Glenn Frey checks out. So do the Eagles.

What can you say about the death of Glenn Frey?

A founder, guitarist and singer in the Eagles, Frey died Monday at age 67. I didn’t know until after Frey died, from complications of rheumatoid arthritis, ulcerative colitis and pneumonia, that so many people hated the Eagles. It seems as if most people in my world, at least most that matter, loved or at least, liked, the band’s music. At the very least, the songs Frey and the Eagles produced was background music for most of the 1970s and 80s.

It is very difficult talking about Frey — no matter that he did better than okay as a solo musician — without talking about the Eagles. Often times the band seemed more like a modern version of a soap opera. Something like a reality show, even though I imagine during their more drug-fueled days their lives  were more of an “unreality” show.

"Glenn Frey" by Steve Alexander - originally posted to Flickr as Glenn Frey. Licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0 via Commons . Thanks
“Glenn Frey” photo by Steve Alexander – Courtesy Creative Commons

I rediscovered the Eagles last year after seeing some You Tube videos from a concert the Eagles did in 1977, promoting their “Hotel California” album.

I don’t know how many people see music concerts today. I certainly don’t but then I am 60-freakin’ years old.

I’d say from high school up until I got out of the Navy, I went to as many concerts as I could. While stationed on the Mississippi Coast there were several prime venues nearby. I saw concerts at the Superdome, City Park and at Loyola University in New Orleans. I went to several concerts in Mobile. I saw three separate shows which were excellent at the University of Southern Mississippi in Hattiesburg that were excellent: Bob Dylan and the Rolling Thunder Review during which he was joined by Joan Baez, Roger McGuinn, Mick Ronson and Kinky Friedman and the Texas Jewboys. Later, I watched Jimmy Buffett, fresh from “Margaritaville” come back to the college he attended, USM. Buffet was, he told the audience, a hippie who’d hang out in the Commons with his guitar playing songs such as “Why Don’t We Get Drunk And Screw” as all the school teachers from the outback of Mississippi walked by on their way to continuing education classes.

Yes, concerts, I’ve seen a few.

I’m sure those who have seen many performances of any kind have seen musicians or bands, “phone-in” what is just another gig. These videos that I found that includes “Hotel California,” “Take It To The Limit,” and “New Kid In Town{” are incredible. That is not so much the songs are exceptional — well, “Hotel California” is — but the performances were nothing one heard on the radio, much less the AM radio I mostly had to hear during this time, nor is there much one can tell about quality listening to these songs on a bar room jukebox.

I have a couple Eagles albums on my computer and phone including “Hotel California” from the album. They are good but great Graham Crackers these videos are outstanding.

These songs also provide a soundtrack to our lives, as trite as that line sounds these days. But f**k it if you think it’s trite, or whatever you may think. There is no denying that music forms memories of the portions of our lives we choose to remember. “Johnny come lately, there’s a new kid in town,” “New Kid In Town” hit No. 1 on Billboard in January 1977. It was just one of the singles that were a hit on “Hotel.” Following were “Hotel California” and “Life In The Fast Lane.” The songs became more meaningful for me when I transferred from Gulfport, Miss., to a ship out of San Diego, by way of Long Beach.

I never went to “Hotel California” but I spent the night in some motel in San Clemente, not to see my former commander-in-chief, President Nixon, but to stay near a military town in order to get my whites cleaned. The laundry was outside what is now called Marine Corps Base Camp Pendleton and the cleaners had no trouble getting my dress whites ready, so I could report on my ship which was in drydock in San Pedro. I did think about “Life In The Fast Lane” as well, both the mundane of  navigating the California freeways and later that life that so many people seemed eager to find.

Regretfully, I never saw the Eagles either. And I guess with Frey gone, the group is officially kaput. I thought the group kind of gradually split up, first with bassist and group founder Randy Meisner and later lead guitarist Don Felder. The band’s inner workings are one of the most written-about for a rock group. Glenn Frey, some would say, was an arrogant bastard. Well, so aren’t a lot of folks, even some of your friends?

