Here’s some great news. After three and a half years of living in Southern California sitting on my hands musically, I’ve auditioned for and won a seat in the tenor section of The Hollywood Master Chorale!

So what have we got here?

Food commodities becoming scarce

Resulting food prices spiraling upward

People going hungry (yes, even in the US)

Riots in the future?

Gas prices at four dollars a gallon with no end to increases in sight headed into the summer driving season

The Iraq war still unwinnable

Unemployment on the rise

Inflation becoming more of a threat

Are all the cards in place for unrest among the American people? Will our current government use that escalating unrest to eventually suspend the Constitution and declare martial law to quell the uprising, cancel the November election and remain in power in order to ensure a smooth transition?

Is this so far-fetched?

In honor of the upcoming 30th anniversary of the release of Roadway To The Son, and in honor of the upcoming 34th anniversary of the group’s start, I give you the newly-redesigned Heirship Archive

There he is again…ole Bullethead held captive in a Minnesota artist’s studio, being tortured by all the surrounding plastic, although he looks to be in fairly good shape. You can get a better idea of how tall he actually is.

Here’s a story about a 69-year-old man in Georgia who, twelve years ago when he was 57, was the transplant recipient of the heart of a 33-year-old man from South Carolina who had taken his own life by shooting himself in the head. The older man was so grateful that he began writing letters to the young man’s family, including his 28-year-old widow. One thing leads to another, the man buys a house in Georgia for her and her four kids, and eventually marries her, nearly 30 years his junior. Today his body was found in an outbuilding on his property, having died the same way the donor of his heart had died – a self-inflicted shotgun blast to his own throat.

Now the headline reads “Man With Suicide Victim’s Heart Kills Self”, as if somehow the seed of self-destruction was implanted in the flesh of his vital organ.

Remember the old joke about a man having gotten the heart of a (insert your favorite ethnicity here) and suddenly developing a taste for (that ethnicity’s favorite food)? Seems a little glib. There was something else that the older man had in common with the younger guy, but they dare not put that in a headline: “Man With Suicide Victim’s Wife Kills Self”. WIth all respect and sympathy to the two-time widow, that angle has as much validity as the hyper-sensationalized story of the heart that once beat in both men’s chests, as if that had anything to do with their shared decisions to end their own lives.

Man With Suicide Victims Heart Kills Self – Spotlight News Story – WKMG Orlando

I tend to gauge how fast the price of gas changes by the Arco station I pass commuting to and from work every day. Yesterday they were selling a gallon of regular for $3.60.

This morning it was going for $3.66, an increase of 2% in one day.

In recent months I’ve changed my driving habits, keeping sudden accelerations to a minimum, avoiding jackrabbit starts, but mostly reducing my speed. I generally keep it at 40 or under on surface streets, and (gasp!) limiting my freeway speed to 55 MPH (at least when I’m driving alone – if I have a passenger, it drives that person crazy).

That pretty much relegates me to the slow lane. There may be other people trying to do the same thing, but it’s rare that I come across them. You’d be surprised how many drivers use the far right lane as a pseudo fast lane, climbing up my trunk lid and shaking their head at my rear view mirror. Folks, remember that the posted 65 MPH speed limit is the MAXIMUM, not the MINIMUM. You are completely within the law to drive at a lower speed than the maximum; in fact, trucks are required to keep their speed at 55 or under (ha ha).

Driving at 55 is zen-like, in a way. It’s quieter, no worries about having to pass anything other than the occasional garbage truck headed for the landfill, no worries about getting pulled over by the CHP, the people behind you can always pass if they don’t like how fast (or, rather, how slow) you’re going. The impact on time is pretty minimal for short trips like my commute, although I think I’d kick it up to 65 for a trip to, say, Bakersfield or Encinitas.

It has made a significant difference, maybe 15-20%. I can just about make a 16-gallon tankful of gas last me for two full weeks of commuting (Monday through the following week’s Friday), assuming that I keep my weekend driving to a minimum. At $3.60, filling an empty tank costs me just under $58, or about $5 a day.

Interestingly, I saw a headline this morning that the Energy Department says that retail gas prices will peak near $3.60 a gallon in June. I’m sure they’re speaking of the national average (which is $3.32 as of today), and California always leads the nation in that category. Most experts still believe that gas will approach $4.00 before…well, what else will the prices do but rise, ultimately? I guess at $4.00 the increases will slow? My favorite phrase applies – we’ll see.

