Marketing Intangibles

The smartest thing an anti virus company could do is to either create a bit of malware for Mac, or just get the word out that something is out there which threatens Mac user security. We don't know the difference. It is all in 0s and 1s, anyway.

Despite the ease of creating a market, I have doubted the idea that Apple products are immune to hacker mischief and the kinds of little programs that evil doers like to create in order to ruin your day and/or steal stuff from you. This most recent scare finally motivated me, as I'm sure it has motivated many, to take action.

I almost went for the free stuff, but many open source things, though reportedly effective, are extremely complex when it comes to figuring out how to use them. The last thing I want is some anti-hoodlum software that requires me to jump through vaguely defined hoops on a regular basis.

From past experience I know I am no fan of Norton, and maybe one or two others. I did a little research and found something that is most highly rated, and it is purely for Mac, and not an afterthought of a company that has been windows oriented for the last couple of decades.

I'm testing Intego's program for 30 days, and if I like it, I'll pay up. It seems clear on the uninstall, which many virus programs are not. The major ones can be hard as hell to remove.

Other than companies who make money selling security software, what can be the motive for much of this stuff? Some of these trojans and whatnot don't steal identity or anything else, they just screw up the system. That is sicko. Anyone with skill enough to do that ought to have a bit more of a beneficent philosophy. I suppose sadism in its many forms is still a popular hobby.

We'll see how this goes. My impression so far is good enough.

Tonight we blow our horn for Heaven and all mankind. I hope for the best. I played it for K and L last evening and they liked it. L even asked me to do it again. Both times were clean and without error, so that has helped me be less nervous.

That virus barrier sure has an odd icon. It looks like a picture of a glue bottle--like those old bottles of LePages glue. I am not sure I get it.

The Simplest things can be Tricky

OK. So I met with K, established what it is I will play at the tennis bra, or whatever it is. He even sent an mp4 of him singing it, and me playing the right notes; singing then playing, not simultaneous.

I'm generally a slacker, but I have played it and played it, trying to perfect the nuances and such. It is pretty clean most of the time. I've played it enough. Funny how you can work the same notes in so many different ways. I wonder if the faithful know this tune, and if so, will recognize it from what I play. I guess if you hit pure, and soulful sounding notes they won't care.

I'm even going to wear my one pair of dress slacks. Fortunately they still fit. I wore them to a funeral service at this very holy house a year ago. They were purchased for that reason. I guess this is a figurative funeral of sorts. I'll be glad when the tomb blows open and the dude gives his pals the high five and heads on up to headquarters. Too many funerals will put bad joojoo on my slacks. Or in them. For obvious reasons, I do not want that.

It still baffles me that I am a key participant in a ritual whose name a thoughtful reader had to state because I had no idea what it was. I since have done a mild bit of research so I'm pretty much up to speed. I live a strange life.

I sure hope their PA has some option for a bit of echo or something to make the sound fat and haunting.

I'm thinking this is one case in which a little bebop improv, with jazzy riffs might be inappropriate. Maybe I could break into a fast train, or switch to Here Comes the Bride. Just as a little surprise gift to the brethren and friends in attendance.

I keep that harp in the car and within reach at all times. Not an hour goes by that I don't rehearse this once or twice, or more. Except when I sleep.

OK. The Truth

It is my hope that the Friday service precipitates profound spiritual experience for myself and for those in attendance. I hope angels will be with me and keep me from screwing it up.

The people of that congregation are nice, and treat me well. I am quite nervous over this undertaking, but think I should not shy away from such an honor. They have a very capable music director who is a wizard on the keyboard. If he is on board with this scheme of me playing, then I take it as a meaningful compliment and hope I live up to expectation.

So, I am leaving theology to others and hoping I contribute to something that uplifts souls and eases pain, even though I don't see how I could. Playing puts me in another world, even when I don't like music, so maybe there the rules work in ways beyond my reckoning.

I just hope I do justice to the occasion.

UPDATE; More Truth:
Earlier this evening I got together with K to see exactly what it is I am to play on Friday. It turns out I'm playing more of the tune than I expected, but I only do it when they first start the slow procession through the seven candles that they snuff out in this rite. And again at the end. Let us see if I, for once, play something the same way twice.

(while we are at it, will someone please inform CBS news, as well as AP, that there is a difference between the words "than" and "then"? News should at least be somewhat correct in language usage. Spellcheck and the internet have done much to erode the level of the written word but that does not excuse the pros)

So, now I have it almost down. I really do try to do these things the best way rather than the easiest way. When people show faith in me, and pile on positive reinforcement, I tend to do my best. I'm a glutton for the positive treatment. Some are motivated by revenge, or the "I'll show them" emotions. I'm motivated by respect and others expressing belief that I can do what I may doubt I can do.

