Bored

      I'm bored with capitalism. I'm bored with its commercials, its morning programs, its news cycles, its wars, its so-called heroes, its famous people. I'm bored with people trying to become famous. That strikes me as the saddest of them all. That's like praying for money. Asking God for things that don't matter. 
      Maybe I'm bored cause I'm boring. I do feel a tinge boring. I tend to follow the same patterns and my patterns are not always all that interesting, sipping coffee, playing the guitar, writing, recording songs. 
      When I was sick with the flu I had nothing better to do but to cruise the Internet. And the association of being sick and reading the same old things over and over soured me to certain websites. I'm bored with them. Sick of the commentary, the headlines. I'm tired of everybody having an opinion, and thinking they can read into to future and determine the results of something that hasn't happened. It's mind numbing. It's redundant. It's dang monotonous.

Flu Bug

      Day four. I caught a flu bug. I've been bed ridden ever since. Aches and pain, chills, cold, headache, I don't recommend it.
      I was perfectly healthy when I decided to go on a jog. I didn't jog far. I run uphill to minimize the pounding on my body. It's a theory I have. It's better to be a Honda than a race car. Race cars have to change their parts after every race. High performance, high maintenance.
      I couldn't stop coughing after my jog. It wasn't normal, but I didn't think much about it. Later that night I felt achey. It was a blamo situation, just like that, you are sick now. It was odd. 
      Day ten. I feel better now, but I'm still not a hundred percent. My motivation has been squashed. 

Dickheads

   
      Dickhead #1
      I was at a red light. It turned green. I didn't even have time to take my foot off the break when the car behind me honked his horn. 
      What a dick!
      I made a left turn onto a one lane street. The car behind me was following real close. I made the slowest left turn I ever made in my life, and proceded to drive like a confused grandfather. The driver behind me was at my mercy. I had complete control of him. Sucker!
      The world is full of dickheads. I'm one of them. But I'm not a true dickhead because I'll admit that I'm a dickhead. A true dickhead has no idea he's a dickhead, or if has an idea, but he won't acknowledge it, or he'll blame someone else for it.
      Dickhead #2 
      I was standing in line waiting to order the Wednesday special. Fish tacos, $1.29 each, when a young man walked up to me. He got right in my face and said, "hey, give me a dollar."
      I said to him, "I don't have a dollar." Which was true, I had twenty dollars. This kid had a tattoo on his face and was thinking he was pretty tough. He was staring me down, looking at me right in the eye. My inner dickhead kicked in and I was holding my ground, staring at him just as hard.
       He said, "you didn't even look in your pocket."
       "I know what I have, I don't need to explain to you," I said.
       "Alright, alright," he said and walked off in a huff. He was holding his phone in one hand. His phone looked a lot nicer than mine. 
       
    

Sequoia

      I spent a few days in Sequoia recording songs. I brought my laptop, guitars, mic stands, and mics with me and set up shop. I have a friend who owns a cabin up there. The cabin is in the middle of nowhere away from people and lights. It's real quiet, but for the birds. There were beautiful trees at every turn. They were barren from autumn, and their sparseness gave the place an eerie feeling.
      I'd wake up early in the morning and start in on the work. There was nobody around, so I didn't have to worry about making too much noise. I'd work all day and go to bed early. There wasn't a television or wi-fi, so I read 1Q84 by Murakami to entertain myself and passed out by nine-thirty. I'd wake up at six or so in the morning and start the routine all over again.
      I had planned to finish eight or nine songs while I was there, but I only finished the rough tracks to three. It always takes longer than expected, finding the right sound, and playing the song with out making any mistakes. I don't like to cut and paste tracks if I can avoid it. It took me half a day to figure out I was playing a song at the wrong tempo. I was having trouble playing the song in time, and couldn't figure out why. It was one beat per second too slow. That one beat made all the difference in the world. It's the natural rhythm of things. Don't butt heads with the natural rhythm of things. It makes life one beat per second harder than it needs to be. 

U-turns

      I yanked a U-turn from the curb and almost got T-boned. It might have been my fault. It was night and I didn't see any headlights behind me, probably cause I never turned my head to look, and yanked it. I was lucky not to get hit. A car jammed on his breaks and managed to stop in time. The driver laid on the horn pretty good. He was mad.
      When I got home I thought about what had happened. I needed to be more careful. I was sure the driver in the other car was telling the story to somebody and still mad about it. "And then this Armenian guy yanked a U-turn from the curb right in front of me!" 
      When you're driving in Glendale, Armenians get blamed for everything. 

Man The Invention

   
      I caught a cold. That's something. I'm getting ready to record a bunch of acoustic songs at a friend's ranch near Sequoia. It's gonna be just me and my guitars for a couple of days. I'm starting to think about fire wood and food. What kind of food should I take? 
      Oh yeah, I finished my album, Solar Road. It's on Bandcamp under The Glen Livers. I need to promote it better, but I'd rather work on my art. I got the book to edit, and songs to write, and a crapper to build. Life is good when the mind is active. My problem is, I'm scattered. There are so many interesting things to learn about. Old songs, and AI, and crypto-currency, and good bots and bad bots, and block chains. The world's economy is changing right before our eyes and it has little to do with man force, or everything to do with it. I'm not sure what's going to happen. Greed probably. A different kind of greed, but greed nevertheless. 

