The Ballerina

          I lived with a ballerina once. She was my roommate. She had dreams of dancing with a company, but like many ballerinas, she fell short due to injury. In my roommate's case it was her knee that did her in.
          When a ballerina can no longer dance, her soul takes a beating. That's what happened to my roommate. She was living in the past and hardly ever thought about the good things in the present. She smoked cigarettes, to my irritation, and when she ate it was in itty-bitty portions just like a ballerina.
          Her disposition fostered a self-fulling prophecy. Bad things happened to her, one after another. First, she had a motorcycle accident. Then, she couldn't keep a man. And to top it off, she ended up losing her job.  
          As a roommate I tried to encourage her to stay positive. But my own cynicism never thought it would happen. Some people are doomed until they decide not to be. You have to un-doom yourself. It's easier said then done, but I believe it to be possible. The first thing you need to do is reboot. 

Numbers

          I'm thinking of a number from one to six. It's an odd number, not three or five. It's not one either. One is not an odd number, but a number with very few peculiarities. An odd number is four. It's a triangle on a stem. Even, odd, it's just another way of saying every other. But it's more profound than that. Numbers can plot a path to the moon, to the stars and back.
          I find it interesting that the numbers that changed the world are zero and one. Two numbers, and presto you have yourself a life altering technology. The Mayans thought of it long ago. It took us a while to catch on. I wonder what would happen if computers used three numbers instead of two. Now, that would be nuts. 012. Your computer might be the head of household then. You'll be asking permission to go outside. And your computer will ask you "why did you buy that?... You know we can't afford it!"
          

The Rub Down

          I had a massage. It's hard to complain about a massage. I like everything about them. The lighting alone was enough to put me in a good mood. It was nice and dim with very little stimuli. And when the masseuse told me to strip down to my boxers, I really warmed up to the place.
          I was told to lay on my stomach. There was a donut hole thing to rest my head on. I put my forehead and a good part of my face into it and closed my eyes.
          The masseuse started in on me. I felt her hands. They were kind of small and clammy, but I didn't mind. I thought about my life and the masseuse's life and how at that exact moment we came together- she from halfway around the world, her life, whatever it was before she placed her hands on me, and mine.
          I had my face in the donut hole and I imagined sapphire and citrine colored diamonds floating in blackness, and a Tinker Bell fairy flying through the air with a magic wand. Beams of light shot out of the diamonds. The fairy was wearing a peach colored leotard and ballet slippers to match as she danced through space. 
          When a baby laughs for the first time, that's when a fairy is born.

Targeted Advertising

          I'm thinking of starting a tactical war with the Internet. All I'd have to do is click on any old thing to upset the system. I figure if I'm going to be profiled, it might as well be as a gun-loving, conservative fundamentalist who likes women's clothing. I think it will be liberating to click on links I dislike. Each click will be a big F-you to the internet stalkers of the world, big brother and otherwise. I'm going to confuse the algorithm. Turn it on it's head.
          I'll be interested to see what ads pop up on my page. If they're for diapers or women's clothing, then I'll know for sure that I'm on the right track.
          

Email or E-mail

          I bought a new pair of hiking boots. My old boots had holes in them. It got to the point where I could feel blades of grass shooting through the bottoms. I'd take my shoes off and my socks would be caked in dust. I'd been meaning to buy new shoes but hadn't gotten around to it. Shopping is not at the top of my list.
          Today's shoes are on the ugly side. I mean they have a lot of personality. Bright colors, stripes for stripe's sake. Even the plain basic shoes are strange looking to me.
          I found a pair of shoes that fit. The sizing has changed some as well. Either that or my feet have grown. Anyway, long story short, I got to the cash register and was paying for the shoes when the cashier asked me for my email address. The store wanted to send me coupons via email and notify me of upcoming sales events.
          "No thank you," I said. 
          I was in the parking lot when I thought about the email question. What if the next time someone asked me for my email address I told them that I didn't have email. I made myself laugh. I'd love to see the look on their face when I told them that. 
             

Palm Springs

          I was in Palm Springs a couple of weeks ago. I like Palm Springs in an 'I wish it were different' kind of way. The mountains are nice and some of the architecture is to my taste. But there was something about the grass lawns and golf courses that bothered me. I noticed that the citizens of Palm Springs wasted a lot of water. And for reasons unknown, nobody was saying anything about it. I get it, you need a swimming pool. I'm with you there. It's hotter than Hideous and you need to cool off. But what's with the tropicals? The plant selection was abhorrent. Everywhere I went there was a sprinkler watering a lawn, or plants that were plucked from a rain forest and didn't belong in the desert. The waste was incredible. I saw a sprinkler watering a barren dirt field for reasons unknown. To keep the dust levels down I suppose. The Palm Springs mindset was troubling to me. 
          Beyond that, I had a good time. I especially enjoyed watching old conservative men cross the street. I noticed they tend to dress the same, white socks, white tennis shoes, short pants, with their shirts tucked in. To top off their ensembles they'd wear a funny looking belt. Not all the dinosaurs are in Cabazon.

Dodger Dugout Seats

          A friend of mine invited me to a Dodger game. She had dugout seats. I'd never sat in the dugout seats before, so I was excited. My friend hadn't either, and between the two us there was a bit of a learning curve.
          We walked into the stadium and the first thing on our mind was beer. I stood in line and waited. But the line wasn't moving so we decided to skip the beer and find our seats. We contemplated buying beer a couple more times as we walked. We were mixed up and lost so we asked an usher for directions. 
          "See that glass door? Open that door and walk down the stairs and you'll see another door, open that door, walk past the buffet and you'll see yet another glass door, go out that door, up the stairs to the dugout seats."
          "Got it!" He'd lost me at "see that door."
          We found our seats and the minute we sat down a waiter approached us to take our order. We ordered two beers, peanuts and nachos. That was before we figured out that the buffet was free, and it was all you can eat. It was a hoity-toity buffet, if that's even possible. Boy, did we feel stupid.
          "Everything is free?"
          "Everything but the beer!"
          "So this is how the privileged live."
          To our credit, we ate a total of three Dodger dogs and a bratwurst sausage. I skipped the Dijon mustard for the sausage. Oh yeah, I also had a bag of Cracker Jacks. The prize was a stick-on tattoo.