June 18, 2013

           Ever one to try new things, here is a bottle of Naked brand juice. From the book store coffee shop. Looks funny and tastes like apple-pineapple. Not bad but at $4 a shot, not destined for my larder. The other ingredients, read the chart, include broccoli, spinach, barley grass, spirulina (pond scum), and blue-green algae. The label cautions to keep refrigerated both before and after opening. Because, let’s face it, you never can tell what might start growing in there.
           The feds have overruled Arizona again. They are not allowed to check for American citizenship before letting people vote. I have no idea what ulterior motive has infused the central government. Where do they even find people who would object to this on any grounds. It seems a small number who didn’t have driver’s licenses or passports were excluded and DC is using that as an excuse to quash the state law. It boils down to allowing illegal immigrants to vote themselves citizenship and benefits. Short-sightedness to the extreme.
           Once again, another fake investment agency is shut down, this time two Hispanics running a silver investment scam. Collecting money to buy and store silver, but using it to make up for lost time. Took some oldsters they did for $2 million. Which is not all that much, and you know, if they had not printed up phony statements saying the precious metal was bought and stored, they could have gotten off by saying all the spent money was valid business expenses. The sad part is one will turn on the other when subjected to legalized blackma… what? Oops, I meant plea bargaining.
           In a truly disgusting spectacle of after-you’ve-been-caught lame smooth-talk, we have this year’s complete moron. Keith Alexander, the head of NSA. Am I worried about criticizing his stupidity? Nope, even if he 7822’s me, it will just bring me the one thing I crave: good publicity. Alexander gets the booby prize for worst performance trying to lie his way out of the domestic spying scandal. Claims it prevented 50 events, but that is little more than his confession that he can’t do his job without invading privacy. But, as usual, these Neanderthal-looking idiots totally miss the point.

           Allow me to spell it out for you, General. The issue is NOT terrorist plots. Quit trying to change the subject. The concern is that government departments NEVER limit their use of the technology only for good. The Constitution makes it clear that all policing activity must be based on reasonable grounds. Spying on people and covertly reading their mail does not fall into that category and you are liar for saying it does. People act differently when there is an expectation of privacy and you and your ilk have an ape-like brain wiring which prevents you from ever understanding that.
           The issue is that you and your kind will never stop invading privacy once the original cause is gone. Bureaucracy feeds on itself, and you are nothing but another damn bureaucrat. You should be ashamed to call yourself American for you certainly know nothing about the freedoms you pretend to be defending. The danger is when you turn the technology away from criminals and onto ordinary people. Madmen given power never know when to quit. Sorry, you loathsome dunce, but I remember when a driver’s license was a license to drive and nothing more.
           That’s today’s quota of controversy. Any cutsie who says he doesn’t mind illegal surveillance because he has nothing to hide should go out and get something. Having nothing to hide is the very definition of useless bastard. Only a fool gives up a right just because he isn’t personally using it at the moment. My personal stance on the matter is that while America should be defended, we don’t need people breaking the law to do so. Nobody could both invade and hold America ransom, there are too many guns.
           Want to free North Korea? Fly over the countryside at night and drop just enough guns and army food for two months. We need army types that think like that instead of electronically enslaving their own population after swearing under oath to protect them.

ADDENDUM
           What is different about this shoelace pack that everybody in the room here can tell except you? No, it isn’t that I make my own aglets from electrical shrink tubes. They are the standard color and size, six pairs for a buck. Give up? Keep reading. People have gotten rich on pet rocks and here is another dumb idea. I can sell you this for $2. I don’t want to set up a factory for my great-grandkids to bankrupt in the future, but I’d like to sell 50,000 pairs really fast. Still don’t see it?
           That’s because you can’t see it. I tricked you. But there is a unique thing about this product discovered by accident. And what is this modern world if we don’t include accidental discoveries. Phosphorus was found by a guy boiling his own pee to change lead into gold, you know. This is an impulse item.
           DeeDee was in for coffee and I walked to the Bodega to pay the electric bill. There was a bottle of fluid that said it promised all kinds of alluring mystery and relaxation, so I bought one for the lass. But it said no skin contact, so when she wanted to sample the aroma, I poured it on some shoelaces and why not? Wow, what a concept. Feng Shui shoelaces. It’s as pleasant as it is unexpected.
           Don’t laugh. I’ve seen scented toilet tissue. And scented toilet tissue rolls and tubes and you don’t laugh. The bottle scent is made in Medley, FL, and is probably five times stronger than necessary. It should last, since people don’t normally wash their shoelaces (most gym shoes use other fasteners), and the concept of a fresh smell when you least expect it probably has merit in a lot of circles.
           So, we brainstormed for an hour. Athlete’s foot? Or a bubble-gum scent for kids, maybe baby powder scent for them little bootie thingees. As usual, my idea is not to go into business selling things. Heaven’s no; that is too much like work. I laugh at “self-employed” people (like drywallers) who profess to own a business but only bought themselves a job.
           My plan is to build the prototype and market the idea, turning a fast buck before the competition has time to react. What happens if somebody copies my idea from this blog? No offense or at least very little, but that will be the day. There's a better chance of someone like Keith Alexander admitting he was wrong.

