On the radio, I was asked if I had any celebrities for clients. I demurred because none came to mind immediately. Oh, to be sure, this is Austin, I’ve got any number of famous, semi-famous, and want-to-be famous clients who are musicians. A couple of them are even neighbors.
I was working on a column, and thinking about famous people. I’ve got a couple of industry mover and shaker types, but not really famous outside of those circles. Then there’s other famous people I can count, like the street person who does the chalk images on the corner. Does that count? Aquarius (Leo Moon, if I recall). Plus there’s the wacko, cross-dressing “homeless” guy, again, does that really count as a luminary?
Help!
What does this mean? Like, in language I can fake?*
* I can fake French, Spanish, Mexican, border patois, but no Cajun. English English or, easier yet, American English.
One last obit:
Tom Wolfe, writing in the WSJ online, I think.
There’s one telling anecdote about a glass of whiskey, and the summation is really quite good. Have to agree with that one.
This about that:
Busy afternoon, barely had time to enjoy a full moon for fishing. Which accomplished nothing but feeding lots of perch.
Confidentiality notice:
It was just another consultation. But the querent was adamant that no details would be revealed. First off, my mind is porous. Data in, data out. The only files I keep are astrology charts. No notes. No details. I’ve documented it before, and it came back Wednesday afternoon, as I was citing an example of running into someone I’d done reading for, and not being able to remember a name, a face, but I cold recall a few poignant details about a chart. I’d claim that I adhere to the strictest moral high ground, but in reality, after doing tens of thousands of consultations, frankly, I’m surprised that I can remember my own name. It has been suggested that some days, I can’t. Why I usually check my wallet first thing in the morning. Driver’s license, “Kramer Wetzel,” and business card, “Fishing Guide to the Stars,” and then I know who I am and what I do.
Previous 1.11
I already linked to this item because I founs it wildly amusing. But the bit at the end got me thinking… I know, my mind is like a bad neighborhood, I shouldn’t go alone and unarmed. But never mind that now….
Let me see, I typed on CP/M machine, back in the day. Did my first bit of fiction on one, as a matter of fact. Or the kick that got me started this time around. Suddenly, no paper to put in? No need to hit the return bar? It was like a bottomless sheet of paper. Made a lot of difference to me. Like magic, only better.
I’ve owned, in order, a Mac Plus, a 128 Mac upgraded to a Mac Plus, a Macintosh II, SE/30, PowerMac 6100, PowerBook 145B, a PowerBook 2400 (that was a cool machine), two Blackbirds, a Titanium PowerBook, and finally, an Aluminum one. Mac Plus goes back to 1986, I think. That’s close to 20 years on these things.
Which means?
Probably nothing.
