Wednesday, September 30, 2009


I watched Mackenzie Phillips on the Oprah Show last week.
My mind immediately went to the Mama’s and the Papa’s, the famous Vocal group from the mid-sixties. And when I think of them, I have to think of Mama Cass Elliot, whose warm distinctive voice was essential to the groups success. “Mama Cass” was known for her size (she was a big mama) and having been hit on the head by a copper pipe which miraculously extended her vocal range.
One of the best lines in rock is the recurring line in their song “Creeque Alley” that ends each stanza.
“No one is getting fat ‘cept for Mama Cass”
"Creeque Alley” is a song that in just a few minutes' running time manages to present an account of all the band's history up to that present time, and in pretty good detail..
It’s a hint at both Cass Elliot's weight and her relative commercial/artistic success in the pre-Mamas days.

Anyway, that’s not what this post is really about.
This post is really about the hoopla over the reunion of Mackenzie Phillips and Valerie Bertanelli, the two child stars of “One Day at a Time” on "OPRAH" last week..
It was supposed to be emotional and nostalgic, this reunion, but it seemed a bit contrived to me.
These people are stars, they are in the news, they have money to go anywhere anytime, and rack up frequent flyer miles like you wouldn’t believe.
If they have “lost” each other, its because they haven’t turned on their TV For the last 15 years and have managed to not see the tabloids at the grocery store.
Its not magic, its not amazing, its not even cathartic that these two wind up on Oprahs set.
Heartwarming, maybe, if you are into schmaltz.
Its predictable, and a sleight of hand sales pitch for Mackenzies book, God bless her heart.

No, this is what is amazing to me…

That four days ago I would talk to the mother a girlfriend I had but for a few weeks 31 years ago after seeing her last at Shavonnes funeral, and the first thing she would say to me was
“I think about you all the time, Steve”.
The story of Shavonne lies close to my secret heart; I talked to Shavonnes brother too, and was able to also share my dream with them, a dream I shared with you long ago.

I think it is noteworthy that I would look up an old acquaintance in Detroit Michigan and travel 41 years over time to be the first one to write on her newly formed Facebook wall. And that when I shared with her my post about "Stuttering Pete", that I would find that Pete is now a Disc Jockey for a local radio station, and funnier than ever.

But this is the one that takes the cake...
Three days ago I would put an inscription in a book that read
“Somewhere in this book it says “Hearts are tough, they mostly bend”
and ship that book faraway to a very dear friend that I had not seen or heard from in 33 years, only to have them read to me over the phone my inscription from their L.D. Bell Yearbook made in the spring of 1975 which ended like this:
“Just BEND a little bit, baby, but don’t break”

Man, thats some weird ass Ju-Ju there.

Monday, September 28, 2009


Do not breath the “Green Gas” that Mel and I used as an initiation rite into our Chemistry Club which also required a $1 non-refundable fee before we administered the gas which would send you to the hospital.
It will not cure your lisp.
It will kill you.

No, to cure your lisp, you will need a live Chicken, a can of Whipped Topping and a Ball Peen Hammer. Take the chicken to a Bingo Parlor and buy six cards. Let the chicken play the cards while you huff the gas in the can of Whip Topping. When your chicken wins the $500 prize( or not, it doesn’t matter, but its nice if she wins) then hit her over the head with the ball peen hammer. On the way home, stop by the store for more Whip Topping to huff while you fry that chicken up for dinner. After dinner, you may still have a lisp, but you won’t be able to feel your mouth, so whats the difference?

Thursday, September 24, 2009


I've been looking for something to post, and finally found a little inspiration...

It was the Opening Day of Deer Season, 1987. I was in the woods when I heard the Wang-Chung song "Everybody Have Fun Tonight" faintly through the trees. I followed the sound to a dilapidated three story building. It looked like George and Mary Baileys house from "Its a Wonderful Life"
The door swung open and I entered to find women everywhere in various stages of undress.
Two of them approached me and asked it I would like to "Wang-Chung tonite". I took off my blaze Orange cap and hunting vest and set down my gun. They asked that I leave my boots on.
I set about kissing the Blonde, while feeling up the other, a big busty Redhead.
This was more fun than hunting.
(Can I say that here?)
I moved my hand down from the redheads ample breast to between her legs and was surprised, no...SHOCKED to find a penis.
My mind was split into three part was how good a kisser the blonde presently was; two was how truly hot this redhead was,; and three what to do with this dick in my hand.

All I remember was thinking "Well, ol son, you do know what to do with a dick, don't you?" and that "this IS way more fun than hunting" so....what the hell?

Thank God I woke up before I got too carried away.
Thats my Wang-chung story and I never thought I would actually ever tell it.

