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"Against the Wind" is regarded as one of Bob Seeger's best songs. The lyrics are replete with the songwriter's reflections on his youth, past relationships, and music career. The metaphor of running against the wind came from Seeger's high school days, where he ran on the track team. Seeger created his eleventh album, "Against the Wind," intending to record hit songs. In other words, the artist wasn't overly concerned with aesthetics. He wanted to make a commercially viable collection of songs, leaving it up to Capitol Records which ones to release as singles. Along with his Silver Bullet Band, Seeger certainly succeeded. "Against the Wind" has been described as a bittersweet cross between country and rock music. The song holds an attraction for me as I look back on my life from the perspective of a 75-year-old. I've published eleven novels  and recorded innumerable songs. Has any of it made a positive and significant impact on the world? Perhaps in a very small sense, the answer is "yes." But the results have been far below my expectations. I'm sure we are all, in one sense or another, running against the wind. There are things we turn away from that must be confronted. There are obstacles we must overcome if we are to move forward. Seeger ends this song with a determination to keep running against the wind no matter what it takes. I offer my cover in the same spirit. # acoustic guitar # Audacity # Blue Mic # country music , # cover songs # famous bands # guitar strums # guitarist # home recording studio # musicians # pop music # recording music # recording software # relationships # rock music # Silver Bullet Band # soft rock # solo guitar # soloists # Song Meanings # songwriters

John Fogerty wrote this song, in part, for his son, Josh. Josh was three years old at the time, and John could barely wait for his son to hear him sing the song on the radio, especially the part that goes: “Doot doot doo lookin’ out my back door.” In the song’s chorus, a passing parade is mentioned. Fogerty says the lyric is inspired by a Dr. Seuss book he read as a child, “To Think I Saw It On Mulberry Street.” Some people say the lyric “Won’t you take a ride on the flying spoon” is a reference to cocaine or heroin. Fogrety vehemently denies this. He discouraged drug use by any of his band members, saying drugs interfered with their music and their jobs. Credence Clearwater Revival gained prominence in the late 1960’s. The band split up acrimoniously in 1972. John Fogerty is still performing as of this writing. Here’s my cover of this fun song. John Fogerty

Cat Stevens ( Yusuf Islam) has never publicly said what this song is about, so we are left to offer our own interpretations. When I read the lyrics, I get a picture of a farmer of indiscriminate age waking up at the crack of dawn and looking out through a window at his fields. At the very instant when the sun rises, there is barely sound. Our farmer reflects back on his youth and how it felt every day to awaken with a song in his heart and the dreams he envisioned to pursue. The last refrain floated into my head from out of nowhere: "There'll be the evening, In the end, But 'till that time arrives, You can rest your eyes, And begin again." The lyrics are beautiful and express the child-like innocence found in many of Cat Stevens' songs. I interpret this last refrain to mean: Take advantage of and be grateful for every moment you are alive. Here's my cover. #sologuitar #guitarist #recordingartists #acousticguitar #songwriters #poetryinsong #songcovers #folkmusic #popmusic #BobDylan #CyndiLauper #DonMcLean #GordonLightfoot #EvaCassidy #JeffersonAirplane #FleetwoodMac #TheBeatles

Most of the lyrics in “Danny’s Song” were inspired by a letter Kenny Loggins’ brother, Dan, wrote to him in 1968 after Dan’s son, Colin, was born. In the letter, Dan said he planned to marry the boy’s mom, Sheila, and they planned to move to Berkley, California, even though they had no money. Kenny Loggins wrote the song in 1970 and released it as a single. It went nowhere. Later that year, Kenny teamed up with Jim Messina and released the song on their first album, “Sittin’ In.” Again the song went nowhere. If nothing else, “Danny’s Song” showcased Loggins’ talent for capturing a feeling for a moment in time. It was not until Anne Murray covered the song and released it as a single in 1973 that it became a hit, reaching #1 in Canada and #7 on the charts in America. The song’s success put Loggins and Messina on the map. Here’s my cover. #Music #Songwriter #Guitarist #BobDylan #JacksonBrowne #GordonLightfoot #CyndiLauper #RichardMarx #DonMcLean #EvaCassidy #TheBeatles #JohnPrine #CatStevens #VanMorrison

Back in the days when recording artists released singles, "We Can Work It Out" made its debut in 1965. The Beatle's manager, Brian Epstein, felt that the other song on the record, "Day Tripper," was more commercial and so, should be the lead song. Typically, the lead song of a single is recorded on the top side (A side) and the other song (B side) goes beneath it. Since both songs became hits, the record turned out to be the first double "A" single ever recorded. John Lennon and Paul McCartney wrote the song with Paul writing the optimistic verses and John writing the more pessimistic chorus, in this case, the bridge. The song sprang from a disagreement Paul had with his then-girlfriend, actress Jane Asher. Jane and her mother, Margaret, had a powerful impact on Paul's life. The couple stayed together for five years from 1963 to 1968. Here's my cover.

