Hot Pot, Hot Pot

            I had dinner last night at a Chinese restaurant in Monterey Park. We had a thing called a Hot Pot. It's a soup with thirty-six different herbs in it. You choose the ingredients to add to it. We added vegetables, shrimp, and pork. You cook it yourself. At the center of each table is a round hole where they place the hot pot. The hot pot is the broth and you add what you ordered to it. There's a learning curve but it's not too steep. Mostly, you have to make sure you don't over cook things or they'll turn to mush.
            A troop of Chinese dragon dancers came into the restaurant, however, they weren't dragons, but lions in this instance. They were there to ward off evil spirits for the new year. Their costumes were impressive. They had big furry heads and their mouths opened up. They went around the restaurant collecting red envelopes with money inside. We didn't have a red envelope and we were wondering where they came from.
            There were two kids to each costume. A taller teenager that controlled the mouth and head, and a smaller kid who was in charge of the tail section. It was quite the spectacle. Of course one of the lions came up to me and nuzzled my head. I nuzzled his giant furry head back. It felt good and it made me laugh.
            

The NBA

            David Stern finally retired as commissioner of the NBA. I can't think of anybody who's done more harm to the game of basketball than him. The NBA would like you to believe that basketball didn't exist until David Stern came along. But, basketball did exist and it was much more exciting to watch before the Stern era. Those were the days before flagrant fouls, one, two and three, defensive three seconds, delay of game calls, (which only delay the game) break away fouls, three officials, ticky-tack calls on almost every play, the days when getting position to rebound wasn't a crime, when fighting was part of the game, when players could show emotion and not get a technical foul for it, when the NBA was more in line with real basketball, the game people love to play, not the phony version of what was. What's worse, are all the suck-up reporters, radio personalities and players that praise the job David Stern did. The popular misconception is that David Stern broadened the scope of basketball and made it a global sport. It was already a global sport, lest we forget the debacle during the 1972 Munich Olympics between the United States and the Soviet Union. 
             

Song Writing Exercise #357

            Sometimes a song takes too long to write. When it takes too long I think something is wrong and I worry about writing words that are contrived. I'm experiencing that right now. I have a guitar part and a vocal melody that I like, but the words are taking their sweet time about it. All my ideas seem wrong, so I'm waiting around for good ideas while pressing the buttons I usually press to
write a song.
            Maybe it's a song that will never be written. Maybe there is a lesson I'm supposed to take away from this. In the past, if a song took too long to write I'd chuck it and move on. But this song I like. I want it to work out. And I'm willing to wait for it. But the process is so different I'm concerned it will turn into a dud. If I force it, it will be dumb, if I don't force it, it will never be written. It's a conundrum. I'm going to have to feather this one in. Stroke it softly. Find the right kindling and start a fire with just one match.

Obamacare

            My cash-strapped conservative friends are beginning to taste the fruits of national health care. I remember listening to them complain about the prospects of the new law. Like usual, I wasn't convinced they were making much sense, but I heard them out anyway. I knew my friends didn't have money, or health care, and when you hear a man argue against his own interest, then you know for certain he's stupid.

            Recently, one of my conservative friends in a moment of exultation exclaimed boldly, "I'm on Medicare!" He proceeded to show me his newly minted state issued health card as evidence. 

            "Oh, that looks like Obamacare," I said.

            "No, it's Medicare, I didn't sign up for Obamacare!"

            "It looks like Obamacare to me. You better thank "that bitch" Nancy Pelosi." 

            "It's Medicare! Look how much I pay for my prescriptions... zero," my friend  said to me with a smile.

            "You should give your thanks to Barry!"

            

   

            

Good Credit

           My nephew-in-law had his identity stolen by someone in Tulare county. He was trying to buy something big when it was revealed to him that he owned a house in Tulare. Apparently, he had lost his wallet in Yosemite on a hike to Half Dome, and somebody from Tulare picked it up.
          "I don't own a house in Tulare county," he told the woman from the credit report company.
          "Oh, yes you do, and it's good to see that you've been making your payments on time," the woman said.
          "What did you do? How'd you fix it?" I asked my nephew.
          "I didn't do anything. I had bad credit at the time, I figured I'd let the family in Tulare county make payments on the house until I had good credit. I reported it a year later."

Monterey Park

            A friend and I found a tasty Chinese restaurant in Monterey Park. It's the real deal. The first time we ate there we were afraid to go in. We peered through the window. The patrons were exclusively Chinese. They're such a close-knit community, we wondered how they'd react to us. We had to summon all our courage just to open the door.
            The wait staff were friendly. However, did I detect a degree of burdensome dread emanating from them? The Americans.
            I looked around the room. The patrons were staring at our table as though we were foreigners. Hell, I practically grew up in Monterey Park. I use to play with the Wang twins. Where were they then, I asked myself? They were dodging Chairman Mao.
            The kid sitting at the table next to us couldn't help but gawk. Some people were friendly, and others weren't. Some people looked at us with a hint of there goes the neighborhood. They'd look at me and I at them. I was wondering if I had honked at one of them on the drive in. Hey, weren't you just on the 10 freeway? Sure, hide yourself in the soup, I don't blame you, it's delicious.
         
            

Zapatos

            I bought a new pair of Italian shoes. They're black cap toes that are so shiny, a glare emanates from them in the dark. I had trouble putting them on for the first time. They were so stiff, I couldn't get my foot into them. I didn't have a shoehorn handy, so I tried using a spoon. That didn't work, so I flipped the spoon around and used its handle as a shoehorn. That did the trick.
            I lost my balance and nearly fell over with my first step. I had to steady myself before I could take another. The shoes had a kick to them. I stumbled a few more times as I walked to my car. The shoes took hold of me and turned me clumsy.
            I got out of my car and was walking on the sidewalk. I looked down to admire my shoes. There was a glare coming off of them that made me happy. The moon must be out I reasoned. I looked up into the night sky. Yup, it was the moon alright, a beautiful waxing gibbous.