two or three names and making sure there are very few through roads. One delivery took me an hour because of the wrong address.
           The third delivery is get in the car and chase around town at full speed. Those are my favorite as they pay the best. If you drive like JZ, you could probably do twelve of those a day and make big bucks. I did three.
           This is the only real chance I have to even see downtown. There is little reason to go there otherwise. One interesting thing I’ve learned is that if I’m wearing a white shirt and a tie, and I’m carrying an armload of flowers, I can get past the security of any building downtown. My guess is that I look like a banker, what with my freshly polished shoes.

           After things died down in mid-afternoon, I drove over to Quizno’s to see if I could find JZ. Missed him by an hour, which makes sense because his brother-in-law noted that people don’t eat in sandwich shops on Valentine’s Day. This is that Quizno’s with the huge profit margin.
           Don’t worry, I’ll remind you of the details. There was another restaurant in the area [for close to thirty years] that had succeeded in pulling strings at city hall, thus preventing any other food establishments from opening. Usually, they would insist there was not enough parking. They were asleep at the switch just once and next thing you know, Quizno’s is slicing both sandwiches and $2,000 (my guess) a day out of their profits. Were they pissed!

           Fun and all, the deliveries are a good workout because of the weight of the vase, water and flowers. Especially the big two-dozen jobbies. So on the way home I stopped at Churchill’s. None of the gang was there. This is the first place I played in Miami. Hold on, Kirsten was there. She is the little hottie bartender who is very happily married. A reminder that all the women of my type are long since taken. We talked a lot.
           I had just walked seven miles so I came home and straight to sleep. Somehow I was able to resist the temptation to spend the rest of the day in Borders, drinking expensive coffee with no refills. It was a perfect day for being outside, in fact a little cool. I kept thinking I could have done so much more with a bicycle, but Jo would have to be convinced it is safe. I’ve also noticed nobody was riding bikes downtown, but I did see a few chained up here and there. Maybe they [bicycles] scuff your shoes?

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February 13, 2007

          I got awakened by some stranger standing in the street outside my door talking extremely loud on his cell phone. When four of five of the other neighbors appeared, he gradually got the idea and moved on. So good morning, and I’m finally going to get a new pair of glasses. You see, I lost the lens from my current pair, which are well over twenty years old.
          Here’s a shot of the new Jamis mountain bike. It is tiny, but really a scaled-down version of a full size machine. It has air shocks and is a superior ride. I’ve decided not to sell it, partly because it is easy to throw in the station wagon. It is easy to hit 15 mph in the 21st gear, at least compared to the larger model. Mind you, the pedals have a narrower radius, so you are pumping like mad to get up there. It has no places to bolt on any extras or accessories, even the handlebars are mostly hand-grips and gear mechanisms.
          A strange lady started talking to me in Dunkin Donuts y’day. That’s while I was waiting for Wain to show. Too bad she was not a little better looking, but also, she had that stilted manner of someone who has received counseling. I can’t exactly define it, but you know how certain catch-phrases slink into the vocabulary of fake victims? That’s her. Nothing big, but enough to know she’s been to the cookie shop a few times. Twice she said, “It is good for people to become well-adjusted.” (Become?)

          Here we go. By fake victims, I mean those who “remember” things with the assistance of the authorities, particularly the current exceeding popular confessions of “repressed memories”, which reasonable people call a load of bull donkey. These so-called memories follow the exact pattern most required and desired by those who want to indict somebody. Read the case of Little Joe Hill, who was convicted by a child’s recollection of a murder. When he tried to cross-examine the child, the lawyers, police and judge stopped him because it made the child cry, whence he uttered the famous line, “His tears against my life!”
          Nor am I saying that courtrooms have the worst record of disrespect for people they simply don’t like. This morning at Panera, there was a “sworly-haired” white man, around 40 who blocked the entire condiment area for close to twelve minutes putting sugar and lids on his coffee. Don’t get me wrong, he had “just as much right as you or I” to be there with his elbows splayed outwards, rocking back and forth to prevent anyone from using “his” counter. You don’t need paleoanthropological evidence that a species of monkey could once inter-breed with humans.
          Wallace is considering a cruise through the canal to get here. He is, I fear, falling for that just-not-true college boys dream that there is not much to do on a cruise [and therefore women on board will get horny and demand sex]. Then, he’s always been lucky. I just think he should wait to see how the withholding tax is divided. I can just see Canada in twenty years outlawing money. All paychecks will go to the government, who will take out what they have on record for your student loan, traffic tickets, unpaid library fees and mail you the balance, if any. “The choice is yours” they will say.

          Here is the newest addition to the family, Wiggles. I’ve heard of smaller but this is the smallest dog I’ve ever seen, shown wearing a “Yappy Hour with Buddy Braids”. The pampered life of a model, a dog cage is not good enough. Wiggles has her own baby cage, replete with blankets, toys, and some fancy “Science” dog food. Ah, I’ll get her a tin of real tuna for Xmas.
          I repaired the front chandelier today, the one on the east side of the window display. It was like forensic investigation, going through the layers of decoration and dust added over the years. I had to dismantle the entire display, then move the parts away in reverse order. I had gone to the hardware earlier only to discover there are six or more sockets that fit that era of chandelier. Since they cost up to ten bucks each, I decided to take a chance on repairing it myself and getting electrocuted in the process.

          The problem was predictable. The original installer took a shortcut. The chandelier hangs on a chain but if you are not careful, part of the weight is placed on the electrical cable. It finally worked itself loose. The components, both the electric and the fixture, were of very high quality for the era, including a flange that holds the porcelain cup in place.
          The chick guitarist got an email, mainly to see if she responds in a reasonable time. I also confirmed the deliveries tomorrow with Mrs. Joe. It is always a fun day, based on the once I’ve done it before. The Filipino lady from up the road was around to visit with the neighbor and me. She walks that line between old-fashioned and conservative. Adam has already told me she has asked about me “in that way”, and I know she is constantly probing for an opening when we talk. However, I am too savvy to hit on her and she does not appear capable of taking any initiative.
          ;Well, I’m due downtown at 7:30 AM tomorrow. For some reason, I’m reading “Hell in a Very Small Place” for the fourth time.

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February 12, 2007

           It was a day of developments. First of all, my infrastructure is creaking. All the little things I used to rely on cash income for have been let go too long. Twenty dollars of gas rather than a full tank means that much more time driving just to get gas, an effect nobody warned me about when I was younger.
           Worse, I’ve begun to spend money on weekends just for entertainment. Only people who are way smarter than me wind up having to do such a thing. I do understand how some people think spending a lot of money to see the show is better than being the show, but I won’t go there.

           When I arrived to pick up my Jamis [bicycle] there were customers waiting at the door, so I opened and did well by the time Dickens came in just before noon. From there, I lugged some used computer equipment to Fred’s for a tuneup and stuck around to fill ink cartridges. These are exciting times. My entire income for today was $1. I spent that for a coffee at Olga’s. Which is next to an ice cream parlor with the strangest paintings on the walls.
           The Polish beauty who disappeared walked in today. That is good news is that I get to see perfection again. The bad news is that she was obviously not in the shop to see me and was surprised that I was there. The word is that she reconciled with the guy she was shacked up with, an extremely common brand of stupidity. Women that beautiful do tend to attract and fall for the slipperiest men in the world. That is why I view relationships with beautiful women as nothing more than a matter of degree.

