Pelicans

           I've been going to the beach on weekends with my hot lady friend. She gets hotter as she lays in the sun. It's a secret beach. I can't tell anybody where it is as a matter of principle. I've made that mistake before and I've ruined a great beach by word of mouth. People are blabbermouths. It took years before it was ruined, but the last time I was at the great beach, there were models doing photo shoots and people from all over the world speaking in strange tongues with pallid skin. It was a disaster. 

            I found the new secret beach by accident. I couldn't explain where it is if I tried, that's how secret it is. 

          When I'm at the beach flocks of pelicans fly overhead. They do maneuvers, drills of some sort. They're organized flyers with multiple formations. They look well fed, and as of yet, I haven't been able to determine who the ring leader is. I'm amazed they can fly as well as they do. They're chubby birds, viable replacements for Thanksgiving. With all the fish they eat, there's a good chance they taste like sushi. 

  

White Pants

         I saw a man wearing white pants. I was thankful he was wearing them. It was night and I was driving on a dark winding road and if it wasn't for his pants I wouldn't have seen him at all. 
            Men don't wear white pants anymore. White pants use to be cool. John Lennon went a step further and wore a white blazer with his white pants for the Abbey Road album. 
            I have a white summer suit that I haven't had a chance to wear, but I swear I'm going to wear it someday. I'll probably wear it at night when it's cooler.  The idea of wearing a suit during the day in the summer time seems like minor form of torture. I'm thinking I'll wear it to a restaurant, some where like Musso and Frank, or Dan Tana's. I'm bound to impress somebody, even if it is just the maitre d'. 

Sound Bath

            I went to a sound bath yesterday. Gongs and singing bowls. There was a crowd of people for the event. It was free and we were lucky to get in. We had to sit on a bench in the back of the room. I wanted to lay down. I was disappointed. I'm from a culture were we can fit five people in the trunk of a Nissan Sentra, so in my mind there was a lot of space being wasted, but there was nothing I could do to change it. 

            A man and a toddler sat down next to me. The man had a strange odor to him. I was trying to convince myself that bringing a kid to a sound bath was a good idea. I was interested to see the response of the kid to the sound. I wondered if it would calm him down. It didn't. The kid started to squirm and vocalize two gongs in and the man stood up and walked off. 

            I was having difficulty sitting still. I'd close my eyes only to open them moments later to have a look around. A woman had fallen asleep and was snoring. Another woman stood up and got something out of her purse. I closed my eyes and tried to think of love and patience, but soon opened them to find a man in his thirties holding a skateboard with orange wheels, tiptoeing through the mass of bodies that were laying on the floor. He was looking for a place to land. He found a spot next to me. There's something about a thirty year old man holding a skateboard with orange wheels at a sound bath that I found amusing. 
If I was a woman, I wouldn't sleep with him. 

Autopia

            I was driving home from the beach when a fond memory surfaced from the deep recesses of my mind. It was a Disneyland memory. I remembered driving a brightly colored car on a highway with a rail on it in Tomorrowland's Autopia. I was with my cousins. We all had our own cars that were all painted in primary colors. We were just kids, so the cars were giant in comparison to our tiny bodies.
            It didn't take long before we realized that driving a car on a highway with a guard rail was not that interesting, so we figured out a means to entertain ourselves otherwise. It involved driving as fast as we could and then slamming on the brakes so the car behind would have to slam on their brakes or crash. Of course the car in front of you was doing the same thing, so for the duration of the ride we'd be slamming into each other. We thought this was just great fun. We laughed our heads off. There was a worker hiding in the bushes to put a stop to the chicanery. He was a nerdy guy, wearing a polyester Disney uniform. The sight of him made us laugh even harder. 

The Shirtless Mechanic

I received a text message from Bill the Spooky Guy (formerly known as Bill the Google Master.) He asked if I could give him and his crew a hand pushing a car into the paint booth.

I showed up and it was the same old banter. Sergio was there. He was shirtless like usual. He still thinks he’s in the tropical heat of Cuba. Bill has to ask him to put his shirt on when a customer comes in.

Bill was trying to get things done. He was telling Sergio what to do. Sergio doesn’t take orders very well and he’s a back-sasser.

             “Boy you’re grumpy today,” Sergio said to Bill, “let me give you a hug.” He turned to me and said, “it changes his mood.”

             Sergio proceeded to put a bear hug on Bill

             “Get away from me! I’m tired of your abuse!” Bill said.

             “Oh, somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed, come here.”

             Sergio tried to wrap his arms around Bill, which Bill resisted vehemently. Sergio is a big strong guy, so it looks kind of funny when he chases Bill around to give him a hug.

             We pushed the car into the booth and then George the music producer drove up. 

NSA, The Nefarious Spy Agency

Hello Anthony, this is your government. After reading your last email, we wanted to say that we hope your aunt Mary makes a full recovery after her surgery. Huntington Memorial is a fine hospital and Doctor Lee is a outstanding surgeon. According to our records he only has one malpractice suit pending at this time and it’s an ongoing suit from 2011. He says he didn’t do it, but his conversations with his wife seem to suggest something different.

            We’ve noticed that the frequency of emails from your lady friend have decreased in recent weeks. Don’t worry; according to our algorithms this is a natural occurrence, but you might want to buy her flowers just in case. 

            We'd like to let you know there are other women looking at your facebook account, but they seem to lose interest after looking at your pictures, as it stands they click on 2.27 pictures before they move on. We suggest that you make improvements in this area.

            Well, Anthony, just one more thing before we go, can you please refrain from calling the NSA the Nefarious Spy Agency? It’s a matter of national security that we make this request, and more to the point, it hurts our feelings. 

Harry Nilsson

Saturday night, nine-seventeen p.m, I began watching a documentary about Harry Nilsson, a man I never knew. Sure, I’ve heard his songs, but I didn’t know the details of his life. And after watching the documentary I still don’t know who he really was. I know he liked to have a good time, and that he was stubborn, and a baby maker. I know he had famous friends, and had trouble performing live for people. It was an entertaining documentary. I enjoyed it. It always surprises me when a man can sing in key. Parts of Harry’s life were very sad. Yet, it seemed that Harry had an army of angels surrounding him, for he could do no wrong, although he did wrong much of the time.

Eleven–nineteen p.m. I checked my phone for messages. I had one. It was from Bill the Google Master. It read, “You ever heard of Harry Nilsson?”

                 I’m thinking of changing Bill the Google Master's name to Spooky the Spooky Guy.