Monday, September 14, 2009


With all the entertaining I am doing over at Facebook, I forgot to post up my usual 9/11 story here.
I try to post it every year now, 'cept maybe I even forgot to last year. Its a story that goes almost like a Star Wars prequel. I hope it reminds you of how lucky we truly are to be Americans, and how unpredictable the future really is.

Everyone has their story to tell concerning 9/11 and so do I.

In February of 1993 I had been looking for a Chef position for several months. I finally found work with a good company out of Dallas called “Culinaire’ International” . They had their fingers in a lot of pots, so to speak, including several Private Clubs and a High End Catering operation that did a lot of business with Ross Perot. The biggest part of their operation was doing foodservice for some large concerns in the Trade Area of Dallas. In addition to the Apparell Mart (Clothing), the Info Mart (Technology) and Market Hall (Housewares and Furnishings), they also did events at the Dallas Convention Center. They worked out of a huge kitchen in the World Trade Center @ Dallas.

Bear with me here...

On a “try-out” basis, I was hired to work mainly on one event coming up- the “Mary Kay” convention @ the Convention Center. It was Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner for 10,000 ladies for 3 days. We spent 2 weeks operating as a food processor, sealing foods we prepared into bags and storing them in two 18 Wheel Trailers. This was all done in and just outside the World Trade Center@ Dallas.

When it came event time, the trailers and an awful lot of equipment went to the Convention Center from the World Trade Center. Included in the Equipment were about a dozen of what we called “Boiling Oceans”. They were big water baths or “Bain Maries” as we call them in the business. I don’t know how many gallons of water they held, but they were about 12’ x3’ and 2 feet deep. We used them to heat up all the food that we had been "Seal-a-Mealing” for the last 2 weeks. The heat was generated by big propane tanks, not the backyard BBQ kind, but the one’s that look like Torpedoes.

The 3 days went smoothly, and I was impressed by the company and they seemed to like me. It took 2 days of hard work to get the Conevention Center cleaned up and everything back to the World Trade Center.
On my last day there, one of the last tasks I had was to take the leftover Propane tanks and put them in cages on the 2nd floor of the World Trade Center. On the way up I checked to make sure the valves were completely closed. Outside the cage, I again checked to make sure the valves were completely shut. And after putting them in the cages ….checked again. All 40 Propane Tanks are secure. Cage is locked.

An hour later I was on my way home. It’s a beautiful February day in 1993 and I am excited about the prospect of going to work for “Culinaire International”. At some point I turn on the radio for some tunes but what I get is a “Special Report”.
It is breaking news and what I hear is this:

““There has been an explosion at the World Trade Center. I can see smoke pouring out of the 2nd Floor window and people are being evacuated. Emergency vehicles are arriving but we have no further information. Stay tuned for further information..”“

““WHOA!““I am freakin’ out.

I says to myself:
““I know none of those tanks were open. I checked them all. I double checked them all…”
“Then what caused the explosion?” the other voice in my head asks.“

Should I go back and explain that it could not be the tanks on the second floor that I had “Secured” that had caused this explosion? Sure, I’ll tell the newsguy that and the backdrop can be the smoke pouring out of the 2nd floor window.
Like I said, I’m freakin’ out.
I frantically search the radio dial all the way home. One more report confirms the explosion being at the World Trade Center and that the smoke is coming out of windows all the way up to the 5th floor now and there appear to be only a few minor injuries. Information is still sketchy as this has just occurred within the hour.
Freakin’ out.
I'm losin' it.
Pull into my driveway, run into the house to turn on the news. I am sure that not only have my chances at”Culinaire” gone up in smoke, but I am forever to be known as the guy that blew up the WTC @ Dallas.
T.V. is on.
I can stop freakin’ out.

By coincidence some fanatic had parked a Van full of fertilizer in the garage of the World Trade Center in New York City.
It was February 26, 1993 and that event that day would come to be known as the , "First World Trade Center Bombing".
That was 13 (sic) years ago and I had no idea at the time just how common* this kind of thing might become.
I had no idea I would wake up one morning to find someone had flown a plane into each of those two towers.

That’s my story.
*This was written some years ago. Fortunately the steps that have been taken to help protect us have worked well. It has not become a common occurance on our soil , but like Kissyface commented a few years ago, some folks have really made a foul use of us perceiving it that way.