After unceremoniously losing his job, Special Investigator Derrick Faulk is summoned by his close friend, Adrien Mattias, a developer of best-in-class nearly human Androids, for a mission that holds the future of their world in the balance. “Time is of the Essence,” as Adrien likes to say, and the clock is ticking. Romantic sparks fly, and guns blaze in “Androbiotica 2: Journey in Time,” the engaging sequel to “The Androbiotica File: Nearly Human.” Go with Derrick and his brilliant associate, Kristina Flemming, AndroBiotica’s Director of Research, for a ride into the future that will keep you guessing until the very end. AndroBiotica 2 can be read as a stand-alone novella. Take advantage of special introductory pricing at Amazon.com and major online retailers worldwide. Order Your Copy Today! #ebookbestsellers #multidimensional #future #timetravel #consciousness #heroines #technology #futuristicstories #beauty #relationships #illustratedebooks #meditation #ebookmysteries #love #ebookthrillers #mythicadventure #paralleldimensions #Goddess #Androids #adventure #plottwists

Majestic and Magical Sedona I turn left on the two-lane road leading to the town of Sedona.  The world outside transforms into something much different than the one I am accustomed to.  Towering red-rock Mountains appear unexpectedly.  The striped hills are radically different from the ordinary-looking mesas overlooking the surrounding terrain.  For the first time, the advertisements promoting this area ring true.  I get the distinct impression there is something special here.  There is suddenly hope the three thousand mile plane ride and the hotel suite awaiting my wife and I will prove to be a wise investment after all. Sedona is a spiritual spa for die-hard vacationers as well as world-weary travelers searching for a way to resurrect their lives from an assortment of disappointments and failures.  I am not here to seek advice from healers, psychic or life counselors.  I am here to discover the heart and soul of this city without the help of a tour guide. Sedona is amazingly clean.  There are no signs of litter in the streets or sidewalks, no unsightly garbage dumps to mar the town’s bright aura.  The buildings, homes and streets all look brand new.  Most of the architecture is a sort of southwest modern with earth tone colors alternating with pastels.  It seems as though a beautiful, uniquely designed church abides on every street corner.  No two homes look alike, yet no building seems out of place.  There is an underlying unity of design but not at the expense of individuality.  The single-story adobe-style homes at street level and the larger mansions in the mountains have no bars on their yawning windows.  They all look expensive, probably worth hundreds of thousand dollars each upwards into the millions.  Incredibly, you don’t see gates in front of the winding driveways.  There are no traffic lights clogging the two-lane road running throughout the town.  Instead, they have what the locals call “round-a-bouts.”  Here, the visitor finds an honor system where vehicles yield to the one reaching the four-way intersection first.  Anyone who doesn’t obey the code is sure to be a tourist. I spend most of my time here in art galleries and walking around, agape at the rock formations, multi-colored mountains, and fiery sunsets.  I feel “buzzed” every waking moment.  Even shopping, which I normally hate, feels like an acid trip.  The town itself, I think, is one huge energy vortex. Young people flock here as if drawn to the area by the magnetic power of the town’s famous energy vortexes.  Many of the transplants have fled small towns where they grew up throughout the west to taste big city life.  After living in places like Houston, Phoenix, and Santa Fe, they search for something else.  They find it in Sedona, where small city values couple with new vistas of financial and cultural opportunity.  Everyone you meet here seems to be from somewhere else.  Heaven is likely to be quite similar, come to think of it. #Sedona #energyvortex #desert #travelstories #mesa #travelsouthwest #spirituality #redrock #rockformations

“The last shall be first.” When the horses reached the quarter pole, just before turning for home, Silver Sunsets galloped contentedly, exactly where he wanted to be — in last place, thirty lengths out of the lead. Casual bettors, who picked Silver Sunsets by his number or the way he looked in the post parade, are tearing up their tickets in disgust.  In thirty seconds, they will regret this act.   They will watch, in utter amazement, as Silver Sunsets begins a furious stretch run, weaving in and out of traffic, passing horses as if they were standing still, crossing the finish line in first place. Silver Sunsets was a top-ranked thoroughbred during his two-year old and three-year old racing seasons.  I remember him now, twenty years later, because of the lessons he taught me.  Be yourself and, it is never too late to do your thing. #reallifestories #success #horseracing #thoroughbredhorses #motivation #horses