We close a chapter in rock history. But a family loses their loved one, and one might say a public both old and young lose a favorite band. And the band was also like a family with all its fighting and drama. Hopefully though, not now for, Glenn Frey. May he rest in peace.

 

There is a billion-dollar lottery out there. Be prepared to win!

It’s Powerball Fever. Well, I don’t know if I’d call it that. I’m not running a temperature. But that’s what lazy local TV stations do to avoid some kind of in-depth piece that might actually report some news. I suppose one fact is often touched by these attempts to cover an interesting portion of a large, multicultural social event. That is the fact that people, lots and lots of people daydream.

You never hear this in a story about a large lottery jackpot, not even from CNN or Fox News:

TV Person: “What would you do if you won that big pot tonight?”

Geek on the Street: “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it. I don’t know why I even bought it!”

Pants, severely, on fire.

No one buys a lottery ticket without a plan in the 1-in-292, 201,338 chance — those are the odds for a grand prize printed on my two $3-Powerball tickets I purchased — that they will instantly win more money than they likely have sense.

I have given good thought to this over the years. That is mainly because I have never been more than lower middle class. Of course, the IRS or VA will think you are right up there with Mr. Buffett. That’s either Warren or Jimmy.

TV Reporter: “Would you quit your job if you won?”

Geekette: “Uh, probably not. I like working where I am, stocking shelves and sweeping floors, and cleaning up baby doo.”

Please! Give me a gun, Texan! That person is definitely too stupid to live.

If you want to know my opinion — I accept Pay Pal — I feel it would be terribly irresponsible for one not to daydream a little bit. At least have a general plan if you win the lottery. Hell’s bells I have had enough time and plenty of big jackpots to think about it.

Of course, some of the media are trying to rain on our pre-lottery winnings parade with some of their stories. For instance, there is a number that has been used in the media quite extensively that says 70 percent of lottery winners end up broke. The figure comes from the National Endowment for Financial Education. I tried to find a story with that figure on their website, and was unable to do so, even though it was a pretty cursory search. And it seems as if these folks know what they are talking about. I just kind of wonder how they compiled that research. I think that would be fairly interesting. Of course, I’m a geek too.

In speaking with a few knowledgeable people, some of whom either won a lottery jackpot or have advised such winners, I have a very rudimentary plan if I wake up on Thursday only to discover that Hell has frozen over and those released from Hell will have all the ice water they can drink forever. The ice water will be flown into varied strategic spots by the United Nation’s Pig Force — no, not police cops, I’m talking pigs, four legs, big snouts, and wings. And to know that I must have won the jackpot, I will see upon opening my door to the morning sun, a sky covered in rainbows that are periodically s**t out of unicorn asses. Here is my plan.

  1. Take a day of sick leave.
  2. Have a couple of cups of coffee while continuously  and obsessively running the numbers over the “Check Your Numbers” page on the Texas Lottery Website.
  3. Once I am convinced I won this s***load of money, I will try to contact an accountant I know who had advised a jackpot winner. My acquaintance said to NEVER hire an accountant who wants a percentage of your jackpot as a fee. Find someone you trust.
  4. Hire a lawyer who specializes in financial matters. Make sure you run his background and that the attorney has good references.
  5. If the lawyer knows of a good financial adviser or one is recommended to you, take that professional into the flock.

Whatever you do, no matter how much you want to get your hands on that check, or its facsimile, take your time to assemble a trustworthy and savvy team. And you should have already placed a winning ticket in a safe deposit box after making a copy of the ticket. There is a certain period of time for claiming a winning ticket. I have no idea where you have to go to get your money, probably Austin. It certainly won’t be at Azmud’s Fast-R-Mart.

I would set a date for claiming the money and have my team concur. There would be a lot of matters that need attention. You need to figure out what in Sam Hill are you going to do with all that money. Feed the world, yeah, nice try.

