Update #3

What have I been doing you might ask?

Last night I received the gift of free drinks. The first one was good, but the last two or three were a mixed bag. I went from bourbon, to vodka, to rum twice. I broke my own rule by mixing drinks. I woke up with a weird taste in my mouth. I think it was the rum and coke.

            What else? I’m recording another song with Martin. It’s tentatively called, A Dust Covered Man. The title is a little much, kind of pretentious. I might drop the A, and just call it Dust Covered Man. It’s sounding pretty good. I leave my music to providence. I walked into the session not knowing what I was going to play. You kind of say a prayer at that point and hope for the best. As it turned out there were musical parts in me just waiting to come into the world. The creative experience is interesting that way, you fret, you worry, and it all turns out okay. 

            I’m trying to figure out how to make my own books. I want to take to the streets with them. If only I had a duplex printer, I’d print front and back at the same time. Kinko’s has them but I figured out I’d have to sell the books for the price of a steak dinner to make any money off of them. I made a jig from scrape wood to press the paper together and glue perfect bound covers on. I can’t wait to make my first book. I’m looking forward to it. That’s all for now, until next time.

The Interpreter

I was exiting the freeway. I was turning right and I had the inside position. There was a black mini van to the left of me and he was making a right turn as well. I saw him punch the gas and make his move, so I made mine. I sensed he was trying to scoot by me and snake my line in his rush. I felt myself tense up and my stubborn side kick in, the side of me that wants cooperation, justice and decency.

There was a merge to one line and I had inside position so I gave it the gas. The mini van had to hit the brakes.

Beep!

How annoying I thought. The snake was snaked and now he’s honking at me.

The line divided into a two line left turn. The black mini van pulled up beside me. His electric windows came down. I pulled back on the switch to my electric windows and they smoothly came down as well.

            “What?” I asked, throwing up my hands in an aggravated tone.

            There was a heavyset woman from somewhere south of the border in the passenger seat and a Chinese man at the wheel.

            The woman turned to the man and then to me.

            “He says you cut him off!” the woman said in a thick Spanish accent.

            “I had the inside line. I was just staying in my line!” I told the woman.

            The woman turned to the Chinese man. I could see him saying something to her. The woman turned back to me.

            “He says, you almost crashed into him!”

            “What do you want me to do, I had the right of way,” I said.

            This was a first. Road rage with a translator. The third person seemed to calm the situation down some. It was like having a mediator. I could see the anger on the Chinese mans face.

            “I don’t think so,” the woman said.

            “You don’t know nothing,” I said.

The traffic light turned green and we drove away. What a couple of morons I said to myself. Then it occurred to me that the heavyset woman spoke three languages and one of them was Chinese. 

Stroller

I don’t mean to be overly critical of baby strollers, but I’ve noticed that they’re much larger than they use to be.

I was walking on the sidewalk when a woman parted the way with a huge stroller. I stepped to the side and moved out of the way for fear of being run over, as did other pedestrians.

The stroller was wide and tall, and frankly I found it offensive, as did other pedestrians. I could see it on their faces as they rushed to move out of the way. If strollers get any larger we may have to register them with the Department of Motor Vehicles and put some turn signals on them and give them a distinctive sounding musical horn.

Strollers aren’t as large in the ghetto. Ghetto kids ride in cheap collapsible strollers that look like they can fold up on a kid at a moments notice. Their plastic wheels look vulnerable like they’re going to wobble off before the next curb, the next crossing.

The Hummer of a stroller I saw the other day had precision wheels, with spokes. You could pump air into the tires and shine up the sidewalls with Armor All. The mother pushing the stroller looked tired and embarrassed, but at the same time, she was forceful and indignant, as she pushed past the hipsters on Vermont boulevard.