           Here’s a new round in the guitar wars. Wain showed an hour and a half late, with a second audition on 441 and 595 [two local main roads]. We played some excellent music, biting right into that 1970’s material before he had to leave. The down side was that he had not learned even one of the tunes on the list I had sent him a week ago, he lives 42, not 20, miles away and is far too sold on “guitar” music rather than the required “dance” music.
           That explains why he did not send me his list. He plays the “wrong” music, where that is defined as basic list of the same tired old tunes every guitar player runs through with incredible precision matched only by the same degree of boredom. Every one of these people has to be educated as to what constitutes dance music, because they do not know. Each will say you can “dance to this”, but leave out that it helps if you are high on dope. It also helps if the audience only knows the first verse and chorus. I’ve heard a hundred guitar players better than you who got nowhere because nobody could dance to what they played.
           One particular tune that typifies boredom to me is “Mustang Sally”. Dull, droning, slow music that drags on and on. The beat is too slow, the lyrics are meaningless and drinkers ignore it after the first minute – it is just too worn out. Yet guitar players think it is fantastic and use it to gauge “how good you can follow”. Something about learning guitar must make that exact part of their brains go dormant. That song should be defenestrated.
          Of course, Wain wanted to play this tune even after I told him I did not know it – another strange quirk of guitar players, “What, you don’t know Mustang Sally!”
           I don’t know it and have no reason to learn it – it is bump and grind music. Seriously, I have fallen asleep listening to that song. Clap your hands to that music and tell me that is not dismally slow. All of this took time and now it is too late to start anything else.

           Around two hours later, Wain called back. Seems the other band was either not ready to go or had fed him a pack of ju-jubes. He wanted to head back over so we could practice a few tunes more, but I told him to make it this Friday. After he’s had time to send me both his song list and learn at least a dozen of the tunes on mine. It is too much of a coincidence that most guitar players find my list to be completely new material, although they all could whistle the tunes.
           They won’t admit that it is because they were all copycats, but I can work with that. The second phase is when they realize that I play arrangements that are difficult to make sound better as a single. I would be dumb to do otherwise, hello. He also does not know when to stop playing [a sign of too much soloing], but I can teach anybody how that is done. We’ve agreed to tentatively play together until something else comes along. The last time I did that, it lasted seven years.
           A chick guitarist, Jane, wrote to say she does a lot of material from that era. I wrote back saying I’d have to hear it. I don’t know enough of it to carry off a gig with a female vocalist since Robynette left. I know it can be done, as long as I do 85% of the work. I’m obligated to give her a listen. A man, Jeff, called. He wanted to form a duo but keep his bigger project going. I turned that down flat over potential conflict of interest.

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February 11, 2007

           It is 8:57 PM and there is a blinding rainstorm. That is not to say it was bad all but how about you decide? I spent the morning putting a new set of saddlebags on my bicycle, with that nest of strange tools required for such work. This runs me late. Fifteen minutes later, precisely between either destination, I get a flat. The trouble starts here.
          The good news is I am right across the street from Lee’s bicycle shop, where I’ve spend more than my bike is worth in the last six months. Bad news, it is the weekend and all the men are super busy in the back area. I bought a repair kit for $3.99 and turned my bike upside down. Oops, the stem is cracked; cannot repair that. So I went to the counter to return the kit and buy a new tube. So far so good.
          However, there was a thirty-year-old “big-boned” girl working the till. A crow. I was perfectly polite but I was also seventy-four cents short for the tube. Now ask yourself, what would a man have done? Don’t dodge the question, everybody else in the store was a man. I believe he would have said, “Give me your six bucks and forget the seventy-four cents”, or maybe “come back tomorrow and shoot me the difference”.
          What do you suppose the woman did? She held her arms either akimbo or folded defensively across her chest. She explained to me that I could buy a temporary repair [which I did not want to do, as it would have involved removing the rear tire twice instead of once] or enter into some complicated credit agreement. I even went to the back to see if I could catch the eye of one of the men to borrow the cash, but they were too busy.
          No, I did not offer the crow my wristwatch for collateral. Any creature, even a dog, would have helped out, but not that woman. She was just “doing her job”. Yeah, right. I went to walk out and she hollered what to do with my credit of $3.99. I told her to keep it. All I said was that “In my life I’ve helped out a hundred people in these circumstances, but I see that is not going to happen this time.”
          She acted miffed. Anybody who cheaps-out over seventy-four cents with a man wearing a tie on Sunday needs the money worse than I ever will. I stress to you, it was not Lee’s, but that battleaxe of a loser woman behind the counter this day. I walked the remaining three miles into the shop and was over an hour and a half late. That will be the day when I make another man, even my enemy, do what this woman did to me. I guess I must be sexist. Once I got there, it was a simple matter to switch over to my $300 other bicycle and bring it back to do my chasing around. See, she knew I’d work something.
          On the way over, two things. One, I saw this laundry offering free wireless Internet. Now you can tell them you are young and pretty while you are doing your illegitimate kid’s washing. Seek your soul mate while your soak your socks. Play Zoids to the hum of the tumbler. The other thing is Coffee Time has been sold.
          The new owners are two Russian ladies who have no hesitation introducing themselves as such. Must be something they teach them to do in whatever replaced Ellis Island. How did I just know her name was Olga? This means Legs is gone, never to return. That business was just too unique to repeat itself anywhere on this area. Sigh.
          The shop was quiet, but Damian came in to liven things up. He has a keen sense of what things should be priced at. That sense is “expensive”. Odd in my opinion, he knows very little about the methods of selling and advertising on-line, or on the computer in general. It hit me that although he’s probably made twice as much as me on the Internet, it also took him three times longer. I always find the perspective of younger people interesting on this point.
          There was also a Jewish guy “sixty-five years old” (he kept saying) who failed in over an hour to catch me on a single punch line or poem that I hadn’t heard before. That’s okay, he was the biggest sale of the day – the type of thing that happens when you try to go intelligent on me. He flopped because his mentality seemed to be identical to what mine was when I was fifteen years old, same jokes, same lead-ins, same attitude. I remember this age particularly well, because I was surrounded by people so far behind they thought they were ahead of me, since I didn’t always respond [out of disbelief]
          Back to Damian. He was into brand names. I don’t know Hartmann luggage and so on. Mark it with a price tag and spare me the lecture, it has already been a long day. Damian is also one of those people who thinks you can look up anything on the Internet. Yes, Damian, it makes a huge difference whether you know if the other person called it a turntable, a record player or a phonograph. That is three searches, not one.
          I spent another hour with Greenday, the band. Whoever writes their material is a techno-type. It is almost as if the chords are written to some algorithm. The music is very tight and technical, but after that, 100% programmed and unoriginal.

February 10, 2007

          There it is, the Mavica camera. This one is so old, when I say disk, I mean a 3.5” floppy. In an amazing fashion for Sony, this actually takes ordinary pictures that can be read on ordinary computers without a lot of hassle. I’m certain they’ve fixed that.
          Day off or not, I was in the shop for five hours. Upon investigating the blogs, I see that there must not be any rule against blatant commercialism. One of the top rated sites is an insurance office. Don’t be fooled, there are quite a number of tactics that can be used to make it look as if many people are visiting your site. It attracted me because it is very well planned and by coincidence uses the same template as this blog.

          So Fred comes out of the back to say somebody has thrown out a perfectly good human being. This turns out to be a homeless type crashing behind our dumpster. Hey, if I was homeless, I’d make sure it was some place like Florida. Warm all the time and a government system that is a complete shambles. That is not to say it is comfortable, it can be far too hot in the summer nights. There was the homeless guy, sound asleep in the middle of the day, snoring away.
          Off the topic, I heard that you don’t snore in outer space because there is no gravity. I know you rocket scientists caught that one right away. Outer space is full of gravity. What I should have said is apparently nobody snores in free fall.

