Tag Archives: breakfast

I weep for the future.

It has been pointed out to me that I seem to hold an incorrect opinion.

I don’t agree with that, mainly because I am wrong so seldom that its not even on the radar.

So, while my critic is definitely wrong, I am forced to examine the statement. (Mainly to figure out how best to disparage the critic. I know, we’ve met.)

Here is the opinion they “claim” is wrong:

The youth of today are dumb. (My own golden bloodlines exempted, of course. I swear, its like being part of the Master Bloodlines or something.)

I feel pretty confident about this too.

Here’s why that’s bullshit:

I am in my second favorite breakfast spot and sitting in my third favorite booth.(Of COURSE there is a rating system.)

And sitting at the next table?

A pack of subversive hippies.

Young ones.

Dumb ones.

Future drains on society.


Nothing kills your appetite quicker than listening to a marauding pack of pseudo intellectuals pontificating about subjects they know NOTHING about.

Here are some observations that are not assumptions, but based on statements made by the useless pieces of shit at the next table and looking at other evidence in attendance:

  • All 4 unwwashed hippies in their carefully ratty clothes come from well monied people. (One reference about trust fund and allowance, 2 Mercedes key-chains and one visa platinum card in evidence.)
  • All four bitching about “Monsanto”, yet two of them had to be corrected that Monsanto is a corporation and not a product. (Actual quote “The government should make it illegal to put that in food. Put what in food? Monsanto.”)
  • The belief that healthcare is now free. (I actually got involved here and asked. All 4 are covered by their parents insurance.)

The complete ignorance and spoiled entitlement is staggering in its entirety.

I used to know a subversive, a real one, old school, he reads this blog and I have complete respect for him.

Back in the day, we had a LOT of conflicting views.

But he understood them. Well.

He could debate them. In fact, he insisted on doing so publicly. (His Reagan outbursts were epic.)

It is a pretty solid fact that if you cannot calmly debate your point in public, or online, without devolving into name calling, then you do not understand your subject enough to hold the opinion in the first place.

Here is why I did not simply dismiss this older subversive and his opinions back in the day.

Because he didn’t sit on his ass.

He was more than willing to verbally go toe to toe with you about his beliefs.

He wrote and performed protest songs.

And he worked his ass off.

He was never a drain on anyone’s wallet.

A work ethic is always to be respected.

And guess what, he now holds, 20+ years later, a position of immense responsibility and contributes more than most ever will to the greater good.

Which, I think, is why the next table bothers me so much.

If you are going to be an alternative free thinker, don’t expect me to pay for it, or by extension your father and for GOD’S SAKE, know what the hell you are talking about.

Not that ignorance doesn’t have its place.

Its the only way some politicians can get elected.

And if you think I am talking about a specific political party, you are showing your own ignorance.

No, this is a general rant about the lazy and the ignorant, citizens or elected officials, take your pick.

There are times where I feel like the Lorax from that epic Dr. Suess tale.

I sit in my tower and dispense the wisdom thru the shuttered window of this blog.

So listen to me as I say, making the blanket assumption that the youth are smart and given time will find their way.

Thats ignorant, in and of itself.

Youth is ignorant, no matter what age you are.

If you want to be an intellectual, do the legwork and don’t expect me to pay for this, intellectually or monetarily.

And THAT is why I am correct.

The youth of today are dumb and a significant percentage will always be ignorant.

You are now free to go about your lives.



Posted by on September 25, 2015 in Uncategorized


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The unproductive side of insomnia.

There is a certain terror that courses thru me on the occasional friday, my day off, when I wake up and realize that I do not have a blog ready.

I usually write them several days ahead of time and schedule them. It makes life that much easier.

Not today.

Today, we go old school.

For the first 6 months of this blog’s existence, I wrote it every weekday, right before heading down the hill in Manhattan Beach to the office.

500 to a 1000 words, on the fly.

And some of that stuff was brilliant.

So here we are today.

I got nothing.


Among the many things that bother me is the fact that I can’t sleep.

Insomnia has always been like some sort of karmic herpes for me.

It lingers, could pop up at any moment and has ruined many nights and the ensuing days for me.

What does it want?

It never says.

It just sits there, glaring at me, taunting me, belittling my lack of rem state.

Like there was a damn thing I could do about it.

I was about 7 years old when my mother stopped trying to make me go to sleep at 8pm.