June 17, 2013

           I was out in Pembroke Pines to see my cardio people and then a trip to the book store. I would have continued straight out for a trip around Lake Okeechobee but I’d forgotten my cell phone at home. Since I have no use for an alarm clock, I used my cell and there it sat. My vital signs are fine but I’m due for another nuclear stress test and an ultrasound on my extremities. There’s some puffiness going around which I don’t have but don’t want to get either. The outcome of today is the go ahead to up my exercise classes to as many days a week as I can handle it. That’s significant, because they are used to patients who don’t set reasonable personal limits.
           This beautiful sunset is something I’ll never see. It is on Mars. We aren’t there because NASA betrayed us. Sold out for thirty years being more interested in keeping their paychecks than exploring. The shuttle was so useless, they had entire departments who strained their brains to come up with “experiments” to justify the waste. You know the old joke of why the shuttle exhaust was so hot because it was really burning bales of thousand dollar bills.
           Yet here is a scene of beauty from a new era and now there is no longer any assurance America will even be the first to get there. Other countries solve their problems by ignoring them. Here, we give them everything they need to live for generations without ever knowing the joy of hard, sweaty, labor. The problem with putting lazy people on welfare is the result is more lazy people.
           In the bookstore I saw a reference to a book printed in 1852 predicting the effect of steam and electricity on human society. By now, we were to have achieved perfect harmony of mind and muscle, with cheap energy to do our work. I was in the store an hour reading up on Arduino. Much more has been written since we began. And we have a drawer full of them. The problem is, without something physical to connect them to, they are not challenging. Since we don’t have the mechanical ability to build intricate objects, the controllers sit idle.
           This Friday I will again attempt a visit to LAB @ Miami. What advertising they do concerns Arduino projects and I’d be more likely to pursue code if I was working on a team. Nobody yet has connected an Arduino to a 3D printer, probably because at first glance it doesn’t make sense. But my thinking says why limit the printer to a static file? What happens when the input changes as the object is built up? Trivia. One of the first objects printed by new owners of a 3D printer is a universal hand-cuff key.
           I overheard some laughter concerning the degree of stupidity that was worse than usual during a beauty contest. I looked and found this picture of Miss Utah. She’s not only stupid, but in my book, ugly too. If this is what twenty-one looks like, I don’t want to see her at thirty-one. She looks like Miss Utah’s mother. Completely plastic, she has that body type that will go to seed fast. Her arms are already going to flab. I long for the days they [very carefully] pinned the ribbon on the prettiest blonde babe with the perkiest hooters.
           Now don’t get me wrong. I perfectly understand what your average beer-drinking dumb jock man would find attractive about this cross between a middle-aged Sophia Loren and Octo-mom, but I would not hit on her. That’s about all I can say about the looks of this woman. Except that I went to high school with twenty gals who would blow her away in the tight blue jean segment.
           But this one even looks like a bar bunny. If there are fifty ways to leave your lover, she's used them all up. There, is that controversial enough for you. Hey, Ken, she’s your type, but then again, what isn’t? She’s even got that sense of humor you only think you have. How do I know? Well, she entered a beauty contest, didn’t she?