A Thoroughbred Race Horse in Full Stride I remember the day my father asked me to become a partner in the stable.  He was sitting behind his desk in the temporary office space we rented then, dressed in a camel colored sport coat and checkered cotton sport shirt.  He looked straight at me with his bright, keen eyes and proceeded to make an offer that took me back to my secret weekend excursions in high school with my best friend, Danny. We were seventeen, a year too young to pass through the gates of any gambling establishment.  That didn’t stop us.  Danny and I were tall enough to look the part.  On Saturdays, we drove to the “flats” at Monmouth Park on the Jersey shore and the “trotters” at Roosevelt Field in Long Island at night.  We would bet two dollars a race and have the time of our lives. My father, B. Morton Gittlin, was an unpredictable genius.  At sixty-one, after selling a wallpaper manufacturing and distribution business he had built from a small company into a national market leader, he began purchasing thoroughbred horses.  Completely in character, he shocked me with his offer to become a partner in a racing partnership he intended to name “Three G Stable,” assuming I agreed to become the third “G.” I never suspected my father had an interest in thoroughbred racing.  We used to play a lot of golf together on the weekends when I was growing up.  I cannot fathom how or when he found the time to sneak away to the track with my mother.  He certainly would never have gone to the racetrack during the week.  He was too disciplined and focused on building businesses into powerhouse companies to fritter away time during working hours.  I imagine he didn’t share his secret passion for the horses with me when I was a minor because it involved gambling. My own secret interest in the horses took a long break after high school.  Danny, my dear friend and co-conspirator, attended a different college than I and we grew apart.  I was eager to move on with my life and put childish interests behind me.  Thirty years flew by filled with adult activities—marriage, a family, and a career in marketing next to my father in the family business. I accepted Morton’s offer to join Three G Stable as a full partner. It wasn't a hard decision.  The stable was an entity created out of my father’s love for us as well as his love for the sport of kings.  It gave us something to keep us together and have fun with after we sold the wallpaper business. There is nothing more exciting than seeing a horse you own pounding down the stretch in the lead.  My parents and I were fortunate to experience the exhilarating feeling of victory often in the twenty years the Three G Stable was in operation.  We owned and enjoyed a number of remarkable, stakes-winning horses.  One of them reminded me of my father.  His name was “Storm Predictions.” The Excitement of Horse Racing We acquired Storm Predictions by claiming him out of a race as a two-year old.  Many of the more experienced owners and trainers at Calder Race Course laughed behind my father’s back for claiming Storm Predictions.  Although the young horse was winning races, it was common knowledge he had some problems.  The breeder couldn’t sell “Stormy” at the two-year-old-in training auctions because he had what the veterinarians called “sawdust,” or bone particles in one knee.  This is an ominous condition for most horses, indicating a tendency towards bone and joint injuries.  My father didn’t care.  He saw in Storm Predictions the rare courage and talent of a potential champion.  The other owners and trainers saw a horse with a limited future. As a three-year old, Storm Predictions won the Palm Beach Stakes on the grass at Gulfstream Park competing against the best horses on the East Coast.  Then, our gutsy gelding won the Inaugural Stakes and the Tampa Bay Derby, a race for three-year olds on the Kentucky Derby trail.  Ridden by an unheralded journeyman jockey, Storm Predictions won with a flourish of speed at the top of the stretch, upsetting the heavy favorite in the race. As a four-year old, “Stormy” won the Americana Handicap on the turf at Calder, as well as a number of “overnight” stakes and allowance races.  The gelding banked close to $400,000 in purse money during his racing career.  The horse cracked bones in his shins and suffered from joint aches and muscle pains of all sorts.  Nothing stopped him.  We just gave him long rests when necessary.  Storm Predictions always came back running hard and winning.  We gave Storm Predictions away to a caring farm owner when his racing days were over.  The gelding lived a long and useful life after his years at the track as a pleasure riding horse. My father, like Storm Predictions, was no stranger to adversity.  After clearing the inevitable hurdles of a successful business career, he endured many physical setbacks in retirement, including a hip replacement, throat cancer, and emphysema.  Nothing stopped him.  He just kept enthusiastically pursuing his interests and enjoying life to the fullest, until the effects of exposure to asbestos as a boy caught up with him at age eighty-three.  