Mariscos

           
            I took a few days off from the blog. I didn't have any ideas. Usually something will pop up and I'll write about it. There were a few things I could have written about, but the subject matter was on the borderline of complaining. And although I'm not immune to complaining I try not to cry about things, if you know what I mean?
            I found a new taco joint. Seafood really. It's right across the street from the projects. My lady friend and I were the only people there who weren't bilingual. It's embarrassing when I think about it. The fact that I don't speak Spanish all that well. I managed to order and get the check and what not, but my Spanish is lame. Even after riding buses in Mexico for months at a time, it's not very good.
            The restaurant was great and the people were friendly. If you're ever in the mood for seafood and you're not afraid of sticking out like a sore thumb, (that's for my guero readers), the place is called Cuatro Vientos on Olympic boulevard. They'll do you right as many times as you want. 

Motor Oil = Wood Stain

          
            The electrical nerd genius charged me more than he said he would to fix my amp. There's nothing I can do about it. I'll happily pay the difference. Sometimes when you're up against a genius it's better to lick your wounds than to cause a stir. There aren't too many electrical nerd geniuses around, so he pretty much has me by the balls.
            I discovered something about motor oil. It makes for an excellent wood stain. I changed the oil in my convertible before taking it in for a smog test. I kept the oil to make use of it. I got the idea from a homesteader on YouTube. I thought wow, that's both incredibly smart and stupid at the same time. I'm going to try that.
            I barbequed last night. I lit a fire. I was more attentive than usual having just stained part of the deck with motor oil. I sat there and watched the fire like a hawk. The wood eventually absorbs the oil and the danger factor diminishes with time. So I'm guessing.
           There's a part of me that wants to light a match and toss it on the deck just to see what happens. That's the part of me that didn't do so well in school. The other part of me is wiser. That's the part of me that did a little better in college. 

The Electrical Nerd Genius

         
            I'm making a record. An album. An LP. Or, something to sell. I've been working on it for about nine months now. And I still have a lot to do.
            I started to record bass lines, but my bass amp crapped out on me. I have a Ampeg SVT. It's a tube amp made between 1972 and 75. Ampeg didn't have a reliable system for serial numbers back then, so it's hard to tell what year it is.
            It's a big thing. That's what she said last night. A beast really. A monster. A heavy son of a gun. I'd never use it live. I'd probably throw my back out getting it on stage, and besides, it's sensitive. But it has a warm, one of a kind sound that you can't find anymore. 
            I took it to a place in Covina to be repaired. The technician, let's call him Joesph, is a beautiful man, probably in his fifties, with a mild case of acne. Sure genius. We talked about tubes and capacitors. He showed me his sixteen track analog studio. In my next life I want to be Joesph. An electrical nerd, an ex TV repairman. Someone with a stash of Fender vacuum tubes from the sixties. 

Mosquito People

            
            I woke up at four-thirty in the morning. My right arm was itching near the elbow. A mosquito had taken a few bites out of me. I was annoyed. It was itching like crazy. It occurred to me that I don't ever think about how great it is that a female mosquito is going to use my blood to provide the proper nourishment to procreate. And that I'm helping to sustain a population of insects. No, I usually think of myself first. The immediacy of it, not the long term ramifications, and the greater good. Sure, she'll need to find water to lay her eggs, in the midst of a drought stricken desert, but that's another story.
            Sometimes people are like mosquito's, they prick at you. They say things that might irritate you. They take little bites, just enough to make themselves feel good, before they fly into the night to look for water. I've always been susceptible to the words of others. I think it's because there are things I know about myself and when someone connects the dots and states the obvious, it burns inside, like I've been discovered and I no longer have a secret.
            The other night a woman called me strange and that feeling welled up inside me. I was shocked by it. I'd never been called strange before. Weird, goofy, crazy, but never strange. I didn't know how to react. Someone finally figured me out and had the guts to say it to my face. Once the shock wore off I felt like a weight had lifted. Phew, what a relief. No sense trying to hide it anymore. 
            Thank you unkind lady, thank you for your concise, ill-mannered remark.
         
