Bees

'round about 4th or 5th grade we all dressed like hippies. those kind of clothes were just about all that you could buy and our moms pretty much wanted us to dress in such a fashion anyway (fashion being the key word here). god forbid we didn't look like everybody else if someone else's mom was looking out a window as we made our way to school.

one day, at recess the best dressed and grooviest guy in the whole school saw a bunch of bees hanging around the monkey bars. i'll never forget how groovy he looked, in his bell bottoms and love beads as he did a bee killing dance. he stomped as many as he could screaming, "BEES! ARRRGGGHHH! BEES!", as i tried to tell him that if he left them alone they wouldn't hurt him. he was a huge hero that day and i was an asshole. he saved the playground from a huge bee attack while i sat there like a lump and did nothing. the truth wasn't importent in the slightest. the cool guy was forever the cool guy. the fact that i had read about bees and was only stung once, when i wasn't looking and stepped on one in my bare feet about a year before that didn't matter. he was cool and i sucked.

years later, as i waited for the light to change at a corner on wilshire blvd. i saw him again. he was sitting in a very shiny car that he didn't need, drinking a starbucks with one hand and holding a cell phone in the other as "all you need is love" pumped out of the car's speakers.

he was still, and forever the grooviest guy you could ever want to see.

i bet he gets laid every night, tossing chicks aside as if they were burnt matches while i live a humble life on line trying to help others. and, if we met face to face i doubt he would have even the slightest trouble telling me what a loser i am. crushing my hopes, dreams, and ideas like so many bees. or the needy. or the homeless.

i'll leave the point of this story up to you.

i'm just not groovy enough to explain it...