Here’s my Andy Rooney impression:

Did you ever wonder, if the gov’mint can get along without our $600,  why we had to pay it in the first place?

Also, Apple is rumored to be coming out with its next interation of the wildly successful iPhone, supposedly including a super fast data speed…just in time to hand over your rebate check for one! Support the economy! Spend that check on American goods!

Recently I watched an episode of Road Trip on our local PBS station that featured the beach town of Encinitas, about 20 minutes north of San Diego. The program spotlighted some very interesting locations, so I and a friend decided to retrace host Huell Howser’s steps last Saturday.

A two-hour drive south put us at the gate of the Quail Botanical Gardens. We had hit a little bit of traffic in the area after leaving the freeway, and we joked that they were all headed where we were going. Sure enough, a lot of the cars we were following were turning into the Gardens. Unbeknown to us, our visit coincided with the 11th annual Herb Fair, Tomatomania and Plant Sale Weekend. We wound our way up the serpentine driveway where we were met by a very chirpy lady who accepted our admission fee. The small parking lot behind her was completely full, and before she pointed us toward the overflow lots, I noted with interest that they had covered a pile of dirt in the middle of one of the parking aisles with a blue tarp, held down in the wind by some garden tools. Then I noticed the two San Diego County sheriff patrol cars parked nearby, with the deputies sort of standing around, keeping watch for errant parkers, I’d guessed. Wrong. I asked the next traffic attendant why the Sheriff Department were there, he said, ‘Oh, someone passed away over there.’ Turns out that wasn’t a pile of dirt under that tarp…well, I guess it would have turned into one had they left it there any longer.

After our little ‘OMG’ moment, we parked and walked into the back part of the Gardens. It’s set up in sort of a geographic-centric arrangement, with signs pointing out, for instance, that we were entering the South Africa area, or the Mexico area, each with flora native to that particular region. There were quite a few waterways throughout the Gardens, some nice lawn areas for picniking, a small gift and plant shop, and of course, lots of booths selling herb stuff. We were hungry after three or so hours of wandering around, but we already had a spot in mind for lunch.

We didn’t even have to get back on the freeway – we used the business highway to enter the downtown area, turned right on D Street and found our destination: Raul’s Taco Shack. It’s a little tiny place tucked in behind a flower shop, family-owned and operated for many years. Huell had sworn by the house-specialty taquitos, and he was right on the money – crispy on the outside, moist and greasy (in the good way, if you know what I mean) on the inside. We even saw Mama, featured on the show, in the kitchen in back, chopping up some beef for their tacos and burritos. Limited seating outside, but we found a table in the small dining room. When my order was ready, I went to the window and told the young lady: ‘Huell Howser sent me.’ She sort of took a beat, looked at me and said, ‘Good, great!’ She obviously had not a clue as to what I was talking about. I slanked off (slunked, slinked?) to enjoy my lunch.

Our last stop was the most fascinating – a visit to the Self Realization Fellowship’s Hermitage and Meditation Gardens, again just a few blocks farther south. The SRF was started by Paramahansa Yogananda, author of Autobiography Of A Yogi. Back in the 1920′s one of the yogi’s followers gifted him with this huge estate overlooking the Pacific Ocean, and the yogi in turn made it a place that was open to the public for meditation and education. Now it’s a conference center retreat center, monastic community (see comments) and a most beautiful garden, our second of the day. The pathways lead right out to the cliffs that plunge straight down to one of the best surfing spots in the area, lovingly referred to at Swami’s Beach. The gardens are meticulously tended to by the nuns and monks of the order, and everything is perfect – even the handrails were freshly painted, the pathways cleared of anything that didn’t belong, the koi in the ponds were fat and happy. People were wandering around, enjoying the peace and quiet, some were sitting on benches with panoramic views of the setting sun. It really did feel tranquil and meditative, like a truly holy place.

After leaving the Gardens we stopped in at the book store which was selling Sri Yogananda’s books, as well as the other things you’d expect – incense, East Indian clothing, music CDs, pictures, etc. I bought myself a copy of the Autobiography, which will be added to the to-be-read stack.

I was thinking about posting this on the first of April, intent on saying that I was so impressed with the organization that I had decided to convert, shave my head, and start dressing in a saffron robe and sandals.

Got the haircut right, anyway!