It is clearly a handicap, but I have more difficulty measuring my ability in many areas than some of my friends do. Then there are times when friends doubt but I don't. That usually concerns winning friends and influencing people.

In any case, I am now committed, and think I'll be ready. I'm more nervous about this gig than I have been about any I can recall. That is good. This will build character, and it presents healthy challenge. Well, my first sober time playing in public, in Jamaica with the house band at the place might still be #1 in that regard. I threw up more than once in the minutes before going on.

*****my keyboard has difficulties so I often post only to find missing a or y in key words.

Short Note To El Presidente Del Mejico

Mr. Calderon, how do you have the nerve to come here and weigh in on our domestic issues, demonstrate, along with our own officials, no respect for our constitution, and shamelessly pretend to be a champion of the people your policies and government have impoverished and driven over our border? You phony charlatan. They should call you President Charlatan instead of Calderon.

If I had my way, we'd turn you back at the border. Like you so often do to those entering your country. Your policies are far harsher than ours, yet you boldly lecture us. Screw you, you slimy creep.

You run a country in which the police force are known to be as corrupt as the drug cartels, a country from which people flee, risking their own lives; a country which is overrun with corruption, from your office down to the local constable.

It would be a wonderful country if not run by people like you. Maybe you would do better things if you stayed home and cleaned house, and did not instead come over here telling us how to run our country, while blaming us for your own self made problems. Your arrogance and shamelessness make me want to punch you in the nose and keep on slapping you, all the way back to Mexico City. Get out and stay out, you corrupt, lying, stealing bastard.

Sincerely,

your pal, Mr Ballistic

Blasphemy

buy my tee shirts you capitalist pigs
Either you get it or you don't.

If I end up playing in church for the macabre, guilt promoting Good Friday service, will I fry, or be visited by the henchmen of the neo-Inquisition? Those inquisitors set up some very unpleasant tests and punishments for those who weren't solidly on board with the party line. And for those they simply didn't like.

Yikes. Many of the inquisitors' tortures tended to put stress on one's intestines, and they attacked such organs from both ends. Very sick and cruel people. Like I often say, "never trust a sadist". People don't listen.

Anyway, the church where I played along with my friend on a song, has expressed interest in me playing solo in between phases of some ceremony which really grinds on the collective free floating guilt, and the bloody, painful stuff in the Story. A lot of the stuff which I personally can't honestly get behind.

I think the church tends to miss the point. But people get mad at me for that. I can't lie, like many people, and pretend I believe things that I don't, or that I believe in a way that I don't. And why does anyone care what I think, if they are so close to the Master of All Things?

It's mostly the blood and guts worship that I do not buy. That knocks out ninety percent of Catholicism and many other sects. There were early Christian sects which did not go with the die for our sins aspect. So don't give me all this bit about longevity of a particular church. I think slavery was around longer than the church. So does that make it correct?

You used to be able to buy your way out of purgatory and popes had children.

Anyway, I may do this thing. I'll play in an eery, haunting fashion, hoping to wrench a little more guilt out of each parishioner. It is your fault that they tacked the boy up.

Pain. Feel the pain. Suffer, suffer, suffer, and if you feel like complaining and don't enjoy it, ask yourself, what if He had complained? You'd not be saved, etc. You miserable, guilty, worthless sinner!

It just doesn't ring my bell. There are those for which it works, and those who claim to believe it just as presented in certain churches, but there are those whose anger is too quick and heated at any who may not agree. That makes me think they do not believe and that scares them so they become angry zealots, lest their peers, or maybe even Jesus, see the lack of faith in their hearts.

My feeling is that I won't argue or try to change anyone's belief if it helps them through the night. Just as long as they don't push me. They may actually know the whole truth, be God, and zap me into dust if I'm not careful. Then again, it may be that people can arrive at the same place through different paths.

Although I hope I have more energy, and less cynicism than I do now, if my path is going to yield me 72 virgins in the hereafter. I am certainly not getting there through the exploding vest path. I'm fairly certain that path doesn't actually yield women and sex in the afterlife. My way could yield that. Not ruling it out, but I know I'd be highly skeptical of the scene.