Wednesday, September 09, 2009


“Susan, I’ve got a date with a lady Friday night!”
“Really? How did you manage that?”
“Well, she said that she might be going to the show, and I told her that if she went, I‘d meet her there, but if she didn’t go, I wouldn’t go myself.”
“You think that’s a date?”
“That is not a date!”
“Sure it is”
“Steve, you have a funny idea of what a date is”
“Yes, I know. You got to understand….if I am in line at the grocery store, and the lady behind me happens to glance at me…well…that’s a date. (laughing) And if she actually makes eye-contact and smiles, man, that’s a great date.”
“You are really sick aren’t you”
“Yeah, all us men are. If a girl happens to smile at us, all we can think is “Uh-oh, she wants me”. That’s just how we think. Surely you knew that.”
(hesitating)”No, I’m afraid I didn’t”
(Cheerily) “So the thing about my date Friday night…the way I see it…and you have to listen close…
I think maybe that she thinks maybe that I think maybe it’s a date so….Its a date!”
(long pause)
“When is the last time you had a date, Steve?”
"I had a date New Years Eve”
"Really? What year Steve?"
(long pause)
"Oh, I don't know, like 1999 maybe?"

Tuesday, September 08, 2009


My previous post was a re-post from a 4 part story I told last year. I have since added two more parts to the story, with this being the Final (?) Chapter...

"‘Ol Bulletholes cannot speak for any of the characters, unreal imagined or conglomerated into his story about fightin’ Joe. He can however, speak for himself.
Bulletholes resides in Bedford, not far from the old Boys Ranch for Orphans.
He works a job as a Shipping and Receiving Clerk.
Bulletholes is a very grateful Recovering Addict with 419 days of clean time.
He spends his time spreading the message to the still suffering addict:"

Thursday, September 03, 2009


"The Continuing chronicles of Fightin' Joe" Part III

“Howdy do there!

You bet I got somethin for the head!
Come on, come stand over here, it’s the best spot on Campus. Want a hit? Yeah, its Wahokkan and it is good. See, from here you can see down the side of the building both ways and if Potter or Coach Dibble show up, we got a runnin start to the Parking Lot. They'll never know what hit 'em. Lobo is out there with all her girls. See that “72 Civic, the Purple one with the smoke comin’ out the rear window? Theres more girlie-girls packed into there right now than a Future Teachers of America Convention. Sometimes they let you party with em, but you gotta wait for the invite. Won't take long, man.
When the wind is just right, comin out of the lot, you can get high just standin here, and seein’ as how jus’ ‘bout every other car is packed with Freaks all tuned in to KZEW its like were getting’ “Smoke on the Water”… in Quadraphonic too. Pretty cool
From here we can see everything. We got a better view of the Parking Lot and the Drivers Ed course over there than Mr. Purcell up there in the tower. They put that in last year, looks like something out of a Yogi Bear vs. The Park Ranger episode. Purcell thinks from up there with his Binoculars he’ll be able to see whats goin’ on inside the vehicles while everybody’s practicing driving.
Say again? Yeah, it looks like something a Boy Scout Troop made. He climbs three flights of ladders every day to get up there.
No, you’re right, they didn’t spend much money on it and it don’t look real safe.

Uh oh, there goes Fightin Joe. Looks like he's on a mission. Looks like they are headed to Drivers Ed. He’s got Tiny Fontanadana with him too. They’re probably lookin’ for someone for Tiny to beat up while Fightin’ Joe holds ‘em. Tiny is little, but he’s a coward and that makes him dangerous, especially since he’s Joe’s only friend besides Betsye.

But don’t look now cause here comes Cross-eyed Myra in that Rabbit Jacket of hers. 88 degree's in the shade, Myra has gotta wear that jacket. Her mommas REAL French, barely even speaks English, but Myra is from Brooklyn. She likes to think she's French though.
Listen! Hear that squeaky sound?
Its that Patent Leather Ultra Miniskirt she wears. Man she’s really truckin’ ain’t she? Check it out, she’s gonna want a light for her cigarette…she’ll let it dangle until she decides to make Gentlemen out of us, and ask us if we ain't gonna light her cigarette.

Hey Myra whats happenin'?!
No, ma’am, I do not know what Joe and Tiny are up to besides no good. Lookin for who? What do they want with Buck? He did what? You don’t mean it! He and Betsye? But she’s his Half-Step Sister. Yeah, I guess that don't plug no holes. Aren’t I gonna what? Oh sure, here you go…man I need a cig too after hearin’ that shit.
Buck and Betsye! My my!
Ok, catch ya later!

Man! Buck has been makin' out his own step sister, Betsye, which just happens to be the most notoriously bad-assed’ dude in the world's girlfriend. Fightin’Joe must be wiggin’ out. Someone's gonna get hurt, I guarantee you me.
Buck better keep his ass well hid.
Whats that? Me and Cross-Eyed Myra?? No, not me…everyone thinks I am but the fact of the matter is I’m the only one thats not.
Yeah, it gets pretty intense around here for sure. Whats your name? Good to know ya, Stan-man…
They call me Bulletholes. See ya ‘round”