June 16, 2013

           If you ask me, it looks like a bass ukulele. Trust me, only sick-minded guitar players could possibly produce brain-farts like this. For crying out loud, it has nylon strings that sit a quarter inch above the frets. But, somebody somewhere must be shelling out $350 for these things. It sounded terrible and would never be loud enough on its own.
           I’m reading a religious book that Jackie at Jimbos gave me. Yes, we know Jackie can’t read but save the comments for later. He was told the book was enjoyable reading for an intelligent person. Since he could not find one of those, he handed it to me. Called “Soul Harvest”, it is not your mainstream God is everywhere type of reading. It is more along the lines of my own religious practice, where the Big Guy gets honorable mention whenever He gets things right. I’ll read more. One can follow the plot without some jerk force-feeding you Jesus in every other sentence.
           Who was the guy that said Darwin was wrong because at that time offspring were believed to be a mixture of the parent’s characteristics? Thus, in a few generations, all variation would be lost. This is nonsense and Darwin was careful to explain he did not know how heredity worked, only that it did. Some years later particulate genetics was discovered which explains why black cats and white cats don’t all eventually become grey cats. (The white gene and black gene are discrete entities that don’t change, they just get passed on, one dominating the other in each individual.) This is why whenever somebody wants to argue about evolution, ask them to define it before you start.
           My second week on rabbit food and I’m edgy, have trouble sleeping but not falling asleep, and skip meals even when I’m hungry. It’s probably familiar to all dieters but new to me. This food does not give you any extra energy when you need it. Which brings me to Sunday rehearsal. Um, shall we say a poor rehearsal makes for a great opening night. My limit seems to be around sixty songs unless they are all played regularly. When I learn tune number 61, something else falls into my mental recycle bin.
           Another annoyance is my difficulty with song titles. You know I was born with a syndrome about names and that extends to music. I really have to strain to memorize a song I would not normally play. “Set Me Free” comes to mind. So does “Mercy, Mercy”. Once I hear the intro, I can jump right in, but if somebody says let’s play it by name, I draw a blank. Oh. That song. Think of it as a severe case of “hum a few bars”.
           What’s next is sheer hypothesizing and it means nothing until I say it does. I’ve mentioned my place is too small for me. I like around 1,200 square feet just for myself. That includes separate office, den, and workshop. Indoors and air conditioned. I’m comfortable here but I’m more dissatisfied when I have a choice to have better things. Do I have a choice? Funny you should ask. Something has come up.
           My plan to buy in Boca could take indeterminate weeks or years. While I could stay put quite happily, something has happened that could change that. Something that would make my wait just a little more enjoyable. A party has come along and offered me a pretty good price for this place. In fact, such a good price that with that and my reserves, I could get quite a big place right now. The expenses, except for higher electric bills, would stay identical. Here’s how it works.
           Just up the road there is a nice place for sale that is in my range. A doublewide two-bedroom and single bath. It is perfect for privacy, the driveway can only be accessed by a dead-end road around back, where there is only room for a motorcycle to turn around. It has a 28 foot porch along the front of the structure and plenty of room for a work shed. That would ensure not only comfort, but a degree of luxury as I wait on Boca prices to get reasonable.
           Financing? Between what I have socked away, the sale price of this place (which is pure profit), and a fund I could tap into, I’d only have to come up with $3,000 extra dollars. What is that fund? Wallace’s money. I know I haven’t advertised it, but it has been put aside all these years, the full amount, in case he apologized. But that has not happened and even if it does, he’s left it too long. He got greedy and stayed greedy.
           So keep an ear out for changes. If this deal goes through, it will happen very quickly in the immediate future. Everything would have to fall into place in the right order. No promises, but a place three times this size would be right for me. I could hole up there forever it need be.
           Last, JP called. The Mazda has been tuned up. And it already has a glitch. This happens in older vehicles after they wear into their unique mechanical harmonies. You replace one part and it throws off another. This is why the test run is still pending, probably middle of this week. I’m okay with chancing long distance trips in older vehicles, but only when I’m alone and responsible only for myself. I began traveling alone in my early thirties and found it to be a more adventuresome experience. Taking a woman to Hawaii is like taking a sandwich to a banquet.
           Wait, there is one more thing. Around two months ago I ran a computer simulation to see what could enhance my appearance. Get rid of the goatee it said, but that did not allow for my weak chin. So I compromised. Gone is the moustache part but I widened the short beard, what I call the “half Abe”. I’ve been getting compliments and this evening in Dunkin Donuts as I waited on my laundry, a teenage girl said it was the nicest she’d seen. I’m okay with that.