          Much of the time today was planning the catalog. Fred has this idea about “departments” which is hilarious. We take a series of pictures like the ink refill department, or the laptop repair department. Mike’s work area won’t need any props, it is worse organized than my work bench, which I specifically built so I could be as disorganized as I please. I think we should do it right away, although we have not yet had much luck with Internet advertising.
          That clip of Brian and I playing Memphis with the violin and bass is bad. I mean, the sound is accurate, but the way we played it is so bad the video asks to be held for ransom. Brian was trying to break the habit of reversing his bow strokes, which throws his other timing off, but this is not plain when watching the video. He does get it right just before the end but meanwhile he is over-concentrating and sounds like the robot from “Lost in Space”. The effect is two lousy musicians who can’t play on key.

          I biked over to see Dickens. He was at the shop with Jerry, the Irishman. They have really cleaned up the shop and Dickens reports that there is finally a stream of business coming in from advertising on Craigslist. I suggested we put a small but repetitious ad there and link to a catalog blog. A “catablog”? Don’t hit me.
          That donated computer last week is a beauty, 2.86 GHz Pentium with a Gig of RAM, I think the only thing wrong is the graphics accelerator needs replacing. A small B&W TV came in, so he gave that to me for a recording monitor. This made be quickly realize I wrecked my Magnavox with that bad tape of Whistler. Dang, that thing was a prize, but they are also not worth repairing.
          Then I wound up pedaling through side roads east of the Ft. Lauderdale airport. There is actually a way to get into town without using the freeway. I tried to find the road to the west, but no dice. I had to retrace the journey all the way back to Young Circle. That’s because I got a blowout just near there. This means I’m averaging 400 miles between flat tires.

          Where’s my odometer? Ah, here we go. 24.872 miles in 2:55:42. That last two miles [walking] back to the house tired me out more than the entire bike ride. I had a repair kit and pump, but it was already dark. I’m going to dare to try and watch TV from the zombie chair. I decided to hook the new saddlebags to my existing rack, meaning JZ inherits an excellent chrome-aluminum unit.
          In other wonderful news, I’ve heard that four men claim to be the father of that Smith woman’s baby, that the USA owes Mexico almost $40,000,000,000 (forty billion dollars) and that the power company demands a huge deposit if your credit score is less than 800. Didn’t I warn you twenty years ago?
          Last, I’ve been listening to Holiday by Greenday. Wouldn’t you know it, the favorite song of my newest student has non-standard chord progressions, and those chords are among the hardest to learn. However, it becomes easy when transposed down a semi-tone (to Em). Greenday are technically great musicians, but again, I’ve heard every riff they play so long ago it hurts to remember. They tend to over-synchopate and play everything at one volume. The vocals are muddled in the background. They do this version of Van Morrison’s “Brown-Eyed Girl” that totally sucks. Other than that, they are rock stars.

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February 9, 2007

          It was a perfect day for biking, not a cloud in the sky. You could say that many times over, as in really perfect, since I kept riding past news reports of blizzards up north. I believe they said a hundred feet of snow in New York. I’ll stick with the odd hurricane. I had to find another filler picture. Blogs take work and I'm basically a lazy person, folks.
          I spent the early morning over at Anna O’s hooking up an Epson printer. Like HPs, these are not fun as they install themselves in your system registry and this terrible tendency cannot be turned off. Speaking of things that will not go away, stick around and I’ll tell you about Dr. Skrbc.
          Mr. K. was in, I have not seen him since November. He is the fellow who I make the DVDs for, and the guy who keeps insisting I should wear a bike helmet. He regards my brain is a “national resource”, yet it is far more dangerous to ride in a car. Also in were some laborers from the condo project across the street. How come nobody thought of soliciting their business before? There must be fifty laborers there. Time to install Ventanas XP.

          There was another customer, like myself a former payroll accountant whose job got exported, who came in today to apply for welfare. The similarity ended there, because despite years of warning and advice, he could not start even the basics of filling out an on-line computer application.
          The Florida welfare form is designed by impossible idiots, there is even a section they expect criminals on the run to fill out. It goes to the effect that you are to declare you are not applying for welfare because you are in Florida to “flee prosecution in another state”. What is wrong with this picture? Anyway, he finally had to take a job as a telemarketer. It took him two hours to complete the form, but that is far better than what happened next.

          Dr. Skrbc. I had to fire that guy out of my life. Can’t work with him. He is another Ken Sanchuk, constantly on about how and why you should do things for him for free, a meritless tactic which has never worked on me. I timed him today. He actually stood there for eighteen minutes arguing that I should send an email for him because it would only take me “two minutes”. What is with people like that?
          I understand he was trying to establish a precedent. If he can get me to do it free for once, he wins and I lose. Like Sanchuk, the one thing he does not do is offer to pay you for your time. We’ve all been the victim of such arcane verbal onslaughts which generally take the form of these arguments.

          1. You should do it [for them] because you are better at it than they are.
          2. It would take him far too long to do it himself.
          3. He is in a bind and needs it right away/doesn’t have time to learn.
          4. The whole episode is a learning experience you should welcome.
          5. If you had just done what he wanted, you would be finished by now.

          That bozo goes on and on after you cut him off. The guy is particularly slimy because when you tell him to do it himself, he goes into the mode of you won’t do it because you are too stupid and he’s willing to help you [learn how]. Don’t you love the guy already? I’d introduce him to Paulina, but then I’d have to leave town.
          Dickens called. Somebody has donated a Mavica. Maybe I’ll finally learn now those work, since they were always far too over-priced for me to buy one. I’ve just been informed Mavica is not a household word, so I’ll explain. It is a Sony camera that burns pictures directly to an optical (CD) disk. I’ve been toying with the idea of creating a blog that is a catalog of things donated, which is a disguise for things we want to sell.

          This catalog would take the form of stating that America is a wonderful and amazing country just for what people throw away, or in this case, donate. The thing is, I remember reading somewhere that commercial enterprises are against the grain of blogging but now I cannot remember where that was spelled out. Hence, the theme that I am merely documenting my experiences. Yeah, yeah, somebody will say this amounts to getting the blog host to do things for me for free. Wrong, I’m doing it myself, not calling them up and arguing they should do it for me.

ADDENDUM
          Who is this Ken Sanchuk? He is a frozen meat salesman I once met with no concept of doing anything for or by himself. He was actually fascinating in a miserable way because he fancied himself clever at getting others to do his work, your typical “middle management” mindset. Anybody new in his life was subjected to an intense but overtly friendly process of his taking mental inventory of possessions and skillsets.
          Then, after about a week, the nonsense began. He would adapt his promises and behavior based on what he had concluded you ought to do for him. This is the guy who owned four sets of ratchet wrenches, each with the 5/8” bit missing, but who could not understand why you would not lend him yours. He had a terrible difficulties with me, because most of what I own requires skill to use, which makes borrowing a waste of time. You want to borrow my piano? Sure.

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February 8, 2007

          [Author's note 2016-02-08: this post is a Dragon Naturally Speaking transcript.]