Flying Matresses

      I figured out why mattresses and seat cushions fly out of trucks on the freeway. It's because they know they're going to a home with a cat. Or worse yet, cats. And the thought of the impending torture is too much for them. So they panic and let the wind hit their sails and fly away.
      I'm not sure if they think it all the way through though. The chances of getting hit by a car on the freeway are pretty good. But it must be worth the risk. Death by a car, or a lifetime of claw scratches. That's a tough one. Either way I could understand their concern. 
      If they're lucky the cat will use the couch as a scratching post, but then the mattress or seat cushion will have to listen to the couch's cries for help and agony. And that's no way to live. So it makes sense to jump out of the truck while you have the chance. 
      It took me years to figure this out, but if anybody out there has a question or problem that needs solving let me know. Sooner or later I'll come up with the answer. 

Manson

On Charles Manson: he gave hippies a bad name. 

The Show Must Go On

      I have a show with The Glen Livers on Monday at the historic Dresden Room. It's an LA institution. I've been trying for weeks not to get sick. It seems everyone around me has been sick with a cough or a cold, and as the singer of the band I can't let that happen.
      My body was starting to feel achy yesterday, so I shut it down and came home early from a party to go to bed. I've been taking mega-doses of vitamin C and eating turmeric, ginger, and habenro chilies, and drinking lemon tea with honey and cayenne pepper. I took an ibu yesterday when I started to feel achy. I feel pretty good today, but I do have some phlegm in my throat. Any variance in the throat can make a huge difference in the tone and quality of my singing. 
      My gut says my voice isn't going to be at its best, but at least I don't have a sore throat or a cough. I'll have to fight through it somehow, and sing the best I can with what I got. 

Daylight, More Night

      I fell asleep early last night. Daylight savings hour had me confused. I'm pretty good at guessing the time in the morning by looking at the sunlight. I can figure it out with a plus or minus of ten minutes. But today I had no idea. It seems silly and a bit arrogant to manipulate time like that. It doesn't make any sense to me. 
      A coyote and a possum were at war while I was sleeping. I heard the coyote chasing the possum and the possum was squealing as he ran away. I'm pretty sure the possum climbed a tree and escaped. My head felt heavy like a bowling ball. I could barely move it I was sleeping so hard. I didn't bother to get up and look. I just lay stiff in bed. 
      The possum had been licking the grease off of my barbecue. He wasn't shy about it either. He'd make a bunch of noise while he greedily went at it. He came back two or three days in a row. I saw him doing it a few times and figured it was only a matter of time before a coyote caught wind of it. Sure enough, last night was the night and the chase was on. 
      Everything is peaceful now. Just hawks circling for squirrels, and the sound of leaf blowers in the distance. And of course sirens on Figueroa street for the human casualties in life.

The Proletariat

      It's tough being part of the proletariat. You work hard for not much money, and you have do things you don't want to do to make ends meet. At my peak membership I was waking up at 5:30 am to be at work by 6:30. Those were what I refer to as the "dark days." The lost days, so to speak, when I was trying my best to fit into society and make something good of myself. After work, I'd go to my university, where I'd nap in the student union in between classes just to get by.
      When my college days were over I found any old job to pay the rent. The one job perk I had was a week's paid vacation, but I never had enough money to go anywhere far. The cruelty of it was I'd see advertisements in magazines and billboards of tropical paradises with beautiful women sunning themselves in bikinis. They'd have a drink in their hand and a pair of sunglasses on their face. It seemed like at every turn there was a billboard for Cancun, Fiji, Hawaii, or someplace nice like that. Not that I'd want to go to a tourist destination, but still.
      That was my life as a proletariat. I was a good soldier. I payed my taxes, which I saw as a fee for residency in the United States. I followed the rules, mostly.  
      I'm part of the artisan class now, which is like being part of the proletariat, but I set my own hours. Now, I make even less money than I did before. 

Discipline

      Sometimes you need a kick in the pants to put things in perspective. There are some people in this world, artists and otherwise, who are prolific. My painter friend is one of those. I talked to him today at his studio, and came away feeling inspired. He writes a blog a day, which is amazing to me. He never misses a day either, and he's a painter. I felt small talking to him about it. I realize that he and I are different people, but it did strike me as odd that he writes more than I do.
      It's no coincidence that he's prolific. He has discipline. You have to put the time in. No time, no results. I put the time in, but I'm not a maniac about it. I should be though, not knowing how much time I have left. It's easy to think you have all the time in the world, but you don't. Wasting time is life's crime. And it's easy to do with all the distractions in the world, cell phones and what not. I've wasted a lot of time in my life.   Now when I see others wasting time it makes me angry. Probably because it reminds me of myself, and all the days I took for granted. 

      

The Final Magic Trick

We'll all disappear someday, some call it death, but it's just the final magic trick. 

Shuffles

   
      I played with a drummer once who refused to play shuffles. He had it in mind that they were beneath him in some way. I used to tease him about it, but he was headstrong and never gave in.
      Playing the blues was out of the question, and we couldn't play rockabilly or even certain rock songs depending on the beat. Needless to say the band was stifled by it, and eventually parted ways. Who wants to be in a band where you can't play a shuffle? 
      Every once in while we'd say let's play Cold Shot, and he'd just about flip out. I sometimes wonder about him. The last I heard he was playing in a rock band, and I wonder if he pulled the same thing with them. 
      I've always thought playing a good shuffle was difficult. To get it right anyway. But, no not this drummer. He hated them. 