Peeps, if you think pro sports is as much of a joke as I do, you have to watch this video of a Brit calling a baseball game: baseball

June 15, 2013

           This is a statue outside the south entrance to the Aventura Mall. Children on the back of an alligator. That will give you a clear idea of the brain power of your average Floridian. Mind you, I know of a few adults who I would like to see take this little ride. One way deep into the Everglades.

           Off to the movies, a dying art form. The people that say these things say in the future, movies will run to a limited audience willing to pay $100 per ticket. Given the studios diminished capacity to do anything but rehash their former glories, I would not be surprised. It’s been covered here, how no new monsters in 40 years (possible exception “Alien”) and the watering-down of scripts. Today’s example tells the tale. I went to see Star Trek Into Darkness. Catchy title.
           But the plot? Have you ever wondered what happened to all the hack writers after Stallone got out of the business? There are a few scenes of computer-generated dizziness but the rest of the plot typifies the made-for-masses formula that creates nothing. The best the producers can do is take outdated characters and infuse them with this generation’s pet problems.
           The Spock is having an affair and getting in touch with his feelings. There is the standard trip to the disco bar. Loose-cannon Kirk now outright defies orders, to get demoted, one supposes, so he can return as savior. It just wouldn’t be a Rambo movie without that touch. What? Sorry, I should have seen that coming. Well, anyway, the female lead is short, clearly in her thirties, too big-bottomed with dyed hair and foundation garments. I’m surprised they left out the tattoo. Star Fleet Command has been moved to London.
           At movie’s end, brace yourselves, trekkies, the motto has been changed. It now says “To Go Where No One Has Gone Before”. One? Since it was changed from “Man” to “One”, we must conclude the former wording was guilty of some grave omission. We’d best take a close look at the situation because we don’t anyone important left out. We’re not looking for 50/50, rather just a condition where “Man” was distorting historical fact.
           The emphasis is on exploring new worlds. What are the ingredients of people who take on something new and oft-times dangerous? First, we eliminate all the married people. Because we don’t want anybody chickening out by saying they have a family to feed. Picking only single people still leaves the likes of Columbus, Magellan, and Armstrong. What do they have in common? Once we figure that out, we’ll be on our way to identifying the prerequisites of becoming a famous explorer.
           Let’s see, Columbus had his Isabella . . . . aha, I got it! All we need do is find a sizeable contingent of older, unmarried, women who have oodles and oodles of somebody else’s money. As luck would have it, this is Florida. The definition of equality says having these resources is enough to spur anyone on to greatness. All we need do is look up the accomplishments of this group and list their discoveries. What could be simpler?
           Changing the subject, bingo was enough to let me brag a little, so I stopped in at Karaoke again after the show. It was a place that has very few of my tunes, so I did my second rendition of “Oh, Lonesome Me” a capella. I almost didn’t believe it myself. I think I may be on to something with this arrangement. Let me describe precisely how it works

           I get up there, it is my turn. The DJ does not have that song. Normally it moves on to something he does have. But I announce I’ll sing the song if everybody else will. That solicits a wee howl, so I continue. There I am, conspicuously singing something without the music and without the on-screen lyrics. There’s more, but that’s enough. This is not usual Karaoke fare. Not for a guy who three years ago could not sing a note. To my detractors, because I know you don’t see it often enough to recognize it on sight, this is what is known as “progress”.
           Last, here is the American-made model of my $8 butane torch. This is why Walmart does 30% of the business in this country. The US model costs seven times as much to do the same job. And to buy it, they want your home address on file and some idiotic service contract because they will not just replace it if it’s a dud. Fifty bucks for something China can retail for $8 without conning you. The US isn’t going to the dogs, it is already there.
           Trivia. The newspapers announced that non-white births in the US finally exceeded the whites. What’s to become of us now? I regret I won’t live to set foot on Mars.