          Ah, look at the little kitty. Um, I mean puppy. Ha, you were also wrong – it is not a puppy. This is a fully grown Yorkie and the newest addition to the team. She is destined to become a pampered model. If nobody steps on her first. For a small dog, she sure is quiet, even I got to like that.
          News for today is a contact from France. Want to see what an expensive web sit looks like? Check out CanalPlus. I could not read the screens but I can sure read big bucks spent on that page. They have contacted Ruth to see about being first to feature the doggie hairpieces in France. I’m all for it. Especially if I have to go to France, one of those places I’d likely never go at my own expense.
          I dunno, Europe has always seemed to me to be one of those places where a misplaced focus on tradition passes for culture. Their history of non-stop violence shows there is no European culture whatsoever. Yet, if you like castles and cathedrals, maybe there is something to see. I already understand French cooking. Take a quarter portion of anything, pour a pale sauce on it and charge an outrageous price. That’s culture. See, you thought I was a total rube.

          Wallace wrote today about his newest plan to meet a blonde. There is a nearby shopping center that has a “singles shopping night”. He gets a shopping cart and goes to the pork and beans section, where he loads up 50 to 55 cans. The purpose of this, he reports, is to “emphasize my plight”.
                    Myself, I have to get back into any kind of a band. It is getting to the point where I also need the money. I’m used to making money on weekends, not spending it. Spending to be entertained is for schmeebs. I did the books and I’ve lost $59.31 in music this year already.
          I truly miss the women. Music is how I meet my blondes, and you know how rare blondes are in Southern Florida. I’ll also mention that my blood pressure has climbed steadily since I stopped playing regularly. Extra practice does not help, I need stage work.

          Anna's daughter, Loran, had her first guitar lesson tonight. She is sailing right along and has already caught on that there are no other teachers like me. The older daughter, Becky, also wants to learn. We arranged for the lessons to be back-to-back, so that will keep me busy once a week. By older, I mean like fourteen. Music-wise, that is leaving it to the last minute. I’d been organizing and playing in four- and five-piece bands for [just under] two years by that age.
          When I see Loran’s enthusiasm, I have a hard time believing that I could possibly have done it on my own. She is twelve and already has resources, examples, and family support on a scale I could not have prayed for. (You cannot imagine the hardships I faced, but let’s just say where Loran practices in an air-conditioned living room, I had to hide in a frozen basement hoping I would not get caught. There were times I had to run through snowstorms to hide equipment or hide from getting beaten up by my father.) I guess I’m having a hard time figuring out how on Earth I managed it when I realize I was just as much of a little kid at that age. Yet, I did start a band. Two of them, actually, by the time I was 14.

          We were called “Ides of March”, nothing to do with the Texas band of the same name much later. I pulled together people of limited or no musical talent, often whose only qualification was that they had parents who would buy them an instrument. Guitar was Barry W., Drums was John K., Bass was Gerald S., and I held down the organ keys. Since none of us could sing, we had to get an “older” girl of fourteen or fifteen, named Wendy R. to sing. She was okay, but this brought in unwelcome influences [like country and western music and the dreaded “Last Kiss” song] and I quit my own band within the year, to form a second group called “All The Kings Men”.
          These bands lasted and made money only as long as they did not forget who was in charge. What I remember most of the era was the incredibly long delays in getting anything done because nobody would help out. We played only 26 “dances” in four years, most of them in a church basement. Mind you, it was truly amazing to see how a small town of 2500 plus my entire family, not a damn one of whom had ever played in a band, suddenly became overnight experts on the matter. Truly, utterly, amazing. A sight to behold.

          Of course, the lesson brought up the topic of Limewire. Anna was unaware that the site would share plenty of files besides music. I don’t know if Net Nanny works on Limewire, so the only method I know of to control the usage is to only let your kids use it while you are in the room. This means installing it on your administrator account only. Anna lamented the fact that all the boys her daughter’s age had access to this material – her daughter’s chances of meeting a decent and well-adjusted boy are somewhere between nil and zero. Respect? Intimacy? What’s that? I see her point, but the contrast with her children is not that much different to what the generation before us thought we were. When I was in college, the parents of that age were convince all was debauchery, yet the reality was, most guys I knew were not getting any. Same as today.
          Anna Nicole Smith croaked about six miles from here [at the Hard Rock Café over on 441]. It was [mark my words] a drug overdose, although that will become well known long before they admit it. Forty year old women don’t drop dead in motel rooms without some kind of excess going on. Isn’t she the one who married some 80 year old guy for his money? If so, she would have wanted to go that way. Sorry peeps, no mercy on that one. OD-ing to me is tantamount to suicide and to make her an even more pitiful wench, I understand she had infant children. Way to go there, Ms. Smith.

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February 7, 2007

          [Author's note 2016-02-07: this as another Dragon Naturally Speaking transcript.]

          There is an old saying that those who enjoy law and sausages should never watch either one being made. Extend that to refilling ink cartridges. It never quite resembles the picture on the package, something you may have thought was confined to airline commercials. In case you wonder, yes I do know what I’m doing.
          I’m getting better at blogging, meaning I can now produce consistent results. This has me thinking about doing my “Retarded Product” reviews again. Remind me to mention that the ink refill bottles come with a paper liner inside the cap that gets soggy with ink and leaks all over the place. These reviews would be the things, like that liner, that cause problems in actual usage, regardless of whether the product itself fulfills the purpose. I have no intention of doing any investigation to see if anyone else already does this. Do that too much, and you’ll never leave port.
          I'll have to find it later but there is a picture of me totally getting messy while refilling a printer cartridge. Here's a temporary picture of a traffic sign, we'll see how long it stays temporary. Hmmm, I can't find the other photo, so the sign stays.

          Since I got in super-late, this is the abbreviated post. I got over to Brian’s to run over the material we agreed on last week. He is weak on the delivery and plainly unfamiliar with the material. Despite freedom from learning the guitar parts, he is shy on carrying tunes similar to the originals. I can work with all of this, but I’d reather not have to. Wait, there is some comic relief.
          Like a lot of beginner’s, Brian was shy to practice in front of a mirror. I took the time to convince him this is not vanity, but showmanship. (It is not like my parents provided me with a mirror or anything.) Later in the practice, he brought out a violin. This gets interesting.
          He could emulate almost everything he does on guitar, except it sounded like pure, smooth, classical. [Yes, I have this on disc and no, you cannot see it.] You don’t know how gigantic a leap forward this is for Brian, but not for me. While we were going over how to fake guitar music (another thing you cannot see) he hauled out the violin (without being prompted). Ah, things are beginning to meld. But it is taking too long.

          This produced a hilarious one-time and spontaneous cover of “Memphis, Tennessee”. Brian plays violin, not fiddle. I’m telling you, it was like hearing [I have no analogy here]. There is little I could sell [to music clubs] at the moment, but we actually played this strange music through a couple of times. Brian is hesitant about his stage presence but certainly understands that changes are needed.
          Then, Anna calls back. Her daughter got a guitar for Christmas. This is in addition to the printer she needs networked. I will begin coaching some music tomorrow evening. Who am I to say no to music? I sat around thinking this through. My conclusion is that this teenager [Anna’s daughter] is in the same position I was, and I got no help of any kind. So, I’ll give it the best I can – wouldn’t you? Most teens last three months with music lessons, but wise parents grant them that.

          "Dude Ranch." Yes, that is the trio that contacted me about playing the gay bar up in Ft. Lauderdale. So far so good, but upon finally demanding their song list, guess what? It was word for word the same list as the G, and I never forget a set list. Only an idiot plays "Simple Man" as an opening number? Even the same spelling mistakes. I’m under no obligation to protect this information; still I’ve decided not to make an issue of it. I sent back a neutral response suggesting he should be more careful [particularly if he is sensitive about playing in gay bars].
          In the end, I declined this offer. I've said it before, there are enough problems in life that you don't go out looking for them.