Even then, he didn’t want to give up.  On the last day of his life, lying in a hospital bed, his body whittled down to skin and bone by Mesothelioma, my father threw off his covers and announced he intended to walk to the bathroom unattended.  I still dream of my father and the horses.  We call him “Morton” now, instead of Dad, or Pop, or my husband, or my father-in-law.   We call him by name because he was such a unique individual.  Anyone who knew my father well knows what I’m talking about.  Morton has been gone five years now, and I miss him terribly.  We sold all of our horses and disbanded the stable shortly before my father’s death.  The world of thoroughbred racing, like my father, has moved on.  Hialeah Park, once a haven for fabulous Flamingos and the finest thoroughbred racing in the East during the winter, is now a relic that hosts a brief quarter horse meeting. Gulfstream Park, another south Florida track, was razed and rebuilt into an enormous shopping center and gambling parlor.  Gone are the fan friendly grounds where patrons spent the day with family members in a country fair atmosphere. I remember taking my five-year old daughter to the petting zoo and putting her on the backs of Shetland ponies for rides at the old park.  The spacious, open-air grandstands and box seats where fans used to bet, eat, drink, and watch the races all day long, are now an unfriendly complex of cramped, concrete buildings. Thankfully, I still have my memories.  I remember Morton and the horses.  I remember the chain of love known as Three G Stable that linked me together with my parents, wife, and young daughter, in those glorious, fun-filled days gone by. #horseracing #thoroughbredhorses #memories #parents #rememberingaparent #bestfriends #relationships #horses

Seagulls falling out of the sky raised a line of puffs on the barren beach as they smacked  into the sand. Darren glanced upward shielding his eyes from the blazing sun.  Nikki, lying on the pink towel next to him, rose on both elbows.  She screamed . More birds pelted the beach.  A few hundred yards to the south, it was raining seagulls .  “It’s coming this way,” he told the hazel-eyed beauty. "Head for the water .  It’s the only safe place." They raced towards the incoming tide, extending their long, lean bodies over the surf.  The couple pummeled the aqua water with furious crawl strokes, side by side.  When they were far enough from shore, Darren pulled up, treading water.  Nikki’s head broke water just as a wave rolled over her.  She came up coughing and spitting water.  Darren reached out.  She flattened her curvaceous body against his hard torso, encircling his neck with long, slender arms. Thunder rumbled.  The waves grew higher.  Darren watched in disbelief as the storm of falling seagulls engulfed the Canyon Ranch Spa and Hotel. “The ‘Millennium Predictions’ are coming true,” Nikki gasped. The seagull storm swallowed up the hotel.  The bird-cloud mushroomed towards the sleek concrete and steel skyscraper to the north.   The sky darkened.  A  squall rippled towards them from the macabre scene unfolding on the shore. Darren held her tightly.  “I’ll always love you, even if the world ends.” Nikki pushed away from him with a wild-eyed expression. “ Cut ,” the Director yelled from the filming platform six feet behind them. The computer-generated effects Darren had spent hours studying the night before dissolved on the screen of his imagination.  The newly built Canyon Ranch Hotel gleamed in the South Florida sun, perfectly safe as a dreamer waking from a nightmare in a comfortable bed. He had been lost in the moment.  He had made it all real.  Instinct and a script two revisions old had taken over. Darren smacked his head with an open hand.  “Sorry.” “You’re supposed to say, ‘I thought we could change the future,” the pot-bellied, bearded Director said.  He pulled off his black sunglasses and glared at Darren.  A gust of wind rustled his mane of graying hair.  “Let’s take it from Nikki’s last line, then we’ll break for lunch.” “Soften your expression,” Nikki told him.  “You look too serious.” One of the benefits of working with your real-life girlfriend was honest feedback. They sat at a table for two in the crowded Spa restaurant, next to a picture window overlooking the beach.  Darren munched on an undersized grain burger with sprouts and raw carrots on the side—no dressing.  Nikki played with a small bowl of whole-wheat spaghetti topped with a hint of marinara sauce —hold the parmesan cheese . Darren enjoyed the few moments of leisurely time they shared before the long night of shooting ahead of them.  Two days of bad weather had thrown production behind schedule.  The production crew had to squeeze six days of shooting into three.  The Director expected actors and crew to stay fresh and energetic, despite the hectic schedule. Nikki had piled her long red hair in a bun atop her head.  She wore no makeup, only a thin layer of moisture cream for protection.  Darren had met countless beautiful women in his acting career.  Nikki was different from all of them.  