I wouldn’t mind a house or two with some acreage in a scenic spot. Buy a couple of vehicles that I might need for a year or two. Investing? That is something that would really make me nervous. I don’t mind spending a dollar or two for the lottery or to win a shotgun from some local volunteer fire department trying to raise some bucks. I would even buy a fire truck for some needy department. All the while you are thinking of where this money might go — an extensive tour of Europe is okay — just giving away money to a relative or a friend outright might not be such a good move. It all depends on taxes. You can bet I’d find a way to help people, especially my friends and family. I’d just have to be wise about.

As for the job, well I will come up with some kind of story. Like, I’m going away for a while. I don’t know when I will be back. Don’t hold my job for me.

Seriously, we are talking about a big freaking amount of money, and not if just one person wins. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see quite a few hitting the big pinata. Even more players are likely to hit “smaller” million-dollar

Yeah, I know the kind of crib I want along with furniture and infotainment system. Haven’t figured out the colors yet.

Good Damn Luck! You’re going to need it.

 

Read it and weep. Excess in justice and stupidity.

The Affluenza Kid and his Ma were captured in the Mexico Pacific resort town of Puerto Vallarta. For those unfamiliar with the case,  I’ll provide a few links. I think these news reports and commentary can do more than I in telling a tale of rich excess, and perhaps more importantly, excessive stupidity.

http://www.nola.com/crime/index.ssf/2015/12/affluenza_teen_mother_planned.html

http://www.star-telegram.com/news/local/community/fort-worth/article52037270.html

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/12/30/us/use-of-affluenza-didnt-begin-with-ethan-couch-case.html?_r=0

http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/opinion/editorials/ct-affluenza-ethan-couch-parents-edit-1230-20151229-story.html

Tip-ping is NOT a country, at least at Joe’s Crab Shack

Casual dining place Joe’s Crab Shack is going where no man or woman has gone before — well, at least in recent times.

The Texas-based eatery said they are doing away with tipping. RTT News has reported that the seafood restaurant will be paying employees $12 per hour which will mean a 12-to-15 percent increase an order to offset the wage increase.

I suppose this will work out fine for the diner who normally pays Joe’s Crabs around $14 per order, according to some industry sources. But then, going out to a nice sit-down seafood dinner isn’t cheap. Seafood, especially fresh seafood, isn’t cheap.

Time will tell how well a change in such a long-held practice will add to the cost of living for restaurant workers whose livelihoods rely on tips. I would imagine it would depend on where one lives. Back in the late 1980s I worked for a lunch-crowd cafe for what was then the prevailing minimum wage of $3.35 an hour. Jeez, it didn’t even seem that much back then. In 2012 dollars for 1988, that would be $6.48 an hour, according to U.S. Department of Labor figures. Oh, and I was never tipped there. Even then with minimum wage I had to work three jobs to stay afloat in my crappy little trailer house. A friend, who lived elsewhere, let me live there for free except I had to pay rent for the lot. The best I can remember electricity, water and cable were free. It was a pretty sweet deal except for the fact I could barely hold my head above that free water.

There are, of course, true service professionals who earn a very good living in upscale restaurants one mainly find in large cities. Perhaps waiters in a smaller to mid-sized cities can make a decent living or perhaps stay afloat in college. But when you think about it $12 is not a whole s**t-pot of loot. I make $20.60 per hour, working 32 hours per week, and it isn’t a whole lot of money.

Despite my trying to sound clever with a Star Trek-style lead, Joe’s isn’t the only restaurant that doesn’t allow tips. I know at least one casual dining place where I live that has a posted policy of no tipping. The Georgia-based McAlister’s Deli, at least the one where I eat in Southeast Texas, posts the no-tipping sign,  saying the restaurant’s employees are well-paid and do not need tips.

Looking around on the ‘net, it seems like the Sonic Drive-In chain purposely keeps its policy toward gratuity on the sly. I see pages and pages where people inquire if you should tip your Sonic carhop.  What I don’t see are answers.