ADDENDUM
           Let me tell you about one of my pet peeves and one of the greatest concepts of pure ignorance ever cooked up for the American market. Valet parking. Yes, we’ve talked about this before, but Aventura Mall has taken it to the next level. The only thing worse than valet parking is the azzholes that do it by blocking the front door. Pull up five seconds too late at this mall, and there is no place else left to park.

           Why? There is no free parking left near the door. Because the valet shit heads have taken their stupid little tape measure and ribbons and sectioned off the area nearest the escalators. It’s not enough for them to waddle around looking like a troop of chimpanzees, now they’re going to make it as inconvenient as possible for you not to pay them.
           Follow the chimpanzee logic. If somebody else is parking your car, who cares if it is at the other end of the parking lot? There used to be a stretch when one movie emptied out and the next began. You could idle a few seconds until a car pulled out. But this next generation does not want to work or invent anything. They can only conjure up ways to nickel and dime us like the ferrets they are.
           In my time, we didn’t give the losers a uniform, they got real jobs washing dishes. Shown here is the chimp group, top picture far left. See the empty spots near the door. The other photo shows my red scooter parking a block away dead center. The gouge works like this. If you show up less than five minutes early with your prepaid movie tickets, all the convenient parking is roped off. It’s either pay the graft or miss part of your movie because you had to park more than five minutes away.
           Rip-off, Aventura. Ess, see, aye, em. Scam. Gambling casino grade scam. Shame on you. Parking is supposed to be a free service, a convenience, no another angle to gyp your customers. I don't know what the "service" costs, but I saw the Visa machine.

June 14, 2013

           Welcome to another out of sequence day, but there are no rules governing chronology. Translated into New Age, I’m a free spirit writer, free to write what moves me. I’ve decided to wait until 6:15 PM and drive to Miami to see if the club with the 3D printer takes walk-ins. Their on-line registration didn’t impress me. If nobody's home, it also happens to be near Churchill’s, which is where I’ll find JP. GPS says this is a 17 minute trip. Check back to see how it worked out.
           Always put the picture of the babe with the sidecar near the top. I don’t know my readership demographics, but I know what I’d like to see first. Kind of sets the mood. This picture doesn’t do the lady justice, she stood around five-nine. Just a passerby, but such pix help dispose any silly notions about my ability to meet women. Meeting them is NOT the problem. As you see, they stop to talk, which, if they are my type, gives me infinite leeway to say the right things.
           I found LAB @ Miami. Not exactly the best of neighborhoods, it is amidst that Soviet-era chunk of dilapidated north Miami, near the design district. They’ve splashed paint on the buildings but it is still adjacent to Lemon City and along the former railyards. I’m reserving judgment because I did not get into the building. There was no meeting this Friday, I took a chance because part of my plan was to just show up and see what reception I got.
           It is part of a common workshop area, with meeting rooms and a small array of tools and video projectors. From what I could see, it is not that much better equipped than we are over here, and certainly we are more specialized for what we do. The place looks secure but it has to be considering where it is located, see photo. Four blocks west of the Mexican slums. Maybe their next advertised meeting I’ll chance it again.
           Now, the place is just two miles from the Church. That’s Churchill’s Pub, where I used to hang out in my pre-heart attack days. Have not been there on a Friday in six or seven years, so I sauntered in.
           Ka-boom, if it wasn’t the old crowd. Nicki’s there, Penrod Bob, I spent ten minutes just saying hello, and that isn't easy with my famous inability to recall names. Sadly, Bob (the former patron I searched for in St. Augustine last May) has passed on. JP was not there, still, it was like a home-coming. When I worked, I stopped first at the library after work, then in there for a beer. All things considered, I was not really a customer all that long. That’s also where I met the Space Hippie.
           Here’s some meaningless chatter. The Churchill trip did not take place until evening. I’d loved to have gone out for the day. But I couldn’t think of any place I haven’t been already. Every had that happen? Geez, Ken, that was a rhetorical question. I said the TomTom GPS had no title field, but it turns out you can flag it as a favorite, and that section lets you type in a meaningful name. But none of this is in the instructions probably because there are no instructions. My drill press turns out to be a $400 (new) Central Machinery rig and I cannot find any specs for the chuck key. Why do they even make chucks that need keys any more?
           We go over to Barnett’s and find there are eight different sizes of key. And you know Barnett, no returns except for store credit. One alternative is to dismantle the press and take it in on the motorcycle. Yep, eight sizes, none of which are stamped into the metal which fits what. You know the real reason America is slip-sliding away? Because people like this have the money.
           Last, here is me inside Churchill’s. This is why you don’t let other people take your picture. You get photo-bombed. This guy is a drummer at some club up the road and drops in here for cheap drinks on his breaks. He’d spotted my popularity and introduced himself. So this photo is somewhat staged. But what isn’t in the entertainment world?
           We got to talking and there is one thing we (he, I, and his girlfriend) have in common. A concrete aversion to Florida lead guitar players. When he brought the subject up, I knew he was for real. He plays punk grunge, known for its complete lack of quality guitar playing and he still detests the lead guitar ego as much as I do. I mean, I don’t just dislike fat-headed guitar players. They can shove their guitars sideways.

