Posted: September 18, 2014 in Uncategorized

BEACH HOUSE_ocean_01


Wednesday, September 17, 2014

I am sitting on the border of Aptos and Watsonville in a beautiful rental home that rests directly over the ocean beach. It is spellbinding. I feel as if I am in a Hollywood movie where the main character lives in a beautiful home overlooking the beach, and as the plot unwinds, the hero saves the world and the beautiful leading lady falls in love with him, as the story holds the audience in its grip, and wins 17 Oscars.

My wife is cooking chicken in the kitchen right now. A home cooked meal while on vacation is significant for many reasons. One, it means completely avoiding restaurant food. Restaurant food is always disastrous to the body. We had homemade salads for lunch with no after effects at all. That never happens with restaurant food.

Two, freshly made food enhances the vacation atmosphere because preparing food makes people happy. The smells, the discussions, the nibbling and tasting, all make the experience delightful.

Three, and most importantly, it’s cheaper to eat at home.

Most people like to gorge on a vacation. I use to gorge on vacations. I would fill myself with endless beers and consume tons of food. I always gained 10 lbs. on vacation. It’s not necessary to plow through gargantuan amounts of food and booze.

The sound of the ocean waves soothes me. I assume it is part of our ancient biological makeup. Our original ancestors came from the sea, starting with the one-cell amoebas that in turn became fish, which in turn climbed out of the water and eventually walked upright. It seems we never forgot the ocean home.

I don’t like jumping in the ocean and pretending to be a fish. I don’t surf and I don’t enjoy swimming. It’s not that I can’t swim, because I can. It’s not natural for me. I don’t enjoy fishing either. I must come from a line of beasts that lived on the beach but not in the ocean. They probably ate animals like deer and monkeys, not squid, halibut, or lobster.

I also like living in a house on vacation. Hotel rooms are too small. Sure, the entrance is huge and lavish, and the exterior landscaping is a wondrous site. However, walking into a hotel room is like walking into my college dorm room. A vacation house contains most of the creature comforts of home, but there is no ocean at home, and home gets a little stuffy. If I had to live in a vacation house for 10 years, I’m sure the ocean would become bland, and the house would cave in, trapping me, suffocating my soul and making me wish to be in another vacation house without an ocean. Context is very important.

My wife just handed me a bowl of freshly popped popcorn. It’s difficult to explain how good a bowl of popcorn tastes while looking at the ocean. We make popcorn at home and it’s good there too. Maybe popcorn is a treat for everyone because corn is an essential food that allows the human species to thrive. The ocean and popcorn have a lot in common.

It took us 45-minutes to figure out how to turn on the TV. We finally succeeded. Within a few seconds, I realized that the sound and visuals of TV is gross in relation to the ocean gushing in the background. It also tells me that I am watching too much television at home. I’m going to turn it off and start writing a Russian-esque novel, with exotic characters and burlesque interludes tainted with dangerous plot lines concerning unknown criminal cells attempting to steal all the money in existence for their own pleasure.

It would be wonderful if my novel made so much money that I could buy a mansion by the ocean. I would attempt to write a sequel to my Russian novel changing the setting to Tijuana, Mexico. There’s a lot of crime in Tijuana, something about drug cartels wanting to take over the lucrative drug trade in America. American’s are gobbling up a billion tons of coke, meth, and pot because the Mexicans know how to keep the drugs flowing. In my novel, I think I’ll have a lone cop living in Aptos in a beach house realize that it’s up to him to save America from the Tijuana drug cartels.

His name is Carter Douglas, a straight, uncorrupted cop who grew up on the rugged streets of Santa Cruz. In 2004, he pulled over a drug dealer, when the dealer pulled out a semi-automatic gun and began firing at Carter Douglas. Fortunately, for Carter, his girlfriend Monica Pullman gave him a steel plate embroidered with lace. He put it in his police shirt and forgot about it. When the drug dealer ran out of bullets, Carter fired a single shot and killed the drug dealer. Later that evening, Carter pulled out the steel embroidered plate and found it riddled with bullets. The steel plate saved his life.

From that moment on, he decided to save America from the Mexican drug cartels. Carter was so successful with bringing down drug dealers throughout the Bay Area that the President of the United States promoted him to the position of FEDERAL COP, ENFORCEMENT CHIEF / DRUG CARTELS DIVISION. Carter Douglas told the President that he wanted to work alone, but the President said he would have to work with Lea P. Huntington, the foxiest, most beautiful cop in America. She was lethal, intelligent and cold. Her nickname was Cold Ice.

Carter Douglas eventually takes down all cartels, but finds out that the Vice President of the United States was in on the action. A secret distribution network thrived protected by the Vice President’s staff. Lea P. Huntington pretended she loved the Vice President, and when he offered to make her rich by having her become a partner in his drug business, she busted him. Carter shook her hand, and they became best friends forever.

The sequel would catapult me into the New York Times #1 book for 18 months straight. I would not allow my stardom to affect my Zen-Monk demeanor. I would retire into my mansion, become a Zen-Monk master and own three Jeeps. Life is good as a famous author… BONK! CONK! SLAM!

My wife just hit me on the head with the toaster and told me to get off the computer. For some reason she believes that spending a gazillion dollars for such a beautiful beach house means I should be enjoying it in full living color. Action is the bane of the thinking man!

