The Optimist

            I was talking to my friend Willie and I felt like my contribution to the conversation was overly cynical. Or was it? Maybe Willie was being overly optimistic. His optimism was making me feel bad. I thought it would be funny to lecture him on his optimistic outlook on life.
            "Hey, Willie, can you tone down the optimism some? I'm having one of those how do I fit in days."
            I try not to be negative, but sometimes it's difficult to flip the polarity switch and put on a happy face. I feel like people just want to wave a magic wand to make everything happy, ignoring the casualties in life. Sometimes the casualties are loved ones, and that's enough to bring anyone down.
            

Cult 101

            I know a guy who's trying to start a cult. So far he has no followers. I'm trying to give him tips on how to be a good cult leader, but it's slow going. His wardrobe is all wrong and as far as I can tell he doesn't really have a clear message. More importantly, he doesn't have the gift of gab. I'm not saying you need the gift of gab to be a cult leader, but it helps. If you don't have a good wardrobe and you're not an engaging communicator, then you're pretty much screwed as a cult leader in my estimation. My friend has the desire, and deep down I think he can do it, but he'll have to put the work in. He'll need to come up with a manipulative pitch of some kind. Either that, or let his eyebrows grow out and walk with a cane. Something.
             My friend keeps talking about Plato, but Plato's not going to get him any followers. Plato's not sexy. He needs sexy.

Hair Styles

            My friend Willie liked to drink beer in his courtyard. Every now and again he'd see his neighbor Ann Marie walk by. Anne Marie had a different hair style every time Willie saw her. One day she'd have black hair with bangs, and the next she'd have blond hair cut in a sixties bob. One time she walked by and her hair was spiked and dyed pink.
           "Hey, nice hair cut," Willie would say when he saw her.
           Anne Marie, usually answered in the negative. "Eh, it's alright, or, eh, whatever."
           "Would you like a beer?" Willie was prone to ask.
           "No thanks," Anne Marie was prone to answer.
           One day Anne Marie finally accepted Willie's drinking invitation, but she didn't drink his cheap beer. She brought over a bottle of Bourbon, and poured it into her own glass. 
           Willie waited until he had enough courage in him to bring up the subject of Anne Marie's hair. He finally did.           
            "Every time I see you your hair is different?"
            "I'm hair model for extra cash." 
            Willie didn't believe her. He thought she was working undercover for the Burbank PD.
                   

         
         
         
           

Hot Pot, Hot Pot

            I had dinner last night at a Chinese restaurant in Monterey Park. We had a thing called a Hot Pot. It's a soup with thirty-six different herbs in it. You choose the ingredients to add to it. We added vegetables, shrimp, and pork. You cook it yourself. At the center of each table is a round hole where they place the hot pot. The hot pot is the broth and you add what you ordered to it. There's a learning curve but it's not too steep. Mostly, you have to make sure you don't over cook things or they'll turn to mush.
            A troop of Chinese dragon dancers came into the restaurant, however, they weren't dragons, but lions in this instance. They were there to ward off evil spirits for the new year. Their costumes were impressive. They had big furry heads and their mouths opened up. They went around the restaurant collecting red envelopes with money inside. We didn't have a red envelope and we were wondering where they came from.
            There were two kids to each costume. A taller teenager that controlled the mouth and head, and a smaller kid who was in charge of the tail section. It was quite the spectacle. Of course one of the lions came up to me and nuzzled my head. I nuzzled his giant furry head back. It felt good and it made me laugh.
            

The NBA

            David Stern finally retired as commissioner of the NBA. I can't think of anybody who's done more harm to the game of basketball than him. The NBA would like you to believe that basketball didn't exist until David Stern came along. But, basketball did exist and it was much more exciting to watch before the Stern era. Those were the days before flagrant fouls, one, two and three, defensive three seconds, delay of game calls, (which only delay the game) break away fouls, three officials, ticky-tack calls on almost every play, the days when getting position to rebound wasn't a crime, when fighting was part of the game, when players could show emotion and not get a technical foul for it, when the NBA was more in line with real basketball, the game people love to play, not the phony version of what was. What's worse, are all the suck-up reporters, radio personalities and players that praise the job David Stern did. The popular misconception is that David Stern broadened the scope of basketball and made it a global sport. It was already a global sport, lest we forget the debacle during the 1972 Munich Olympics between the United States and the Soviet Union. 
             

Song Writing Exercise #357

            Sometimes a song takes too long to write. When it takes too long I think something is wrong and I worry about writing words that are contrived. I'm experiencing that right now. I have a guitar part and a vocal melody that I like, but the words are taking their sweet time about it. All my ideas seem wrong, so I'm waiting around for good ideas while pressing the buttons I usually press to
write a song.
            Maybe it's a song that will never be written. Maybe there is a lesson I'm supposed to take away from this. In the past, if a song took too long to write I'd chuck it and move on. But this song I like. I want it to work out. And I'm willing to wait for it. But the process is so different I'm concerned it will turn into a dud. If I force it, it will be dumb, if I don't force it, it will never be written. It's a conundrum. I'm going to have to feather this one in. Stroke it softly. Find the right kindling and start a fire with just one match.

Obamacare

            My cash-strapped conservative friends are beginning to taste the fruits of national health care. I remember listening to them complain about the prospects of the new law. Like usual, I wasn't convinced they were making much sense, but I heard them out anyway. I knew my friends didn't have money, or health care, and when you hear a man argue against his own interest, then you know for certain he's stupid.

            Recently, one of my conservative friends in a moment of exultation exclaimed boldly, "I'm on Medicare!" He proceeded to show me his newly minted state issued health card as evidence. 

            "Oh, that looks like Obamacare," I said.

            "No, it's Medicare, I didn't sign up for Obamacare!"

            "It looks like Obamacare to me. You better thank "that bitch" Nancy Pelosi." 

            "It's Medicare! Look how much I pay for my prescriptions... zero," my friend  said to me with a smile.

            "You should give your thanks to Barry!"