June 13, 2013

           I keep thinking it is Friday. Maybe I’m in a rush? After morning coffee slash crossword slash horoscope, I picked up the Ampeg in the sidecar and went to work. It turns out all four potentiometers got wet, a mystery, but they all make crackling noise when operated. This workaround was to jumper out the worst two and make them the volume and the treble boost, respectively jammed full on and full off. Remember I told you how the new equalizers are all volume, not tone. Thus, I can use the remaining mid and bass knobs to control everything I need.

           But if this does not work, young Jag is about to inherit a great little amp. Ampeg B115, this is your last chance. The company has changed hands so many times I’ve lost track. The photo? Oh, that’s my Zumba instructress. I know, you wanted a picture of the amplifier. Maybe tomorrow or later today, but you can’t have everything you want.
           The rest of this post is drama. Nothing else happened again today. Then again, when you have a blog, one man’s nothing is another man’s excellent adventure. I must compliment Zumba before we start, it keeps your system tuned up. I don’t normally stand on my toes for two minutes, but it’s nice to know I can. Do it. It exercises more muscles than most workouts. I’m happy with the progress though it cuts down on how often I bicycle.
           Isn’t the American legal system grand? The guy who kidnapped the three women and raped them for nearly ten years has pleaded not guilty. A dork who should be strung up by the thumbs is opting to get off on a technicality. Then again, the distinction between insane and stupid isn’t as broad as it once was. Or how about that Ponzi scammer in Wilton who got 25 years for stealing $10 million? His lawyer is arguing a reduction to five years because the con artist is 69 and would die in jail. Um, wasn’t that the idea? To lock him up and throw away the key? I weep for America.
           But not for the individuals who make it up. The follow on generations have become fat, stupid, and lazy. There is no denying it. The new high-paying “jobs” in this economy are what we once called get-rich-quick schemes. A college degree is a waste of time and money for nine out of ten. Illegal immigration has bankrupted once prosperous states. People are free to develop bad attitudes that will prevent them from ever becoming self-sufficient. What’s the message they’re receiving? That if you steal ten large, you only get five years in minimum.
           Okay, who warned us long ago about restrictions on 3D printing? Come on now, who among you said it would not happen. Show of hands? Oh, just you guys again. But you never did have a lick of sense. In New York, only licensed gunsmiths can make guns. Some say okay, that just extends an existing law to cover a new manufacturing method, namely 3D printing.
           If that’s what you think, it’s a good thing there are others who aren’t that dumb to protect your rights. Such laws are carefully worded to smokescreen the unwary. It may sound like it is regulating gun makers, but in fact is regulating everyone except them. Correct laws would regulate who can acquire a gun (laws which I believe is already in force) and stay clear of targeting the practioneers of a new technology. The real danger is any law that leads to prohibition, which is always disastrous.
           Last day I mentioned stupid men who make nasty comments by perceiving every complaint about the dating scene as an inadequacy—but only on the part of another male. I got two brothers who live by such rules. My fan mail says I’m not alone in disrespecting such oafs. Let me add that women can be just as lame-brained. When I mentioned I didn’t see any single women during my trip to Savannah in April, I got this one lady implying I must be somewhere between dull and legally blind since every woman “could be single”.
           According to this airhead, the lady with the wedding ring, the four kids, and holding that man’s hand “could be single” because “you can’t tell by looking”. No, I’m not making this up. (You meet a lot of similar people in Canada who can think of endless reasons, though they won’t dare outright call you a liar, constantly insinuate you are never completely right. They can always spot an obvious but incredibly simple fact you’ve overlooked co-joined with an elusive defect in your character, and they, as your dear friend, are ever willing, if not downright eager, to point it out to you.)
           And, you know, she’s right in her own way of thinking. It is true I did not approach any females in Savannah and request a sworn affidavit stating they were single. She can smile smugly since she’s got me on that count. Don’t you just love her already? In a totally unrelated situation, her live-in boyfriend hasn’t proposed in seventeen years. She doesn’t need to know where I looked to imply I looked in the wrong places. So, why don’t you ask her what are the right places? How the hell should she know, you twit? She’s not a travel agent.