Why I Don't Own A Gun

      I don't own a gun because I can be quick tempered, and quick tempered and guns don't always get along. I'd end up in jail no doubt. Know thyself when it comes to guns; that's what I always say.
      The other reason I don't own a gun is because I have fantasies of attending a NRA convention strapped to the nines, and the first time I heard the keynote speaker at the podium say something wrong or untrue, I'd get up and start firing. I figure I could pick off eight or so people before anyone got off a shot, proving the point to the NRA that guns in themselves won't protect you in all situations. It's a fallacy. It takes time to pull out a gun, and you can't pull out gun if you don't know what's coming.
      In my estimation those are pretty good reasons not to own gun. We don't need a bunch of lefties running around with guns. It would be safer for everybody if we just played it cool.
 
            

Maxims

It's nothing a Turkish apricot can't fix.

Sriracha wasn't built in a day.

The devil don't make no pancakes. 

Try as you may, there's no escaping yourself.

Avoidance is the mother of all procrastination.

Clutter is the root of all evil. 

No Trolling For Me

     I don't want to be a troll. They're too negative. My mom's negative. She's a troll and doesn't know it. We kids, her kids, admonish her when she's being negative. "Why do you have to be so negative?" She always looks surprised by our remarks, as if she has no idea what we're talking about. 
     She can't help it. She had a bunch of sisters and they'd talk on the telephone every morning, and undoubtedly someone would complain about their husband or kids and the negativity would snowball from one sister to another. 
     To put it bluntly, my mother's a shit talker, an eighty-seven year old shit talker. They're called trolls nowadays, but they've just been repackaged. 
     Anyway, I don't want to be none of that. It's in me though, I have to fight it. Sometimes it feels like it's easier to be an ass then to be kind. Being kind requires a certain amount of discipline, and patience. It's not always easy to take a breath, and let things go. It is easy to lose your mind with emotional tirades though, and that's the life of a troll. An emotional shit talker, the troll. 

Troll

      I'm thinking about becoming a troll. I feel like there's a certain amount freedom in it. Just spout off and kill people's dreams. Squash them even further than they've been squashed.
      Of course a troll's career is limited on social media. There aren't enough tolerant people in the world to keep it sustainable. I'm guessing the friend stash would dwindle pretty quickly and become more consistent with reality. I'd end up with one or two solid people in my corner, people I could depend on no matter what.
      Why do you comb your hair like that? Who cares? Zzzzzz. Not another selfie, please ... Why are your lips so big?
      I'm pretty sure I can do it. It's all attitude and perspective, like making fun of dresses while watching the Emmys. It's simple stuff. Judgment calls. Negativity. Small minded observations. Quick emotional reactions to multiple forms of stimuli. I've been training for this all my life. I've watched network morning shows, All In The Family, The Jeffersons, Good Times, and Sanford And Son. I think I'm ready. No more likes, just snarky condemnation. 

The Wizard Of Paint

      I was at the paint counter of my local hardware store where the wizard of paints was preparing to mix a gallon bucket of paint to match a sample. The wizard is a short older man, crotchety in personality, with a back and shoulder that lean to one side.
      The old man and I had discussed in detail his approach to altering the color to match the sample. The first mix was a little off. He was going to add a hint of green, and a little bit of white to soften the color. That, in his mind, would do the trick.
       A woman pulled up to the counter next me. She needed to buy paint. She saw the color swatches the old man had made, and leaned in to look at them. "You need to add red to that if you want it to match. I do this for a living. I'm really good with color." she said.
       I was nice to her and humored her knowing full well it was the opposite of what the wizard had said.
       The old man came back with another swatch after he had mixed the paint and placed it on the counter. It looked almost exactly like the sample. "That's great! I said.
        The woman leaned in, "I told you it needed green, the woman said to me. I was right," she bolstered.
        I couldn't let it go. I should have just smiled and said yes you were right, but no, not me. I turned to the woman with a scrunched up face, and a hint of anger, "YOU SAID RED!"

LA Fire

      There was a big fire here Los Angeles. The hillsides were aflame. I've never seen such a thing. The authorities closed a section of the 210 freeway. There was smoke and ash everywhere. I got a good view of it. The fire was burning down a hillside toward the freeway. It was immense and powerful, creating its own microclimate as it burned. The winds kicked up and the smoke from the fire was billowing from the bottom outwards. It was like a dust-devil with teeth. 
      There were helicopters everywhere, and they were flying real low. I could just about make out the faces of the co-pilots. The helicopters were rugged looking, and covered in soot. It was a battle between nature and materialism, and for a moment, I thought nature was going to win. But, between the helicopters, planes, and fire engines on the ground, the fire ran out of gas near the freeway. It made a wrong move and got bunched up near an overpass. 
      It was a typical LA story. The fire got stuck in traffic. 

The Impossible

      Not a lot to report. I didn't get out much this week. I've been introspective, and spending time alone. I'm working on a new song. I usually let the words to songs come naturally to me, but this song is different. It's pulling at me and I'm constantly looking for clues to the puzzle. I have the music. It's the words I'm after. It's always the words.
      The eclipse was the big news of the week. The birds, out of respect or fear, didn't make much of a peep when the moon was crossing the sun. I found that interesting. I believe birds know a lot more than we give them credit for. 
      A few nights ago I woke up at three in the morning. There was a mouse on my roof. I heard him scampering about. He was working real hard, back and forth he went. An owl was hooting in the distance. I got the feeling the owl was waiting for the mouse to make a mistake, to run out in the open. Somehow owls catch mice. It seems impossible, but they do. That makes me feel good in some way, that the impossible can happen. I know it's not impossible for an owl to catch a mouse, but the probability is not that good. At least in this instance it wasn't. 
      'It's impossible, to tell the sun to leave the sky, it's just impossible.'