I can see it now, "Hi, I'm a virgin!" "Oh, yea, sure you are. Save that BS for some other guy."
I'm not sure I even want 72 virgins. I think maybe 4 or 5 virgins, and the rest very warm, loving women.
There could be a reason all those women are virgins, and it may prove to be absolutely no fun. Besides, even in Heaven, I'd suspect them of lying about it. Or something. No, just a few for the novelty, and the rest without such complications.

I'm not sure how that jibes with the suffering and it is all our fault. But I think 72 potential relationships may be punishment rather than reward. OK. No chance in hell I am going to become a Muslim. That's why the older guys rarely do the suicide bomber thing. They have lived enough to know that the 72 virgin thing is not without potential problems. Big problems.

The place where I may play on Friday is not a mosque, anyway, so I'm safe. Perhaps I've conducted this post somewhat tangentially.

It is definitely a compliment and a bit of an honor that they'd ask me to do this. And such slow, single note playing is not so easy. I think I have to play six or seven times, with the guilt trip being cast about after each time.

One tiny error and no way to hide it. I can only hope that whatever the real truth is somehow fills the room through my playing, and that I am able to know what it is.

Just because I do not find a particular outlook credible or quite on the mark, does not mean I know for sure that it is truly not right. But if you come at me all angry and bowed up because I doubt and question, I am not swayed. That reaction only makes me think that whatever you believe must be bunk because you are an angry hypocrite.

That is a bit of a cop out though. It is easy for someone who doesn't profess their own defined theology to call others hypocrites for not living up to the spiritual code that they clearly espouse. If you do not let anyone know your beliefs, then how can they point out that you aren't abiding by your own philosophy and professed spiritual faith? See how tricky this stuff is?

I admit it. I am a trickster.

I figure the best thing is to play your an harmonica in the holy place, and if you do not spontaneously combust, or draw lightning bolts, then you may not be so much on the bad side of the good guys as some may think.

New Look

It is probably a trick, and an essential element in the big conspiracy. I'm talking about the abundance of new looks going around. Blogger has been harassing their users about their new look, which is due any minute. Update now! They tell you that it is going to happen come hell or high water, so you have no choice. Then they suggest you do it voluntarily right now, even though you may not want the new look or any of their upgrades. You base this upon experience that tells you that many sites tend to lose their ease of use and their versatility when they get carried away.

Google is also threatening gmail users with the new look. I have no idea why. I tried it and didn't like it. I even filled out a survey. "What do you like about the new look, and what could be better?". "I do not like anything about the new look. It sucks. It would be better if you fire the geek who is pushing it and toss that plan in the trash" "Thank you for your feedback!! The new look will be coming in April. Why not switch now?"

I'll bet they will pretend that the new look transition corrupted data, so then they can justify asking for personal information--to make sure their records are up to date and correct. For my protection. "For your protection, what is your blood type? What are you wearing? What is your father's level of education? Just give the first twelve and last 6 numbers of your bank account, please."

Their tricks don't fool me.

I don't like the look of this at all.

Hoodies

It used to be, long ago, that garments with a hood were called Parkas, or simply a garment with a hood. Somewhere along the way the term "hoodie" entered the lexicon. It is an easy, descriptive word for the sweatshirt type thing which includs a hood.

It is a comfortable item of clothing, and very useful when in cold, inclement weather. I've been a fan of the parka and hoodie from the first time I ever saw one. Growing up in Miami, I always longed for anything that spoke of winter. At one time it was the rage to have a madras parka.

They were light weight, cotton, colorful, and perfect for those 60 degree Miami winter days. Girls thought they were cool and I'm sure we all looked spiffy and cute as we crawled through the halls of the junior high school, which, by the way, was run by a disproportionate number of perverts and disgruntled communists who were ever so bitter that doctors and airline pilots made more money than they did. I can still name many of the abusive bastards who bullied kids, and took too much interest in "policing" the showers in the gym.

Now we've come to an age in which people who mug, rob convenience stores, and commit drive by crimes tend to favor the hoodie so they can wear the hood over their head for reasons unrelated to weather. We are also in an age where fashion in some circles follows the garb of punks and gang bangers. The market from a money standpoint is with the mindless wannabes who wish to belie their middle class status while pretending to be ex-cons and inner city, disturbed and angry bad asses.

I think I have more respect for the actual punks than I do for the wannabes, and that is not much respect at all.

Respect for the perpetrators of more of the The Great Pretense is also at an all time low. They have now turned an incident which resulted in someone getting shot into a debate about the hoodie. What a stretch. Now this garment is spun into some sort of racial statement. That is really pushing the bounds of reason and the whole truth.