She wasn’t self-absorbed, and she wasn’t petty, as most of the women he knew tended to be.  She read voluminously between acting roles, and was a fine painter.  She could be intellectual and sophisticated or simple and playful as a happy child, depending on her mood. She had stolen his heart shortly after they met at a wedding party eight months ago.  There was only one problem.  It haunted Darren day and night. “There’s something we have to talk about, Darren darling.  It’s been on my mind for the past few weeks.” He felt an ache in his heart.  He knew the issue had to come up eventually. “Not now, Princess.” “It makes me feel like your daughter when you call me that.” “I can’t help it.  I believe you’ve come to me from some enchanted land, or sprung up whole from a ponderous book of fairy tales.” She stopped smiling. “What’s wrong?” he said. She appeared to grapple with what to say next. “Let’s agree to hold off all serious discussions until the film wraps,” he said.  “Until then, we should only try to amuse one another in the few private moments the stingy Director allows us.  Now, stop nibbling at your food.  Eat up.  You need your strength.” “You eat your grain burger. “It has no taste.” “Use your imagination,” she said. Darren took a bite.  “Mmmm.  He picked up the remaining piece of grain burger and admired it as if it were the Hope Diamond .  “Remind me to ask the chef how they make it taste like dried corn-stalk compost.” He watched her turn and gaze out the window.  The surf was up, reaching with long fingers, almost up to the concrete foundation of the hotel.  The sun had disappeared behind late afternoon clouds.  He noticed her mood remained somber. “If you insist on being serious, you might as well tell me what’s on your mind.”   He felt the ache in his chest again. She sighed deeply.  “These past eight months have been much more than I ever expected, my love.” “There’s no reason to believe the next eight months won’t be even better,” he said in his best imitation of a well-known motivational speaker. He had imagined this painful moment too many times.  “I’m concerned about the age difference,” she would say.  “What will happen when we get older?”  No matter what he said in response, her words would mark the beginning-of-the-end their relationship. “I fell in love with your humor before I fell in love with you,” she said, instead of the dreaded words he had anticipated hearing. “And you’ve been dying to confess this to me but you didn’t know how,” he improvised. “Don’t make this into another game.”   Nikki kept staring at him with a horribly solemn expression. “I’m not from this world,” she said. “I’m sorry.  I didn’t hear you correctly.  The acoustics in here are awful.” “Please try to believe what I’m about to tell you.” “It’s perfect, sweetheart.  Who offered you the role?” “I’m not trying out a character, Darren.” “Can’t we just be ourselves with the little time—“ “—I am being myself.  Listen to me.” He stared into the depths of her searching eyes.  Nikki lowered her voice.  “There are about a million travelers like me scattered in every country of your world.” Chills ran through his body.  “What are you talking about?” “I’m talking about the events depicted in ‘The Millennium Predictions.’  I’m talking about a decision you have to make.” “You’re telling me they changed the script again and didn’t tell me.  They’ve cut down my role.  That bastard who calls himself a Director doesn’t like me.  That’s it.  Isn’t it? She stared back at him, perfectly still.  “I’m not talking about the movie.” “You can’t be an alien.  I’ve kissed every inch of your body.  Every part of you is perfectly, beautifully human.” “Calm down.  We’re attracting attention.”  She placed a hand over his.  “We have the same origin.  Our ancestors seeded the galaxy with our kind millions of years ago.  It was a grand experiment to study how civilizations develop in different environments.  The project is also intended to ensure the survival of our genome.” He sat there in stunned silence. “We thought we could blend in and help your civilization grow in a more constructive direction—until recently.  We’ve determined your problems are too severe.  It’s too late for our help.  Your civilization is a failed experiment.  Our work here is finished.” “But—“ “—Hear me out, Darren.  Some of us, like me, have formed strong relationships while we’ve been here.  We’re allowed to take one person back with us.”  She held his hand tighter.  “I want you to come with me when I leave.” “Nikki, please, this isn’t funny.  You must stop it now.” “I’m not joking.  I understand how overwhelming this must be for you.  I’m asking you to be strong.” “You’re asking me to give up everything and pop off into space with you somewhere.  Why can’t you stay here with me?” “Your civilization will most likely destroy itself,” Nikki said. “How can you make a statement like that and sound so sure of yourself?” “To put it in simple terms, we can chart the future of a civilizations based on socio-economic, environmental, birth rates, art, scientific measurements and other factors.  