The unspoken rule was, turn the lights out and at least fake being asleep by 6am and we were good.

Writing became a survival tactic to keep me from getting into bigger mischief.

Plus its fairly quiet as far as late night activities go.

Most people don’t understand how little sleep you can function on.

I went thru most of high school on an hour of sleep a night, and I usually just stayed awake on the 4th night.

I ran on adrenaline.

I have mellowed since then.

I get about 4-6 hours of sleep a night now.

And I only get up 2-3 times a night, this is pretty good.

Being single kind of amplifies it.

When I have a regular bed mate, I sleep like a stone.

Insomnia doesn’t mind screwing with me, but at least its polite to my company.

Except that I am single right now.

Not by choice, lord knows I try.

However, and I came to peace a long ago with this fact, my odd collection of mental/emotional shit is no day at the beach.

I have always been indecisive about what particular medal my ex should be awarded, but she does deserve something.

I mean, you get to read the blog, giggle at the nastiness, put it down and go about your day.

Now imagine that you live with this mind, this mouth and this attitude 24/7.

M. Night Shyamalan would write the horror movie version of this little plot line.

And you would think that, being up most nights, I would write the damn blog.


So here we are.

Literary rambling at its finest.

And my favorite breakfast place has so far delivered 2 different dishes that I did NOT order.

My order is not a difficult one.

1 pancake, 1 sausage, 1 scrambled egg.

Seems simple, doesn’t it?

Nope, first plate to arrive was the country skillet.

Eggs, potatos, ham, sausage, bacon, and a handfull of various chopped veggies.

I was tempted to keep it, it looked that good.

However, that would mean someone else didn’t get theirs.

The second dish came soon after.

Biscuits and gravy, hot and steamy. Looks absolutely delicious.

And its still not what I ordered.

I am now worried that, thru no fault of my own, I am in danger of angering the help to the point that someone will spit in my food.

Its a harmless paranoia, all things considered.

But the thought of an extra shot of questionable DNA in my eggs makes my stomach a little queasy.

Breakfast has finally arrived, along with the end of today’s meandering rant.

So I will eat the food and let you digest this.

Much like baby food, it will not strain your system, will fill you for an hour or so, and just might give you the shits.


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Posted by on August 21, 2015 in Uncategorized


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Calm before the asshole storm.

It’s 1955, I’m sure of it.

I am in a diner, having breakfast.

Never been here before, but the waitress poured me a cup of coffee when I sat down without my having said anything.

This is how she took my order.

“What’ll you have, sweetie?”

She is snapping her gum as she takes my order.

The fact that she is about 70 is almost an afterthought.

And then, Vince came in.

I know his name is Vince, because the hostess, my waitress and several customers all said “Vince” when he came in.

He sat at the bar with the air of a man in his place of power and confidence.

He never ordered, but he got coffee, eggs and toast.

Pretty much all he did from when he came thru the door, till he walked out about an hour later, was hit on the waitress.

Did I mention he looked to be in his 70’s?

The counter I am sitting at with Vince has a full view of the parking lot.

Vince rolled into the parking lot in a vintage Buick Roadmaster, circa 1955.

Thats the one with the steel dashboard.

Like Jay Leno said, you hit your head on that, they hose it off and sell it to someone else.

I watched the interplay between Vince and the waitress and really felt better about life.

That makes me nervous, because I rarely feel better about life. (Call me a cynic, But I am usually convinced we are all fucked and out to screw each other over as a general rule.)

There was an innocence to the symbiotic relationship.

If either one of them was under the age of 50, this would be sexual harassment.

As it is, its a relationship that existed during a particular bubble in time.

Like the attitude/perception version of a unicorn, rare and almost mythical in this day and age.

Eventually, breakfast came to an end. (They don’t offer wifi, and I had some writing to do. All of my stuff is in the cloud and, yeah, its annoying at times.)

Outside, the real world intruded.

I was about four blocks away, the light had just changed to green, when the 500lbs beast in the car ahead of me lost his shit.

The lady ahead of him must have been texting, or just not paying attention, but she did not drive off immediately when the light turned green.

So the beast laid on his horn and began actually screaming.


There was more, but it was worse.

Karma, it seems, is reminiscing about a gentler time today right along with me.