            

The Quarter Inch Jack

            
            There are a couple things that I've never understood, and I may never understand. First of all, I've noticed that an empty refrigerator can still get dirty. Sometimes my refrigerator will have nothing more than a can of coffee in it and I'll find it dirty inside. It's baffling to me. Where do the crumbs come from?
            The other thing on my mind has to do with guitar cords. Guitar cords have a thing called a quarter inch jack at the end of them. The jack has a metal sleeve that screws tight to cover the solder and wiring of the cord. Every time I use a cord, out of habit, I'll make sure the sleeve is screwed tight. I've often wondered how it becomes loose in the first place. Sometimes, I'll pick up a cord that I haven't used in years and I'll check the sleeve and sure enough it's loose. Other times, I'll tighten the sleeve only to use the cord a few days later and find that it's loose again. I don't get it.
             I mentioned this fact to my friend and she said maybe there's an elf, or a troll, or brownie that loosens it in the middle of the night just to make me crazy. We laughed hard at the thought of it. An elf, or troll, or brownie, sneaking up to my guitar cord while I'm sleeping and twisting the sleeve just enough. Then, quietly slinking back to my refrigerator to eat a sandwich. 
           

A Hard Day

            
            The day started off okay. I told my mamacita I'd install a kitchen faucet for her. I was hesitant to do the job. Plumbing is one disaster waiting for another disaster to happen, and sure enough that was the long and the short of it. Nothing went right. Shut off valves didn't shut off. I had to buy new lines. I went to the hardware store three times. It was challenging, but I got through it. 
             I'm going to start recording bass lines for a record I'm working on. So while at my mom's, I picked up my bass cabinet that was in storage to bring back to my cabin. It has casters on it, so I rolled it down the dirt path to my studio. At a certain point it got away from me. I lost traction on account of the steepness of the slope. The cabinet rolled downhill and ended up below my target destination. I needed to pull it back up hill somehow. I was still slipping and sliding all over the place. I grabbed a garden hose and tied it to the cabinet and pulled it uphill while holding on to a lemon tree to keep my balance. It was like hauling a giant fish on board, but I finally got it on my deck.
             At the end of the day I helped bury a squirrel. The poor little guy made a bad move and got hit by car. My friend Adrian saw the squirrel laying in the street. I didn't see him until he pointed it out to me. Adrian didn't want to leave him there, so we devised a plan to bury him without having to touch him. We used a broom and a trash can lid.
             Adrian said a prayer. I added a few words at the end, something to the effect of: although you didn't play it right, and you made the wrong move, you were probably a good squirrel. 
             It was a hard day for everybody.  

Trash Picking

       
            I wanted to update you on my trash picking. I've missed some sunsets, and as a result I haven't picked up the ten pieces of trash that I promised. I tried to make up for my absence by picking twenty pieces up instead of ten on the days I was there.
            I feel embarrassed when I pick up trash. There's usually people on the hill looking at the sunset when I get there. I don't want to be the weird guy picking up trash, while they sit around and smoke pot, so I kind of look around before I do it. I figured out if I squat like a catcher I can pretend like I'm looking at the sunset while I pick up cigarette butts and bottle caps. I mentioned my trash picking trepidation to my friends and they suggested I wear a neon and orange vest to make it look like I'm doing community service. I thought that was a good idea. They were baffled as to why I felt weird about it. I think it's because my mama didn't raise no trash picker.
            While I was on the hill yesterday I felt a compulsion over take me. Once I started picking up trash I couldn't stop. I was going after the big stuff, soft drink cups from fast food restaurants, aluminum cans, cardboard beer holders. There's a trash can set up on the hill so it made it easy. I was counting the pieces as I picked them up. It was rewarding to make the little bit of progress that I did. I recommend it. Trash picking is a humbling experience, but you feel good afterward.  Like you've done something for the team.