War Robots

      My last three blogs have been on the negative side. I was going through a funk where outside forces were getting the better of me. I suppose there are people who aren't tuned in to world events, but I am. The news cycle has been bizarre to say the least, and it's been enough to bring me down at times. I wouldn't say all hope is lost, but I do wonder if others understand how they're been manipulated. 
      I'm not a war robot, so I notice the scale of manipulation. It's constant. It's so constant it has reached the point of being unrecognizable.
      I don't want to be the guy whose constantly complaining, but part of being alive is making observations. Observations in some instances are a matter of life and death. The mere process of asking questions and wondering can cause internal frustrations. I have many questions and I'm constantly wondering, which contributes to my daily agitation. Sometimes I wonder why others don't wonder, that in itself can cause me agitation, especially, when their lack of curiosity contributes to what I deem as poor choices. 
      Poor choices are a killer. Poor choices destroy the environment, people, and the process of tranquil living. So do us all a favor, read, read, read, and make informed choices so we don't have to suffer from poor choices. 
      This has been a public service announcement from the ninety-nine point nine percent. 

Beer

Even beer farts.   

The Flip Phone

      "Don't they know I have a flip phone?" That's what I say to myself when someone sends me an unsolicited text message. My phone isn't sophisticated enough to show the image they're sending, if there is an image. I can only imagine what it looks like. Maybe a naked lady, I'm not sure. I'll look at the phone to see who it is and when I figure out it's nobody important I'll delete the message. 
      I'm fascinated with the strategy of sending text messages on a phone in hopes of drumming up business. Sometimes the messages will come in five, six at a time. It's annoying. The sound of my phone vibrating is enough to set me off. 
      It's some kind of weird old fashioned strategy. I imagine some people answer the messages though, or they wouldn't keep sending them out. 
      India pops into my head. "They're coming from India." Sorry India, I don't mean to discriminate. They can just as easily be coming from the Philippines or Ohio. 
       When someone sends me an emoji, the image always comes up as a series of squares. It's none too exciting to receive an emoji that looks like a square. I try to figure out the intention of the sender. I'll look at the screen and depending on how many squares there are, I figure that's the number of emojis. I had to tell one of my friends to stop sending me emojis cause I can't see them. He laughed, and then sent me the old :))))

Bored

      I'm bored with capitalism. I'm bored with its commercials, its morning programs, its news cycles, its wars, its so-called heroes, its famous people. I'm bored with people trying to become famous. That strikes me as the saddest of them all. That's like praying for money. Asking God for things that don't matter. 
      Maybe I'm bored cause I'm boring. I do feel a tinge boring. I tend to follow the same patterns and my patterns are not always all that interesting, sipping coffee, playing the guitar, writing, recording songs. 
      When I was sick with the flu I had nothing better to do but to cruise the Internet. And the association of being sick and reading the same old things over and over soured me to certain websites. I'm bored with them. Sick of the commentary, the headlines. I'm tired of everybody having an opinion, and thinking they can read into to future and determine the results of something that hasn't happened. It's mind numbing. It's redundant. It's dang monotonous.

Flu Bug

      Day four. I caught a flu bug. I've been bed ridden ever since. Aches and pain, chills, cold, headache, I don't recommend it.
      I was perfectly healthy when I decided to go on a jog. I didn't jog far. I run uphill to minimize the pounding on my body. It's a theory I have. It's better to be a Honda than a race car. Race cars have to change their parts after every race. High performance, high maintenance.
      I couldn't stop coughing after my jog. It wasn't normal, but I didn't think much about it. Later that night I felt achey. It was a blamo situation, just like that, you are sick now. It was odd. 
      Day ten. I feel better now, but I'm still not a hundred percent. My motivation has been squashed. 

Dickheads

   
      Dickhead #1
      I was at a red light. It turned green. I didn't even have time to take my foot off the break when the car behind me honked his horn. 
      What a dick!
      I made a left turn onto a one lane street. The car behind me was following real close. I made the slowest left turn I ever made in my life, and proceded to drive like a confused grandfather. The driver behind me was at my mercy. I had complete control of him. Sucker!
      The world is full of dickheads. I'm one of them. But I'm not a true dickhead because I'll admit that I'm a dickhead. A true dickhead has no idea he's a dickhead, or if has an idea, but he won't acknowledge it, or he'll blame someone else for it.
      Dickhead #2 
      I was standing in line waiting to order the Wednesday special. Fish tacos, $1.29 each, when a young man walked up to me. He got right in my face and said, "hey, give me a dollar."
      I said to him, "I don't have a dollar." Which was true, I had twenty dollars. This kid had a tattoo on his face and was thinking he was pretty tough. He was staring me down, looking at me right in the eye. My inner dickhead kicked in and I was holding my ground, staring at him just as hard.
       He said, "you didn't even look in your pocket."
       "I know what I have, I don't need to explain to you," I said.
       "Alright, alright," he said and walked off in a huff. He was holding his phone in one hand. His phone looked a lot nicer than mine. 
       
    

Sequoia

      I spent a few days in Sequoia recording songs. I brought my laptop, guitars, mic stands, and mics with me and set up shop. I have a friend who owns a cabin up there. The cabin is in the middle of nowhere away from people and lights. It's real quiet, but for the birds. There were beautiful trees at every turn. They were barren from autumn, and their sparseness gave the place an eerie feeling.
      I'd wake up early in the morning and start in on the work. There was nobody around, so I didn't have to worry about making too much noise. I'd work all day and go to bed early. There wasn't a television or wi-fi, so I read 1Q84 by Murakami to entertain myself and passed out by nine-thirty. I'd wake up at six or so in the morning and start the routine all over again.
      I had planned to finish eight or nine songs while I was there, but I only finished the rough tracks to three. It always takes longer than expected, finding the right sound, and playing the song with out making any mistakes. I don't like to cut and paste tracks if I can avoid it. It took me half a day to figure out I was playing a song at the wrong tempo. I was having trouble playing the song in time, and couldn't figure out why. It was one beat per second too slow. That one beat made all the difference in the world. It's the natural rhythm of things. Don't butt heads with the natural rhythm of things. It makes life one beat per second harder than it needs to be.