          Ruth called about logging on to Quickbooks. She finally put the auditor on the line, but I was not able to help much. It turns out he may have a different set of notes with a password most different that I found. Finding a password is not simple even when you know how, nor should the difficulty of actually doing it to be misinterpreted. It takes time. Many people think there is some central repository of passwords that you can telephone when you forget your own.
          The black dude who comes in every other day finally got his own account. This time I carefully set it up, but no further. If you want an anonymous account, I will set it up for you for $60, or show you how to do it yourself for $600. I’m learning, and this new guy is engrossed by the possibility of becoming anonymous on-line.
          My Thursday guitar player, Wain, called to cancel out. He is not feeling up to it, he’s definitely down with something. I told him to take it easy and call me back when he’s feeling better. There is no rush with this project anymore, although I wish there was.

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February 6, 2007

          See JZ. See JZ totally into that taco. He's enjoying it so much, you could almost have guessed that he got my taco supreme mixed up with his regular. That's what I get for not knowing from tacos. Except gee, he sure is enjoying that almost too much, wouldn't you say? I would. He went back for another helping.
          I had the day off. I went into the shop to do my own work. An interesting exchange took place. Maria came in with a new MP3 player, and the related Chinese instruction manual. To sum it up, here is a gal with computer certificates and qualifications up the ying-yang. While I admit it took her the same two hours [as it took me] to figure things out, some of us, ahem, did not have a mentor to run to. I say mentor because she never pays me.
          The immediate problem (solved right away) is that nothing would play back. She repeatedly failed to make headway and I had no time. Fred finally stepped in and it turns out to be a plastic strip on the included AAA battery that has to be removed before the player will work. (My diagnosis [had been] that the battery was dead, so I still win that bet.) Hot damn, gotta get me some of them there certificates. In a fast hurry.

          That real estate salesman was in, I guess it does not matter which one. He had a bottle of that “Acia” berry juice I reported a week or so back. It is truly some nonsense, and I had to grin a lot when he gave me the pitch. While not stating for a fact that the juice has any medical effects (no sense running afoul of the FDA), he seemed to personally know the exact same diabetic who went from a shoe size 14 to an 8 that I read about in the paper. The world must be full of amazing coincidences.
          I read the label, noticing that Acacia/Acia juice was but one of 17 ingredients in the bottle. The majority of the contents were apple juice, pear juice, lemon juice and so on. When asked about this, the response was that the other compounds were present to “sweeten’ the taste. Along with anything else you own that is size 14, you can bet your ass on that. [Bad joke, you'll have to think that one through on your own.]

          For the day’s work, I posted two months of blog items from last year. I’m better at it now that I know how to pre-date the postings. I also searched similar blog names and found one, but if that is her real picture, I’ll stick with what I’ve got. That other post has no real plot or direction, a premise only good for political commentary. Any publication is better than no publication but at that point, hopefully, quality takes over. In fact, I had better go back through mine and begin to take out some of the more blatant repetition. It is almost impossible to write daily without repetition creeping in.
          Quality is always a factor, they say. So it is with blogs and peanuts. Don’t buy Publix “Jumbo” peanuts, roasted in the shell. They are sorted by the size of the shell, not the peanut. Far too many are mutants and chunks that landed edge-on atop the sifter. So the shell is big but not the innards. Along the lines of fat women with big breasts that turn out to be mostly fat.
          During my quest for a motorcycle, the Honda site has a jet aircraft. Fred would love to fly a jet, so I downloaded the specs. It flies 475 mph, although you could probably watch the fuel needle sink at that speed. The “taxi” version carries six people and can cruise 1180 nautical miles. The pilot needs [both] virtual and instrument qualifications. The price tag is &3.65 million. There were no efficiency ratios given, probably because the most recent tests showed just 260 hours of flight time. The jet goes on sale in America in 2011.
          For a lark, I ran some spreadsheets concerning using this jet to Orlando and back twice a day. (Two jets would plainly be better.) Over twelve years, it gets quite competitive, as in $550 per person. If there is time, I may look closer at the projections. Later, yes, if the industry was not cutthroat, I could run an airline from here to Disneyworld at those prices.

          [Author's note 2017: the jet finally flew in late 2017 with a price tag of $4.85 million. It is aimed at the Saudi prince market. Honda claims to have invented the laminar flow wing, but this is not true in any way. The P-51 Mustang of WWII had laminar flow wings.]

          Cowboy Mike is back in town, and gives my new band a vote of confidence. He likes to play blues, which I will hold off on with all my guitarists until I’m sure the [blues] influence does not creep into the good dance material. Foxx did manage to get out of here without singing even one song; I let him get away with claiming to be unfamiliar with my material. That, although he had the “must play” list for nearly a week in advance.
          There are no reasonable PA systems on sale in the area. It is the same old story, they want to sell one unit at a five hundred dollar markup rather than five with a hundred each. It is far less work, you see. I should call it the “Starbucks Formula”, although I have not checked to see if I already have [referred to that as such]. All the units I viewed have a built-in mixer which is overkill for a duo, or at least a semi-talented duo. The world needs a simple, easy to use true 8-channel mixer, meaning it has 8 real input jacks all of which work at the same time. The smallest "real" mixer like this is 16 channels and expensive, hence, overkill.

          Several of the mixer units examined had something called “summed” inputs. The channel contained two ¼” (phono) jack inputs. Does than make them a ½”? Seriously, I’ll look up what they mean by summed, but for now it sounds like one of those strange design oddities that most people never use. Like “effects loop back”, “auxiliary send and receive” and an array of other special jacks and attachments where another plain channel would be more appreciated. I guess some people use them, I’ve just never seen it. That could be related to the fact that if it isn’t live, I don’t even look.
          That is not strictly true, for I will sometimes watch a really nice juke box in operation. The only thing worse than walking into a club and seeing some “entertainer” playing canned music is an audience that will listen to it. Some of these yahoos have more road gear than the first three bands I played in put together, except there is not one musical instrument up there. Disk jockey, my eye, and it is not just my viewpoint as a musician. It does not make sense to hire somebody to work the “record player” in whatever form that now takes. I saw one bozo who had a 32 channel mixer to play CDs.

