Chinese Radio

           
            I've been listening to a Chinese radio station on the AM dial. I think it's Chinese. It could be Korean. Although sometimes it sounds like Japanese. I don't mean any offense, but I just can't figure it out.
            I got bored listening to my regular radio stations. And when you're bored, it just means you're boring. So I mixed it up a bit. I was looking for a Mexican radio station, but I kept finding Asian stations. I finally gave in to one and left it there.
            Now when I get into my car the Chinese station comes on and I'm interested. Oh yeah- the Chinese station. I forgot about that. I'll wonder what the heck they're saying. And what language they're speaking. It's stimulating. And it stimulates others too. When I come to a stop light I notice people looking at me funny. They look confused. I can tell they just want things to be seamless and simple. I'm challenging that in some way by what I'm listening to. 
           But I don't care. I'm just trying to grow. I want to feel and hear another culture and learn something new. The problem is I'm not learning anything new, because I have no idea what they're saying. I found myself getting frustrated. I thought about changing the station, but something told me not to. 
           Then the other day, I heard music I'd never heard before, and I knew why I had to stay the course. Chinese rap. It was so good.



            

Tony The Barber

            
            I found a good barber. I fired the big barber, and the skinny barber too. I got tired of looking like Hitler. That's not a good look in any situation. I now have a refined older gentleman named Tony as my barber. Tony's been cutting hair since 1962. He's magic with the scissors. He cuts hair like Edward Scissor Hands cuts hedges. He's fast and precise. The scissors squeak in his hand they're moving so fast.
            The only problem is, I like Tony, and in my attempt to gain his respect and impress him with my old school knowledge, I'll make a comment every once in a while about the music he's listening to.
            Is that Tommy Dorsey?
            No it's Glen Miller.
            I can't seem to get it right.
            The other day I went in for a haircut. It was the second time I'd been there. I said, is that Frank Sintatra? No, it's Lawrence Welk.
            I've been way off. And I know the difference. It's almost like I'm being taught a lesson not to force things. 
            I'd like to be Tony's friend. He's such a kind old man. It breaks my heart how kind he is. He's told me stories about himself and his family and how they have dinner together every Sunday at six-thirty. He's a model of consistency; same job, same wife, and he appears to be content with his choices. I admire people like that. He's not chasing anything. He's letting it all come to him and working hard in the meantime. That's artistry in my mind. Just working hard. 


            

The Fellowship

           
            I'm reading The Fellowship Of The Ring. And without realizing it I've entered the secret society of nerd geniuses. They're a people who speak little of what they've know, divulging information only when asked. I don't ask them many questions for fear of ruining Tolkien's story before reading it. 
            I remember seeing these nerd geniuses when I was a kid. I'd spot one with a book in their hand and ask, "what book is that?"
            The Hobbit, they'd answer before shyly scurrying away. I didn't read much when I was a kid, so I found it very peculiar. 
            I tried to watch The Hobbit the movie. I was so angered by it, having read the book. I couldn't watch the whole thing. I can't believe people are watching the movie without reading the book and thinking that they know it. You don't know it! You don't know anything! The movie butchered the book. Butchered it, I tell you. If you're one of these people, shame, shame on you. You're missing the juicy details. The real story. You're getting just a sliver of it, just a sliver. Hollywood is playing you for a fool! It's a travesty. 
            Do yourself a favor. Read the book! And if you want to be a real nerd genius read it over and over and then read The Fellowship over and over. And then read the one after that, whatever it's called. And don't speak of it unless you're asked. And don't talk about Battlestar Galactica either.  

Twisting Knobs

           
            I've been recording bass-lines to my songs. Ironically, I've been using my Princeton Chorus guitar amp to play through. I laid down temporary sketch tracks while my Ampeg was being repaired. When I got the Ampeg back I started to record for keeps. But I couldn't get the right sound. I was getting a good sound, but the Princeton had a hollow distorted sound that seemed to fit the track better. I had changed the sound on the Princeton after recording the sketch tracks, thinking that I was going to use the Ampeg. So there I was twisting knobs on the Princeton trying to emulate the cheap sound that I recorded with earlier. I spent a lot of time trying to find "the sound." I got it pretty close, but it's not exact.
            Yawn. Anyway. I've been doing my best to channel my inner Paul McCartney for these bass lines. I'm thinking Paul is feeling pretty tired right about now.  I have ten songs to do and I haven't finished one yet. The poor guy's going to need some supplements before I get through with him.                                                                                
            

Drunk Talk; Advice From A Super Human

           
            I got the old Ampeg SVT back. I picked it up from the electrical genius' house. He trusted me to pick it up from his house, not his laboratory. I was honored. We had a good conversation about tubes and amps. Then we segued into baseball and broken windows. He lives across the street from a baseball diamond.

            The bass lines to my songs have me stumped, but my amp sounds good. I want to take back what I said about not playing live with the old tuber. I'd play live with her anytime. I'd have to put more money into her, so I'd know for sure she wouldn't catch fire. 
            It's a shame I don't play bass much anymore. I never really did. Performing, to me, has always been like lye in the face, but I'm changing my ways. Just do your job is my new motto. I think it has something to do with my distaste for fame, and the American dream, and all that bullshit. But I realized I like nice things. As a hermit I'm sacrificing nice things for solitude. Solitude is great. Nothing better in my eyes, but on the other hand there's god's purpose. Or deity, however you want to say it. And my purpose is to write songs and write books. I've fought it for years. I thought I should have a stable career and at one point I did, but I was a fish out of water for more than one reason. If it feels wrong it probably is. But most people don't live by instincts, practicality comes into play. And with practicality comes some unhappiness, especially if your purpose in life is not practical in the traditional sense. 

            So there it is. Life is really not that complicated. You have a purpose. Your purpose is special. If you're unhappy, you probably aren't doing what you're suppose to be doing. So my unsolicited advice is to do what you think you should be doing and nothing short.

           

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.