“A cat asked Coltrane, ‘When you’re out there doing that wild solo, what are you hearing?’ And he said, ‘The bass.’” –Mike Watt
The four count rhythm between ten and two never worked for me.
Putting a bass line to it kind of does. Jamerson to start and maybe when things get going something else. Or this. Or Shakespeare.
Contrived? Maybe. But it beats thinking about a metronome.
The point is, how do you know Emile isn’t a crazy glue sniffer? “Building model airplanes” he tells you. Well, we’re not buying it. He sneaks into your house once, that’s all it takes. The next thing you know, there’s money missing off the dresser, and your daughter’s knocked up. I’ve seen it a hundred times.
Hey, if you want me to take a dump in a box and mark it guaranteed, I will. I got spare time.
They came to run the bar and eat sand eels and we threw things that to them must have looked like sand eels so they ate them and later probably regretted it.
Bass that ate.
The guy wearing them is a good dude, so his poor choices in footwear will be abided.
I get it: The idea is to keep pushing yourself, to find the bigger challenge, to cast to a fish that tests all of your abilities, or resides just beyond them, and hopefully get rewarded.
But sometimes it’s not such a bad thing to hit up a fish where your cast just has to be good enough and when it sees your fly, actually wants to eat.
Getting geared up, changing out the old backing, we got a big week ahead. That’s right, get out there and stick ‘em.
North Federal Highway, Boca. Established: Sometime back. Closed: 1993.
(Quinn + 25′ Mako bought at gov’t auction + dull dolphin + block ice + Busch.)
Pete McDonald