Oh, About A 14 Dollar Tuesday
Following the 16 dollar Monday night with the above amount, has been keeping me going, making me feel like a junkie, as I pedal my bike with a highly caffein-ated (sp?) energy drink on my mind, picking up half smoked cigarettes along the way, blaming the bowl of weed that I just smoked at Bobby's for turning me into a fiend, and a self conscious, paranoid one who can feel the eyes of all those around me upon me, and hear their thoughts: "Look at that fiend, looking for tobacco on his way to get an energy drink to mix with a shot of kratom that he will soon take! He probably drank like 4 coffees before leaving his place!"
And the cloud of knowledge hangs over my head, which could be called "The knowledge of to what constructive purpose the same 30 dollars made over the coarse of 2 nights could be put to."
Hubert Borg
My friend in Massachusetts, Hubert Borg, whom I last saw in 2004, is my role model in that regard.
He worked for a couple months over the summer of 1988, in order to save "money for college."
That fall, he was a roommate of mine at the University of Massachusetts at Amherst.
He had made around $2,200 working that summer, and, over the course of the 10 weeks of it, had spent $90 of it.
I repeat, he spent $90 the whole summer.
I think he said that he put 5 dollars of gas into his car each of those weeks.
The other 4 dollars went for things like art supplies, violin strings, maybe a used paperback book or two, and a 75 cent can of Coke-a-Cola on a warm day when he might be doing yard work and gardening around the house.
He still lived in his parents house, at the age of 44 when I last saw him, and did all the yard work and gardening as part of what could be seen as paying "room and board," but would do them anyways, out of enjoyment.
He enjoyed listening to free AM talk radio, playing the free piano in their living room, drawing or sculpting, and holding long, free conversations.
My song, "Hubert's Trip," (a recording and/or video of which is forthcoming, as I have been revisiting it a lot lately, due partly to having a D major harmonica) is about Hubert.
He gassed up his 1978 Plymouth Grand Fury with 428,000 miles on the odometer and embarked upon "a circumnavigation of the nation," as my song puts it.
But, yeah, I dream of being able to get by on 4 dollars a week.
Of course, there are a couple verses that address Hubert's frugality in that song:
Hubert chintzes out in the song (after determining that sex without love is over-rated) which shouldn't have surprised the ladies had they known they were talking to someone who once spent only 90 bucks an entire summer...
It is getting dark.
Even though the breezes have stopped blowing outside, I blew off the idea of shooting another video in the park. I have enough work to do on the existing ones, as soon as I find a spot where I can spruce up the vocals at.
I need to grab my headphones from the apartment so I can do the vocals off camera, and then paste them back onto the video, so it will appear that I'm singing (even) better on the finished product.
16 Dollar Monday cont.
Monday night, along came a girl with a violin, who asked if I would play with her.
We did play, with myself concentrating upon the thought of Tanya Huang.
It was an excellent exercise for me in that regard (seeing that I can keep a steady beat and can use chord changes that hinge upon moving bass notes, etc.) and the girl must have thought that I was an ambitious musician indeed after I had played about 20 minutes of straight accompaniment on the chords to "While My Guitar Gently Weeps."
No Tanya Huang on the violin was Mischa, as that was the name she introduced herself as.
She confirmed my suspicion that that wasn't her real, but rather her "traveling kid," moniker by staring at me blankly after I had asked: "Like the Russian version of Michelle?" Anyone whose birth name had been Mischa, would have found out at some point in her life that her name was the Russian version of Michelle. I mean, I know that Daniel means "judge" and that there is a Daniel in the bible and about the lion's den etc.
At the first pause in "our" music, Micha said that she was tired and reclined on Lilly's stoop.
While we had been playing (and no tourists had been walking past, so I didn't feel like I was missing anything) a gaggle of her traveling kid type companions and a dog had arrived. They all followed suit and Lilly's front yard became a crash pad for them all.
I was ready to leave anyways, and didn't really care. It (her wanting to jam) had been a ploy to gain the spot as a place to sleep, I am thinking.
"The lady who owns the house loves dogs, so she won't say anything about you chilling here," I assured them as I left. This was partly to communicate to them that I knew the lady that owned the house, as a preemptive strike against them trying to make a habit of sleeping there. On a Friday night, I would mind.
And the cloud of knowledge hangs over my head, which could be called "The knowledge of to what constructive purpose the same 30 dollars made over the coarse of 2 nights could be put to."
Hubert Borg
My friend in Massachusetts, Hubert Borg, whom I last saw in 2004, is my role model in that regard.
He worked for a couple months over the summer of 1988, in order to save "money for college."
That fall, he was a roommate of mine at the University of Massachusetts at Amherst.
He had made around $2,200 working that summer, and, over the course of the 10 weeks of it, had spent $90 of it.
I repeat, he spent $90 the whole summer.
I think he said that he put 5 dollars of gas into his car each of those weeks.
The other 4 dollars went for things like art supplies, violin strings, maybe a used paperback book or two, and a 75 cent can of Coke-a-Cola on a warm day when he might be doing yard work and gardening around the house.
He still lived in his parents house, at the age of 44 when I last saw him, and did all the yard work and gardening as part of what could be seen as paying "room and board," but would do them anyways, out of enjoyment.
He enjoyed listening to free AM talk radio, playing the free piano in their living room, drawing or sculpting, and holding long, free conversations.
My song, "Hubert's Trip," (a recording and/or video of which is forthcoming, as I have been revisiting it a lot lately, due partly to having a D major harmonica) is about Hubert.