I was not there that night in Sanford Florida, so I do not know for sure what happened. Neither do the people who are leading and following the witch hunt or the backlash. One thing is clear, the motivation is not truly a reaction to racial prejudice. If that were the case, then the killings and beatings around the country which are clearly based on race would be getting far more attention than this case. This is merely an excuse for those whose wealth depends upon hatred and resentment to foment violence and keep themselves in a position to extort and broker power.

None of it actually has to do with the garment, unless one is dumb enough to go around using a hood to cover his face, and by some stretch of the imagination thinks that would not raise a bit of concern. The utter stupidity surrounding the rallies which center on the garment is alarming, but not all that surprising, considering the attitudes and excuses of the times.

Our new racial hair-splitting term is "white hispanic". Now, I guess we have to apply this to all cases involving mixed race. "Our first white black president". The victim was a "white asian". "A black hispanic won the spelling bee". I'm uncertain as to the number of things I should put into the mix in describing myself. That is because I am not totally clear on what constitutes white and other. Surely we want to separate out the Irish, the Italian, French, Bosnian, and all the rest in one's ethnic heritage in order to describe them.

I guess you have to lump things together into the white category so you can keep the us vs them thing going. How can we claim this cracker shot a black if he is not really a cracker? He's a cracker hispanic. Future implications of this new class will be interesting.

Whatever the truth is, this incident is not about hoodies, per se, and not about race. It is about opportunism and the very real danger that mob rule is growing in popularity. It is about those who will use anything and anyone, without the slightest shame, to further their own ends, and to justify and deny their own shortcomings.

I like hoodies. I will continue to wear them when they suit my mood. It is another of those things like the rainbow--some damned group wants to hijack it for their own purposes and it ought to be just left in the public domain without political taint.

Holy Rolling

Part of Copper Creek, my Ballistic mountain group for which I play an harmonica*, is active in a Lutheran church down there on the other side of El Cajon (pronounced: el cah-Hone). We got paid to play there once and it was a great time. Probably the best time I've had playing in CA.

Anyway, Lauren said she wanted me to come and play on a song she was doing at a Wed. night service. She and her husband, Kevin, have always shown me kindness above and beyond the norm, so no matter how resistant I am to church things, I couldn't refuse.

For various reasons, I have been to a few things there at the holy house, and am known by several of the regulars, including Pastor Andy. They are nice people and to my great surprise, I like Andy very much and find him to be full of wit and an easy person to be around. He's very intelligent, and does not play the holier-than-thou routine.

Lately, I've been possessed by some kind of internal frustration of unknown cause. It makes me feel out of phase, makes me grouchy and generally so off keel that I don't realize how I've said what I said until it is too late. Or I don't even realize anger was coming out. Mostly I have been sick of myself.

This little Wednesday service actually calmed me down. At some point it was time to sing, so we went up front and joined Kevin, who was already up there because he was the cantor for the evening. Lauren sang, and I played a couple of solo interludes to the holy song, and sang the low harmony when called for. That is very odd.

There were a couple of guitars backing the tune, and everyone did some harmony parts.

Mostly I just do it quietly and it blends. The tune came off without a hitch. No mistakes on the harp. It was a song which involved Jesus and stuff. Lauren's voice is so pleasing, she could have been singing about Obama, and stuff, and I'd have enjoyed it. Not to equate the two, even though some people do. Not to say I object to Jesus and stuff. I really do not. I'm simply not on board with how a lot of Jesus and stuff is handled.

My view of Obama and stuff is a bit different. We differ radically in philosophy. Semi-anarchist vs mega-archist. But, who cares? Maybe I should have used another example. Too late.

I live a strange life. A kid that reminds me of a 12 year version of my cousin's son was smitten with the harmonica, and he and his mom came up to me afterward to tell me. He looked at me and said, "That was awesome!". So, I asked him if he plays. He said that he doesn't and I asked him why not.

He turned to his mother and asked, "Hey Mom, why don't I play harmonica?" She replied that he doesn't play because he doesn't own a harp. I told him I could remedy that if he wanted, and he seemed eager for remedy. So, we went to the car and I gave him my Lee Oskar C. Now I have to get another.

Maybe he'll take to it, maybe not. I told him I would be glad to teach him if he wants. Maybe we'll find a way to keep in touch. I have a feeling this kid could use the encouragement at this point in his life. It was one of those gut impulses that I occasionally follow.

