Nothing Sweeter

     Four or five months ago I drank a few beers and wandered onto a construction site looking for scrap wood. I found a piece. It was a two by eight by ten. I put it under my arm and carried it like a surfboard. I was walking up the hill to my house when I heard a voice say, "Hey, where are you going with that?"
     I turned to see who it was. It was a tall skinny man with long gray hair. He was standing on his porch. He looked like a old hippie. 
     "I thought it was scrap!" I told him.
     "It don't look like scrap to me."
     We went back and forth until I finally turned around and put the wood back where I found it. I walked away. But I was mad about it. What an asshole. Who does this guy think he is? It's just a piece of scrap-wood.
     Ever since, I've had an watchful eye out for the man. I saw him a couple of times while jogging. We were amiable. Although it was an awkward amiable.
     Today I was sitting on my porch trying to make a phone call when I saw the man walking his dog. I could see him, but he couldn't see me. 
     The man's dog took a shit on my neighbor's property and he didn't bother to pick it up. 
     Aha! I got him! 
     But then the man walked over to the fire hydrant. I watched him as he unscrewed the big yellow cap to the hose connection and walk off with it. A Fed-X truck pulled up just then. I saw the man put the cap under his shirt to hide it. I knew then that he was stealing the cap for sure. 
     Perfect!
     I walked to the curb and yelled, "Excuse me! is there a reason why you took the cap off the fire hydrant?'
    The man turned and sheepishly walked toward me. "You got me," he said. 
    "Yeah, and I saw your dog take a shit. And you didn't even bother to pick it up!" 
     I'm not much into revenge, but in this instance, there was nothing sweeter. 

Worth The Risk?

   
     We have a new Supreme Court Justice. We could've had someone good, but nah. We got a man-boy of dubious distinction. Yale took another hit. First George W. and now this Kavanaugh-shit-kid. It makes me wonder about intelligence as it pertains to the Ivy League.  Is it all just a farce? More than likely, but what's a poor Mexican-American to do, but watch and laugh, and then cry, at the fact that our leaders are spineless barbarians. 
     If I didn't care about this country it wouldn't bother me. Ironically, I think this force-fed appointment of our new Supreme Court Justice is going to have a long term effects on the elite. With each horrible decision this man makes there will be a greater divide of the social classes. The illusion of meritocracy will be diminished and the American dream eventually killed. Not good for the elite. Think of South Africa before the fall of Apartheid. Armed guards, security gates, living in constant fear of attack. That's no way to live. 
     It's as if the elite of this country haven't studied history, or read The Prince by Machiavelli. They're creating conditions for their own demise. It's interesting to watch. I'm not sure I'd take the risk. It hardly seems worth it. 

Blogging

     I haven't felt like blogging lately. I missed a couple of weeks, and I was thinking what's the point? I have an audience, but it hasn't grown much over the years. I stopped posting to Facebook. That hurt my numbers. I'm just not sure how much more I can give in this department. 
     Truthfully, I'm boring myself with my blogs. Blogspot is antiquated. It has been, and will be. I should have my own website by now. Everybody else does. I'm spending my time working on other things,. Music, novels, building. 
      There's a lot going on in the world. The system is on the verge of failure. It's being attacked by the same mindset of thievery that created it, and I haven't really written about it. I've thought about writing about it, and I want to write about it. I know exactly what I want to say. It's in my head. It's creeping around in there, and every once in a while I'll think about it, before it disappears into another thought. I'll get to it. Hopefully next week.

Bellows

     I took a few weeks off from blogging. I went to Bellows Air Force Station in Oahu on a family vacation. I have a brother who fought in Nam, and through him and his military ID, the family was able to stay on the military base. 
     There's a beautiful beach on Bellows, it's probably the nicest beach on the island. And it's been a private beach for the military for some years. 
     It got me thinking about stealing land and how the U.S. stole the Hawaiian islands. I read a brief history of the event. It seemed like easy pickings. 
     Most thieves think small. A car, a house, a bank, maybe a chocolate bar. Not the U.S. We steal big. Hawaii, California, New Mexico, Arizona, Puerto Rico. It takes big stones to steal large swaths of land and then pretend like nothing happened. In fact, if you bring up land stealing in some circles people get offended. As if somehow you're demeaning them for being the thieves. They're not the thieves of course, but somebody was.
     
       
     
     

Tony The Barber

     I got a haircut. I'd let my hair grow long on account of a bald spot that showed up on the side of my head. I have a condition called alopecia areata. That's when your hair falls out in spots temporarily. Mine fell out in a huge patch, the size of a baseball on the side of my head. My hair's slowly growing back, but not enough to warrant a short haircut. 
     So I took a chance in getting a haircut in the first place. I go to an old-timer named Tony. Tony's been cutting hair for sixty years. It's amazing he can still stand. 
     I showed Tony my bald patch, and told him I wanted my hair to cover it so don't cut it too short. What I've learned about Tony and just about every other barber I've been to, is that they're always agreeable, but never do what you ask. 
     I sat in the chair and Tony proceeded to brag about his hair cutting abilities and how great his business was doing. Then he told me a couple vengeful barber stories where he put customers in their place for questioning his abilities. I was entertained by his stories. they made me laugh. And Tony is a gentleman with good manners. I like him.
     I noticed my hair flying in big chunks. Tony was using scissors that squeaked. I had complete confidence in him, even though the task was not simple. Long hair to short hair, with enough hair to cover the spot. 
    At the end of it Tony brought out a mirror. He held the mirror up and proudly showed off his work. My eyes popped out of my head when I saw what he'd done to me. He had my hair combed to one side, like Ann Rand and there were flaps of hair sticking straight out just behind my ears. The side with the bald patch was longer than the other side. All and all I was pretty disappointed with Tony's work. I didn't offer any compliments. 
     How much do I owe you? I asked
     Tony recoiled with the question. He was obviously butt-hurt about it. I couldn't help that I didn't like the cut. He messed me up.  
     I had to ask my lady-friend to fix it for me. She doesn't cut hair, but she did a good job. It looks a lot better.

Dedicated Tax System

     I think we should have a dedicated tax system where citizens can choose where their taxes go. There could be different categories. Military, health care, infrastructure, general services, national parks, etc. There would be no more than ten categories to keep it simple, and perhaps to keep the military from crying, they'd get an automatic one percent from each paycheck. I haven't worked out the numbers and I'm not sure what percentage the military is getting now, so one percent might be low or high. I'm not sure. I'm just making the general point of The Dedicated Tax System.
     This idea, in principle, eliminates or reduces the possibility of cronyism and the abuse of power by politicians and corporations. And keeps the treasury out of reach of thieves and self interested people. 
      The public can change the distribution of their money when the file their taxes. 

Gardeners

     There are thousands of Latino gardeners in Los Angeles. They come from different countries, Mexico, Mesoamerica. Most come to this country with just the shirt on their backs. They've carved out an occupation for themselves. And best I can tell, they're extremely hard workers. It's rare that a gardener calls in sick to work. At least in my neighborhood. Three of my neighbors have gardeners. The gardeners show up on Monday, Wednesday and Friday at about eight-thirty in the morning. The sound of their leaf-blowers lets me know that they're here.
     Latino gardeners work for the wealthy in Bel Air and Beverly Hills, and the not so well-off in the suburbs. If you hire a gardener in Los Angeles, there's a fair chance he's going to be Latino. 
     Unless of course you're the Los Angeles Dodgers. Their gardeners are white. They don't call themselves gardeners either. They call themselves the "ground crew." And as gardening jobs go, it's probably one of the best gigs in town.