Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Hot Ginger Tea

This odd illness, which acts much like a cold, drags on.   I noticed this and decided it was time to pull in the big guns.

Until a little while ago I was using over the counter cold/flu/tumor/and else medicines, along with some PM cough formula.  I have not been overdoing the dosage since it doesn't take much for me to react.

The store bought stuff has been doing OK, but it tries my patience when 100% of any airflow through my nose is blocked.  So, the only hope I know is Hot Ginger Tea.  It is not all that tasty, but who in this condition can taste well?

By Hot Ginger Tea I mean any form of ginger available.  I boil a cup of water in the microwave.  I dump in a bunch of ginger from a seasoning can which claims to contain ground ginger.  I add some milk or half and half.  I had milk.  Then I add some sugar; honey would be first choice but yo no lo tengo.
this must be raw form ginger.  as you can see it runs around on its belly and you can't tell what's an arm or leg for sure.  hunters use leaf blowers with a hose on the sucking side to convert the device into a giant vacuum cleaner--best way to ginger hunt.

The Tea is sipped while one contemplates the dark night, the odd sounds from the mule down the way, and items about life which are both uplifting and down-lifting.   One sip and I noticed that I could breath gently through my nose.

It took me over a decade, from the first time this cure was suggested to me, for me to actually try it.  Since then I have bullied and bored friends by singing the praises of Hot Ginger Tea every time the topic strays to the difficulties of sore throats or extreme congestion due to various illnesses.  One out of maybe ten people who have been told of this miracle have actually tried it.  Most suffer in uncomfortable, know-it-all, congestive smugness.
this is the Ginger Rogers variety of Ginger.  Much harder to catch, and much preferred over the little herd animal shown above.

I think the next really good instrumental piece I create will be called Hot Ginger Tea.  Maybe it could be a regular song.  I throw in some things to get a rating label banning kids from buying my album.  That will boost my sales to minors.

Stranger Days Than Some, but not others

So, the old open mic circuit seems to be shuffling around some.  I know the people who appear to be the kingpins, who set up the sound, such as it is.  But I don't know what they really do, why, or where they dwell.

That is all irrelevant.   I attended the one at the Moose lodge and it was, I don't know, just was.   Fantastic stage, bit hall, not so good a PA was brought in, and the guy did not know how to run it in this hall.  Result; instruments loud, and a little too muddy on the bass side, and vocals too weak.

Then there was the one over the weekend, by the courthouse where I have Halloween jury duty.  It worked well enough.  Same PA as the one at the Moose place.  They have big moose heads here and there on the wall.  I wondered if perhaps these meese had insulted the prohet, pbuh, or drawn cartoons, which resulted in the good, old fashioned beheading.

This observation alerted me to the possibility that this alleged Moose lodge may be a front for radical islamists who behead moose for carrying freedom of expression too far.  It is curious that PETA is nowhere to found in such cases, which leads me to believe they have a political agenda which subverts their alleged true concern for animals.  Everyone is afraid of the soldiers for the religion of peace, even PETA and NOW.

At one of these things, the local who title's himself Harmonica John was playing.  He had a wild looking female singer with him.   He sits there on a stool, playing guitar and sometimes playing a harmonica in one of those brackets that collars the neck.  Dylan used that.

HJ is a good player, for sure.  I would never name myself harmonica john, since so many others play and it implies a "one and only" boast.   I have cautioned people who tried to tag that label on me that it is a wrong thing to do.

Anyway, I was roped into going up on stage with this egomaniac, against both my wishes and better judgement.  People do no always see the underhanded antics going on with musicians.  I have come to be able to spot them fairly quickly.  Nothing I could do about it in this case.

I asked the key and fortunately received a quick reply.  I could tell the guy was about to explain to me how to crossharp but I turned to grab my harp, ignoring him. "Well, WE'RE in G, but....".

He'd just given me a lecture about microphone usage.  Not a lecture really, but a little nonsense designed to mark territory.  I knew the song would be something I'd never heard, with progressions which I'd never seen and which were in no way catchy or memorable.  I was right.  Any halfway decent harp player knows how to throw curves. And he's plenty good enough, I'll give him that.  But there is a smallness in sacrificing courtesy for a competition in which only the host cares to compete.

I muddled my way through and got out of there soon as I could.  Whether HJ actually succeeded in making me look inferior, I can't say.  I doubt he managed it too well.  I didn't bite, so I was able to give a wave as if I'd enjoyed the charade and get out of there.  You run into a lot of that sometimes. Too many people had been telling this guy about me and I do not think he liked it.  Don't blame him.

What do people think when they tell one performer how much they like another performer who plays the same instrument, or does the same thing?   No one wants to entertain that garbage. They just don't.  So, what my lovely friends end up doing is making enemies for me before I even meet certain people.  I might have been able to get along and learn something, but when I am met with less than Southern courtesy and hospitality, I don't return.

And now, for the first time in years, I have the congestion cold flu virus of unknown origin,  It is unacceptable.  I thought Obama was going to cure all that.  The damned slacker has not put gas in my car, paid my rent, or cured my illness.  He didn't even give me a phone.

It is probably nothing more serious than ebola.  I think I may live.

Times like this cause me to look back in self hatred for allowing myself to skate into this future without a compassionate woman at my side.   Then again, most who got away weren't that compassionate.  I can see it now,  "Oh, you poor baby.   I'd hug you but I don't want to get sick.  I'm going to stay at my friendd's/mothers/a hotel until this thing passes.  There's plenty of soup in the kitchen.  Just heat it up or whatever.

So, in reality, I am not missing that support and unconditional love I try to con myself into believing I could have had.   I'm not sure which picture is sadder.

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Ballistic Mountain, CA, United States
Like spring on a summer's day


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