I Didn't Work Sunday Night

Hi there, blog readers!

I took Sunday night off, even though I had an all day bus pass that would have given me a free ride to the Lilly Pad and back.

It was after 10 PM when I got back from the Uxi Duxi; to the apartment that was to be inspected the next (to)day.
I had Travis' TV set up and ready to go in the living room at the click of a button.

I decided to put a good cleaning on the apartment, and spend time practicing the Mel Bay Guitar Method pieces. It is really a goal of mine to be able to play the little songs "perfectly."
When a student, one needs to be like a shark and move on from one piece to the next before mastering it. This allows the student to see how some of the techniques introduced in the song that isn't quite mastered carry over and have laid a foundation for the next piece. Then, when you go back to "review," you will find that it has "sunk in," and you can play it more fluidly than if you had stayed on it, seeking perfection.

In my case, I had "moved on" from those pieces to a 35 year career in music and am coming back to still gain something from them.

It has been said about some good players that they can make one note sound good. Or that they don't have to play fast because they are playing all the right notes, which sound good at any speed.
I wound up doing something which I haven't done since 1988.

Back then, I often recorded in my car, sitting in the back seat with the microphone set up somewhere. One time, I was periodically flipping on the AM radio to check the progress of a Patriots game.
Then I started to write little musical pieces based upon whatever came out of the radio the few seconds that I had it on. For example, if the announcer said: "And the Patriots are trying to climb their way out of a hole, here" or something; I would start a chord progression and sing about it.
Last night, I had one of those true crime type of shows on, that are ubiquitous on the free channels that I get on Travis's TV. I was able to compose a few verses about "Jennifer the homicidal postal worker," for example. This is good practice, and I actually find that the sound of the TV, even at a low volume helps me feel like I'm not breaking the icy silence of Sacred Heart Apartments with a pickax to the foreheads of my neighbors.

One observation that I made was that the "tone" of television shows, back when "I Love Lucy" was made, is a stark contrast with the stuff that is being produced now. People's roles seemed to be more clearly defined. Not that people weren't raping others and then throwing their bodies in the paths of oncoming trains, to make it look like a suicide back in the 1950's; you just wouldn't know it from flipping on your black and white TV.
I was up until about 4 AM, watching one true crime show after another.

Wax Deep

When I woke up to see that it was 8:30 AM, I had to force myself to sit up and prepare for my doctor's appointment.
I told the doctor about my ears being stuffed up and or ringing for the past 3 months at least.
She set an appointment for me with the Ear Nose and Throat specialists.
I told her (a lady who looked to be in her 60's) that three doctors had already looked in my ears and told me that I had wax in them and that they had prescribed three different kinds of antibiotic ear drops, with different chemicals in each; and that "they" had eventually concluded that the problem was in my "inner ear," where drops cannot penetrate to, past the ear drum. And then that the whole matter had been shelved after my ears cleared up to around 90%, which had been good enough for me to resume my life of busking. This had occurred seemingly as a result of the "Claritin" type of allergy medication which had been a departure from the ear drop method of treatment.
I guess general practitioners can't be expected to know every part of the human body in detail, and hence, the specialists, but their knowledge of ears seems to be only wax deep.

But, here it is, Monday night. I am outside the Uxi Duxi, by the Beachcorner bar (shown) and have to decide if I want to go to the Lilly Pad to put in a few hours.
It seems like it should be a no-brainer that, with no cash at all, and only a 24 hour bus pass to my name, I should go out and play.
Travis' cat, Beast, is still residing at my place. She stays in hiding while Harold is inside, only coming down from atop the refrigerator or from under the bed when the coast is clear of him.
I suppose that Harold, who is bigger, is also stronger because of spending half of his time outside.
His having come home bearing the scars from fights with other cats kind of suggests that Harold would be the tougher of the two cats. He has attacked Beast, swatting her in the face to run her away from either the air conditioned spot where she was reclining, or the food dish.
Harold seems to make a point of eating at least a bite from Beast's bowl, and using her litter box, even if it's only a bit of urine -the litter box with the plastic liner that makes it almost impossible for a cat to bury its business without getting its claws snagged in it.
One Fell Swoop
I assume that I passed the inspection. I might get a new air conditioner out of it.
I kind of purposely waited for this time of the inspection, thinking that when the inspector (who was a middle aged black lady) came in, I would have the place at about 80 degrees. This wasn't hard because, unless I continually click my unit on and off so that the compressor comes on and just let it run, the room will wind up at around 80 degrees.
When the inspector walked in and immediately asked: "Is your AC working?" I knew I had the desired effect..the local maintenance guy kind of stammered: "I thought you liked it hot..."
To which I said, yeah I do, but I don't think I could make it 70 degrees if I ran the thing all day...
Hopefully that will pass inspection and get me a new AC/Heater in one fell swoop.

Vivian Was Never Seen Again Alive...