Sunsets

           
            I made a deal with myself to make more of an effort to watch the day's sunset. I've missed a lot for sitting indoors, and it occurred to me that I'd become indifferent to something special.
            I drove to a nearby hill top that has the best view in town, with the San Gabriel mountains on one side and downtown on the other. I got there a little early and I was standing around waiting for the sun to set. There was a lot of trash on the ground. The hill top is a popular party spot with the kids. I can hear them sometimes at night yelling and laughing. The sight of the trash made me angry. How sad, that people don't know enough to clean up after themselves. I was stewing in it when I realized that if I showed up every day to see the sunset and picked up ten pieces of trash it would eventually be gone. And if I brought two or three friends and they picked up ten pieces it would be gone quicker. I felt better having figured out a solution to the problem.
            I grew impatient standing there. I didn't want to wait for the sunset anymore, so I got in my car and drove off. I knew it was going to be a sunset for the record books, but the ten or fifteen minute wait seemed daunting to me. I had driven a short distance away when I asked myself, what's more important, me getting ready to go out and play music, or the sunset? I turned my car around and drove back to watch the sunset. 
            After all, our lives depend on it. 

Sharing The Path

           
            I was at the top of the steps looking down at the dirt path to my cabin. I saw my neighbor walking up the path with her head down. She has a vegetable garden down below. I  felt a strange and sudden urge overcome me and when she looked up, without much of a thought, I made like a scary monster. I raised my arms over my head and said rawwwwrrrr, with a scrunched face. I happened to be carrying a pair of needle nose pliers in one hand, and a sheet of white typing paper in the other. I scared the living crap out of her. I must have looked like a Yeti.
            I didn't anticipate scaring her so badly. I felt bad about it. I apologized. She was somewhat understanding and was half heartily laughing. I quickly changed the subject to coyotes.
            "Did you hear the coyotes last night?"
            "Yes, I did."
            "They're so cool. I love them."
            "Me too," she said.
            "Some people don't like them."
            The conversation wasn't helping. The situation remained awkward. 
            If I could offer up a piece of advice: scaring your neighbor with a pair of needle nose pliers and a sheet of white typing paper is not recommended. 

Tree Ivy

            
            I got the skin itch on my shoulder. It looks like hives or poison ivy. I'm calling it "herpes on my shoulder." I'm trying to cure it naturally. Baking soda works pretty good. Lemon isn't bad either. I've noticed it's calmed down some, but it's persistent.
            A couple of tree trimmers were doing a job next door. I asked them if they'd do me a favor and cut a branch from a tree that I'd become accustomed to conking my head on. They obliged. I was breaking down the branches and leaves with my shirt off, and the leaves from the tree must have gotten tree revenge on me. Or who knows where it came from. I don't recommend it though.
            Let's see, what else is going on? I was waiting for a fish burrito when I noticed a car parked at the curb that looked like a running shoe. I was thinking that whoever designed that car was moonlighting as a shoe designer. The owner of the car was a blonde lady that was sitting next to me. I thought about initiating conversation with her. I was going to lean in and say, "Do you know your car looks just like a tennis shoe," but I caught myself.                             
            Because you know, sometimes I say things, like, "herpes on my shoulder."

Two Chickens Or An Egg?

            
            I checked the time. It was four-forty eight a.m. I lay in bed looking at the sky. The air was thick and heavy. I could see a small band of clouds floating in the distance. I thought about the chicken and the egg conundrum and I was feeling confident I could solve it. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? The chicken. Wait, there's another problem here, how did the male and female chicken come about. Time created two distinct chickens not just the chicken and the egg. There are other factors involved here. The question should be what came first, the male chicken, the female chicken, or the egg. The female chicken could have come with an egg within her, but you'd still need a male chicken to fertilize it. Unless, of course, the egg came pre-fertilized, which would solve the conundrum providing the hatchling was male. Hmmm. I was digging a hole for myself.
            I looked out the window and saw a silver flashing skyrocket exploding in the air. It looked like a long stream of glitter as it flew. Someone was awake just like me and lighting fireworks at five in the morning and I was fortunate enough to see it. I was overcome by joy. The person who had lit the skyrocket was living and that made me happy. 
            I went back to thinking. How did it happen that both male and female came into existence? How long did that take? Billions of years? I looked out the window. There was another silvery-glittering skyrocket flying through the air. It made a sizzling, crackling sound as it traveled. Whatever the answer, life was great.     

Guacamole

            
            I think we should rename guacamole. Nobody can say it. Even my Mexican-American friends have trouble with it. I know I hesitate before saying it. I'll ask myself, should I pronounce it correctly, or butcher it like most people? Gwakamolie. I'm looking for suggestions. Mexican dipping sauce? Nah.
            I get embarrassed when I hear it on television, or when I hear someone say it in public. They don't even try to say it right. It makes them sound unsophisticated when they butcher it. So, I'm proposing that we change the name, or at least the spelling. "Rock-a-molay," which is closer to how it's suppose to be said. Or, even better, "walk-a-molay," which is pretty close to saying it correctly. Here's one more, hold it ... "wok-a-molay." 

Masochistic

            
            I saw American Pharoah last Saturday at Santa Anita Race Track with my sister. He made an appearance between the seventh and eighth races. I don't usually fall in love with horses, but I'm a big fan of the Pharoah.
            The first thing we did was bet on a race. I used the same technique I used the last time I was there, which was to look at the horses in the paddock and go with my gut. I lost two straight races and I was kicking myself over it. My gut was right, but my mind was off. The horses that won were horses I considered, but I changed my mind at the last second and bet on two long shots instead. Fool.
            The seventh race came up. I looked at the racing form. The first horse that jumped out at me was Masochistic. I turned to my sister, "look, Masochistic."
            "Oh, I'm betting on that one," she said, "for sure betting on him."
            "Me too."
            If ever there was a horse I should bet on it was Masochistic. I thought about my blog and began to write the story in my head. This was going to be great!
            "Let's get another beer," my sister said.
             While at the bar we meet a drunk guy named Rick. Rick had just won a race and he was anxious to share his knowledge with us. His knowledge didn't include Masochistic. We weren't going to listen to Rick. He was drunk after all. 
             But by the time we got to the paddock to look the horses over we'd forgotten all about Masochistic. The six horse, Wild Dude caught my attention. I bet on him to place. My sister bet on another horse. She said the horse looked her in the eye, and she had a good feeling about him. The beers had gone to our heads some. They were craft beers and real strong.
            They ran the race and the five horse came in by three lengths. He looked good, a strong finisher. Wild Dude came in third. The bum.
            "Who won?" My sister asked
            I checked the tote board, "Masochistic."
            Fools!
         
         

Wood

            
          I'm always on the hunt for free wood. I found some, but technically it belonged to someone else. I discovered it months before so I knew it's owners weren't treating it well, and that it was being neglected. Honestly, the wood looked bored. It was only right to rescue it before someone did the unthinkable and chopped it up for firewood. 

          There were two pieces, they were both twelve footers. They were stiff and awkward to carry. I swung them around and lifted them over the passenger seat of my convertible and slid them lengthwise as far as they'd go. They stuck out from the back of my car pretty far, but no matter, I drove them home anyway.

          I cleaned them up before adding them to the unfinished deck that I'd been working on. They still look bored as they lay there, but I was happy, and the deck was happy. Everybody was happy.