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February 5, 2007

          Okay, this global warming is now to be taken seriously. It just rained for two days in a row here and we can’t blame it on Russian weather control any more. Wain, the guitarist from Boynton Beach, called. We have a meeting scheduled for Thursday. Meanwhile, Mr. Foxx (a stage name) did show up at the appointed time, and I’ll give you the report later.
         Cinnamon Twists, the new high-calorie, high-starch, high-carbohydrate snack from Taco Bell. They are actually quite okay. They must be incredibly cheap to make, since all franchise food joints seem to “discover” these type of treats during the declining phase of market growth.
         I was over at the wig store by noon, doing the kind of work I promised myself I would never do again. Cracking passwords. Even though I did it the easy way, by calling Quickbooks and going through their tech support, it still took three hours and such work drains me. In this process, I also discovered that the former bookkeeper had registered the software to her own phone number, you know, the lady who got arrested. This opened another tangent until somebody recognized the number. All of this takes time, complicated expensive time. As I pointed out strongly, I was not around when all this stuff was being set up.
         We’re not out of the weeds yet, because there are eleven different Quickbooks files on the computer. I may have to open them one by one to find the most recent entries. Quickbooks does have a neat password protection system, but it really does not go fast enough once they’ve identified you properly. This kind of work is never popular with employers and I still get treated like an employee over there. (“I get paid for what I know, not what I do.”) Cracking passwords, or actually it is really cracking password systems, seems all to easy to the people who don’t have to think it through, and besides that, it is not the kind of thing I even like letting people know can be done. Ruth did nothing but complain how long it was taking, which I understand.
         There is something worth commenting on. Around half the time was spent either on hold or talking to customer service types. You can decide for yourself but nothing got done until we got past all the women and through to “Chester”, a man. I am simply telling you the absolute facts here. I do not know or care if there were any contributing or mitigating factors, only that the women were a total waste of time and they did not help a lick. It always got to some point where they would not make the necessary decision or go beyond the rule book. It took the man (and a very young and inexperienced tech at that) to grasp that this time the rules would not produce results.
         This goes deeper, because the women techs constantly tried to trick me into saying something they could get in a huff over. Instead of focusing on the problem, the women would go on and on about who you are, with peculiar fascination over a call-back number “in case we get disconnected”. When Chester got on the line, it was three or four words of introduction and on to fixing the problem.
         The stumbling block appeared to be that the software was registered to the wrong zip code. Why is it Chester found that item in ten minutes, using the same information that four women could not troubleshoot in over two hours? “Would the woman who knows what’s really going on just please put me through to the man in charge?”
         If that last exchange sticks in your craw, you might be asking yourself why. When I got home, I took my blood pressure. 145/95. Doubleplusungood. You can bet your ass if you cause that kind of condition, I’m going to notice your gender.
         I won’t bore you with the numbers but I see that I could really use a motorcycle for those 12 to 30 mile trips. These are too long for bike rides and I hate to fire up the car to go such short distances. Most such trips are almost entirely on the freeways (don’t ride a motorcycle on the local streets), so a scooter won’t quite make the grade. Years ago, Honda made a decent 250 cc machine that cruised at 75 but could hit 100 mph. Now, all they make in that range is ugly dirt bikes.
         I liked the 250 because it was compact, rode low to the ground and had a real passenger seat, not a buddy seat. It was light enough to manhandle and looked like a larger bike. Of course, since I liked it, they no longer make it. This could take a week or two for the final decision.
         Then, Mr. Foxx showed up. He is a somewhat natural guitarist and learns the ropes quickly. I put him through the usual paces, play this, don’t play that. That first session is always fast paced, but he did okay. He admitted he has not played for twenty years, which explains why he failed to send me a song list. I saw instantly that he’d been playing way too much blues (making chord changes at the wrong spots). That is why I wait till the end of a session, and go over what was learned.
         He passed, and was rather impressed by what I’d shown him. This is often the result of them assuming it will be complicated and finding out it is so simple they overlooked it. Sometimes, it is comical how the transition happens. After an hour of playing with me, I point out some things that very few people could spot on their own, and he made the leap without hesitation.
         I can’t spell it out for you, but for instance, some guitar players balk at the “de-emphasis” on what they play, like I’m trying to “take over” their part. Most guitarists do not realize they have been overplaying to compensate for a lousy backup band. It [what I just described] is a new definition of cooperation but one that works.
         That impressed him. He also learned within the first minute that he could not play by watching me – a lot of guitar players try that and flop. You must listen, not watch. Like others, he is floored by the amount of analysis I’ve put into what works and he will likely put in the effort to learn the music list now. He wants to get back for another practice by the weekend. I told him to call me when he has learned ten of the tunes on the CD I gave him. If he does, we go ahead. If he does not, twenty years is a long break.

February 4, 2007

          Can’t tell if it was Super Bowl or the bad weather than brought only the loonies into the shop today. It was Seattle weather, I waited until the last moment for it to clear up [before driving the car] and barely made opening time. Seriously, this is the first time in seven years that it has rained more than an hour except for hurricanes [around here].
         Yes, that is a picture of the house that JZ grew up in. Well, actually, it is just the part of the house that will fit in one picture. If you look close, you may see the area we were landscaping y'day. Look to the left of the main entrance.
          I had two things on my mind all day. Alaine (JZ’s happily-married sister's) liking of orange juice) and driving to California. It’s one of those human mind events some psych-logic type will someday make a fortune over. It was like having a tune stuck in your mind. I kept thinking of that long stretch of nothing from south Texas to Arizona. While that is explainable since I really enjoy that trip, why did I also keep having visions of making Alaine a jug of orange juice?
          Yes, That's right, orange juice. Her vision kept saying it was better and cheaper to use the juice machine. But I know it is not the same. Was it Alaine or the orange juice on my brain? Well, Alaine is far prettier so let's go with that.
          And the juice? It is not the same at all, my personal opinion is that anything but a hand juicer will somewhat squash the rind and seeds, making it [the juice] that tiny degree more bitter. You need that human touch to get it right. Maybe this is not so; it is enough that you believe it to be so. When was the last time somebody squeezed your oranges? I mean, for free, just so things would be exactly sweet enough for your liking.

          Super Bowl did not work out for me. I planned ahead four months to have a band together by now, evidenced by my rehearsals with Brian. I know things will eventually kick in once the gears mesh. I wonder if it really is any easier than the first time, for it is certainly no faster. The same gronk steps have to be covered in the same order against the same resistance every friggin inch of the way. Sometimes twice over and it would be three but that is never worth it.

          [Author's note 2016-02-04: in the end, this band was already showing the same "Broward Guitar Mafia" cracks at the seams as every other. The guitar player can only play what he's been drilling into his brain for twenty years and cannot learn anything else. And his attitude of "joining" a band is you learn his song list first, then we look at yours. Except in his opinion, you never ever finish learning his song list "good enough".]

          It was a constant drizzle all day, so I canceled all plans and went directly home. I didn’t say before, but when I examined under the trailer last week, the first thing seen is these massive hurricane anchors. Around four times the strength normally seen in this situation. Huge, inch-thick, straps that clamp my exterior walls to the ground. They must have been there long before Enrique came along. At least that explains why nothing here ever sways in the wind, which at times whips the door right out of my hand, but inside it is calm.

          They say 2007 is going to be a record year for hurricanes, which the authorities also said about 2006. In fact, there was not even a decent storm in 2006. They also say that there is global warming. Does that mean if I wait long enough, I’ll have oceanfront property?
          I am poorer than I wanted to be, for I checked the Yahoo store and experienced failure. (He refused to pay me because the changes didn't "take".) The changes to Dr. Skrbc’s web page reverted to the earlier version. It is so typical of these computer outfits to make simple changes difficult. Once you’ve logged in with the correct passwords, they should leave you alone. Then again, what do you expect from people who’ve never had their asses properly kicked?
          Music. There is no progress, unless for some mysterious reason, Brian learned ten songs over the past week. (That's a joke, he hasn't learned a thing since we began.) The contenders at this point are Foxx, who is scheduled for an audition tomorrow afternoon, “Dude Ranch” from Ft. Lauderdale and Wain, who I called and left a message. It is actually the drummer from Dude Ranch whose last contact said he had to go ask the guitar player about all of this. I’ve found that clearing such things with the other band members is usually a good idea! Wain is the guy into the music life-style which I have sometimes had backfire on me. Like, since I don’t know the names of the members of, say “Styx”, therefore I must not be a very good musician, as goes the popular logic.

