Frank's Bad Day

             There’s an old boat in the neighborhood. It’s parked on the street. It looks like a sixteen-footer. It’s a dinky little thing. It makes me laugh every time I see it.  It has the name “Scotch on Water”, plastered on it's stern.  “Scotch on Water,” I’ll say to myself as I drive past, hahaha! God I love boat names. There’s nothing better than a good boat name, unless of course, it’s a good racehorse name. The creativity in these two areas is immeasurable. It’s hard not to laugh when I see some of the names. Mr. Tip-Sea is another good boat name. I’d like to name a racehorse, Franksbadday. 

Smug the Father

            I spent yesterday in the suburbs. It was my goddaughter’s confirmation ceremony, a big deal to Catholics. I grew up as Methodist, but I always wanted to be a catholic. Not any more. Not after yesterday’s mass. I almost didn’t make it through. I wanted to run out of there soon after entering the church. I was nursing a hangover. I wasn’t in the best of moods to begin with.

After having to stand up and sit down a number of times, I started to resent the father giving the sermon. He’d smugly lift his hand and everybody would stand up. He’d turn his palm downwards and everybody would sit down. I was thinking he had a little too much power and that he was starting to abuse it. I was suffering. I couldn’t sit still. Half the congregation took communion. It took forever. I was relieved when it was finally over. 

            “Good mass.” I said afterwards.

            “Yes, good mass.” my friend said.

Fuzzy But There

             It’s raining and I have holes in the top of my convertible. I don’t feel like getting wet so I’m staying put until absolutely necessary. I have plenty to do. I can work on my book, or work on a song, my song, or someone else's. I have to go to a birthday party later in the evening. I have a friend who’s turning four years old today. I bought him some Coleman camping glow sticks in orange and blue for a present. I can’t believe he’s four. Kids are time indicators. When I see the kid I think of time passing, and then of course I think of life passing. I can remember when I was four. It doesn’t seem that long ago, but it was. My memories are fuzzy, but they are there. 

No Way to Live

It’s official. I’m a hothead. I don’t want to be a hothead, not in this town, or any other town for that matter. 

I was visiting my mother yesterday. We had the front door open, when some kid in his twenties started to pace back and forth in front of her house while talking on his cell phone. We could barely hear ourselves talk over his conversation. I tried to be patient but he wasn’t going away. After seven or eight minutes I asked him politely to move it along. He said okay, but he kept at it right in front of the door. He didn’t move at all. My blood started to boil. The kid had some nerve. I asked him again but this time I wasn’t so nice. The kid started to back-sass me. He said I should just close the door. Then he said to call the police. I lost my temper. I called him a few names and said that he should just move it along, that he was a nuisance. He finally got the hint and walked away.

I felt bad afterwards. It's no way to live I tell you. It's no way to live.  

Die Peacefully

            I posted a couple of acoustic versions of songs I'm working onto Bandcamp and Soundcloud, respectively, under the name The Glen Livers. They're works in progress and it's always interesting to listen to works in progress.
           I've been learning songs. It's crazy to learn so many at once. I hope I can pull this off. Fifty to sixty songs is a lot for my pea brain. All the grass I smoked in high school is catching up with me. My head hurts from the activity.
           I saw the family yesterday for Easter. It was a reminder of how short life is. You best do what you want,  because it will be over before you know it. It's sad when you think about it. I thought about being old for the first time yesterday. I hope someone will come to my rescue when I'm too old to help myself. I'm not sure I'd want to be kept alive by doctors. It's selfish to be a burden. I think I'd rather stop eating and die peacefully.    

The Envy of All Squirrels

            “I’m the envy of all squirrels,” I said while holding a big bag of sunflower seeds.

            It was such a nice day today I thought it a good idea to cook outside and barbeque. I bought range fed chicken, marinated pork chops, corn on the cob, and some zucchini.

            “Is that carne asada?” my friend asked.

            “No, those are Jewish pork chops.”

            “Really?”

            She should have known better.  She’s Jewish.

            She and I take great pleasure in tricking each other. It’s a game we play. She’s a lot better at it than I am. I’d say the ratio is three to one in her favor.

            “No, not really,” I finally admitted. “There’s no such thing as Jewish pork-chops.”

           

            

The Expletives

            It seems the great people in life die without much fanfare. I’m learning bass lines from old Motown tunes, and James Jamerson was a mother F-err. Pure genius. He was smooth and played with feeling and knowledge, a deadly combination. Jaco Pastorius was the same, but with Jaco you had the added element of fearlessness. Mike Bloomfield was a great guitar player. I don’t remember any news releases or media coverage when he died. I read about Jaco’s death in Rolling Stone Magazine, there was a small blurb announcing his death. I was devastated. James Jamerson died here in Los Angeles, but they shipped him back to Michigan when it was all said and done. It’s strange when you think about James Jamerson. He brought so much happiness to the world and nobody even knows who he is. He probably wasn’t even paid right when he was alive. I guess you got give what you've got before you go, you can’t worry about the expletives.