Our predictive model comes from thousands of civilizations we have studied.” Darren strained to wrap his mind around what she was telling him. “What if you get tired of me?”  The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.  His composure was melting like a sandcastle at high tide. “Don’t be insecure,” she said. “I’m twenty years older than you.” “It never occurred to me.  The average life span of my people is two hundred years.  A twenty-five year difference in couples is quite common.” “But I’m not going to live that long.” “You will once you begin taking the bio-agents we’ve developed to stay young. You’re at the height of your powers, Darren.  I’m offering you the chance to stay that way for at least another five decades.” “It sounds too good to be true.  For all I know, you’ll put me in a cage five minutes after boarding your ship.” “Darling,” she said with a gleam in her eye, “we’re vegetarians, not meat eaters.” He smiled, despite the feeling of utter uncertainty.  “Do you think we can last a hundred and fifty years together?” “Wouldn’t you love to try,” she said, deftly lowering one eyelid. He leaned close to her.  “Do they need actors on your planet?” “Yes, my darling.  You’ll have time for at least five different careers in the dramatic arts if you get bored.” “Look at me, sitting here thinking only of myself while you’re telling me the end of the world is at hand.” “There’s nothing you can do about it.” “Can’t your people warn us in some way?” “The warning signs are everywhere.  Only a handful of people heed them.” “There has to be a solution.” “There is, darling Darren.  Come with me.” “You make it sound so simple.” It’s not that complicated, my love.  You have no children.  Your parents are gone.  And you’re an only child.” “I’ve taken a lot of chances in my life.  But this…I need time to think.” “I understand completely,” she said.  “We’ll talk again after the film wraps.   In the meantime, don’t say a word about this to anyone. It could jeopardize my safety.” “That’s the last thing I’d ever do.” She looked at him with an intensity he had never seen before.  “We can do this, darling.  I know we can if you give it a chance.  You’re the perfect man for me.” He squeezed her hand, kissed her, and walked out of the restaurant on unsteady legs. The woman known to Darren as Nikki turned to watch the sunset through the picture window.  The orange sun plunged into the ocean surrounded by a bevy of pastel pink clouds. Darren  was  perfect, she thought—bright, handsome, hardy, talented and most importantly, virile.  His sperm count ran off the charts.  She had tested it herself with a kit hidden in her dressing trailer.  It was a miracle the man hadn’t accumulated a brood of children inside or outside of marriage.  She guessed it was due to his exemplary character. He didn’t believe in having children if he wasn’t going to be there for them as a proper parent. It was ironic that Darren was destined to father thousands of children though he didn’t know it yet.  He was going to be on the star ship with her one way or another.  Preferably, Darren would decide he couldn’t live without her and leave voluntarily.  That way, she could break the news to him gradually during the journey to his new home.  He would have time to adjust to the idea of becoming an alpha breeding male for her dying race. She regretted lying about the nature of her mission and the prospect of her lover living another hundred and fifty years.  Even with the bio-agents, the strain of steady breeding would shorten Darren’s life span considerably.  But there were much worse fates in the universe than sleeping with gorgeous women like herself who possessed brilliant minds and a multitude of fascinating professional abilities. The new job came with an array of attractive benefits.  Aside from his conjugal duties, Darren’s schedule would include a healthy chunk of time in a classroom to avoid his becoming a conversational bore.  Good conversation before mating improved the conception rate dramatically. To avoid psychological problems, Darren would continue his career in the dramatic arts on her planet as she had promised, under careful supervision of course.  She might even be his “girlfriend” for a while to make the transition smoother. Yes, Darren would adjust and eventually thrive in his new role.  His qualities of optimism and flexibility almost guaranteed it. The more she thought about it, the more good ideas came to her for selling the new role to Darren. When you sat back and added it all up, she believed he was a lucky man. This was especially true, considering his slim chances of survival on the sordid, troubled world he would soon be leaving behind. #ScienceFiction #culture #relationships #socialissues #romance #conspiracy

