The Flip Phone

           
            I had a dream that a hippie man was giving me grief about my flip phone. He'd fought in Vietnam and he was looking at me as if I was un-American. He layed it on pretty thick without having to say much.
            I really do have a flip phone. I keep it for emergencies, in case my car breaks down, or for the rare occasion when I need to make a phone call. I don't like talking on the phone, and texting riles me up after a while, especially if the texts are coming in rapid fire. 
            I rarely if ever bring my phone out in public. I keep it in my pocket. From time to time I'll feel for it, and grab hold of it as a sort of security blanket. Or check the time. But that's it. I don't bring it out partly out of embarrassment and partly because when I do bring it out, people make a fuss over it. Is that a flip phone? Yep. It's like owning a Blackberry or something. It's nostalgic. 
            If you find that you're using your phone too much, and you're that person in the cafe that is talking loudly and obnoxiously to seemingly no one, and you want to change your ways, buy a flip phone. You'll never talk on the phone in public again. And all the people looking at you with disgust will be nice to you. And your life will be happy again for ever and ever. I swear to god.
            

Home Depot

            
            I was talking to Dora. She said whatever you do, don't wear an orange shirt to Home Depot. 
            Why?
            I wore an orange blouse there once and I had three people ask me for stuff one right after the other. Where's the drywall screws? Where are the light bulbs? I don't know, I don't work here. 
            I was standing in line and someone asked me if I knew where the corrugated metal was. How'm I supposed to know? People are like zombies. They just look for orange. Nothing else matters.

The Poor Man's Swimming Pool

         
           It's been warm here in Los Angeles, with temperatures in the hundreds. I soaked a t-shirt in water and put it on to beat the heat. It worked like a charm. Photos of the event are pending. 

Gun Talk

         

            I don't own a gun for obvious reasons, they're dangerous, and with my luck I'm liable to shoot myself in the foot, so I stay away. I'd prefer to own a machete anyways. I can use a machete in the garden, or to crack open a coconut or something. 

            If I owned a gun it would always be in the back of my mind. And I don't want a gun in the back of my mind. I'd rather think about other things more peaceful. The ocean breeze, a tree lined forest, a field of flowers, or a beautiful lady. 

           And I don't hunt. I've never enjoyed it. I tried shooting at a jackrabbit once. I missed. I understand some people like it, but even hunters have a season and quotas on how much they can kill. 

            Truth be told, I think people are being hoodwinked by the gun industry to believe they need guns for protection. On one hand, they're telling folks to be safe, and on the other hand they're selling guns to just about anybody who wants one. They're selling to thieves, gang-bangers, stockbrokers, extremists, drug dealers, drunkards, the deeply religious, cops, grandmothers, the mentally unfit, athletes, anybody.
            I think it's true that we're not safe, but for the opposite reason the gun industry has told us. We're unsafe because there are far too many fools with guns. We're being had. They got us coming and going. If it's protection you need, buy a machete. Or better yet, a Delta Force Combat Spike.

The Toy

           
            I don't have a smart phone. I have an iPad. And every once in a while I have to tell myself to put the toy down. I can go back and forth from one website to the next with the best of them, but at a certain point I feel myself spinning my wheels. So I put it down.
            I think it's curiosity that gets me. I turn to the box constantly for information, to learn things, to satisfy my need to know. Almost anything I need to know is in the magic box. Its become part of my life. But damn it's addicting. Thankfully, I'm not one of those people looking down with a phone in my hand while I'm walking. Those folks need help. And soon, I suppose someday there will be services to aid them, so they can manage their internet dependency.
           It's bad enough people text and drive. Which is worse than driving drunk, in my estimation. At least a drunk driver is looking where he's going. I'm not saying it's the smartest thing to do, to drive drunk, but I'd rather drive near a drunkard who's trying, than a texter who's driving with their forehead. But that's just me, and what do I know. I voted for Bernie. 

Bukowski Dream

         
            I had a dream that Charles Bukowski wrote a book in the key of B. He began the book by writing a sentence that used words in alphabetical order from A to Z. The first word started with an A, the second word started with a B, and so on. 
            Later in the dream I was in Virginia, or some place like that, eating outside at a wooden picnic table, under tall trees. There was a silver platter with wood charcoal and good size pieces of BBQ meat before me. Hobos who walked up from the highway were trying to steal my food when I wasn't looking. They were shifty people, mean spirited and hungry. I said in my dream, these people are worse than Mexicans.
             Next, I was playing music in a hillbilly punk-rock band. The bass player was standing far off on the other side of the room. There was a giant television screen behind him. When we finished playing he turned on the television and loaded up a video game to check his bass score. Eighty-six percent. I thought that was pretty good.

Moths, Lights, And Tailgating Truckers

         
           I saw a kid on a leash the other day. He was trying to spin out of it. His mother was tugging at him, trying to reign him in, but the kid wasn't having it. Keep it up kid, you're going to make it someday.
            It's come to my attention that certain porch light fixtures are killing machines. Moths are being massacred at an astounding rate. It's an atrocity that nobody speaks of, but I have a feeling the insect community is aware of it. They have lots of issues to contend with. Pesticides for one, the use of the word pest as it pertains to them is another. But they're a well organized bunch and thankfully their representatives in Congress work on the cheap.
           In other news, people who drive trucks like to tailgate. I'm not talking about tractor trailer-trucks, but three quarter ton trucks. Chevy's, Fords etc. It seems people who drive these vehicles have a sense of entitlement and are often in a hurry. I think there's a psychology associated with height and horsepower that makes them irrational. When you drive a truck other cars look small and insignificant, and somehow that translates into get out of my way, stupid.
            I tend to slow down when I see them riding me. They go nuts then. It's like I'm controlling their mind with my lack of speed. Sometimes I'll turn on my turn signal and then not turn at all. For blocks. It's almost like having a dial to their sanity. What's the rush? You got a date? I'll see them in my rear view come up on me real fast and sit on my bumper. I can feel their desperation. It's kind of sad. It's as though the system has twisted their hearts into a pretzel of stress.
            Maybe that's why old folks drive slow. There's a wisdom to it. Aaah, I'll see you at the next signal Mr. Silverado.