The Final Magic Trick

We'll all disappear someday, some call it death, but it's just the final magic trick. 

Shuffles

   
      I played with a drummer once who refused to play shuffles. He had it in mind that they were beneath him in some way. I used to tease him about it, but he was headstrong and never gave in.
      Playing the blues was out of the question, and we couldn't play rockabilly or even certain rock songs depending on the beat. Needless to say the band was stifled by it, and eventually parted ways. Who wants to be in a band where you can't play a shuffle? 
      Every once in while we'd say let's play Cold Shot, and he'd just about flip out. I sometimes wonder about him. The last I heard he was playing in a rock band, and I wonder if he pulled the same thing with them. 
      I've always thought playing a good shuffle was difficult. To get it right anyway. But, no not this drummer. He hated them. 

Why I Don't Own A Gun

      I don't own a gun because I can be quick tempered, and quick tempered and guns don't always get along. I'd end up in jail no doubt. Know thyself when it comes to guns; that's what I always say.
      The other reason I don't own a gun is because I have fantasies of attending a NRA convention strapped to the nines, and the first time I heard the keynote speaker at the podium say something wrong or untrue, I'd get up and start firing. I figure I could pick off eight or so people before anyone got off a shot, proving the point to the NRA that guns in themselves won't protect you in all situations. It's a fallacy. It takes time to pull out a gun, and you can't pull out gun if you don't know what's coming.
      In my estimation those are pretty good reasons not to own gun. We don't need a bunch of lefties running around with guns. It would be safer for everybody if we just played it cool.
 
            

Maxims

It's nothing a Turkish apricot can't fix.

Sriracha wasn't built in a day.

The devil don't make no pancakes. 

Try as you may, there's no escaping yourself.

Avoidance is the mother of all procrastination.

Clutter is the root of all evil. 

No Trolling For Me

     I don't want to be a troll. They're too negative. My mom's negative. She's a troll and doesn't know it. We kids, her kids, admonish her when she's being negative. "Why do you have to be so negative?" She always looks surprised by our remarks, as if she has no idea what we're talking about. 
     She can't help it. She had a bunch of sisters and they'd talk on the telephone every morning, and undoubtedly someone would complain about their husband or kids and the negativity would snowball from one sister to another. 
     To put it bluntly, my mother's a shit talker, an eighty-seven year old shit talker. They're called trolls nowadays, but they've just been repackaged. 
     Anyway, I don't want to be none of that. It's in me though, I have to fight it. Sometimes it feels like it's easier to be an ass then to be kind. Being kind requires a certain amount of discipline, and patience. It's not always easy to take a breath, and let things go. It is easy to lose your mind with emotional tirades though, and that's the life of a troll. An emotional shit talker, the troll. 

Troll

      I'm thinking about becoming a troll. I feel like there's a certain amount freedom in it. Just spout off and kill people's dreams. Squash them even further than they've been squashed.
      Of course a troll's career is limited on social media. There aren't enough tolerant people in the world to keep it sustainable. I'm guessing the friend stash would dwindle pretty quickly and become more consistent with reality. I'd end up with one or two solid people in my corner, people I could depend on no matter what.
      Why do you comb your hair like that? Who cares? Zzzzzz. Not another selfie, please ... Why are your lips so big?
      I'm pretty sure I can do it. It's all attitude and perspective, like making fun of dresses while watching the Emmys. It's simple stuff. Judgment calls. Negativity. Small minded observations. Quick emotional reactions to multiple forms of stimuli. I've been training for this all my life. I've watched network morning shows, All In The Family, The Jeffersons, Good Times, and Sanford And Son. I think I'm ready. No more likes, just snarky condemnation. 

The Wizard Of Paint

      I was at the paint counter of my local hardware store where the wizard of paints was preparing to mix a gallon bucket of paint to match a sample. The wizard is a short older man, crotchety in personality, with a back and shoulder that lean to one side.
      The old man and I had discussed in detail his approach to altering the color to match the sample. The first mix was a little off. He was going to add a hint of green, and a little bit of white to soften the color. That, in his mind, would do the trick.
       A woman pulled up to the counter next me. She needed to buy paint. She saw the color swatches the old man had made, and leaned in to look at them. "You need to add red to that if you want it to match. I do this for a living. I'm really good with color." she said.
       I was nice to her and humored her knowing full well it was the opposite of what the wizard had said.
       The old man came back with another swatch after he had mixed the paint and placed it on the counter. It looked almost exactly like the sample. "That's great! I said.
        The woman leaned in, "I told you it needed green, the woman said to me. I was right," she bolstered.
        I couldn't let it go. I should have just smiled and said yes you were right, but no, not me. I turned to the woman with a scrunched up face, and a hint of anger, "YOU SAID RED!"