Another major thing was trying to figure out what I really want to say, and how to go about putting it out there? Do I want photos each time, or are the photos I add (without permission) just something to entice people to read what I’ve written?
I really like looking for photographs and other things about people I am referencing, because I think it makes what I am "talking" about more amusing or interesting, and hey, if it ain’t amusing or interesting, even I don’t want to read it.
But who does read it, and why?
Most interesting to me is that the biggest ‘keywords’ for finding this blog on the Net are the names Lindsay Fredette and Brandi Chastain. Google tells me this is true, and they would know. Far and away, the most searched is Jimmer Fredette’s older sister Lindsay, who I mentioned in a wacky piece way back on January 31. Brandi gets searched quite a bit too, with one keyword being "Brandi Chastain’s boobs." That is great! To think that there are probably enough guys or gay ladies out there, wanting a look at Brandi’s boggles? It boobies the mind!
Years ago, when I lived in Tucson and worked as a bartender, I had a Monday night to work. The regular band was off on Monday’s, so we’d have a band fill in for the evening. It was often a very dull night, with hopefully enough friends of the band filling some seats, buying some drinks, and not starting any fights.
(The place I was working at the time was called the "Longhorn Saloon," so you have to just trust me when I tell you we had fights in that place. The bar sat right outside the main gate of Davis-Monthan AFB, so imagine all those young and drunk airman stumbling into a cowboy bar for last call? It got nasty some nights…days too.)
This Monday we had a band with 5 guys, a couple of whom I knew from other bands and other clubs. The lead guy in the band and I were lamenting the crappy turnout when he told me the secret to getting new business was to open a bar and call it:
I don’t know what a lot of people’s reactions would be if they saw that sign lit up in big letters on the top of some bar, but it would get my attention. I’d also bet that it would get the attention of a lot of the same guys that are Googling Brandi’s ta-ta’s, or Lindsay in a swimsuit?
Of course I can also imagine having a bar with that name, and putting up with all the crap from boozed up dudes looking for what’s on the sign, if someone could actually get the sign up to begin with? It’s a more PC world every day, and while I can see being able to do it in Tucson, up here in Burlington (VT), things like that are just not done.
I wonder what ever happened to a bar outside of Miami called Sofa King? Susan and I heard their ad on the radio one morning in 2005 while driving (and getting lost) on the south Florida highway system.
"Sofa King! You gotta be where the sounds are sofa king cool, the beer is sofa king cold, and the ladies are sofa king hot!"
By the way, the word "free" took on a different meaning for me about 6 or 7 years ago while I was driving through one of the housing developments I manage. As I circled through I noticed that one apartment had placed a number of things on the green space that everyone is praying to find! Great stuff like broken and cheap furniture, bags of stained and dirty children’s clothing, old tires, and stacks of car repair manuals, kid’s VHS tapes, and James Patterson novels.
It’s a city code violation to put stuff on a green space (the area between the sidewalk and street), so I took special note of the fact that the tenant had not put the usual "FREE!" sign up. When I told the story to Susan she reminded me that when we had moved from Shelburne to Essex, we had done similarly. What was funny was that along with taking most of our discards, someone took our "FREE" sign as well.
Vermonters make up their own rules about these types of things, because we don’t want anything to go to waste. Somewhere, some day, the person that took that sign will find a use for it, or know someone who’ll need it.
"Harry, hold on! I have a sign that already says "FREE. You don’t have to do a damn thing!"
"You’re kidding right? You’re not? Dude, that’s awesome dude, frikkin’ awesome! Thanks for borrowing it to me man"
As a further digression, a few years ago there were a couple of signs Susan and I used to see every time we went to her dad’s house. One was for a guy named Tardie, and he was an accountant that did the IRS thing for folks. What better way to let potential clients know that then by putting a sign out that read "Tardie Tax Returns?" Really, that was his sign. Maybe he attracted clients anyway…you know, those that like a joke about the IRS auditing them?
Maybe none of my tenant’s property left the green space because it was not quite free?
The big sign on top of the pile had one word, perhaps a warning, or more likely an omen?
It read "Feer!" Seriously, and yes, I was.
Along the same route as "Tardie Tax Returns" there was a landlord with a vacancy that needed filling. So, he (or she, but I gotta bet it was a guy) bought a 2-foot by 3-foot piece of thin white cardboard, and nailed it to a phone pole with the following written on it:
House for Rnet
999-9999
Yup, rnet, but someone caught it after the fact and added a ^ between the R and the n, and placed an e above the ^. The way I read it was "House for Renet." I tried calling the number, but got no answer. I figure the owner must have been at an Algonquian Round Table meeting, so I let it go, but would it have killed the guy to buy another piece of cardboard, and spell the damn word correctly?
Okay, I’ve been writing this thing over a couple of days now, and just enjoying the process of writing, which was the entire point of this blog anyway. I used to write so many long emails that I’d get folks telling me to just blog, which I took as a polite way of saying, "Write your ass off, just don’t send it to me because I’ll feel guilty if I don’t read it. You should start a blog. That way, if I don’t read it I will just be one of billions and billions of people who don’t read it, instead of just me."
I also doubt I could have "naked women" as part of the name either, but I could have a sign at the door telling folks that there is never a cover for naked women.
Time for baseball.
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