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February 3, 2007

MORNING
          JZ and I went to Bayside again, in the mistaken belief there would be something worthwhile to do over there, this being some kind of big football weekend. I did see this cowboy hat made out of a Coors Light twelve-pack, but otherwise it was the same old. We spent most of the daylight over at his dad’s house replacing some Crown of Thorns shrubbery that died back when some faster growing plants blocked the sunlight.
          Yes, we went at it with pick and shovel, and it is messy work. The roots were shallow so we didn’t really knock ourselves out. Mary-J’s sister was visiting, wow, you talk about a family resemblance! JZ decided to hammer back the jungle by trimming another ten or fifteen feet of philodendron plants that started to take over in front of the garage. All this took enough time for the two of us to have a serious discussion about music. He is convinced he cannot do it, just as I am convinced that anyone can, with the right instructions. More about this later.

          Wallace emailed to say that he came into “50K”. I asked him which flight he’d be on. He could tell you a tale of legal corruption that went on for twenty years. I can only sketch it for you, but it seems he had a brother in eastern Canada that bought a house that eventually became worth a half million dollars. He also has a sister who makes a profitable habit of declaring her relations to be insane, thus getting herself declared trustee and writing up a new will. She’s managed this stunt several times. This is still legal in some jurisdictions.
          That sister teamed up with one of the seediest lawyers in existence, by the name of Turner. Together they harassed the brother so badly that he eventually boarded himself up inside the house to keep them away. This was merely playing into their hands. I helped Wallace compose a letter ten years ago in an effort to find out what kind of bills Turner was charging over this. The brother had indicated he wanted Wallace to get the house.

          All Wallace got was a ridiculous reply that he must be afflicted with mental problems for even being curious where all the money was going. There was a strange paragraph that to account for the money would be revealing financial secrets about the sister, secrets that had to be kept from her own daughter. Turner eventually created a situation where it was just too expensive for the remainder of the family to do anything. We still don’t know what his bills were, but this case became the only one he kept active on after he retired in 1998.
          It is a royal mess, and now it seems the sister is herself going lulu. She denies doing things we all know she did, like traveling six thousand miles to drink beer on the west coast. Wallace, who should have inherited the entire house, was basically forced to sign for the 50K, take it or leave it. My opinion is that Wallace should settle his affairs, throw some parts into his car and drive here for a few years or more. He refers to where he is living right now as a “blondeless town”. We’ll find him a nice place a mile from the beach.

NOON & NIGHT
          JZ and I walked from Bayside over to the field north of the American Airlines Arena to see Styx. Now he believes me that this is a one mile walk. The band I know very little about. While I recognize certain hit songs, they were just another cookie-cutter band from the 70s. Actually, I am glad they were so stereotyped because I was able to show JP how many of the tricks we had talked about earlier today were being applied on stage. I’ve been trying for months to get JP to at least pick up a guitar, now I think he may actually do it.
          Part of the problem is that he was convinced that playing music on stage was an operation that required years of training and real talent. By the time we got back to his place, he was boppin’ to tunes that came on TV, including the commercials. He is now suspicious that just maybe there is something to all this music thing. Yes, that is a picture of JP in front of his dad’s house.

          Of course, we were talking most of the time about women, or the lack of them. I pointed out to him that of the five times we’ve been to Bayside, never once have we found any women that were single and approachable. He won’t let go of the idea that somehow we must be managing to go only to places where there are no women, or go there on days when the women stay at home. Like most men, he cannot accept that the women are not there in the first place, nor that there is not some mysterious place where all these women go to meet guys. The current rumor is they all go to some joint called “Revolutions” on Broward Blvd. (in Ft. Lauderdale). This is pure baloney.
          What is real is that music is the catalyst for me and I’ve always worked with what I’ve got. Right now that is not much, a few un-auditioned hopefuls and a guitarist with tendonitis. I have nothing to lose seeing if JZ can pick up the guitar and I’ve taught far less motivated people to do it. My intention is to play in a band until I am 75 years old, which would make my total musical career 63 years.
          We decided to watch a movie on his fancy cable hookup, but the only thing on was these movies about cops and street gangs. Usually about some undercover cop who infiltrates a gang of “brothers”, you know, the tired old nonsense where we want tired new nonsense. Where the cop is a divorced lesbian with autistic offspring. Instead, we ate shrimp and talked. What else do I know how to do when I’m not performing? You watch, once he gets the hang of it and sees the world from the stage looking out, he’ll be a total convert. I know in the end he won't, but it is still not to be overlooked if we ever want to get us some fancy women. Trust me, it works better than anything else except money.

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February 2, 2007

           I hope you want to talk music today. What trip downtown would be incomplete without a towtruck in operation? Can’t just ticket these tourists, there is far much more to be made gouging them as well. Cahoots, the quarterly newspaper with the hopeful articles, finally appeared at the office. Bad news, gang. They did not include even one of the articles or sets of photos sent to them in the past three months. It was worth a chance, and that chance did not work out. I’ll just move on, but it is a disappointment at best.

           Dr. Skrbc owes me $60, and he’s lucky I don’t charge the full going rate. I finally modified his web site to get the order information at the top (instead of the bottom) but it took six hours. Yahoo small business dot com assumes you know those complicated changes you make to the web page are only saved locally until you figure out you have to “publish”. (Yeah, Yahoo, publish this.) Publish is what you do with manuscripts, not web page code, but of course, they are such millionaire geniuses, who is to argue?
          I got a response from a trio [band] in Ft. Lauderdale, I may have mentioned them as “Dude Ranch”. I had to answer, just because the drummer, who cannot spell “They’re” was actually pleading for an excuse to fire the current bass player. The word is that he [their bass guy] likes to show up plastered drunk, as in “can’t stand up much less play bass”. I’m repeatedly assured that I “gotta be better” than what they have. Sounds like my kind of group already. Ft. Lauderdale gigs like this are full of homosexuals, but as I wrote to Mitch, that may just make the women more desperate. (Nonsense, but it sounds good.)

           Fred peeled open a Sony laptop today, to discover it has a slot for a second hard drive. That is a new one on most of us. He reports there is a complete vacant compartment [in back of the Sony case] and he intends to use it. My experience with more than one hard drive per computer goes back a ways, and although I like the arrangement, it baffles most users.
           Mr. Foxx, the acoustical guitarist from Pompano Beach also phoned today. We talked for 15 minutes and arranged to meet over at the Donut shop at 4:00 PM on Monday. He has no equipment and an acoustic pickup that “might not work anymore”. He comes across as a total guitar player (only people who 100% play guitar or 100% can’t play guitar are into Jim Croce). Upon questioning, he hesitated to send or quote me a song list, where I sent him mine many days ago. This usually indicates somebody who is into a very narrow type of music who intends to make you a believer. While I do the same, my focus is outward to what the audience wants, not what they are supposed to want, a major distinction.
           On several moot areas, he [Foxx] has deferred to my experience with crowds, so in return he gets a full audition and interview. I’ve got four clubs lined up. No the forty clubs so many guitarists claim to have, but just four. They are solid leads, we can play them as soon as we work up a set. I even have one of those rare Sunday arrangements for money plus tips. The picture is me outside the local pool hall, showing that I am not anywhere near my ideal weight. Ah, but wait until you see how I can fake it on stage, even if I’ll never reach the aptitude levels of Madonna for it.

