TADSPACE

I was going to, in this post, put the final version of Dixie Highway and have the title actually link to the mp3 so you could listen to how bluesy and funky it turned out to be. But, I fear my friend may have discontinued the website. When I go there I cannot get the link to work. And I have a little something in my eye that hurts and scratches and so far I cannot get it out. I am thinking the two things are not related. I am also aware that voodoo exists in the world, so I don't make any sweeping claims or disclaimers.

So now what? I am allotted one good and one fair idea per day and my good one just withered on the vine. I used to have a lot more good ideas, when I was younger, although I suppose when you're younger good ideas and good enough ideas all look about the same to you. You are moving through life at a faster, and far less deliberate clip, so your subtlties and distinctions all get kind of blurry edged at that pace. Still, as I recall it anyway, not having the subtlties and distinctions did make for a less complicated life. Food, fun and smooching would pretty much do it for you and if you could manage all three it made for a memorable weekend.

At that age I was cruising in Southern California and the fact that I was not from there and was different made me miss the main point. And the main point was that what it meant to be in SoCal was that everybody was from somewhere else and everybody was different. We all had the same basic quality and that was: we were different. We all, all meaning all of that were just visiting planet San Diego for a few years, met in the warm, and mostly off center sunshine, had bonfires on the beach, wondered how Mad Dog 20/20 could only be a buck and a half and pack such a wallop, and filled our lives right up to the lip of our cup with the big 3: fun, food and smooching.

Until I moved to California I had never been out of the country, dated a girl in a band, been arrested, run away from from a girl with smooching on her mind, seen Hollyweird on a Friday night, seen anything like Ocean Beach on a Saturday night, watched a homeless man kick a Marine's butt on a sidewalk, stayed in a YMCA, suddenly realized I was in a gay hangout, knock the Lost (Plymouth) Horizon out of gear while smooching in a beach parking lot and have me/car/girl all roll into the bay, taken a trip on a train, or written songs like I was starting to write.

California was the best place I have never wanted to live in again. It was vibrant, it was demanding, it kept me broke, it was dangerous, it was sunny and hopeful, and it inspired me on so many levels. Much later, in Japan, I felt the same about one facet of the experience, and that was this: This is not my home. I will eventually move on. But while I am here I may as well roll up my sleeves and jump into it and suck up all the living that I can manage while I am here. Really, it's all about the stories to tell.

What does all this mean to you? Absitivley nothing. My fingers kinda took over there for a minute. So let me tell you this and we can get on with our day. I did see the first San Diego Trolley roll down the track on it way from downtown to the Mexican border at San Ysidro.

Psssst, dude. Wanna buy some ....., out
Ramblin' Ed