He gassed up his 1978 Plymouth Grand Fury with 428,000 miles on the odometer and embarked upon "a circumnavigation of the nation," as my song puts it.
But, yeah, I dream of being able to get by on 4 dollars a week.
Of course, there are a couple verses that address Hubert's frugality in that song:
"He goes to Vegas and he walks the strip -walks it like he owns it and in fact in his mind it is Hubert's strip.
He's approached by a couple ladies and they are really lookers.
Hubert soon realizes though that they are really hookers.
They make Hubert a proposition that will have to stay in Vegas.
Concerning a business that has been going on for ages.
He's doing some math as he looks over their figures.
Making some calculations as they push his buttons..."
Hubert chintzes out in the song (after determining that sex without love is over-rated) which shouldn't have surprised the ladies had they known they were talking to someone who once spent only 90 bucks an entire summer...
It is getting dark.
Even though the breezes have stopped blowing outside, I blew off the idea of shooting another video in the park. I have enough work to do on the existing ones, as soon as I find a spot where I can spruce up the vocals at.
I need to grab my headphones from the apartment so I can do the vocals off camera, and then paste them back onto the video, so it will appear that I'm singing (even) better on the finished product.
16 Dollar Monday cont.
Monday night, along came a girl with a violin, who asked if I would play with her.
We did play, with myself concentrating upon the thought of Tanya Huang.
It was an excellent exercise for me in that regard (seeing that I can keep a steady beat and can use chord changes that hinge upon moving bass notes, etc.) and the girl must have thought that I was an ambitious musician indeed after I had played about 20 minutes of straight accompaniment on the chords to "While My Guitar Gently Weeps."
No Tanya Huang on the violin was Mischa, as that was the name she introduced herself as.
She confirmed my suspicion that that wasn't her real, but rather her "traveling kid," moniker by staring at me blankly after I had asked: "Like the Russian version of Michelle?" Anyone whose birth name had been Mischa, would have found out at some point in her life that her name was the Russian version of Michelle. I mean, I know that Daniel means "judge" and that there is a Daniel in the bible and about the lion's den etc.
At the first pause in "our" music, Micha said that she was tired and reclined on Lilly's stoop.
While we had been playing (and no tourists had been walking past, so I didn't feel like I was missing anything) a gaggle of her traveling kid type companions and a dog had arrived. They all followed suit and Lilly's front yard became a crash pad for them all.
I was ready to leave anyways, and didn't really care. It (her wanting to jam) had been a ploy to gain the spot as a place to sleep, I am thinking.
"The lady who owns the house loves dogs, so she won't say anything about you chilling here," I assured them as I left. This was partly to communicate to them that I knew the lady that owned the house, as a preemptive strike against them trying to make a habit of sleeping there. On a Friday night, I would mind.
 |
| Super intelligent puppet shows |
| outside the Uxi Duxi, coming soon!! |
Harold Has Fleas
I discovered a certain number of fleas on the body of Harold the cat last night.
Last year, Wayne my neighbor who also has a cat had treated Harold with some of that stuff that costs 110 dollars for a 6 month treatment.
At least I'm pretty sure that he did.
Harold just one day stopped having any fleas on him whatsoever after being outside "all day," and it was not hard to put 2 and 2 together. Wayne had kind of hinted to me that he did that.
Some owners might become enraged over someone else having doctored their pet. My only ancillary concern would be about just what kind of new-fangled chemical can be used to ward fleas off of a cat for 6 months, while leaving the pet and its owner totally unharmed.
Maybe I'm petting Harold and then eating with my fingers, ingesting some of the stuff and it is causing me to become super-intelligent, making my brain function at 10 times its previous speed. I mean there is some evidence that might support that theory, right?
But that, I'm sure, is why Wayne never "admitted" to having hooked Harold up. Maybe he's not sure that I'm cool with the increased intelligence, and all.
Harold Has Ear Wax
I have regularly been going into Harold's ears with a Q-tip coated in olive oil and/or vinegar and removing a very dark brown tar.
When I manage to get the tip of the Q-tip near what I'm guessing is his ear canal, his rear leg on the same side of his body will go into a scratching motion towards the ear, often lacerating the skin of the hand that is holding the Q-tip.
This is a blood sacrifice that I am amenable to making, as there is a satisfaction that comes with knowing that I have gotten right to the spot where the mites, if that is in fact what this is, are irritating him the most; where he wishes he could get his claws in to scratch at.
Well, Here We Go!
I'll be back here soon, perhaps with a decent video!
He probably treated your cat because your cat had lots of fleas and your neighbor got sick of flea bites.
ReplyDeleteI had some neighbors down the hall in an apartment building I lived in in Newport Beach, who had a "kitten" (full grown cat) and one time it disappeared. Probably hit bit a car, or a hawk got it, or someone thought it was a stray and "adopted" it. So the fleas that were living on the cat started in on the people. I complained to the neighbors and they were like, "Oh, not our little Poopsie, she never had fleas".
Bullshit. I went and got a pump-up sprayer and some nasty poison and sprayed the whole hallway at noon when no one was around. Problem solved.
Hell even at Ken's house, they had their very elderly cat, Tiger, pass away. Tiger was treated with flea stuff on the regular and when the was gone, it was a real flea-fest. I had to spray "Deep Woods OFF" all over myself, and I even got some spray supposed to work on fleas and bedbugs, and used that liberally when no one was watching.
I hate fleas!
I thought there was a period after elderly cat; and then you saying: Tiger, pass away! when I first read that LOL
ReplyDelete