Low on Fuel...

Music was the fuel we ran on. The dreams of future past.

Each flip of an album showing us where we’d been, where we were, and where we were going.

Much more than just music, the messages clicked, brought instant recognition to things we understood in a more visceral way, that had now been given voice.

The musicians, our tribe.

Unhurried hours pressed up against waist-high wood bins at The Penguin Feather Head Shop & Record Store. Colorful albums organized A through Z, punctuated by alphabet cops, letter signs held high above the crowd, trail markers.

Patchouli marinade, quadraphonic sound… stunning album art, equally anticipated.

Looking for answers, looking for ourselves.

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Fast forward too many years to name comfortably.

Vinyl and CD’s, little more than dust magnets.

Shouting out instructions to Siri or Alexa, play this, play that. Frustrated by her lack of depth. No memory of a time when artists reached out to us with songs we had brewing inside, eager for release.

Music now more background than fore, piped down every isle. We maneuver a cart around the heavy older woman, her scooter parked next to the pinto beans, considering her options. Struggling to reach without leaving the safety of her chair, wrapped up in ancient tie dye, fading peace signs, a mane of grey hair…and blue.

Still tangled up in blue.

On the Road Again...

Throwback: July 24, 2013

Those were the daze for her. Brutal 16 hour shifts, back to back, a marathon party awash with alcohol and cash, entertaining and serving the inmates.

No eye in the hurricane. No respite.

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July 2013

Hannah has been having a hard time staying in one place for so long. Three months now, back in Venice Beach, working at the infamous Whaler Bar.

So when she booked a one way ticket to Fiji, her spirits lifted and started to soar with the anticipation of being on the road again.

She's heading off for a 25 day yoga retreat where she will pick up another certification, and then move on again. Where to? She doesn't know, and loves it to be that way.

For her, too much planning spoils the surprise.

Feet A Blur...

I'm happier than I look.

Ecstatic really.

Shellfish scented breezes dance off water, caressing skin cradled in hammock arms.

Pandora doing her best to please...

I'm coming up empty handed for something to bitch about. Not even a totally insignificant first world problem. I'm like that little black kid on PBS who boasted: “My future is so bright I need to wear shades!"

OK, maybe I'm not like that little black kid. He's young and beautiful, I generally look like I spent the last five days floating face down brackish water, but you get my point.

I'm excited. Snoopy dancing on his doghouse, feet a blur...

Why? Because I'm living in the miracle.

All of it. All of us.

The meaning of life is life itself.

That's the gift. Be present, wallow in it.

Alamo Plaza...

My Great Great Grandpa’s house in Alamo Plaza.

Samuel Maverick and my Great Great Grandma, Mary, were among the first white settlers in San Antonio, Texas.

Sam fought for Texas’ independence from Mexico, even spending time as a POW in a Mexican prison. He was a signer of the Texas Declaration of Independence, and Mayor of San Antonio 1839-1840.

An attorney, Sam was once paid a debt in cattle, but not being a cattleman, he didn’t brand them. When people spotted unbranded cattle running free, they were assumed to be “Mavericks”. That coined the term to mean “out of the box”, “Independent” or “unorthodox”.

I appreciate that spin and have always tried to do my part.

What’s for Breakfast?

 What’s for Breakfast?

(More like lunch, actually. I’ve been up since 2:30)

Sliced peaches. Drizzled & sliced avocado. A Philly Cheese Steak.

Not just any Philly Cheese Steak though, this one was Alton Brown’s contribution to the “sandwich” episode of “The Best Thing I Ever Ate” on the Food Network.

That channel has all my favorite people on it: Geoffrey Zakarian, Anne Burell, Alton Brown, Michael Symon, Guy Fieri, and many others, including my life guru and hero, Bobby Flay.

What’s in the sandwich?

Couldn’t be much easier: Fresh crusty bread to hold good quality beef, onions, salt & pepper, all diced in a pan with 3 or 4 slices of melted American cheese.

That’s it.

Simple & delicious!

(Yes, this is two meals!)

First Class, Please...

The primary advantage of flying first class is to be afforded the opportunity to sneer at the common people as they are herded back to the cheap seats like so many unwashed sheep, clutching their laughably outdated and torn baggage and grease stained paper bags of leftover MacDonald garbage that had been jammed up under the seat of a hot rental car all morning.

You lean right to avoid brushing any of the mucus dripping gaggle, gelatinous spawn bumbling down the isle in front of sweaty parents draped in XXXL Disney T shirts. Everyone splashed with purple vomit from quart sized slushies, heads lowered and eyes averted as the children see what they are missing in their obvious misfortune of having been born into a family of loser parents, aware for the first time that they will never know the clink of chilled glass and the lavender scent of warmed hand towels that are little more than a meaningless throw away up there behind the curtain.

What’s for Breakfast

What’s for Breakfast?

How about some local flounder so fresh it was swimming for cover yesterday, but didn’t make it home.

This morning it’s kicking back, getting baked. Doing the backstroke in butter & lemon juice with minced onion and Paprika.

A large dollop of garlic Aioli to serve.

All on a bed of “Royal Blend” rice (Texmati, White, Brown, Wild & Red).

As with most restaurants out there, some dishes in my kitchen disappoint.

This isn’t one of them.

Perfectly paired with a pint of homemade Strawberry/lime Kombucha.