Bill's LTD

            I stopped by Bill’s to say hello, Bill’s always interesting to talk to. He likes to give me a tour of his facility and update me on the cars he’s working on. He has it bad for cars. He's looking to buy a Mustang to restore.  I’m not sure there’s a tremendous amount of money in it for him. I think its more a labor of love than anything else.

            Bill was out test-driving his nineteen sixty-seven Ford LTD. The car was re-built from the ground up. It looks sharp. He came to a stoplight and a kid pulled up next to him. Bill glanced over at the kid. The kid gave the car the once over and then looked at Bill and said “sick.”

Coming From Me

            I woke up this morning and checked my blog. I like to check it from time to time to see who’s reading it and where they’re reading from, I’ve gone global. It’s interesting to see where people read from.

            I don’t usually check the actual blog, but this morning I did. I was horrified by an advertisement on my page. It was an ad for Rand Paul an American politician. I was angered by it. Who the hell does this guy think he is? I don’t support him. How do I get rid of it? I did some Google research, and clicked on this and clicked on that to get rid of it. I went back to my blog to see if my efforts were fruitful and a pro-life ad had taken its place. I’m being infiltrated! The pesky mother-fer’s. I went back and clicked some more. I blocked ads that were disagreeable to me. I blocked family and community, and much of a heading described as sensitive.  From now on anything disagreeable on my blog will be coming from me. 

Venice Beach

            I played the show last night in Venice Beach. I hadn’t been to Venice in sometime; I’d forgotten how wild it is out there. The bar was on the boardwalk, and there were hoards of people walking about. I got through the set all right. I flubbed a couple of songs, but what do you expect. The leader of the band was calling out songs that weren’t on the set list, and the guitar player was telling me the chord changes in my ear. C-D-E, it was comical. The guitar player is a self admitted ex-crack head, so on a few occasions he’d forget the changes and leave me hanging, B-A- ahhh.. I did my best.

            At one point while in the middle of a song I looked out the window and I saw a homeless woman on the boardwalk. She was dressed head to toe in white and was wearing a big white hat. It was more like a sign than a hat. It was perfectly shaped. It read “Taxi”.  

Frank's Bad Day

             There’s an old boat in the neighborhood. It’s parked on the street. It looks like a sixteen-footer. It’s a dinky little thing. It makes me laugh every time I see it.  It has the name “Scotch on Water”, plastered on it's stern.  “Scotch on Water,” I’ll say to myself as I drive past, hahaha! God I love boat names. There’s nothing better than a good boat name, unless of course, it’s a good racehorse name. The creativity in these two areas is immeasurable. It’s hard not to laugh when I see some of the names. Mr. Tip-Sea is another good boat name. I’d like to name a racehorse, Franksbadday. 

Smug the Father

            I spent yesterday in the suburbs. It was my goddaughter’s confirmation ceremony, a big deal to Catholics. I grew up as Methodist, but I always wanted to be a catholic. Not any more. Not after yesterday’s mass. I almost didn’t make it through. I wanted to run out of there soon after entering the church. I was nursing a hangover. I wasn’t in the best of moods to begin with.

After having to stand up and sit down a number of times, I started to resent the father giving the sermon. He’d smugly lift his hand and everybody would stand up. He’d turn his palm downwards and everybody would sit down. I was thinking he had a little too much power and that he was starting to abuse it. I was suffering. I couldn’t sit still. Half the congregation took communion. It took forever. I was relieved when it was finally over. 

            “Good mass.” I said afterwards.

            “Yes, good mass.” my friend said.

Fuzzy But There

             It’s raining and I have holes in the top of my convertible. I don’t feel like getting wet so I’m staying put until absolutely necessary. I have plenty to do. I can work on my book, or work on a song, my song, or someone else's. I have to go to a birthday party later in the evening. I have a friend who’s turning four years old today. I bought him some Coleman camping glow sticks in orange and blue for a present. I can’t believe he’s four. Kids are time indicators. When I see the kid I think of time passing, and then of course I think of life passing. I can remember when I was four. It doesn’t seem that long ago, but it was. My memories are fuzzy, but they are there. 

No Way to Live

It’s official. I’m a hothead. I don’t want to be a hothead, not in this town, or any other town for that matter. 

I was visiting my mother yesterday. We had the front door open, when some kid in his twenties started to pace back and forth in front of her house while talking on his cell phone. We could barely hear ourselves talk over his conversation. I tried to be patient but he wasn’t going away. After seven or eight minutes I asked him politely to move it along. He said okay, but he kept at it right in front of the door. He didn’t move at all. My blood started to boil. The kid had some nerve. I asked him again but this time I wasn’t so nice. The kid started to back-sass me. He said I should just close the door. Then he said to call the police. I lost my temper. I called him a few names and said that he should just move it along, that he was a nuisance. He finally got the hint and walked away.

I felt bad afterwards. It's no way to live I tell you. It's no way to live.