Month: February, 2017


Louis Farrakhan came for dinner this week.


He asked for a different server, specifically a black server, when a white server greeted him at the table.


He demanded that his party of 14 all be split on individual checks.


And he tipped an astoundingly meager ten dollars on his own personal bill of $165.


The next day, Daddy Warbucks from the travelling production of Annie also came to the restaurant.


He asked and demanded for nothing.


He tipped everyone’s mood with wit and humor.


And he might have even stolen my heart by calling me his (broadway) baby, maybe.


Which just goes to show that in the hard knock times of life, you really aren’t fully dressed without a smile, and that the sun really does come out tomorrow.




I have not played this Richard Marx tune since I was in sixth grade.


So it surprised me this Valentine’s Day when four different couples requested it throughout the night.


And as my week began to unravel, I was grateful for this gentle reminder of an unwavering and steadfast faith.




In the attempt to bulk up to 200 pounds, a major consequence has been the loss of prettiness.


I’m no longer cut or “shredded”.


And at 20% body fat, I look in-shape, but ordinary.


With 15 more pounds to go, I step on the scale this week to do my monthly total body composition analysis.


On the inside, I’m right on track.


The growing process is usually an ugly and uncomfortable one for any situation.


So even if it’s not reflected on the outside, it’s nice to know that changes are happening for the better, in many unseen magical and mysterious ways.



As I was playing the classic John Lennon song, a server whom I found particularly irritating told me that she had always wanted this music played at her funeral.


So I spent the next week carefully planning medleys that would just happen to lead up into Imagine the moment she walked into the room.


At first, she was thrilled.


Then after a while, she caught on to the fact that I was actively wishing her dead and has since refused to talk to me.


Which didn’t bother me at all.


Until a manager asked me if I could give him another copy of my audition CD.


He explained that a few years ago, he had given my music to his mother in hospice and she had listened to it every day until her passing.


Imagine was one of the tracks on the CD and every time he heard it, he thought of his mother.


I imagine I could try a little harder on making my actions contribute more towards the brotherhood of man.