The Theory

      You're surrounded by a pack of wolves in the forest. They're hungry, and you look like a lamb chop to them. You have a gun. It's a six-shooter. You count the wolves, there's more than six. What do you do?
      You figure out what wolf is the alpha and put a bullet in him. With any luck the surviving wolves will scatter and run away without a leader. Unless the alpha female steps up. Then the theory is in flux.
      A group of drunk guys at a bar start picking on you because you look funny. You can't help the way you look, but that's how it goes. There's four of them. You're not much of a fighter. You tried talking your way out of it, but they persist. What should you do?
      You go after the guy with biggest mouth. The guy who's doing the talking. Rather then fighting four guys, single one out, the leader. And when the leader goes down so does the group, so the theory states.
      This theory can be applied to dogs, not cats, bossy people you know, bossy people you don't know, retired Marine sergeants, certain bus drivers, a fair amount of chefs, model train engineers, circus clowns with attitudes, girlfriends named Johnny, boyfriends named Jill and U.S. Presidents born in Queens.
      I learned the theory from two different drunks on two different occasions. I'm thinking there's something to it. Give it a try and let me know how it works.
   
   
      

The Talking Frog

      I thought I'd share a joke this week instead of a blog. This comes from a wise man with tiny feet.
      
      An old man was walking down a dirt road when he heard someone say, "psst, hey buddy can you help me out?"
      The old man stopped, looked around, but he didn't see anyone so kept walking. 
      Then he heard the voice again. "Psst, hey buddy can you help me out?" 
      The old man stopped. He looked down and saw a frog sitting on the road.
       "Yeah, I'm a talking frog, but if you kiss me I'll turn into a beautiful princess with long silky hair, rose-petal skin, and an ass that won't quit. I'll cook for you, and clean for you, and tend to your every need. 
       The old man bent over and snatched the frog up off the ground, put him in his pocket, and took off walking.
       "Hey!!! You forgot to kiss me!!!" the frog said. 
       The old man stopped, reached into his pocket, grabbed the frog and looked him in the eyes, and said, "at my age it would be more interesting to have a talking frog."
    

Peaches And Plums

      I've gotten to the point in life where I'm not sure what to eat. I want to eat healthy, but sometimes I'll forget to eat altogether, only to realize I'm starving. Then, I'll eat any ol' thing just to get by.
      I make bad decisions when I'm hungry. Rather then cooking at home, I'll go out and find food on the streets, because in my hungry mind it takes too long to cook at home. So, I'll roll up to hamburger stand, or a burrito joint. I'll immediately regret it and think about cows and pesticides. I'll ask myself what the heck did I just eat? 
      It doesn't take much to cook. You just need to be prepared, and it's the being prepared part that I need to work on. I just don't know what to make anymore. Everything seems unhealthy. I know that's not true. Or maybe it is? Maybe everything is unhealthy, even kale. Kale could be unhealthy depending on where you get it. Thus, the dilemma. I don't trust the factory farm. I don't trust Whole Foods either. I trust a fruit stand at the local farmers market, but they don't grow kale. And I can't make a living off of peaches and plums. I'll starve to death. 

Careful What You Ass For

      

      I took it too far with the proprietor. He was in a foul mood and I pushed it knowing it was a bad idea. 

      He came to my table to take my order while I was reading the menu. He had pen in hand and was ready to write, when I turned to him and said, "do you have a menu in English?" His face went blank. Of course I was joking, but I get the feeling he's heard that before, that's what made it funny to me. The thought of some yahoo saying do you have a menu in English.

      The proprietor wasn't amused. When I finished my meal, and got up to pay we joked about it. I apologized for being a nuisance. "I can't help myself," I told him. He laughed. 
      That's the truth of it. I sometimes get joy from being an ass. It's hard to believe I know. 
       

Skunk!

   
      I was walking up the dirt path to my car in the dark and I just about walked into a skunk. I saw something turn and look at me and then hiss. I jumped back in a panic to get away from it. I had a feeling it was a skunk, but I couldn't be sure. Maybe it was a possum. There was only time enough to move away from it. 
      The skunk didn't even have time to turn around and spray me. I ran away. He ran away. We were both scared for different reasons. I gave the skunk time to get some distance and then made for my car. I saw him running down the street. He was still scared. I was lucky I didn't get sprayed.

The Trick

      

      On more than one occasion I've been woken from a deep sleep by the sound of a coyote killing its prey. Coyotes have different techniques for killing, but it's almost always based on deception. A coyote will figure out the habits of an animal. Raccoons walk the same trail at dusk; possums forage for food in the same general area.  

      The other night I heard a killing. A coyote and a possum. The coyote waited for the possum to make his rounds, and when the possum did, he snatched him up. He barely had to move. He was standing right there waiting for him.

      As killings go, it was peaceful, cooperative, and without much fuss. It felt like the animals were mindful that people were trying to sleep. 

      Nature is not without tragedy that's for sure. Survival by design is a trick. A rattlesnake is made to look like dirt and rocks.  

      And the spirit world seems is no different. It tricks and confuses just the same. You ask for one thing and you get something else, and then write it off as god's will. And then ask again for what you wanted in the first place. 