To the left and back half a car length of the beast and his battered Oldsmobuick, was a sheriff, sitting right in the beast’s blind spot.

And his window was open.

Sheriff’s deputies are known for 2 things.

The first is, they are usually huge human beings that DO NOT TAKE SHIT.

The second is, there is nothing they love more than to protect good people from bad people. (The phrasing there is very specific, by the way.)

His lights came on and I was more than happy to let him over as traffic moved forward.

They pulled into a parking lot and I rolled past.

I am truly bummed that I did not pull in to watch.

But, just in case the beast shot his mouth off and forced the sheriff to beat the living shit out of him, there shouldn’t be any witnesses.

Mainly because the beast deserved it, and I am on the sheriff’s side on this one.

Because some people just need their ass kicked sometimes.

“What’ll you have, sweetie?”

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Posted by on January 9, 2015 in Uncategorized


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Welcome to the party, Karma, you’re late.

Everyone makes such a big deal about karma, like its this serious cosmic force for justice.

If it worked even a third of the time, we would not need laws at all, and not one of the Kardashians would be living.

Sadly, karma has never pulled its own weight.

That being said, when it does show up, the results can be stunning.

And funny to those of us that relish the misfortune of others.

Guilty as charged.

I am at one of my favorite breakfast spots at the beach, a little Mexican place tucked away in a corner, they’ve been there forever.

Mexican places rock for breakfast.

Several that I have been to spike their coffee with cinnamon for that Feliz Navidad feeling, and chips and salsa while you wait is just sprinkles on the “Happy” sundae.

But enchilada sauce and melted cheese on a breakfast burrito allows you to achieve a sense of nirvana only previously reached by the greater yogi’s of history.

That paints quite a picture, doesn’t it?

Let me go further.

I like the patio. View of the ocean kind of open air, with part of the patio covered with an old wood pergola covered with vines.

Ocean breeze and awesome food, what could possibly fuck this up?

The lady at the next table.

Imagine that great aunt of yours that was your grandmother’s best friend growing up? She is big and heavy, always wore those brightly colored mumu/sun dresses with too much fake jewelry?

The makeup was troweled on by someone with a putty knife and perfume was applied by dipping her in a vat of Avon’s finest.

She came from somewhere else, so she had an accent, not something cute, something that only annoyed you more.

Now, take away any goodwill/benefit of the doubt you might have had because she was a relative, and put her at the next table over on the patio at my favorite breakfast spot.

And she is bitching about something, because what else would she be doing?

It doesn’t really matter what she is pissing and moaning about, to me, the fact that she is squawking about it is enough.

But, you are all details people, I can see that.

Here you go:

Comment 1. “I don’t know why you insist on coming to these dive places, the food is rarely good and you don’t know who they have working in kitchen.” (Are you high, lady? You are in Southern California, there are Mexicans in the kitchen.)

Comment 2. “I don’t know why Tammy was shocked when her son flunked out of school, I had that boy pegged early on. Drugs.” (Yes, whispering the word drugs doesn’t make you seem like a rotten bitch of a human being.)

Comment 3. “What HAVE they done to the coffee? Is that cinnamon? That is almost a cliche its so sad.” (Alright bitch, now you have done it. Do NOT fuck with my coffee. I will cut a bitch.)

However, before I can say or do anything, karma shows up like that flaky friend that is late 9 time out of 10. This being the 10th time.

Sparrows like to flit back and forth in the vines above, but in 15+ years of going to this place, I have never seen one shit on the ground, a table, and certainly not a person.

Until today.

With pinpoint accuracy, a sparrow shit 2x times its body weight onto her upper left breast, evenly splitting the material and flesh for a smelly ground zero that I happened to be looking right at when it happened.

Wow. It is one of those rare times that I am speechless.

Except for laughing.

The bark of laughter that exploded from my mouth scared the crap out of her.

The fist pump and harsh explosion of the word “YES!” from my mouth didn’t scare her as much as it pissed her off.

After all, the sparrow had flown off and she couldn’t bitch at it.

But we had both shit on her in different ways, but I was still there.

The evil old-lady glare I got was epic.

If she had any gypsy blood, I was in for a serious cursing.

They comped her breakfast and she stomped her chubby ass out the front door along with her reluctant companion.

And I got to eat my breakfast in peace.

And all was right with the world.

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Posted by on August 29, 2014 in Uncategorized


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