Actually, I was well into acting on the impulse before I realized what may have been at play. Then it hit me. Oh, he reminds me of J. Afterward, I learned a little of his circumstances, and concluded that my sixth sense was operating well.

I'm not a churchy guy. I have my beliefs, and they don't jibe in certain ways with most church doctrines, however, I might show up there if I find evidence that there's a chance I can do this kid some good. K and L will be on top of it, so we shall see. I need to be of use to someone.

*I've been looking for an excuse to say "an harmonica" ever since that MASH episode when Winchester was all flustered over wanting "an harmonica". Normally I'd say "a harmonica" because I pronounce it with a hard H.

Condensed Version of What Went Before

If only I knew what it is I am doing. This music stuff makes me feel like I am drifting away from reality, considering it is my main connection with people these days. I don't even know if I like music, much of the time. Strange.

OK. So we played the Crest community hall.
Some people there wanted my phone number, claiming they wanted to call me for a jam or some other play-my-harp situation.
That was nice.

I did not play very well according to my standards. I even made a mistake when I hit a squeaky note or something. Maybe I jumped up there and landed between two notes--the right one and the wrong one. It wasn't the conversation of the town around the breakfast table the next day. Of that, I am certain.

There are some people, including members of the two other groups who played, that seem good enough at what they do. I've heard more country, folk, and bluegrass in California than I did in North Carolina.

Anyhow my mountain friends, Copper Creek, sang well and did good harmony. It was a big hit with the Crest crowd. I'd say they liked us the best.

I'm left wondering again why it is that I do this. I can't relate to lots of things I've done. In Memphis and elsewhere the have all this "Blues preservation" activity. If people like it, why does it require a society to preserve it? It sounds like a movement to save a nearly extinct species of animal.

They have the same tendency in some of the folkish circles here. Maybe it is more wanting to freeze time back when people were smoking bananas and clicking their fingers in coffee houses. Nostalgia is one of my least favorite activities. Don't like the word, and don't like what it represents.

Why not form a society for the preservation of the rotary telephone? I liked pizzazz that could accompany dialing certain numbers. Push button lacks the flair and feeling.

I'd say a society for the preservation of freedom would be good, but western world, and what is left, have yet to really embrace the idea. To preserve something, it helps if it actually exists. At least the idea was bounced around for awhile with reverence and zeal. It may not have been achieved to its potential, but there was the thought, and thought usually precedes manifestation. I guess we are lucky that our part of the globe did more to promote the concept than anyone else.

Much of what is in this post did not come before, so you got a little of that and a little of this. Thank you.

Are those who do not have a health insurance policy really soon to be outlaws? For crying out loud people, this is not good. Not everyone who can't afford something wants to then jump through hoops and have government provide it. Some of us do not intend to burden you, regardless. So forget that excuse. Just let people you don't know live without your help, guidance and tyranny.

The Cool Thing About Small Towns in E.County

Actually, small communities can be cool almost anywhere, but I live in east San Diego county, so there you have it.

In Crest, a community that burned down in the Cedar Fires a few years ago, they regularly hold a musical night in their rebuilt community center. My impression is that many of the townfolk pitched in to build this place. It is a cool little building with high, open beam ceilings, and fairly steeply pitched roof.

I'm still not sure how the music thing works. They have food and snacks, bottled water and maybe other drinks. People tend to bring their own beer, wine, and other alcoholic beverages. There are several long tables and plenty of chairs.

It seems like a couple of guys handle the music stuff. They have a PA and microphones, and cords for plugging in. All the guitars I saw were acoustic, but they all had the plug thing on them, so I guess they have pickups somewhere in or on the thing. Those two guys also play music together. They do good harmony, with one playing a drum (jimba?) and the other on guitar. I like much of what they did, particular the original song. I'm partial to people who play their own stuff, especially when it is good.

There was also another group besides us. Two guys on guitar, gal on tambourine, and all three doing vocals. I think the one guy should have left his ax at home and just sang. He was just a hint off time with the other guy. The other guy was pretty much the front, and is capable.

As a matter of fact, that guy had asked me to play a tune with him at an open mic. I'd forgotten at first but it came back to me. I was surprised to see people from open mic on the other side of El Cajon at this shindig. I'm kind of glad he didn't ask me to play with them because the other guitar player issue would have made it tough for me. I get thrown off by things like that. I have a terrible time if one string is a hair out of tune. I guess it is because I don't know what I am playing as much as feel it, and when it isn't all in accord, it feels wrong and hinders the flow.