      Of course life's not always a trick, just once in a while. But those once-in-a-whiles can really mess up your day. 

      

     

Baseball Signs

      I told the proprietor we should start using baseball signs to order. That way he wouldn't have to walk all the way to my table to take my order. 
      If I touch my ear that means burrito. If I touch my nose afterwards that means carnitas. And so forth. 
      He seemed mildly amused by my suggestion. I caught him at a bad time. He looked tired and low on patience. 
      I still think it's a good idea. 

Chaps

      I guess what I'm trying to say is, if you wear a pair of chaps in public with no underwear, don't complain about people staring at your ass. 

The Patch

     I have a bald patch on my head. It's a big round area just above my ear where my hair fell out. It's a temporary condition. It happened to me once before, but the last time, the bald spot was at the back of my head. My hair eventually grew back, so I'm not too worried about it this time.
     I make sure to cover the patch with the hair that I have left. It's spooky looking. It's ghost white, and smooth to the touch. I haven't shown it to many people to save myself from their reaction. I figure they might think it's worse than it is. 
     Sometimes before I go out I'll paint mascara on it to blend it in. And I'm careful not to run my fingers through my hair when I'm talking to somebody. I'm vain that way. I just don't want anybody to know about it. 
     But, now that I've written this blog and told the whole world, I'm sure it will come up in conversation and I'll have to pull my hair back and show off the spot.
      

Wood Update

     
       This is a follow up to my last blog.
       I walked up the hill during the day to the house with the free wood. There was no new wood, just concrete mix. The mix felt like a brick so I left it behind.
       I noticed warning signs on the house where the little dog barked. They said WARNING 24 HOUR SERVEILLANCE CAMERAS. I looked for the cameras, but I didn't see any.
       Later in the day I saw an old Chinese woman walking with an umbrella in one hand and a 2x4x8 in the other. I admired her mid-day stroll, and wondered where she got the wood. 
       

Beware Of The Small Dog

         
           I'm building a bathhouse. Most of the wood I've used has come from scrap piles from construction sites and wood I found on the street. I did buy some 2x4s to build the walls, but other than that, I've built it from discarded materials.
           The other day I spotted a pressure treated 2x8x8 in front of a house. I was driving by and saw it laying near the street in front of a gate. I stopped my car to get a good look at it. I was eyeing it when a man popped up from the far end of the garage roof and looked at me. He was working on the roof, and was hidden from view until he stood up. I waved to him and sped away. He didn't wave back. Maybe he wanted to keep the wood. I didn't know. It was a dubious situation.
           A contractor has been working on the house. I'm thinking when the contractor's finished with his work the house is going to be flipped. I'd found some nice pieces of old growth wood that was ripped out of the interior of the house days before.
            That night I woke up at three in the morning and couldn't get back to sleep. I read for a while, but come about four-thirty I decided to walk up the hill to see if the pressure treated wood was still there. It was. I snatched it without much fuss. I was walking away when a small dog from a house across the street started to bark. For a moment I was afraid somebody was going to wake up and look out the window, but I quickly realized that no one was going to get out of bed to see what the dog was barking at. Small dogs bark all the time.              
            So there I was walking down the street with a 2x8x8 underneath my arm. I was carrying it like a surfboard and hoping no cars drove by. I was going to to ditch the wood by the curb if I saw headlights. 
             It was a peaceful morning. There wasn't much going on, but I could still hear cars in the distance driving on the freeway. That's a sound that never stops in LA. 

         
           

Shopping. It's A Waste of Time

           I need new pants. I'm bored with my Dickies and Levis. I've been wearing Dickies and Levis for years and I need a change. I used to buy suit pants from thrift stores, but I stopped doing that for some reason. I think I wanted new pants, not used pants. 
           I typed in cool men's pants into the inter-webs and a pair of pants that looked like the American flag popped up. They were called Ulysses S. Pants. Ha! There was another picture next to it of a man wearing pants with a multi-colored diamond pattern on them, like what the Joker would wear, or a clown. Oh boy. 
           I typed in "chinos," and the pants that came up were dorky looking. Any old fool would wear those pants. When I typed in "khaki," it was no better. Geez, men's pants suck. I gave up. 
           The pants I want will magically appear one day, like all good things in my life. I'm going to wait it out. Shopping. It's a waste of time.

Watch Where You're Walking

           
            I went to a show. A friend of mine was playing a short set. I stepped up to the bar to order a drink, but the bartender didn't have it together and it was taking a long time. A bartender who's not hustling, pointing fingers, leaning in to take orders, is bad for business.
            I got to talking to a modern day settler, one of those bearded civil war types, while I waited to order. He seemed nice enough. It turns out a little while later he mistakenly bumped in to my shoulder. He was a short guy and looked up at me with his small eyes and beard. He said he was sorry and moved on.
            A little while later I was in the restroom. I'd just washed my hands and was moving toward the door, when it kicked open and stopped me in my tracks. The door hit me on the shoulder. It was the bearded settler again. "Oh, sorry," he said.
            "No problem," I said.
            I was standing watching the band when another guy bumped into me. He gave me the watch where you're going look. Fool. I'm standing, you're walking. Some people.
            Not long after that I was talking to a friend, when I felt somebody bump into my shoulder again. I turned around to see who it was. It was the bearded settler. He shot me his small eye surprised look, "Oh, sorry," he said.
             "No, problem," I said. 
             If he only knew what I thinking, which was something to the effect of watch where you're going you clumsy settler!!!