In his prime, Jean Shepherd hypnotized audiences for hours with stories about bumper stickers, TV commercials, Green Stamps, and the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval.  Like most great discoveries, I found Jean Shepherd purely by accident.  Sunday nights presented a precarious dilemma until Jean came along.  I didn’t want to close my eyes because the next thing you knew, the sun would be pinching my cheek.  It would be Monday morning, the beginning of another week of Junior High School. My primary goal, therefore, centered upon pushing Monday morning as far into Sunday night as my sleep-deprived brain permitted.  My pre-Jean Shepherd solution to the Sunday night dilemma involved listening to Rock and Roll music on a radio underneath the covers.  One night, while switching from one Rock and Roll station to another, I found “Shep.” The experts at the time might have called it “experimental radio.”  Whatever it was, I had never heard anything like the smooth jazz overlaid by that voice, the one that put an arm around my shoulder and whispered, “c’mon pal, I got some cool places to take you to.” When I first tripped over the threshold of this new world, the silky voice in the night was talking about cigarette coupons.  It told a story about two friends who “made the same dough,” yet one of them had a new TV, and a boat, and a Ford Mustang, and a vacation home in the country—all purchased with cigarette coupons.  It soon became clear to the other sad sack that he was an idiot not to smoke “Wonkies,” the brand with the coupons, the kind his buddy smoked.  Of course the poor slob who smoked the Wonkies was dying of cancer, but it didn’t matter, because he had been smart enough to get the boat, and the car and the vacation home for free.  He had enjoyed a lifetime of smoking Wonkies, and now his family could use the boat and the other goodies after he died. The music swelled a bit louder.  Now the voice talked about life on other planets.  Did the inhabitants have better bathrooms than ours?  Did the people have jobs, or could they just go to the bank and ask the teller for as much money as they needed to feed and clothe their families, with enough left over to go to an amusement park or take a quick vacation on another planet.  Everyone had to be on the honor system, or there wouldn’t be enough money to go around.  But these were aliens, after all, not human beings, so there would probably be no problem. The voice kept talking.  It swept me away.  I lay there listening to my radio.  I felt like a five-year-old kid attending the circus for the first time with his Dad.  The world outside was crazy as hell, but I had it made in the shade, hypnotized by another one of Jean Shepherd’s stories.  Monday morning had disappeared over the horizon—miles and miles down the road. 1950’s Radio. Image Source: http://www.radiomuseum.org #Shep #nostalgia #childhoodmemories #JeanSheperd #socialissues #highschoolmemories #socialsatire

I arrived at Chicago O’Hare International Airport feeling relaxed and in good spirits after a weekend seminar held in the small town of Elburn, Illinois. In light, mid-morning traffic, I had negotiated the trip from Elburn to O’Hare without making one wrong turn, thanks to my able navigator, Siri. I strode across the Avis parking lot reflecting on what I had learned at the Human Sun Institute seminar.  I looked forward to a few hours of reading, novel editing, and eating a leisurely lunch before my plane took off. All I had to do was walk up to the ticket counter to collect my boarding pass. When purchasing my airline tickets online, I could not resist the option of upgrading my return flight to first class for only $149.00. In addition to the enjoyable routine I planned before boarding, I had the comfort and luxury of a non-stop, first class flight back to Fort Lauderdale to contemplate as well. Upon entering the American Airlines terminal, I noticed immediately how tired the ticket counter attendant looked. I figured she had begun her workday at some obscene, early morning hour. I was determined to treat her nicely. I made a few cheerful comments, gave her my flight information, and presented my ID. Her fingers flew across the keyboard. I stood there smiling, radiating all sorts of peace and joy. The attendant looked up from her keyboard and said calmly, “I’m sorry, Mr. Gittlin, your flight has been cancelled.” NBA sportscaster Jeff Van Gundy uses a phrase that I love. He did not coin the phrase, but Jeff has a unique way of saying it that never fails to amuse me. Standing at the American Airlines ticket counter, I suddenly became Jeff Van Gundy reacting to the bad foul call of a referee. “Are you kidding me,” I said to the attendant. With my reservation, I had given my email address and cell phone number to the American Airlines computer. The computer, in response, did not email, text, or call me about the flight cancellation. Instead, it booked me on a non-stop coach flight back to Fort Lauderdale scheduled for takeoff seven hours later. When I asked the ticket attendant for a refund on the first class part of my ticket, she informed me there was no refund since I had upgraded the return flight from an economy fare on the first half of my trip. “But I bought trip insurance,” I said. “We have nothing to do with that,” she replied. “You’ll have to go to the web site of the trip insurance