I haven’t done one of these in a while; answering questions openly here.

Too much time scrolling through distractions. Time to get back to work.

Turned off social media. I’ve decided to focus on other things in 2026.

—ooOoo—

What are you reading now?

I’m currently re-reading ‘Memories, Dreams, Reflections‘ by Carl Jung, to be followed by ‘The Middle Passage: From Misery to Meaning in Midlife‘ by James Hollis.

I’m still quite focused on the areas of existential depression and the awakening paradox. I see a lot of value in going down these rabbit holes, which essentially teach there are no more rabbit holes.

—ooOoo—

What made you make those beautiful sounds that resembled harmony and pitch?

I went to a show with a friend of mine. We ended up leaving after the first set, and we walked over to a local bar for a couple of drinks. The bar is an old one with lots of character, and a loud jukebox in the corner.

The place was crowded. It’s always crowded, with lots of alcoholic types getting sloppy drunk, talking loud, sometimes getting into fights in the street. I feel comfortable in these places. I’m at home with my tribe.

Remember real jukeboxes? When you’d put in quarters, and push plastic buttons until they clicked? I can still remember the mechanical sounds, and the way it felt when my fingers would push-in those plastic buttons.

This place has a new jukebox. One of those in which you request songs through an app on your phone. No more quarters. No more plastic buttons. And now you can jump the queue for a small fee.

This is how it started, with us seated at the bar, shoulder to shoulder, sucking down drinks with our newfound friends – and a drunk woman crashing conversations wondering why her song ain’t played yet.

Queue jumpers. That’s what’s happening, but she was a bit too fucked-up to figure it out. Accordingly, seeing as this was some good lighthearted bar fun, I decided to queue jump along by picking a song of my own.

I went with ‘Longhaired Redneck” by David Allan Coe. A barroom classic. Reminds me of those days when my brother and friends and I used to end up in bar fights at places like The Olive Pit and Marty’s in Orange.

Longhaired Redneck also reminds me of Ron Crabbs. We used to go drinking at The Walnut Room in Tustin after working at the Target in Irvine. We’d sing the shit outta this song while shooting pool.

Which brings me to Stockman’s the other night, and letting myself go, letting myself be in the moment. I dunno. It’s hard to explain, but for a brief moment, I remembered how it felt to be alive without pain.

Young again, barely embarking upon life, with all of my loved ones still alive and well, excited about a future that seemed limitless, endless; well-before learning the pain that there are limits, that there is an end.

And for a few seconds the other night, while sitting at that bar, the noose of melancholy loosened up around my neck, I was able to actually sing. I felt confident, alive, full of energy – not stifled, being strangled by pain.

—ooOoo—

The stewardess?? 🥵 Mas por favor

I don’t have much more to share. This was during a sober period, so I can’t blame Jack Daniels for not remembering much detail, but I was on a trip. I went to Philadelphia to see The Dead play at the Spectrum.

I remember being sad on a late night Southwest flight to Philadelphia because Dina and I recently broke up, and I couldn’t believe there was this incredibly attractive stewardess flirting with me.

In spite of me thinking she was outta my league, I decided to wait for her after getting off the plane. The airport was kinda dark and awfully quiet because it was late and places were closed. I stood by an empty desk.

She got off the plane with the rest of the crew, saw me standing off to the side, and walked over to talk with me. I was nervous, I’m not sure what we said, but we exchanged numbers, and decided to meet the next day.

I met her at her hotel early next morning, and we spent the day together. We weren’t in the same frame of mind. I was looking for comfort given my recent break up, whereas she was looking to get laid on a stop.

Don’t get me wrong. It was a wonderful experience, definitely god working in my life, and most surely what she needed – and she got me a real Philly Cheesesteak – but I needed something less hollow.

It worked out well. We knew we only had the day, as she was flying out that night while Brett was flying in. I never tried to reach out to her after saying goodbye, and neither did she. We simply went on our way.

The End.