           The intentions are that JZ and I are going to put in some shrubbery over at his dad’s tomorrow. I even bought a pair of Chinese work gloves. The meat counter at the dollar store is back in operation, with the same lady who remembers me, but I can’t really place her. Even so, it amounted to me walking out of the place with a pair of work gloves, not an event to endear you to most Florida women. Well, at least not until after you are married, then you really get to put on the gloves.
           That you or anyone “should be married” is a statement made almost exclusively by married people over 24 years old. This group has very little to lose by taking such a stance. It is so subtle and minor an issue that I won’t even say anything about it. You’d think I was picking on their selfish motives, or something.
           I’m turning in early because the hot weather is back. The most comfortable room in South Florida is my bedroom with perfect climate control. Since I want to read, I won’t go out and sit in the recliner. I estimate the average zonk out time from sitting in that chair is a little over five hours, made worse by the fact you wake up around two or three in the morning and feel so relaxed it is like you weighed five hundred pounds.

           [Author's note 2016-02-02: I still own that chair and slept in in last night.]

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February 1, 2007

           This is a picture of Point East, and a reason that I charge from the time that I arrive at the security gate. While security is a good thing, that only applies to the point where it becomes massively inconvenient. This lineup was twenty minutes long. Hey, I can solve the homeland airport problems practically for free. This is America. You post a list of the ethnicity of each passenger on the overhead, and don’t tell me the government does have all that on file. Then, in true democratic fashion, the paying public will decide for themselves whether they want to get on an airplane with Abdullah. End of problem.

           Sometimes I wonder where all the suckers were when I began programming web pages. It just becomes incredulous how much money some people paid to “web programmers” and now little they will pay to fix it up afterward when they realize how badly they’ve been had. Enter Dr. Skrbc (Is he really a doctor?).
           His web page was so bad, you could not tell where one offer ended and another began. It basically says, “Send me $992.00.” Mind you, I do understand the mentality of giving anything new [like a web page that claims to make you a physician] a stab if you honestly feel you are one of the first. It worked for Amway.
           Music was not idle today, either. I got a nearly unwelcome supply of responses [from guitar players]. I had to turn down the “LA 1990” crowd, the kind who thought I might be impressed by how many award winners they could name. That means Tom Foxx is on my list. I sent him an email saying get in touch fast. Nothing yet, but you really have to read my entire email to figure out how to get in touch, I do that on purpose. It weeds put the dummies.

           One of the replies was a group that does a Wilton Manors gig (a homosexual club just north of here). Billed as “Dude Ranch”, the reply clearly states how they love country music. I sent back a note saying I am not averse to rooms that love dance music. I’ve played many gigs where the crowd was blurry-eyed drunk. He is describing just such a room. It was curious how he tip-toed around homosexuality. I assured him, that although I’ve played a room full of lesbians, today I am no such being (not a homo). The same goes for pig-farmers back in 1982, but that is another story, except to say playing their gigs does not make me one of them.
           Have I mentioned the crackpots who’ve answered my ad? It states I want a guitarist who can sing. My ad is clear. I’ve gotten replies from people who can play, among other things, harp, ukulele, pipe organ, Bb saxophone, and clarinet. Of the lot, I’d like to see how anyone could possibly sing while playing the clarinet.

           I heard an interesting take off on the question, “do you swear to tell the truth”, etc. “Only insofar as the question is both clear to me and relevant to the matter at hand, does not go beyond what I myself personally understand, and my objections, if any, to deliberate misinterpretation will not be overruled as guaranteed by my Constitutional right against self-incrimination, “Yes”. It seems a long-winded way to say the question is potentially leading. The discussion was against the reply, where I feel it is a perfectly good condition to demand if you are going to be cross-examined.
           My newest student is something else. He is your typical “active retiree”. This means he is always in a rush to get somewhere. I’ve explained to him that he is eventually going to wind up paying double for all his lessons because he has no time to practice. On the other hand, he knows a ton of people who may be interested and remember, most of my new people are referrals. (I’ve described how advertising does not work because there are so many liars out there.)
           He has also been attending one of these “free” computer lessons at the library. Ha, what a joke those are. They did not show him how to log on at home, how to get the right kind of service and the whole series of decisions involved in setting the thing up. He says himself that he could never have done it without me. This folks, is what you get for free – nothing.


           [Author's note 2016-02-01: I eventually took Point East off my list. They eventually began photographing license plates, demanding ID, and questioning you for "the purpose of your visit". That is so wrong, because it is none of their business. It is also a breach of my client's confidentiality to say that I'm fixing his computer. And anyway, don't say that because they'll demand to see your "contractor's license". This is what is wrong with America. On the excuse of catching a few known bad guys, they make rules that inconvenience everybody. Because that is their real goal.]

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January 31, 2007

          Who wants a closer look at that personally autographed Elvis picture? I did. I have some news that will burst the bubble. It seems The King didn’t autograph all of his autographs, and this is one of them. It is not a fake, but he didn’t sign it. How can this be? Easy. He wrote on the photo, but only the part that says “To Ruth”. How lazy can you get? The “Best Wishes” and “Elvis Presley” parts are mass-produced. I sent a scan to the Elvis society to see if the fact that it is personalized has any commercial value. Don’t get your hopes up.
          I consider it absolutely necessary to catalog all of the pictures, to find out exactly what is there and into what categories each item can be placed. This should be done and studied before anybody is contacted, if for no other reason than to find out if there are any matching sets. This would require around twenty hours of work for the pictures on the wall. Find out who is still around, who has fan clubs, and so forth. I’m having a little trouble convincing everyone that I can’t just start ringing people up and telling them I’ve got “about 250 really neat pictures for sale”.
          Barbara Dixie called. This is one of my former students who may have started her own business. Like too many of my students, she did not follow my advice about computer commitments. Don’t promise anything to anybody until you are certain the equipment works and you understand it. It has something to do with her airline tickets, and I went through that with her a few months ago. Looks like I’m about to re-learn it.

          Later, I was over there and she has been spending all her time on the Internet, not practicing the lessons she took from me. Gee, what a surprise. Since I got out of there early, I thought I’d find the aluminum store based on directions I’ve received. It was a waste of time and I never did find it. I’ve very good at following directions and four people gave me the wrong ones. I finally wound up bicycling along each street and avenue in the general area but I could not find A1 Aluminum.
          I asked several people, and the closest I got was one man who said it was “across the way”. People like that I always hope get in an emergency and need directions to the hospital. I mean, what kind of bozo gives you an answer like that? Speaking of useless people, here is a Trump construction site. One begins to wish pictures of these people were rare. The Visionaries, it says. When you have billions, I guess it is okay to tell yourself that you have visions of the future.
          I have a vision of the future, and it is that 80 million people are going to retire in the next ten years. Half of them will die. Anybody who buys a condo for a million is nuts if they think they can flip it. The prospective buyers are already flipping – hamburgers at MacD’s.

          No time to myself today, as I went right over the Brian’s for practice. Plus, I wanted to run the idea of playing without a guitar past him. This is a hard sell. I layed down the tracks on his recording machine and he hummed along. He does not know he’s moving along twice as fast as expected. The idea works because it is unexpected and I happen to be one of the few people alive who have pulled it off before.
          We play only bass and drum box. He stands there with a guitar and acts as if he is just about to start playing, but never does. I explained and he accepts that this means some major changes in the way the music is presented and how we act on stage. He is skeptical but who can find fault with that. What if I told you to go on stage but never play anything.
         The four songs we picked are Fire, Act Naturally, Six Days and Words. The optional song is Some Kind of Wonderful. He is to focus on the vocals but I was able to show him how to do all of it except how to memorize the beginning notes. By the end of two hours, he was humming the tunes, a sure sign of good progress. We might just get away with this.

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