provider to see if they will give you a refund.” Thanks mainly to the peace circulating in my body from the weekend seminar I did not hate the ticket attendant. I did not scream or berate the poor woman. She was only doing her job. She had no control over how badly her job was screwing me. After a minute of researching alternative flights, we settled on a flight to Fort Lauderdale with a stop in Dallas. I would arrive in Fort Lauderdale two hours earlier but three hours later than the cancelled flight. Whoopee! The attendant upgraded the flight from Dallas to first class, although the airline was not required technically to do so. I felt relieved until I learned the flight to Dallas was boarding in ten minutes. I had all of ten minutes to go through TSA and find my gate in another terminal. While going through the TSA ordeal, I began to wonder about the cosmic significance of this abrupt change in flight plans. Surely, I was meant to deliver or receive some important message from a fellow passenger. Encouraged by this thought, I went to pick up my carry-on bag. A TSA officer grabbed it and informed me he had to search it. This had never happened to me in forty years of infrequent flying. I feared the search had something to do with the raft of prescription drugs I was carrying. It turned out to be a problem with my shaving cream and hair gel. I have never been busted before for these items in my carry-on, but whatever, at least I wasn’t going to jail. With bags re-packed, I set out in search of terminal “C.” Following the signs, I found the Sky Lift to the terminal. I noticed the steps on the escalator were frozen. The elevator wasn’t working too well either. I’m not making this up, people. All of this stuff happened. It all had to be part of a grand plan for my betterment and the betterment of Mankind. I believed in this deeply. I struggled up the frozen escalator steps lugging my laptop and carry-on bag. The woman in front of me was breathing so hard I thought she was having a heart attack. Somehow, we both made it to the top without passing out. After boarding the flight to Dallas, I settled into the very last seat in the bowels of the coach cabin. The guy next to me looked just like a Waking Down in Mutuality mentor I had met in February at a seminar in Atlanta. I made this comment to him. He politely confirmed he was not the person I had in mind. I used the opening to talk about doppelgängers and the seminar I had just attended. My fellow passenger showed zero interest, again politely, plugged his iPhone earplugs in, and settled back to listen to music for the rest of the trip. Okay, so nothing momentous happened on the first leg of the trip. The cosmic implications of these highly unusual events would surely kick in on the second leg of the journey. While waiting at the gate for the flight to Fort Lauderdale, I noticed someone who looked like Lexi Thompson . Lexi is 18 years old and one of the best women golfers in the world. She lives in Florida. The woman sitting nearby looked exactly like her mother. I had seen a close up of Lexi’s mother and father on TV. Then, a slim man in his early thirties sat next to the mother. I recognized him as Lexi’s older brother Nicholas, a PGA professional golfer. This confirmed the presence of the famous Thompson clan. I had to figure out what having Lexi Thompson and family on my flight meant—in the cosmic sense, of course. Okay, I thought, they’ll be travelling in first class like me. I’ll more than likely be sitting next to one of them.  I will have an auspicious conversation with one of them. Instead of the famous Thompsons, I sat next to a rotund Wal-Mart salesperson from Arkansas. She showed little interest in conversing with me, preferring instead to commune with her iPad and iPhone on the journey home. Desperate for answers, I asked the steward if American cancelled flights regularly. I had not flown American in ages. This was the first time I had ever had a flight cancelled. The steward informed me that flights can be cancelled if there is not enough freight in the cargo hold to make the flight profitable. He defined freight as bodies in caskets, mail, or any commercial product paid for by a vendor. He explained that American had lost its contract with the US Mail. This had put a large dent in American’s freight profit center. The steward then revealed this startling fact: The amount of commercial freight on board a commercial jetliner determines the profitability of a flight. Passengers do not determine profitability. We exist to absorb the cost of overhead including fuel and payroll. I thanked the steward for the wisdom he had generously imparted. I proceeded to contemplate the Parable of the Airline Freight for several minutes. In a flash of enlightenment, the purpose of my American Airlines Odyssey struck me. OMG!!! The events of the trip suddenly made perfect sense. I understood the hidden meaning: I am not as important as I think I am. #stories #consciousness #flying #humor #wisdom #airlines #Joy #culture #spirituality #reflections #selfimprovement #philosopy #awakening