AAA Batteries

            My friend Lee was driving down the boulevard when a kid in a BMW cut him off.  They pulled to a red light and Lee looked at the kid.

            “You’re driving like a douche bag,” Lee said to him.

            The kid looked at Lee and threw up his hands. “It’s not the end of the world.”

            Lee looked at the kid in degust and reached down to his astray. He grabbed a triple A battery that he had stored for such an occasion and tossed it out his window. The battery hit the BMW squarely on the side panel. It made a huge racket, but it did little or no damage.

            Lee looked at the kid straight in the eyes, and threw up his hands, “It’s not the end of the world.” 

            A chase ensued and after many blocks of driving the kid finally caught up to Lee and got out of his car.

            Lee stayed in his car. “Did I do something wrong?” Lee said to the fuming kid as he approached.  

Nappy Time

            I was talking to Bill the smog guru about naps. He likes to sneak in a nap while his workers are at lunch. He says it’s easy to fall asleep on weekends. All he has to do is set the television to a station that is showing a golf tournament.

            “It works every time.”

            As he told me his technique for napping, and we expounded on the merits of the sleep aid called golf, I realized the sure genius to this approach. First of all, the announcers speak in a hushed tone of voice, as if there were a baby sleeping. “This putt is for birdie,” the announcer might say in a whispery, pleasant voice. It makes me sleepy just thinking about it. 

            The crowd is quiet. They don’t boo or jeer like at a football game. In football you hear a whistle blowing every fifteen seconds that’s not good for sleep.

            Even the golf swing is pleasant. It’s a whooshing sound, not like the crack of the bat in baseball. Yes I do believe we’ve found a purpose for golf, it’s a sleep aid.  

Not Much, But Something

            I’ve resigned my post as bass player from the Venice gig. The fun and games are over. The sole reason I was playing in the band was for the money, but the leader of the band started booking free gigs. I can’t play free gigs, unless it’s for a worthy cause, a benefit for the poor and needy, or for family.

            I gave him a month to find a new bass player. With all the time and energy I put into playing the bass, it’s a slap in the face for someone to expect me to play for free, the operative word is expect. I’m not going to be pushed around for free. It’s going to cost you a little something, not much, but something. 

Enough

            I spent my studio money on a woman, and now I’m just about broke. I had a good time. The process had meaning. I learned a few things about tenacity and recognition. When there’s a woman in my life money becomes an issue. Even if that woman is unique and understanding. I feel bad not having money. The life of an artist is filled with dichotomies. It’s tragic and beautiful. It’s peaceful yet stressful. I best let money flow. I’ll let it find me and leave me without worry. It has a way of doing that when you have enough, and I have enough.  

Pay Included

            Last nights gig was a first for me. We were asks via email by the leader of the band to play at a lower volume. Of course the engine room didn’t take kindly to the suggestion. It had more to do with the tone of the email than anything else. I figured I’d turn down. I like playing load, too load at times.

            We played the first song, and the drummer was barely hitting his skins, and Eichenbaum the guitar player looked like he was playing air guitar.  I played accordingly, at a hushed tone.

The first set was like a funeral it was so quiet. The singers didn’t start asking questions until after the second set.

            “Why are you playing so quiet?” they asked.

            They usually ask us to turn down, now all of a sudden they were concerned about us not being load enough. All their vocal imperfections were audible, more than usual. 

            The third set was the same, whenever Eichenbaum went in for solo you could see his fingers move, but there was no real sound coming from his amp.

            I turned up my bass for the fourth set and the drummer started to hit his skins, but Eichenbaum remained defiant and refused to turn up his guitar. The gig was a total loss, pay included. 

The Answer is Easy

            Leadership is a bitch. It’s hard to find a good leader. Frankly, I sometimes wonder if it’s even possible? Yes, of course it’s possible but uncommon to find a good leader. It’s exceptional when leadership has the respect of its subjects. I know I rarely respect leaders, but for the rare few that take the time to organize and plan and come prepared.             

            Patton was a great leader, probably the last great American general we’ve had. I know, I know Eisenhower, well, that’s argument for another day.

            The presidential election is fast approaching. I’ll have the privilege to choose between two potential leaders. I’ve simplified the process for making my choice. The important issues more than likely will bog down in congress, so I’ve come up with my own method for selecting a president. I came up with it just this instant. The question I ask myself is, “who would I be more apt to follow on a marked hiking trail in the San Gabriel Mountains?” Honestly, my rebellious spirit would have trouble following either one of them, but if I had to choose the answer is easy. 

Feeling the Freak

Last nights gig in Venice was blasé. The crowds were much smaller than usual, maybe it had something to do with the weather, or now that it’s August and nearing the end of summer the crowds are thinning. Even Tree Man was blasé. He came in and said hello, but quickly left without singing a song.

            “I just came in to say hello,” he said in a tone of voice that suggested low energy. 

            The usual crazies weren’t there.  The man that balances things on his head while wearing a fur coat wasn’t there. The woman with the white haired wig that dances to the sounds of the drum circle was missing. The freaks were on vacation, or just not feeling the freak.