You're Going To Like It

         
            I've realized that it's easier to get likes in person than on Facebook. Now and again, I'll run into someone that I haven't seen in a while, and through the course of conversation they'll mention to me that they really like my blog.
            I'll check the scoreboard in my head and think to myself, if you like my blog so much, why haven't you liked it on Facebook?
            This has happened to me more than once and some of the people were family and friends. So I got to thinking. What's the big deal? Why are people being chintzy with their likes?
            I'll admit I have a like standard myself, so I understand. I have a no like selfie policy. You have to do more than take a picture of yourself to get a like from me. There are some exceptions of course, but generally speaking I stick to my guns. After all you can't like everything, even if you like what you don't like. 
           
             

Proprietor #10

            I saw the proprietor yesterday. I walked out of his restaurant shaking my head. I had no idea what we talked about. It started out as a conversation about Barbara Eden, and the Munster beauties, and segued to the Lakers and the rebuilding process, but after that I got lost. The last thing I heard the proprietor say was "and then we'll shoot the missiles into the air," he gave a whistle that sounded like an incoming bomb and lifted his index finger in the air and twirled it downwards. 
            Things are getting strange between us I have to admit. When he takes my order and asks me what I'd like to drink. I'll tell him water. And when he brings the water, I'll ask if he warmed up the ice for me? When I order a burrito, I'll order it with spagitti sauce on top. It's really ranchera sauce, but that's how things are going between us. 
            When he brings me the water, he'll tell me that it's rainwater from the rusty pipes on the roof. I'll take a swig and say, ummm, tastes like Himalayan rainwater to me. 
             

Time The Meaning of Life

         

            I worry about people who are constantly searching for the meaning of life. I get it, it's a mystery. And knowing the answer to such an important question would solve a lot of problems. But the cruel reality of it is, nobody knows the meaning of life until they're dead. You won't know until you die is the answer.
            I'll say this, it's easy to become confused in a culture that idolizes the material. If it's not the material they're selling, it's magic. If you believe in their magic you will be given great rewards. 

            If I had to venture a guess as to what the meaning of life is, I'd have to say time is the meaning of life and how you use it. There's nothing more precious than time. People confuse money with meaning, but money without time is useless.

            How you spend your time is what it's about. Are you learning? Are you growing? Are you using your time wisely, or are you wasting it. 
            When you go to prison you're punished with time. When you die, they'll write on your tombstone the time you lived on earth. Life without time is certain death. I waste time, but I try not to. I've done more than my fair share. 

            

The Bud

         
            My singer friend was taking a break and as he walked by me to go outside, he stuck a bud in my face. I didn't know what he was doing at first, so I pulled my head away, and as I did that, he dropped the bud to the ground.
            Hey, I dropped the bud, he called out.
            A group of us started to look for it on the floor, but the room was dark and we couldn't find it.  
            The singer's sister who was visiting from New York, a lady in her seventies, said, does anybody have a cell phone? I thought about it. I was going to reach for my flip phone that was in my pocket, but I stopped short. I just couldn't do it. I was too embarrassed. 
            Nobody has a phone? The sister said incredulously. 
            She turned to me, you don't have a cell phone? 
            I shrugged my shoulders and raised my arms and said, no sorry.  

Keep Your Head Low

         
            I've noticed when I'm in public, say at a restaurant, and someone I know walks in, I'll pretend not to see them. I'll put my head down and read the menu, or look away so not to be seen. I've also noticed that people do the same thing to me.
            I'm not sure why I do it. I'll be the first to admit it's strange. Maybe it comes from having awkward conversations in the past. Or maybe its as simple as not wanting to be bothered, or not liking the person in real life.
            Whatever it is, it's weird. It takes a lot of energy to look invisible. It'd be easier just to wave and give the forced smile and then have the uncomfortable conversation at the restaurant table, where inevitably, somebody is standing and somebody is sitting, someone is looking up, and someone is looking down. 
            It's hard to say what's better. All I really want, is to eat in peace. 
             

The Beans Are Loaded With Gun Powder

         
             My neighborhood is changing, and so is the clientele at my favorite Mexican restaurant. I stopped in yesterday for lunch and there were gringos everywhere.
             There were four dude-bros talking loudly at a table. I could hear them twenty feet away. Something about that struck me as odd. Use the volume control, dude-bros you're three feet away from each other. 
             When the waitress came to take their order only one of the men was nice. He tried to order in Spanish and was polite. The other three guys were buffoons. One of them tried to special order a tostada. He wanted chicken on a tortilla or something like that. The waitress was trying to follow along, but I could see she was confused. He had no idea what he wanted. When a you try to special order a tostada in a Mexican restuarant, it just looks bad. He looked bad. Don't do it, man.
             My advice, if you need to special order a tostada, just order the soup. Soup is generally harmless. And you don't have to worry about the beans giving you fartilitos because they're loaded with gunpowder.  
              

The Quest For Black Huaraches

           

             I was standing on the corner waiting for the light to change. I was on my continuing quest for black huaraches. 

            There was a man standing next to me. I glanced over at him. As I looked, he looked at the same time. The man shot backwards and recoiled in attempt to move away from me as though he'd seen a demon. The first thing I thought of was, whoa, I have bad energy. I took it personally, because that's the kind of man I am.
            The light changed. I let the man walk ahead of me. He was carrying two plastic bags and he kept looking over his shoulder as he walked. We crossed the street and he was still looking over his shoulder. Oh okay, he's a paranoid schizophrenic. A sense of relief overcame me. I don't have demon energy after all. It's him not me. Phew.