I didn’t realize I’ve been writing for so long. The ocean is an intoxicant or more like WD40. It greases the rusty parts of the mind and body and gets them moving like a precision machine.


Thursday, September 18, 2014


That’s how long I’ve been married to the same women. That is a miracle in the modern age of the boomer. It’s been a glorious 32 years. I can’t remember past last week, but if the past week’s any indication of our life, then only Saturday, Tuesday, Thursday and part of Friday sucked. The rest of the week was joyous. Of course, one of those joyous days was Sunday when my wife went shopping for a dress for Garrett’s wedding. I watched Red Zone for 7 hours. My brain actually melted in the  5th hour, but the games were so exciting I couldn’t stop watching. By the time my wife got home, I was a blob of sluggish indolence. I sat immobile and dormant as she danced around in her new dress. I honestly couldn’t see the dress, but I told her it was beautiful and made her look gorgeous, and the most alluring part of the dress was how thin she looked. In fact, I asked her if she had lost 50 lbs. since yesterday.

I learned how to work on automatic pilot over the years. It takes a lot of practice to keep a wife calm. I’ve actually become a wife-whisperer during my 32 years of marriage. I might do a show on YouTube if I can get my wife to work with me. You would think I could wife-whisperer her to do it, but when it comes to cameras, wives and women in general are very finicky.

The ocean is beautiful by the way. It’s gray outside with specs of white tipped ocean waves and brown wooden floors. I haven’t had my coffee yet because my wife needs to look good before she makes it. Okay, I’m not that good of a wife-whisperer, but it’s only YouTube anyway.

If I lived on the beach for real, I would get an attitude of supreme confidence. I would walk around with a stiff upper back, Vans, shorts, cool shirt and Ray Bans and remain detached, not looking at anyone, not needing their attention. I learned that approach from the Dog Whisperer on TV, no talk, no touch, no eye contact. He’s where I learned how to be a wife-whisperer. Dogs have a lot in common with wives and people.

Anyway, I might start doing Yoga or at least watch a Yoga TV exercise class while I drink herbal tea. I would become a lover of dolphins and seek out others who loved dolphins, especially if they were hotties in their 40’s — not that I would start an affair. That’s absurd. My new beach image would require having many age appropriate hotties around. I would bump into them at Whole Foods and they would wave at me.

“UUU-Whoooo! Miguelito, it’s me Larissa, your fellow Yoga practitioner.”

She would bend her neck, and blink her eyes. I would smile confidentially with masculine prowess but remain at a safe distance to prevent arousal on her part. I learned a long time ago, that once a woman gets aroused there are very few avenues of escape for a man. Believe me, it’s very difficult to come home and explain to your wife that the smell of perfume on your t-shirt is from an aroused woman who breached the safe-distance perimeter. I was defenseless and it wasn’t my fault. BAP! A slap on the head follows by never-ending lectures on fidelity and the fact that married men shouldn’t put themselves in tenuous positions.

There’s not argument a man can devise. The “it wasn’t my fault” argument doesn’t fly, and “how was I to know that Larissa was going to get aroused. I learned these principles of life from experience, so when I look over at Larissa all I can do is say, “Hello Larissa. You look beautiful today. Did you lose 50 lbs. since yesterday?”… BAM! SLAM! BOINK!

My wife just hit me over the head with the napkin holder. It seems my coffee is ready, and she feels we should communicate on our anniversary – translation: talk about her dress she bought last week for my son’s wedding and ask if she’s lost 50 lbs. since yesterday.

Gotta go!


Thursday, September 18, 2014 9/18/2014 11:03:16 AM

There’s nothing like coffee at a beach house. At home, coffee revs me up. I can feel the coffee beans ravaging my nerves as I attempt to focus on emails, business documents and strategic plans. My mind goes haywire. At the beach, coffee flows through the bloodstream, making friends with all the capillaries and organs as it whisks past them. The ocean ion beams must change the chemistry of the coffee bean in some way. Now that I think about it, my theory is that the ocean air plummets through the nostrils and jumps on the back of the coffee beans as it goes through the stomach. As its making its passage through the blood veins the ocean ions reconfigure the coffee beans DNA extracting the notorious nervous gene and replacing it with a mellow gene. In essence, it’s all boils down to chemistry.

My wife cleaned the huge windows in front of the chairs that face the ocean. All of a sudden, it seemed as if a huge big screen TV set from Walmart arrived with enhanced color-vision. I stared at the ocean in a hypnotic state as I drank my coffee. My wife sat beside me and chatted. I didn’t hear what she was saying, but I nodded my head every few minutes and said, “Are you kidding me? Whoa, that’s interesting”.

I want to go into town in the next few days and buy an Aptos t-shirt. I’m not sure they have one, but if they don’t I’ll buy a Santa Cruz t-shirt. It doesn’t really matter. I like to commemorate my trips with a localized t-shirt. I re-live my trips throughout the year, saying to myself that I am not trapped in a dungeon of incessant work because I go on vacations and have t-shirts to prove it. It helps to relieve my panic attacks. I also increase my dosage of meds along with wearing my vacation s-shirts … just in case.

I can’t stop staring at the ocean. I look up and there it is. I take a few minutes to gaze into its eyes, and I freeze into an interminable contentment. I am lost forever … please do not wake me up … this could be Nirvana!


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