The Old Spot

We headed out to our old spot yesterday. A tiny bit of sand in Malibu that is open to the public.

We used to go there in college because it was free parking and we were starving students. Interestingly enough it’s still there.

Returning to it was a fun experience. Now our squids get to enjoy the waters like we used to.

It’s also interesting to see that other couples now call this place their own like we used to do.

Healthy Young Man

Went for a physical this morning and was told that I’m a “healthy young man” BUT:
I need to eat less meat.
I need to drink less.
I have allergies that I didn’t know anything about.
I need to sleep more.
I have borderline high cholesterol.
I have ingrown nails and need to soak my feet every now and then.
They are also checking me for:
STDs
Diabetes
Hepatitis C.
Not sure if I feel better after the visit and the results of all the tests will soon be coming in.
It used to be a lot easier back in them days. I was 20 something and invincible.


MJ

People hate Michael Jackson.

But at a time, his music was the only one that I was privy too.

The morning started like any other. The skies over East Los Angeles were overcast but the day would eventually turn hot and insufferable.  At the moment though, I felt relaxed and jaunt listening to the tunes of MJ’s Dangerous album on my hard earned Walkman.

It was at the corner of Hammel and Gage Avenue that the altercation happened.

He was a young man about my age but experienced beyond my years I think. He wore a crisp white shirt, a cleanly shaved bald head and a taught laundered pair of khaki pants one size too big.

At the intersection he stood. Confident and wearing a killer look that I interpreted as meaning business.

I took it seriously.

He hastily asked to empty my pockets. In shame and knowing that it wasn’t much I showed the the paltry allowance I had earned for bus fair. He did not care. $7.00 was enough and I gave it to him as I looked as what I considered to be a gun but was obviously his hand pointing at me under his clothes.

As items felt out of my pockets he laughed!

A pencil? A skinny wallet filled with school ids and lunch tickets?

Finally there was my Walkman. The one that had taken me months to earn. The one for which I had saved every penny, dollar and dime my parents had given me.

And now this bald headed ruffian wanted it.

I was scared and I gave it to him.

I wanted to live and I didn’t want to take the chance that there was a real gun under his shirt. People had died in my neighborhood for much less..

He looked at it and smiled and then took the CD out?

“Michael Jackson?, what kind of stupid music is that?” he said and chucked the delicate disk on the floor.

Then he ran out onto the streets.

My ego was hurt! He had stolen from me. He had laughed at my music.

He took my safety net away.

Body Image

For as long as I can care to remember I have worried about my appearance.

In younger days it was my thin legs.

In high school it was my big nose.

In college it was my lack of muscle.

In my early years of marriage is was my weight.

In my early thirties is is my receding hair line.

What I will focus in my later years is a mystery but it will be something.

It’s tough not being one of the “pretty people.”

White Belt

My father told me on many occasions that he needed to break my nose.

He felt that by doing so he’d prevent it from looking awkward should one day someone else break it.

Silvio had this concept that a man must to learn how to fight and defend himself physically from the randomness of life and that is how I came to be enrolled in my one and only karate class.

As we walked into the training center that chilly rainy evening I felt a rush of heat surge through my body and jitters making my hands shake. The first 15 minutes or so were spent on introductions and instructions on the appropriate way to wear the tunic and how to tie the white belt we’d been assigned.

Then for about 30 minutes we learned a few basic steps and repeated them over and over and over again. The entire time I felt growing hotter, slower, less capable. But he was looking on and expected sharp snaps at my elbows, fists and kicks and made sure I knew it with his cold glare.

It was only during the last few minutes of class where were paired with another child for some simple sparing. I saw the more senior boys pick other boys to practice on and it was finally a brown haired girl who picked me. It was a flawed choice.

With weak knees I stepped on the mat and in mere seconds I was pinned down for the first time. Experience, quickness, and boldness were overpowering and the inner heat I felt just kept on growing.

The instructor thanked us all and sent us on our way. I changed, folded my new uniform and stepped out of the studio to greet my father.

The first strike hit right before we hit the car. Like lighting his heavy hand hit at my ear and sent a shrill noise bouncing in my head. The second was was a hot slap to the face and the third a punch to the chin that felt colder because he wore his heavy detective ring.

I dropped my clothes on the wet floor and felt tears welling up. I didn’t understand that he was disappointed in my performance and that my lack of talent had embarrassed him in his mind.

We didn’t talk in the car. We didn’t talk for a week.

He only broke his silence many a days later when the chicken pox had subsided and I was on the mend.

I suppose I should feel lucky that my nose remains intact.

Sun Kissed

Do you remember the first time I really touched your skin babe?

It was our first date and we were resting at the beach that late California afternoon. The sun was making its way down for some much needed rest.

You were laying on your tummy looking at the waters and I picked up fistful of warm sand and scattered it on your bronzed back.

You looked at me and smiled. I promised to take it off and I proceeded to swipe the sands away with my fingers.

It was the first time I felt your smooth flawless skin. It’s feel was (is) intoxicating.

That moment changed the course of my life. Your soft bronzed skin did that.

Just thought you should know.

Dive

The light is always that much more dull as it seems to enhance the inner neon lights as time passes.

Four walls and the heavy wooden  rectangle are enough to enhance the American guitar’s dirty/soulful heavy vibrations.

Brass surrounds the rectangle. It’s turbid golden and morphs one’s image as the beer and the whiskey does to the surrounding audience.

The stage hosts 4 to 5 worn souls who have found themselves connected by the tunes of memories long pasts but that somehow seem relevant to new generations who understand them for banal reasons.

As the night’s precious minutes tick by, intoxication envelopes all and the light dulls even more. From the corner the man who continues to prove himself becomes louder and the woman whose partner’s lack of attention is apparent acts out on the dance floor.

The usuals look on:

The man who drinks for drinking’s sake chuckles.

A starving poet writes on his journal seeking approval that will never come.

Saturday’s jolly pairing orders their usual wine and beer combo.

The seconds tick on by and the night crawls to it’s eventual end. Bills are paid, feuds started or ended, couples brought together or torn apart, and decisions are made all around.

The poet inks his last few stanzas and walks on home. Only to do it again, very very soon.

Eventually, someone turns off the neon.

All I Want

You say you want
Diamonds on a ring of gold
You say you want
Your story to remain untold

But all the promises we make
From the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you

You say you’ll give me
A highway with no one on it
Treasure just to look upon it
All the riches in the night

You say you’ll give me
Eyes in a moon of blindness
A river in a time of dryness
A harbour in the tempest
But all the promises we make
From the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you

You say you want
Your love to work out right
To last with me through the night

You say you want
Diamonds on a ring of gold
Your story to remain untold
Your love not to grow cold

All the promises we break
From the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you

You…all I want is…
You…all I want is…
You…all I want is…
You…

– U2