The SoCal Byte

There’s nothing more pathetic than a man born on third base who thinks he hit a triple. He’s generally dimwitted, yet if he’s enough of a schmoozer he’ll get others to believe his fantasy. I’ve always been a fan of a reality-based world. In that regard, in the past I never wore a team’s colors, unless I was actually on the team. As for baseball, I wasn’t a player. I never hit a triple. I was a fan experiencing the ups and downs of my chosen team dressed like me, Nathan — not dressed like a player or coach, or, heaven forbid, a mascot.

Breathing out eliminates toxins and releases what no longer serves you. It pushes your head back into the game. And it’s a kind of protest, a way of stiffing the status quo.

There are times you don’t need to eat. For example: at business meetings and waiting for your execution.

You may say the AMA’s deletion of breast milk from my diet, is responsible for my addiction to coffee. It’s one of the few happy things doctors introduced to me. Coffee saved my life.

At a press conference in Hamburg, Germany on September 16, 2001, my favorite German avant-garde composer Karlheinz Stockhausen, when asked about the events of September 11th said, “Well, what happened there is, of course — now all of you must adjust your brains — the biggest work of art there has ever been.”

The machines we’re driving today are running exponentially faster than our understanding of them.

I believe in an accidental god —one who appears by chance, makes heaven and earth, and all that is, seen and unseen, and then says, “Oops, what I have I done?” I believe in chance, the only son of accidents, eternally begotten of happenstance, contained in everything, of one being with randomness. A well-laid plan is all well and good, but serendipity, more often than not, determines the score. For our advancement (or salvation) we provide intent. It’s the only way to prepare ourselves for the random occurrences that dominate our lives. You didn’t expect that to happen — did you?

Almost nine years after medical marijuana supporters asked the US government to reclassify cannabis — nine years to take into account the expanding volume of research that clearly demonstrates marijuana’s effectiveness in treating diseases like glaucoma, multiple sclerosis, neuropathic pain and muscle spasticity — our Drug Enforcement Administration concluded that cannabis has "no currently accepted medical use in treatment in the United States." Is this not delusional?

Tears and fond memories aside, the three of them walked down the home’s brick path entry to the driveway where, sure ‘nuf, there on the garage door was graffiti — or more specifically, a spray painted penis… pointing in their direction.

Oh, heavenly father, mother, sister, brother, all powerful, all knowing, 24/7/364 force of energy and nature who rises above and sees infinitely, hear me, oh lord, hear me. This mortal body is not enough. This mind is not enough. This moment is not enough. I want more. I want to live forever. And it is you who can make that possible. Through your divine love and extra special powers, only you can seal the deal that brokers life for eternity. May I have some, please?