This kind of playing is not like the stuff I did in Memphis. I couldn't hear or feel much of the time there. It could be loud. But that stuff is easier to fake. When people can clearly hear vocals, and even understand the words, as well as hear guitar, and even the person next to them yacking, and the thing requires a slow single note interlude featuring you, it is abundantly evident when you are not with it.

We played mostly things that we did not record. Did I mention that all the chairs were filled? It is not a huge place. I guess there were a hundred people, give or take.

Each group played about half an hour, then we went through the rotation again. That is good because even playing easy melodic stuff, I get wound up tighter than a cork screw and am just settling in after thirty minutes of playing. The first group asked me to come play on one of their tunes and it worked out well enough.

A couple of people wanted my phone number for reasons only partially clear. One guy sounded like he's getting various musicians together for some kind of jam somewhere, and the other one I think wants me to play I don't know what. Well, play my diatonic harmonica, but when why where and how are unknown.

It's swell to be popular. I thought my playing was sub par tonight for some reason. Truthfully, I think the group was a little too tight--not in the tight group sense, but tense or something. Maybe just tired. Even so, their harmonies and general vocals were impressive. We fell down on the instrumental end more than anything. The people don't know, but if we hadn't they'd have liked us even more. I'd say we were a hit with this crowd.

Can you believe they have me singing the bass line harmony on some things? I'm not like one of those real bass singers who you hear. My voice sort of just adds a little fullness and bottom end. It is not as prominent but it works. I'm no bass, but I have a natural sense of harmony so what the heck.

To me that female voice in the mix makes it. Something about the sound of her voice I just like. There are people who can sing circles around some other people, but I like the one in the circle better just because of the way the voice sounds. Timbre and all that. Castor and camber.

People just donate money--throw it in the tip jar. Some goes to cover food, and not tell what the guys running the deal pocket, We made gas money because we don't live that far. About $10 each. The point is, I always feel better when I get paid to play, even if it isn't much. That ten bucks is more prized than a lot of other ten bucks I've earned and spent. An irrational view in economic terms, but that is how it goes. I think they actually took in a few hundred dollars. Maybe they use it to help maintain the place.

I think all the band members were getting complimented by people. They say I'm a harmonica whore because I'll play with about anyone who asks, like group 1. It is a running joke. Sad but true. What the heck, if someone can play and wants me to fill some background, I'm fine with it. I guess I am really easy. I prefer to think of myself as a warm person rather than easy.

It is easier to find a relaxed enjoyable event like this out in the boonies than it is in a city. I'd have found it a good time even if I didn't play. What a cheap date that would be. "Let's go see some live music. My treat!" Then you can just pretend to go up and put something in the money jar. Due to its location, faking it would be a cinch. And it would be much more fun than some dumbass expensive restaurant. I hate those places. Fine dining is for others, not for me. Of course, being a non-carnivore, those places rarely serve up anything all that great.

OK. Some Italian places do, but as expensive as they are, they aren't like some of those pain in the neck stupid joints. I almost went bankrupt about a month ago when I was with nobody you know and we decided we were hungry in Carlsbad. I thought I was entering an upscale diner, not den of extortion. Seriously, I couldn't even look at the break down. I just signed over the farm and pretended to be nonchalant, then lived on crackers and tortillas for a week or two.

Nobody you know would have paid, too. I forgot the excuse she gave for offering. Now that I think of it, good for her. Then again, she may never whip that card out again when it comes time to pay. That's OK. She's in another state by now. But the thing is, I just don't feel right not paying for things, or at least most things. It isn't her fault I've squandered my potenshya. (pronounced the way it is spelled, for emphasis).

Oh well, out of sight, out of fake diners who drain your blood and smirk at you. Maybe she ordered goldfish, and they were serious about it. It was some kind of swimming thing. Geez. Fish are all over the place. How scarce can they be?

I seem to have veered off the thought. Such is life. I no longer have a thought.

Oh, those kids who announced that I was sooo old that time they lied and said they weren't playing, but did, called for the second time in a week. Both times I no answer, they no leave the message. Eventually I know I'll talk to them and be nice. I find holding a grudge very difficult in this case. They are kids and don't know a lot. Look at what people have been exposed to over the last twenty years, especially kids. They've had nincompoopery bombardment from day one, even more than I did.

I'm not saying I would stop them from groveling and confessing and apologizing if it came to that. No grudge, but that may be the only path to my good graces.

It is tempting to put my mind to writing something good, since the Copper Creek--need to see if they'll change the name because there are too many other bands named that---vocalists are so good. I see potenshya there, should they use it as I see fit.