The Patch

     I have a bald patch on my head. It's a big round area just above my ear where my hair fell out. It's a temporary condition. It happened to me once before, but the last time, the bald spot was at the back of my head. My hair eventually grew back, so I'm not too worried about it this time.
     I make sure to cover the patch with the hair that I have left. It's spooky looking. It's ghost white, and smooth to the touch. I haven't shown it to many people to save myself from their reaction. I figure they might think it's worse than it is. 
     Sometimes before I go out I'll paint mascara on it to blend it in. And I'm careful not to run my fingers through my hair when I'm talking to somebody. I'm vain that way. I just don't want anybody to know about it. 
     But, now that I've written this blog and told the whole world, I'm sure it will come up in conversation and I'll have to pull my hair back and show off the spot.
      

Wood Update

     
       This is a follow up to my last blog.
       I walked up the hill during the day to the house with the free wood. There was no new wood, just concrete mix. The mix felt like a brick so I left it behind.
       I noticed warning signs on the house where the little dog barked. They said WARNING 24 HOUR SERVEILLANCE CAMERAS. I looked for the cameras, but I didn't see any.
       Later in the day I saw an old Chinese woman walking with an umbrella in one hand and a 2x4x8 in the other. I admired her mid-day stroll, and wondered where she got the wood. 
       

Beware Of The Small Dog

         
           I'm building a bathhouse. Most of the wood I've used has come from scrap piles from construction sites and wood I found on the street. I did buy some 2x4s to build the walls, but other than that, I've built it from discarded materials.
           The other day I spotted a pressure treated 2x8x8 in front of a house. I was driving by and saw it laying near the street in front of a gate. I stopped my car to get a good look at it. I was eyeing it when a man popped up from the far end of the garage roof and looked at me. He was working on the roof, and was hidden from view until he stood up. I waved to him and sped away. He didn't wave back. Maybe he wanted to keep the wood. I didn't know. It was a dubious situation.
           A contractor has been working on the house. I'm thinking when the contractor's finished with his work the house is going to be flipped. I'd found some nice pieces of old growth wood that was ripped out of the interior of the house days before.
            That night I woke up at three in the morning and couldn't get back to sleep. I read for a while, but come about four-thirty I decided to walk up the hill to see if the pressure treated wood was still there. It was. I snatched it without much fuss. I was walking away when a small dog from a house across the street started to bark. For a moment I was afraid somebody was going to wake up and look out the window, but I quickly realized that no one was going to get out of bed to see what the dog was barking at. Small dogs bark all the time.              
            So there I was walking down the street with a 2x8x8 underneath my arm. I was carrying it like a surfboard and hoping no cars drove by. I was going to to ditch the wood by the curb if I saw headlights. 
             It was a peaceful morning. There wasn't much going on, but I could still hear cars in the distance driving on the freeway. That's a sound that never stops in LA. 

         
           

Shopping. It's A Waste of Time

           I need new pants. I'm bored with my Dickies and Levis. I've been wearing Dickies and Levis for years and I need a change. I used to buy suit pants from thrift stores, but I stopped doing that for some reason. I think I wanted new pants, not used pants. 
           I typed in cool men's pants into the inter-webs and a pair of pants that looked like the American flag popped up. They were called Ulysses S. Pants. Ha! There was another picture next to it of a man wearing pants with a multi-colored diamond pattern on them, like what the Joker would wear, or a clown. Oh boy. 
           I typed in "chinos," and the pants that came up were dorky looking. Any old fool would wear those pants. When I typed in "khaki," it was no better. Geez, men's pants suck. I gave up. 
           The pants I want will magically appear one day, like all good things in my life. I'm going to wait it out. Shopping. It's a waste of time.

Watch Where You're Walking

           
            I went to a show. A friend of mine was playing a short set. I stepped up to the bar to order a drink, but the bartender didn't have it together and it was taking a long time. A bartender who's not hustling, pointing fingers, leaning in to take orders, is bad for business.
            I got to talking to a modern day settler, one of those bearded civil war types, while I waited to order. He seemed nice enough. It turns out a little while later he mistakenly bumped in to my shoulder. He was a short guy and looked up at me with his small eyes and beard. He said he was sorry and moved on.
            A little while later I was in the restroom. I'd just washed my hands and was moving toward the door, when it kicked open and stopped me in my tracks. The door hit me on the shoulder. It was the bearded settler again. "Oh, sorry," he said.
            "No problem," I said.
            I was standing watching the band when another guy bumped into me. He gave me the watch where you're going look. Fool. I'm standing, you're walking. Some people.
            Not long after that I was talking to a friend, when I felt somebody bump into my shoulder again. I turned around to see who it was. It was the bearded settler. He shot me his small eye surprised look, "Oh, sorry," he said.
             "No, problem," I said. 
             If he only knew what I thinking, which was something to the effect of watch where you're going you clumsy settler!!!

You're Going To Like It

         
            I've realized that it's easier to get likes in person than on Facebook. Now and again, I'll run into someone that I haven't seen in a while, and through the course of conversation they'll mention to me that they really like my blog.
            I'll check the scoreboard in my head and think to myself, if you like my blog so much, why haven't you liked it on Facebook?
            This has happened to me more than once and some of the people were family and friends. So I got to thinking. What's the big deal? Why are people being chintzy with their likes?
            I'll admit I have a like standard myself, so I understand. I have a no like selfie policy. You have to do more than take a picture of yourself to get a like from me. There are some exceptions of course, but generally speaking I stick to my guns. After all you can't like everything, even if you like what you don't like. 
           
             

Proprietor #10

            I saw the proprietor yesterday. I walked out of his restaurant shaking my head. I had no idea what we talked about. It started out as a conversation about Barbara Eden, and the Munster beauties, and segued to the Lakers and the rebuilding process, but after that I got lost. The last thing I heard the proprietor say was "and then we'll shoot the missiles into the air," he gave a whistle that sounded like an incoming bomb and lifted his index finger in the air and twirled it downwards. 
            Things are getting strange between us I have to admit. When he takes my order and asks me what I'd like to drink. I'll tell him water. And when he brings the water, I'll ask if he warmed up the ice for me? When I order a burrito, I'll order it with spagitti sauce on top. It's really ranchera sauce, but that's how things are going between us. 
            When he brings me the water, he'll tell me that it's rainwater from the rusty pipes on the roof. I'll take a swig and say, ummm, tastes like Himalayan rainwater to me.