           Had enough? Me too. I spent the cooler early evening rewiring the sidecar for the GPS. Still the old TomTom model that has severe design defects. I found out it asks for a zip code but has no app to look one up. I found out by trial and error you can type in the city. Nice of them to say so. Another beloved quirk they borrowed from MicroSoft is the unresponsive screen button with the underlying cancel button. So when you get frustrated waiting and tap a second time, sure enough. I mounted the unit above the fuel gauge so it looks snazzy.
           Shown here is my home-made 12V test probe. The TomTom also lacks a title field, where you could enter say, “Union Station” or “Bill’s”, so you must recall the full street address to find the destination again. Or scroll through all your other entries and hope you don’t know anybody in Zambia. Union station is 225 S. Canal Street. That will be on the exam.

June 12, 2013

           Another day on celery and apples and it has not improved my outlook. I was at the bakery early, otherwise here all day. Horoscope readings are now pretty standard. I also helped a lady deal with a body shop that was giving her the runaround. She took her car in a month ago for a bumper repair and they haven’t got to it yet. Ah, we’ve seen this before. Insurance jobs take last priority to walk-in business. Call, and they’ll tell you the parts are on order.
           Here’s a picture of some of the home gear needed to practice music on my own time. It’s an art that Florida guitarists seem to have lost. Imagine that, showing up at rehearsal knowing all your parts. I have not a local guitarist that has learned a single new song since we’ve met. (How do I know they aren’t learning it at home and that's why I don't hear it? Because if they were, they’d fervently complain as much as they do about everything else. Unadultered logic on that one.)
           Another day of intense study of music. Again I’m looking for patterns, or in the case of The Doors, lack of a pattern. Four hours on “Love Her Madly”, [which is] another song I never cared for. But I lived through the early pot era and fully understand the appeal of disjointed music and nonsense lyrics on the fried-brain bunch. I can fake the song and soon I’ll flesh out the grace notes and passing tones.
           Estelle never called [which she has no obligation to do] but I do kind of leave Tuesdays open just in case. It's an unadvertised option I generally extend to any woman I've ever dated. I was reminded of her because I have some stats and comments on my super dating club, the one I paid for a year’s membership. But first something side-splitting I forgot to mention. Last week, as we walked out to the bus stop, we were talking about Zumba class. She’s a big fan of it and asked about what type of moves we made. I showed her a few of the steps to point out the level of exertion.
           She says her class is more focused on the Brazilian dance moves and showed me how they waggle their shoulders and bounce the hips more. Her class is more stylistic and bouncy. So I’m telling her that is too advanced for me and, what’s all that noise, but maybe after I limber up a bit. What’s all that noise? We looked up Federal Highway. About twenty cars full of men on their way home had seen her demo the shoulder-hip thing and were honking their horns. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!
           Dating club news, something lots of my readership seems to like to know about. Well, I’m disappointed with the cerebral club I joined, that’s the outfit that wants at least a Bachelor’s to enroll. The women are better educated with better jobs, but you know the game. If you don’t connect in the first short while, the chances of ever meeting someone fall off dramatically. The first impression ritual. And, it’s been a while already.
           My profile is subtly different enough to attract the woman who is weary of all the grinning liars in the world. It specifies more than casual interest on my part in the activities I enjoy. In return I’m seeing a lot of women to list what they enjoy doing, but see no evidence they ever do them, or can even afford to do them. Unless they have their own yacht. Anyway, tingle my spider-sense. You can’t fool me on that count, ladies. Talk is cheap and the cheapest talk is on the Internet.
           I now conclude dating clubs are a crutch for dweeby individuals who don’t have what it takes to make the first move or, as I’ll describe momentarily, the second move either. The club in focus has a feature whereby you can send a flag that lets the gal know you found her profile interesting. So I flagged a random group to see if any would flag back. Nope. My profile fits the bell curve by design and my presentation openly solicits a response. Yet still nothing.
           This is a risky situation to lay in the open, because the world is full of pathetic men who make wrong assumptions. I am so different from those deaf-stupid losers they don’t know. Right now they would swear under oath I just said I was a flop with chicks, when I never said any such thing. For example, just last night I was the only man in an all-female Zumba class so I don’t need any crap about not looking in the right places. The problem is I’m not meeting interesting women. I’m not looking for rich or tall or sexy, but I do keep an eye out. I’m looking for someone I can spend the rest of my life with.
           And the search is exasperating. I have a phobia about being stuck with a boring person the rest of my life. I admit it. But I know I’m not anywhere near as boring as my critics. I fully admit that I sincerely believe all the good women are taken, that if I meet a nice one it will be by pure chance, and that I will likely eventually settle for leftovers. I have nothing to lose by picking the young, pretty ones.
           Otherwise, I’m satisfied with this pay-for-play club. Truly bad people such as infest free clubs would not last here. There is no chat-line feature where all the losers of phenomenal IQ could claim they “only read the articles”. But the window of opportunity had passed when began I checking the little box that specifies “new profiles only”. Nor do I believe the reports by men that they get overwhelmed with responses. There are no movie stars in the lists.
           PS: Google still hasn't got the photo embedding command scripts right. I've reverted to doing the job by hand. But at least I can. The consistency of this blog format is no thanks to the dimwits at Google.

