Harold the Cat's Latest Song

Click Here To Hear Harold The Cat's New Song
A few minutes of messing around with some of my newfound editing skills using a meow from Harold the cat produced the above, which will hopefully play after the above link is clicked.*
*The file is in "flac" format; which Jacob said he could only open with Audacity, but I suppose in the future I could just export them to "wav" files that are Microsoft compatible.

I had a choice between a "share link" and a "direct hotlink" and chose the latter.

Jacob Scardino and I jammed at his house last night, and then, after getting back home and after having eaten a Wendy's chicken sandwich type of thing, an Aciago Ranch Chicken Club, to be specific.

I wanted to go to sleep pretty early, and did not go out to play on a Friday night.

So much for anything about busking on this blog for today.

It is Saturday night and I will drag myself to the Lilly Pad and set up and then come what may.

I guess Bob was being polite in offering to bring me one of these (left) since he was bringing Jacob one, and it wouldn't be polite to eat in front of me.

I had tried to negotiate for a simple, plain hamburger, which would have been cheaper for Bob and would have satisfied the requirement that Jacob wouldn't be eating in front of me.

By the time I got home at around 10 PM, I was feeling the kind of fatigue that I suppose I was warned about by the "Fit For Life" people, who say that mixing starch and protein together will lead to incomplete digestion, since they each require a different digestive medium, and that will make a person want to take a nap not long after eating an Asiago Ranch Chicken Club.

It was very good tasting, if a bit spicy.

8 Years Ago Today

Eight years ago, almost to the day, I was in Mobile, Alabama.

I'm not sure if I had made my first trip to New Orleans at that point in time.

I was sleeping outdoors, next to an Episcopalian Church.

I can remember the specific night (September 23, 2010) I had blogged about. I had become pissed off at a guy who seemed to be using me for my Raisin Bran. He had shown up one night to sleep at the same spot by the church.

On the night in question, I had run up to the Save A Lot and gotten a box of Raisin Bran, and had come back and offered the new guy some.

He had dug his hand into the box greedily and begun to stuff his face. I wondered if he was hoping I would just let him have the rest, since he had dug his filthy mitt into the box. Little did I know at the time that he was preparing me for the world of skeezers that I would soon be embroiled in in New Orleans.

The thing that stuck with me was how he had kept answering "yeah," to anything that I had said as he chewed away, apparently not even listening to me, but rather trying to humor me long enough for him to get as much cereal as he could.

"Yeah."

"I tried jogging, but my knee was still sore from when I twisted it..."

"Yeah."

"That's the one I had surgery on about twenty years ago."

"Yeah." (I don't care about you or your knee, just keep the cereal coming, type of thing)

This was a foreshadowing of Leslie Thompson, whom I would be meeting a couple years later, once in New Orleans.

When Leslie was up at around seven in the morning and hadn't had any whiskey yet, he would follow me, if I had money, shadowing my every move, as if not wanting to stray more than a few feet from me.

To any kind of conversation that I tried to make, he would absentmindedly reply: "Really?"

Once I determined that he was not even listening to me, but rather humoring me, in order to remain in my company until such a time that I broke down and spent my money on whiskey first thing in the morning.
I said "Oh, the sun is up," at one point, to which Leslie replied:
"Really?"
"Really?" I had snapped back at the guy "You can't see that the sun just came up?!?"

So, the guy 8 years ago, whose name turned out to be Mike, and who was a spitting image of Bill Murray the Saturday Night Live guy, and who became my friend was a precursor to Leslie Thompson.