Hotdogs In My Pockets

            I was out the other night and there was a lull in the conversation, so I turned to my friend and said, I like to stuff my pockets with hot dogs and walk around my neighborhood at night to attract coyotes. 
             He thought I was serious. Really? He asked.
             I get a rush out it. I told him. 
             He believed me until I fessed up and told him I was messing with him. 
             I'm not sure why the image of a pocket full of hot dogs is funny to me. A pocket full of hot dogs at a dog park is even funnier. What if I stuffed my pockets with hot dogs and went to a dog park? The dogs would be all over me. I'd be the Pied Piper of dogs. They'd follow me wherever I'd go. And their owners would think I had the magic with dogs. They just love that man. I'd have five or six dogs following me at all times. Look, I'd hear somebody say, that man's some kind of dog genius. 
           
           
             

Hawk A Loogie

         

            I was driving in my car when I rolled down the window and hawked a loogie, but I didn't see anything fly. I looked down to check if it landed on me. Nope. I kept driving and soon forgot about it. 

            I stopped at Trader Joe's to pickup a few things. Coffee and chicken pot stickers, breakfast and lunch. I was in a good mood and was talking to the cashier. She was nice, but I noticed she went cold near the end of our conversation. People are weird. What can you do? I can't save them. 

            I drove home. I made a pot of coffee and sat down to play my guitar. I was strumming pretty good when I looked down and noticed a dry crusty substance on my shirt, near my shoulder. I found the loogie. 

Z Host

       
            I host an open mic every other week. It's God's work, sort of. Okay, not really, but it is an important service for musicians who want to play their songs in front of an audience.
            The other night a guy came in late and sat at the bar. He had a guitar with him and signed up to play. I noticed he was in a good mood and smiling. People who smile are worth a million dollars in gold. I told him that he was third in line to play. He gave me a confident look and said okay. I kept an eye on him. There was something about him that caught my interest.
            When he was second in line to play I saw him with his head bowed down, as if he was trying to get himself ready for his performance. When he was first in line I noticed his face had lost some of its color. And when it was his turn to play the first thing he said to me when he got to the stage was that he was nervous. I told him he'd be fine and to just do his thing. 
            He stooped down to open his guitar case. He was fumbling with the case and couldn't get it open. He wasn't lying, he was nervous. I asked if his guitar was in tune. He said he didn't know. I played an E chord on it. It was close enough.
             The first song he played was an instrumental. It wasn't bad. Atonal mood music. The second song had lyrics and singing. I think it was an original. It wasn't bad either, not great, but not offensive. When he finished his set I went up to unplug his guitar, and the guy was a wreck. He was beating himself up, and overly embarrassed. He grabbed his guitar and bolted straight for the door.
            I thought, all his troubles are in his head. Nobody cared, or thought what he was thinking. They're drinking and talking, not making judgements enough to kill someone's self-esteem. 
            I got up to play a tune. Out of the corner of my eye I saw someone come running in. It was the kid who'd just played. He grabbed something off a chair. 
            He turned to me and said, I forgot my sweater. 

Asses

         
            My mom is getting up there in years. She recently retired from driving. She had a mishap where she tried to apply the brakes to stop her car, but she couldn't move her leg to get to the pedal. It put a scare into her so bad she hung up her keys.
            Now she's relying on private companies for rides. There's a company called Access that caters to old folks and she's been using that service. But instead of calling it Access, she calls it asses. I tried to correct her, but she insists it's asses. 
            It's Access.
            Asses.
            The other day I stopped by her house. She had just gotton back from the grocery store and was putting away her food.
            How'd you get to the grocery store?
            Asses.
            Do they wait for you while you shop?
            No, I waited for over fifty minutes.
            But, do they wait for you while you're in the store?
            No, I waited for fifty minutes.
            Huh? Waited for who?
            Asses!!!!
            
            
            

The Mockingbirds Revisited

         
            The mockingbirds are back. They've come back earlier than last year. That means something I'm sure. It's seems to me the planet is prematurely ejaculating right before our eyes.
            Flowers are blooming earlier than usual. Ice in the polar caps is melting, two-by-fours are really one and a half by three and a half, things have gone terribly wrong.
            The other night I met a woman who forgot my name four times. The first time she forgot it I introduced myself as Anthony. The three other times I told her my name was Tony. I thought I'd simplify my name to help her out, but it didn't take. 
            I was bothered when she forgot my name the first time. The second time she forgot my name I figured she wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. The third time she forgot it I shot her a dirty look and almost said something mean to her. She must be drunk I figured. The fourth time she forgot my name I just felt sorry for her and thought of Muhammad Ali, "what's my name fool?"
         
         
         
         
         
            

Giant Mexican Eggrolls

         
            I went to my favorite Mexican restaurant and ordered one of those giant Mexican eggrolls with carnitas. It was delicious as always. I like to order my burritos wet with ranchera sauce on top. 
            I got to talking with the proprietor about the Lakers. The proprietor and I both mumble when we talk. We have interesting conversations where I know he can't understand me, and I can't understand him, but we're too polite to interrupt and say anything about it. 
            The proprietor was standing at my table talking. At a certain point in the conversation I realized I had no idea what he was talking about. His mouth was moving and I was paying attention, but I just couldn't make out what he was saying. I was looking into his eyes trying my best to connect with him, but I was faking it. For some reason I thought about Levis, and I wanted to interrupt and say "Levis right?" I couldn't get the Levis out of my mind as he talked. I was struggling to keep quiet. I badly wanted to say, "Levis right?" 
             When the proprietor was finished talking he gave me a funny look. He knew I wasn't following him, but he was too polite to say anything about it.

