The Ant Problem

     I don't feel like blogging. I don't feel like doing anything. It's been real hot and humid here in Los Angeles. Humid relative to LA, about forty-four percent. 
     The ants love it. They're finding things, exploring new territory. Unfortunately, my kitchen was found. I had to battle them off. I followed their trail inside, than outside. I destroyed their bridges and flooded their armies. 
     I discovered they were working two fronts. Both fronts had bridges. One trail led straight to my BBQ. The  other to my box of Maple Nut Cereal. I couldn't locate their headquarters, but once the bridges were gone they slowed some. I still got the occasional scout looking for something good to eat. I thought about killing the scout, just because I could, but I let him  go free. I had secured my food. They weren't going to find anything else to eat.
     

Plan Or No Plan

     Sometimes I'll lay in bed and think about what I'm going to do tomorrow. I'll make a plan in my mind. When morning comes I'll find myself immersed in a task that wasn't part of the plan at all. It happens a lot. It's to the point where it's laughable. I'll be painting a piece of wood, or fiddling with something and think, this isn't what I planned for the day. 
     I've accepted the fact that I have no idea what I'm going to do tomorrow. I think I know what I'm going to do tomorrow, but I don't. Nobody does. 

Spiders And Bees

     I learned that bees sleep. Their antennas droop and and their legs splay when they sleep. Sometimes they fall asleep mid-day on a flower. It sounds rough, I know, but that's the life of a bee. 
     Bees are interesting to me. They suck flowers all day. Sip'em, drink em' up, they're almost perfectly innocent but for their stingers. Their stingers keep things honest.  
     I stepped on a bee once. That was painful. How such a tiny thing can inflict so much pain is amazing to me. It was a mega-dose of pain.
     Spiders interest me for the same reason. Size and ability. How does a spider create a seemly endless supply of webbing? It's remarkable when you think about it. The webbing just keeps coming. Where does it come from. How do they produce it so quickly? I'll have to research that next. It's all so amazing to me.
    

Bull Dogs

     Just because some people don't look the way you want them to look doesn't mean they're bad people. And just because they're poor doesn't make them bad. And just because they speak another language doesn't mean they're not humans with feelings and dreams. Embrace those who need embracing, offer your shirt so they can stay warm. If you think you're better than them, I can assure you, you're not. 

Words To Live By

Just one grain of sand can ruin a good potato chip. 

If you think about wiping your ass with a corn tortilla, don't. 

Every good band needs a dancing fool. 

The Baby

     My neighbor had a baby. I didn't even know she was pregnant. I realized just the other day that I hadn't seen her in a while. For months. I wondered what happened to her. I heard a baby cry the other day, but I thought it was a friend's baby. There was a unfamiliar car parked in front of my neighbor's house and I assumed they had a visitor. 
     I've never even heard my neighbors have sex, and sound travels around here. So I'm not sure what's going on, or how it happened. All I know is I'm tip-toeing around so as not to wake the baby. I'm banging softly, and playing my electric guitar at a low volume. I'm thinking of asking my neighbors to put a sign or something on their window when the baby's asleep. That way I'll know not to make too much noise. I'm not a noisy guy, but I am building a bathhouse. 
     I found myself whistling at my other neighbor's dog this morning. The dumb thing was barking for no reason and I thought what if the baby's asleep? Luckily, his owner told him to pipe-down. Pipe-down. Haha. 
     

Why Oh Why

     There's a cowboy bar in the canyon that I visit every now and then. The last two times I was there I had conversations with racists. Yesterday, I was talking to an older man with one of those pot bellies that forms around the groin and works it's way up. I was drinking a beer when he came in. I felt his negativity right off, but I dismissed it, and talked to him anyway. 
     He told me he was from LA originally, but moved north when things started to change in eighty-four. Change is code word for too many immigrants. 
     He said he grew up on a chicken farm nearby. He was wearing a cowboy hat, and had a long gray beard. It didn't look like too much of a stretch.
     He asked me where I grew up. I told him Montebello. His eyes dropped, and was about to say something negative, but stopped short and held his tongue. I could tell he didn't approve of Montebello. I've seen it before. There are a lot of Mexicans in Montebello and Mexicans are beneath some white folks. 
     The man said other things that made me think, okay I get it, he's a racist. 
     On my drive home I thought about the man. I wondered why he felt superior to other people. I mean, really. He grew up on a chicken farm.