Sunflower Seeds

            I think I’m addicted sunflower seeds. I walked to the neighborhood gas station where I pick up my seeds. They carry an off brand, possibly organic, the seeds are large, pregnant, swollen with just the right amount of salt on them.

            I walked toward the rack where I usually find them, but there weren’t any left. Sold Out. I couldn’t believe it. I looked more than twice, thinking they were hidden behind the peanuts. I had a false hope. I kept looking. My heart sunk, my mouth felt a longing for them. I searched high and low. I was having a hard time excepting reality.

            I walked back home feeling empty, beaten, and looking for solutions.

Mumble-Jumbo

I just got home. It’s almost nine-thirty. I was running around today. I like to post a blog every other day as a matter of principle. So here I am writing about the mumble- jumbo of the day.

I woke up and tried to fix the lady friends car without much success. There was a bolt I couldn’t budge, so we took it to a mechanic up the street. He fixed it for thirty-five dollars The fat mechanic losses.

            I talked to Bill the smog guru about my case. Everything is moving along nicely. He even offered me a job. Bill’s a cool cat. He lived in San Francisco in the sixties. We have a lot in common. I didn’t live in San Francisco in the sixties but I lived there for a time. We were talking music and smog and jobs, before he got a phone call, and I had to leave for Martin’s.

            Martin and I worked on the Dust Covered Man. I laid down some backing vocals. Improvised stuff that left me feeling raw. Exposed. I killed the mood with my criticism of myself. It’s dumb to be critical, but I seldom feel comfortable in my own skin. It feels awkward when you kill the mood.

            Things are good beyond that. Things are real good. Don’t grasp, don’t cling, just swing.  

The Fat Mechanic

Now my lady friend’s car went down. Nothing major, just a bolt that holds the shifting linkage in place. A tow truck driver and I put a temporary patch on it. The plan was for my lady friend to drive it to work the next day and have it fixed at an automotive repair shop nearby. Painless right. Wrong. The mechanic wanted to charge her eighty bananas for the repair. She called me in a panic. I drove over to see what the heck.

            The mechanic was a big fat guy, he kind of looked like Diego Rivera.

            “It’s just a bolt right!” I asked.

            “”No we have to order a bracket from the dealer, replace the bushings, dig deep into your wallet, so I can eat steak for dinner. I like porter house steaks, or the biggest most expensive steak I can find,” he might as well have said.

            “Well how much is that!”

            “Twenty-five for the part, forty-five for labor.”

            I yanked the car out of there. The fat mechanic was angry at me. I didn’t care, He was crazy. The bastard was trying to take advantage of a nice woman to feed his over sized mug. I figured I could fix it myself for two dollars. If I can’t fix it we’ll take it somewhere else. 

The Seafood Man

            I went to a barbeque last night. I met a man named Paul. We were the only men there and we bonded at the grill.

            Paul and I got to talking and he told me he was in the seafood business in Vegas for twenty years. That didn’t sound sketchy at all. I was instantly intrigued. He said he had stories and I believed him. He wanted to be a writer but he kept making excuses for not writing. He was from Minnesota. I asked if he knew Bob Dylan. It’s my standard question for people I meet from Minnesota.

            “Well, yeah, my dad knew him really well,” he said.

            I wasn’t expecting that answer. It took me by surprise.

            “Do you want to meet him? Give me your phone number.”

            I froze up. I’m not sure why. Nothing came out of my mouth and in an instant the subject changed. Paul’s mood changed too. He seemed to take offense to my inaction.

            It’s the second time I’ve blown a chance to meet Bob Dylan.