I know at least at one newspaper where I had worked, a local Sonic had been questioned as to whether its carhops should be tipped. The answer was no.

Part of the uncertainty about tipping in restaurants is the franchising of such places as Sonic and McAllister’s. What the corporate types tell the franchisee is not usually discussed in the open.

I have notice in the past few years, I suppose it grew along with the Recession of ’08, that everywhere one looked workers were asking for tips. This includes workers who, I would think, do not depend on tips. I have seen signs requesting tips in such places as Quiznos, where the customer stands from the time they place their order until it is completed.

So there are plenty of questions as to how well those companies who stop tipping will fare. Will it come out good for the worker? The same question can be asked for the customers and owners. For many, such policies might just seem as if they are headed into the deep, dark spaces of the universe. Then again, I may be wrong and probably a little over-dramatic.

Thinking of clothing fit for males, chickens and dogs

The near constant drizzle that we have had for the last week, or so, it seems, has ended. It is still colder than a well-digger’s … pocket warmers. I must always qualify that remark. I am up at the top of the northern Texas coast. The temperature is 49 F with a stiff 15-mph North wind making the windchill seem about six degrees cooler. The relative humidity is 86 percent. I’m sure that adds something to the misery.

Normally, I’m a rainy-day type of guy. But sometimes enough is enough. More so especially when it is chilly.

With six pockets full of even more qualifications I fully realize I have friends across the U.S. where it is even colder. It is 33 F with a 40 percent chance of snow tonight for my friend Sally in western Massachusetts. It’s in the 20s and 30s all week with a chance of snow toward the end of the week in Anchorage, Alaska, residence of my friend Elizabeth. Still, while friends from the cold places in the states like to kid us about what we believe to be “cold” weather here in Texas, most would prefer their own cold hometowns to ours.

One plus about down South juking is you don’t have to buy a lot of different clothes. I say you don’t have to. That doesn’t mean you won’t. I find myself shopping in clothing stores for fairly inexpensive coats though I don’t know if such a creature exists during the winter months. I have a windbreaker that is acceptable for about 60 percent of cold weather. For about 20 percent I have a coat I bought back in 2005 while I was out on a reporting assignment and a big chill quickly arrived. It is a very warm coat, nothing fancy. It has a hood. When I used to walk every day no matter what, I would wear the coat and a warmup suit underneath on very cold mornings. I wore a knit cap covering my head and my ears and my hood was tied close. I used to laugh because I reminded myself of Kenny McCormick, the often-killed, insensible sounding kid from the adult cartoon “South Park.” As for the remaining cool weather wear I have a brown tan Gary Player front zip jacket. It goes with about 3/4 of my “bidness casual wear.”

But just as women seem never to have enough shoes so do I never seem to have enough clothes and especially jackets. That is ridiculous of course, I see no reason to spend tons of money on something I may only wear once or twice a year. This is not a “layers” kind of place where I live. Most of my shirts are short sleeve Polo-style shirts.

Until I began my present “part-time (32-hour/week) job” almost eight years ago, most of my pants were shorts.

I have always thought that if I won millions in the lottery that I would buy bunches of clothes. I feel it would be practical because I would definitely go on a successful diet and need to buy different sizes until I got to the “just right” size. Plus, I would travel here and there and would need different kinds of wear because of varied climates.

In reality, I need to buy a couple of pair of pants for bidness wear soon because my keys have taken a toll on the sloppy sewing from the pockets to the outside seam I always seem to encounter. Either that, or it will be me sewing them by hand.

So I am and have long been a fairly functional, low-maintenance creature, as far as clothes are concerned. Emotionally low-maintenance is another matter, or so I have been told. Oh well. Most of the time “there is no one in here except us chickens,” as the old saying goes. If I really had chickens, again, I might buy them some diapers or some Depends. Why? Why not? This is the same man who once gave his half-Doberman half-Great Dane a dickie to wear.

In other words, it don’t (sic) mean nothing.