ADDENDUM
           Welcome back to playing in the band. My expenses have leapt to 33% because of output and no input. There are no paying gigs to be found, so I’m becoming ever less resistant to hiring an agent. Most bands are loathe to take this step as it symbolizes a loss of independence, a sellout to the system. This band is good enough to front corporate events and I prefer to swallow any false pride and play rather than not play.
           Any money is good. An agent taking 15% off a $750+ gig floats my boat. Scoring a $2,000 gig due to a cancellation is not unheard of but it seldom happens unless you have an agent. No income turns a band into a bottomless money pit. In this new band I have no say or sway, none, zero. New guys are low man on the totem pole. Even their best advice is never acted on. It’s an ancient principle at work.
           Did I ever mention my first band conflict of interest? When I was 14 I had both my own rock band and also played saxophone in the school marching band. I was the only one of four sax players who could hit a low C note. The band leader had me promise several times to be at the annual concert. But at the last moment the singer in my rock band, Wendy, was short some cash to win the school May Queen contest. The logical solution was to throw a dance and donate the proceeds.
           So you’ll know, I was in agony over this. In the end, I had decided the school band could carry off their concert without that one note. And Wendy won hands down, with more cash brought in than even the parents of the other contestants cared to kick in. I heard later Mr. Burns, the conductor, had a grim look when I didn’t show. The following week, I was informed I had resigned from the marching band, permanently.
           That is also the era when I learned the conditions for the breakup of most bands. Here is a list, in any order except first place, of the top ten reasons bands fail:
           1. Guitarists, their ego will bring you to senseless grief.
           2. Drummers, because they can join another band too easily.
           3. Live original music for it belongs in a studio, not on a stage.
           4. Vocalists, because they are always far better than they actually are.
           5. Disagreement over the song list—some people don’t want to grow up.
           6. Vindictive jealousy of strangers and family, eerie this one.
           7. Multi-banding and soloing out, even once spells trouble.
           8. Married men. They should consort musically only with their own kind.
           9. Lack of income. Bands have expenses and you need something on the table.
           10. Rigid, inflexible song lists and performances.

Some may say I left out drunkenness, drugs, attitudes, lateness, and laziness. Not really, since those problems show up early enough to prevent the band from coalescing in the first place. You ain’t no band unless you can gig out. Everything up to that point is a rain dance. Nor did I include lack of talent or congeniality. These factors do not, in themselves, break up bands. I’ll put up with an ass-hat for as long as he does the job. The Hippie quit doing the job.