The Mayflower Could Have Gotten It Here Sooner
In about the same length of time that it used to take the old Clipper Ships to sail the Atlantic, the parcel, sent by The Lidgleys for Christmas; made it to Mobile.
I was just stepping outside of Serda's for a smoke when Jeff The Potter drove up and proclaimed its arrival.
Once inside, I opened it, and read the card, sitting on a couch, next to a girl wearing fish-net stockings. I was happy to see some concentrated Dawn Dishwashing Liquid, just in time for my next forray into the laundromat, and happy to know that someone had read my blog entry which extolled the effectiveness of that liquid against tough stains, like trolley grease.
There were other items enclosed, some of which I will not mention here, for fear that the bums in the park might read this blog, and beg me for them.
I would have been content to sit and listen to poetry and the vocal stylings of the girl in the fish-net stockings, but, Jimmy Lee asked me to perform. I agreed to, even though I had no ideas in my head. My head was like a barren desert, full of cacti, none of them peyote.
Before going to Serda's, I had played on the street and made 2 dollars and 87 cents, which I was grateful for, having woke up with 18 cents that morning.
I then met Alan From Las Vegas in the park, and we both partook of 2 Earthquake High Gravity Lagers.
|Why I Didn't Sing About Her|
Girl in the fish-net stockings, out of the fish-net stockings; from her band's Facebook page (left)
I have often, in the past, tried to clear my head and then improvise upon anything that popped into it. I used to think that it was the Holy Spirit that supplied the words and the tune. Maybe it was, and maybe the Spirit avoids Earthquake High Gravity Lager. I used to do it sober.
All I could manage was a song called "I Wish I Could Think Of Something Entertaining," which annoyed me enough to make me want to stop. I didn't like the chords that I picked. My bottom string broke, mercifully, and I left, to go and try to figure out what I could learn from the experience.
Thankfully, most of the people had left by that point, and the girl in the fish-net stockings was enguaged in conversation with some of the few stragglers, thus removing all of their attentions from my half-hearted "don't want to be here" style songs.
I concluded that there is something in Earthquake High Gravity Lager which makes one stupid.
Jeff gave me a ride back to my spot, but not before giving me some of the things that I had been lamenting running out of, like conditioner. Those things from Jeff and Jennie, combined with the stuff from London, pretty much restored my ability to keep from looking and smelling homeless.
There was also a jug of V8 juice, which I gulped off of at some point in the wee hours of the morning, after waking up with Post Earthquake Dehydration.
I am choosing to view the experience at Serda's in a positive light, and have tentatively titled my song for next week "I Aint Gonna Drink Those Earthquakes No More."
Seven Lies Of Success, No. 4
Since "time" is such a precious commodity, instead of taking a lot of it, in order to figure something out, find someone who already has, and just ask them about what you need to know.
I am going to go next door to the "Geneology" library and ask the lady if she knows anything helpful to an adopted child, curious about his/her biological parents. Maybe she can do, in a few clicks, what I've often thought about getting around to, and that is, to locate my biological parents (so I can bum money and cigarettes off them -just kidding)
Fun Pottery Fact (new feature, which I will include every now and then)
At 1,063 degrees farenheit, the quartz crystals in the clay change from alpha to beta forms, and the ware undergoes a slight increase in volume (from Surfaces, Glazes & Firing, by Angelica Pozo)