Ye Bastards of Commerce … the Attempter-Destroyer of Happiness

I had the wonderful pleasure of attending a concert presented by Youssou N’dour on Saturday evening.  It was my birthday present!

One songs he and his band performed featured “happiness” as the vibe and I loved it.  As I’ve told others, music is wired in my brain so that it presents measurable pleasure.  And, so it was that I was inspired by Youssou’s vibe and was working out the muse on keyboards.

The interruption occurred from the telephone ringing.  Annoyed I asked, “What do you want?” and “What are you doing?” in terrible Spanish.  The resulting interaction with the solicitor was ad hominid pitiful diatribe that informed me that my Spanish was terrible, that I was a Bitch and a Motherfucker.  I’ve no problem with that.

My Spanish is terrible.  I’ve been a Bitch when I was in charge of my household with a disabled wife for several years (cooking for everyone, cleaning and holding down a full time job) and, of course, not only Mexicans but African American brothers and others have rendered the other compliment about my prowess with mothers and females.  Of course, I told him, in Spanish, that my own mother was dead (long ago deceased).

The truth is that at one point in my young life as a human, I learned the following rhyme that I lived and survived by in the neighborhood and  conditions in which I grew up:

“Sticks and stone may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”

Times have, obviously changed.  And, I guess that’s why some complain about political correctness as that’s not their world view.  And therein lies the difference.  I am old. I am old school.

So, I’d ask the solicitor to come to my house and say it to my face if he dares.  I’m quite the public person and he knows who I am and, therefore, where I live.  I’ll tell him that to his face.  I’d just hasten to remind him that where I have survived over t he past 20+ years was, once, the murder capital of the U.S.

But the ultimate insult was that I am a terrible pianist.  I didn’t have the heart, time or opportunity to tell him that (1) I am not a pianist, (2) what he was hearing in the background was the jazz organ patch on my Yamaha (not a piano) and (3), as a musician, I’m not too worried about anything except getting back to the happiness I was recording.  He angrily hung up.

But, wait.  There’s more.  I live by the Four Agreements:

  •  Speak with integrity
  • Take nothing personally
  • Make no assumption
  • Do the best you can.

Those are the keys to the mastery of love and, thereby, life.   Conqur the predators.  Avoid the creditors.

Commerce off.




I remembered:  “It you don’t like what’s on, turn it off!”   It’s the Silence of the Ringer.

Onward, in silence. Keep calling  and expending the irreplaceable time of your lives ye Bastards of Commerce.

Happiness on.