Lost

A lady was lost
And asked me for directions.
I should have told her I was lost
And had no direction, but I didn't
A lady is lost but with new directions.

Leonard's Mountain

         
             I spend a lot of time indoors. I'm either working on the re-write to my book, or writing and recording songs. If I'm not doing that I'm learning songs to play around the campfire. All of it takes time and it doesn't help that I have attention deficit disorder. I hesitate to call it a disorder. It's more like a condition that allows me to focus on six things at a time for a few minutes.
             At day's end I'll look out the window and see the sun setting. That's my cue to get up and walk. I like to walk on trail that is on a steep hillside. When I get to the top of the hill there's a three-hundred and sixty degree view of the city. I can see downtown and the skyscrapers, Los Feliz and the observatory, and if I turn around there's a great view of the mountains. My eyes stop when they get to Mt. Baldy. That's Leonard's mountain I'll say to myself. Leonard's mountain is covered in snow right now and it looks mysterious and wise.
            When I see Leonard's mountain I'm reminded of what it means to be a great artist. Leonard did the work. He spent the time alone. He was constantly searching, seeking, wondering, and learning. I admire Leonard for that, but most of all I admire him for his humility. He seemed like a good person. 
             When I was a kid I'd look to Mt. Baldy after a storm to see if it had any snow on it, now I look to Mt. Baldy and say hello to Leonard. 

Count By Tens, Eat Mackerel

         
            I did five-hundred sit-ups and I barely felt a thing. I counted by tens. It's my new approach to exercise. Why count by ones when you can count by tens.
            Counting by ones is discouraging. It feels like a lot of work for little reward. Counting by tens, on the other hand, is way better. You can do fifty push-ups just like that.
            I discovered something else. Mackerel gets a bad rap. Maybe it's because of the saying Holy Mackerel, or cultural elements, who knows, but mackerel doesn't get the same respect as say, salmon. Even trout gets more respect than mackerel. I took a chance and bought a can of smoked mackerel to use in a sushi roll. I've been making sushi rolls at home, but I haven't used raw fish. It's an art form I'm still trying to perfect, but I'm working on it. It turns out smoked mackerel is delicious. It was just as good as the smoked trout I bought, and more bang for the buck. 
            It's like I said, the mackerel gets a bad rap. 

            
            

Cures For Road Rage

         
           I have a new strategy for driving. Rather than becoming aggravated by bad drivers, I'm trying to be more sympathetic. When someone's driving too fast and tailgating, I'll tell myself, oh they probably ate spicy chiles and need to find a bathroom before they shit themselves. And if someone is driving too slow I'll tell myself, they probably have a baby in the car, or a cake, or four large Cokes from In N Out in a flimsy cardboard holder. 
            If someone does something stupid like pull a left turn in front of me, I'll say, oh they probably just had brain surgery. And if a driver drives selfishly, my answer is, they're probably royalty.
            I'm having fun with my new game. It doesn't always work. I still lose my cool from time to time, but at least I can amuse myself. I'm easily amused.

The Quiet Revolution

         
           How do the rich and powerful influence governments? Answer: money. A lot of money? Not really, you'd be surprised how cheaply you can buy a congressman. 
            I haven't really said much about our new leaders in government. From the outside looking in, it looks bad. And I'm sure from the inside looking out it looks even worse. I've read the Facebook posts and from what I can tell people are well intentioned, but their ideas for resistance are anything but focused. Some people are talking revolution, and others are trying to form an underground, but if you know anything about history you'll understand that violent revolutions are rarely, if ever, successful.
             So I'd like to make a suggestion to my liberal friends, those good people who are trying to do right. If money is the basis of power, why don't we start with that and divest from banks and institutions that aren't contributing to the greater good of the planet. If you're a liberal and politically active and still banking at Chase, Wells Fargo, Bank of America, you're missing the point and not using your power. In fact you're wasting it by giving it to corporate structures that have no concern for nature or people. Find a good credit union. Buy products that help instead of hurt the planet. Try to be good the best you can. It's not easy I know, but start with where you put your money.
             How we spend our money is the new revolution, it's the quiet revolution in which the enemy structures to people and the planet have absolutely no defense. 

Facebook Gurus

         
           I tend not to listen to people who deem themselves spiritual. I'm not saying I'm not spiritual, I'm just saying there's a lot of lost mother-scratchers out there who are pretending to be wise. Wisdom doesn't come from a book, or just one teacher, it comes from a lifetime of discovery and making mistakes. It's the wise old man, and the wise old lady that we seek for answers. It's never the kid wearing diapers in a playpen. You don't need to be old to be wise, but you need some time to discover, and sometimes it feels as though newfound discoveries are confused for wisdom when they are just small pieces to the wisdom pie. 
           When I was younger it was important to me to be right, to win an argument, to express my beliefs, to convince others to think like me. I don't feel that need as much anymore. The fact is, I've learned over the years that some people are just plain dumb, and no matter how you try to explain it to them, they'll never understand it. 
            But I digress. Newfound gurus, people who are on the search for answers that are right in front of their eyes, they're just as confused as everybody else, but for some unexplained reason they have the need and desire to suggest they have all the answers.