Dave the Hermit

            
            I was in the front yard when I heard someone say "wait, come back, I'm sorry." When I looked to see what was happening, I saw Dave the hermit chasing after a minivan in his wheelchair. The driver of the minivan had pulled to the curb and parked. I walked down the hill to find Dave with his breaks locked in front of the van to block it from moving.
            "What's going here?" I asked.
            Dave craned his neck toward me and said, "I grumbled at him and now he won't give me a ride."
           "What's his problem?" I asked
           "I don't know," Dave said.
           "Don't worry. I'll fix it," I said. 
           The driver had his window rolled up and was talking on the phone. When I tapped on the window to talk to him he raised his hand as to say hold on without looking at me. I waited.
           The driver finally rolled down his window. 
           "This guy needs a ride," I said.
           "I'm not taking him anywhere." 
           "Why not? He's in a wheelchair. He needs your help." 
           "Because he cussed me out when I got to his door, that's why, I'm not taking that from nobody." 
           I turned and looked at Dave.
           "He was late!"
           I turned to the driver. "He needs to buy food." 
           "He's going have to call somebody else. I'm not taking him." 
           I turned to Dave the hermit who was still locked in place in front of the van. 
           It was a stand-off. I knew I was licked. I threw up my arms. "I tried. This is between you two." I said, before walking away. 
           I heard the van backing up the hill to get away from Dave. I saw Dave struggling in his wheelchair to get up the hill. I walked down to help him. I was wheeling him to his house, trying to get him up the driveway when he angrily shouted "Hey, don't push me man!"
           

Ideas Man

         
            I think there should be a Phil Spector cam. It'd be a paid subscription. Not too expensive, just a few bucks a month. And once a month or so Phil would give a lecture on a topic of his choosing. I'd pay money for that. I'm sure the lecture would be interesting.
            I also think we should have The Religous Olympics. It would be a faith-based event that tested the participants' religious convictions.
            There'd be cliff diving for the novice and assorted knife games, the old hand on table game where you spread you fingers out on a table and somebody with a knife goes back and forth between the fingers as fast as they can. And knife throwing where the participant of one religion stands back to board while a knife thrower from another religion test his accuracy.
            Another event would be the obstacle course where participants would have to navigate the intersection of say, Hollywood and Highland on a Friday night. They'd be given deductions for failed good deeds, or furrowed eyebrows, or general bad attitudes due to a lack of patience.
            It would be a timed event, the better the time, the better the score. There would be an old lady crossing the street with a bag of groceries and cane that would need help. A tourist asking for directions to Santa Monica and not fully understanding the directions the first time you give them. Countless panhandlers asking for spare change, and of course, beautiful women in mini skirts at every turn. There'd be a two-point deduction for ogling the women in mini skirts. Only one point for a quick glance.

Poetry

A good poet pays attention while he drives, 
a great poet pays attention while he walks.

Bernal 

Dora Does Jet Ski

         
            I didn't know this about Dora, but she likes to ride Jet Skis in Marina Del Rey on her days off. She rides fast and hard as she put it. So hard that she bruises her knees from banging them on the plastic body of the ski.
            Her solution to the problem was to buy a couple of compression knee braces at the ninety-nine cent store and some kitchen sponges. She's going to stuff the braces with the sponges to soften the blow as she rides. Then all she'll need is a pair of good sunglasses to keep the salt water from her eyes.
             I stood dumbfounded as Dora told me the details of her plan. I offered suggestions to replace the kitchen sponges, but none of my ideas were any better. I'll be interested to know how it turns out. It will either work like a charm, or cut off her circulation completely.

Hallelujah

            
            I once sat down to play an acoustic guitar at a music store. There was a sign posted: please don't play Hallelujah. I laughed. I like the song myself, and frankly, I think it's cool that people know of Leonard Cohen because of it. That is if they don't think Jeff Buckley wrote it.
            The other night while at my once a week gig, a man came up to me and said he wanted to hear some Motown. He put a bill down on the pool table as a tip. I forgot about the man, but on the way to the bathroom I heard him say "hey, what happened to the Motown?" Oh yeah, next song I told him. 
            When I came out of the bathroom I heard him complaining to the bartender about the music. My friend was playing Hallelujah at the time. He was doing a great job of it as far as I was concerned. It wasn't a sappy version like some others. My friend has a deep voice, and it sounded good. But the man, maybe he had too much to drink or something, he just couldn't take it anymore and exploded in his seat. He was yelling at the top of his lungs. I'm not sure what he was saying. The bartender had to ask him to leave. Some people just can't stand that song. It turns them into salami heads.
             I picked up the tip the man had left. It was a buck. All that for a buck. I tried giving it to the bartender, but she didn't want it. She tried giving back to me, but I didn't want it. She put it into my musician friend's pocket. A smile came to his face. "I didn't even have to dance for it!"

Yellow Jacket

         
           I stepped on a yellow jacket in my bare feet. I felt a zing shoot through my foot and when I looked down I saw the little guy struggling for life. I disembowled him. I had to pull his stinger from my foot. They pack a punch for their size. It's amazing when you think about it. The amount of energy they have stored up in them. 
            Four or five of his yellow jacket buddies were circling around him as he died. It was almost as if they were checking to see if he was alright, or if they could help in anyway. They were still circling when he finally died. It was a funeral of sorts for making the ultimate sacrifice. I left them alone just in case they had intentions of revenge. 
            My foot still hurts, but thankfully I didn't swell up and break into hives. The sting is interesting to me. The immediacy of the pain. My reaction to it. I poured rice vinegar on it. I figured that it would keep it clean, but I was hoping it would take the pain away. I was in a bit of a panic and grabbed the first thing that came to mind as a remedy. It didn't take the pain away. I guess the only remedy for a sting is time. Time heals all stings, personal, or otherwise. 
            

Pigeons of The Government

         
            I was with the masses at Venice Beach when a pigeon walked up and looked me in the eye. I was a big fan of the television show Get Smart when I was a kid, and I imagined the pigeon as an agent for the government. And the not-so-attractive woman sunbathing next to me as Agent 13.
            I don't usually go to Venice Beach, so it was a very different experience for me. I liked it. It reminded me of the old days when being around people was fun for me.
            I made my way to the water. The waves were not the best, but everybody was having a good time. I had a notion that people were not much different from chimps as they played. I'm a chimp, you're a chimp, everybody's a chimp. The waves were rolling in and we chimps were diving under them to survive. There was a joyful laughter to survival. The living was good.
            I got out of the water and was sitting on my towel daydreaming, when a sexy lady in a bikini spotted a dolphin just beyond the surf. "There's a dolphin!" 
            As it turned out there was a pod of them playing and blowing water from their blowholes. I'd never seen so many in one place. I thought to myself, the little rapists are having a good time. Dolphins are rapists, but nobody seems to mind. We chimps, pigeon agents of the government, the rapists, Agent 13. We were all at the same place, at the same time, and that place was Venice Beach California on a hot summer day in Los Angeles.