Friday, November 30, 2012

ONLY 3 MORE FRIDAYS UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD

Did you ever see the movie Waterworld?

There is an old man trapped in the sunken hull of the Exxon Valdez, the oil tanker that wrecked up in Alaska. He has been there many years, all bearded, floating around in a rowboat on all the oil the Valdez was carrying that didn't leak out and destroy the eco-system when it ran aground on the Prince William Sound in 1989. His job (in the movie) is to occasionally pump oil up to the deck, but he is trapped down there for life.
It’s a pitiful existence.
Then one day, someone drops a lit match down a pipe into the hold where he floats around in his rowboat, and you see a close up of the lit match dropping in slow motion past his face, and just as it passes his face he whispers to the camera “Oh Thank God” and the match hits the surface of the oil, and the ship explodes.
The movie kinda sucks, but I love that scene.



Shortly after midnight on March 24, 1989, the Exxon Valdez, a mile off-course in an attempt to avoid icebergs, ran aground on Bligh Reef in Prince William Sound, gashing its hull and releasing oil into the Pacific Ocean.



By the time the oil stopped flowing, nearly 11 million gallons had leaked out, contaminating 1,300 miles of shoreline and stretching over 470 miles from the crash site.


Do we really want to keep punching holes in the earth, extracting and transporting one of the messiest most dangerous substances on the planet and refining it into one of the most flammable substances on the planet, and that even when things go well, the by-products are poisoning the atmosphere, and according to many scientists, contributing to global warming?
Do we really want to de-regulate and open more lands for an industry that deals with such a toxic substance?
It was the end of the world for these guys, and another 500,000 animals just chillin' on the Prince William Sound that day.


Here we see a tanker being escorted through the Prince William Sound, which is standard operating procedure today.  Its a very good measure, I applaud it,  but it is an old fashioned solution for a very modern problem, is it not? And I'm no sailor, but doesnt it seem like the Tugs should be IN FRONT of the tanker? Haha.  

Like my pal over at The View From Outside My Tiny Window has expressed:
Innovation and technology, leading to building and creating 'things,' determines EVERYTHING in a civilized society. (If you don't personally know a scientist or inventor in your neighborhood advancing society's interests, or some kid who WANTS TO DO SO, you have a long term problem.)

Thursday, November 29, 2012

A LITTLE BIT OF HOPE

IOWA TEST OF BASIC SKILLS

A few days ago I was driving down the road daydreaming like I do, and I got to wondering whatever happened to the results of the Basic Skills tests I took back in the second grade. I don’t think they ever gave me the results. Probably those results are Top Secret, sealed up in a vault somewhere with men who stare at goats, the Ark of the Covenant and Carl Sagan’s spaceship.
Sagan, as you must know, was from Outer Space. Ever notice how he parted his hair? It was to hide his third eye.
Thats classified information.

I was reminded of The Iowa Test of Basic Skills again tonight, down at the Quick-Pic store, where five times in a row I turned in cards that were filled out wrong and rejected by the lottery machine.
There was a girl there, a pretty girl, and like me, she had never ever bought a lotto ticket her whole life.
So Hafiz, the cashier at the counter, gave us a quick tutorial and we went to work.

She was filling out eight cards. That’s 40 chances to match 6 numbers and win the $475,000,000 jackpot. I only had my one to fill out, with 5 sets of numbers, but like I said it kept getting rejected.
A little bit of hope is a dangerous thing.
I felt just like I did in the second grade, filling out all those little bubbles with my number two pencil, the number two pencil was totally CRUCIAL they had said, and I filled in all my cards wrong, one after another, and the lotto machine just spat them back until finally Hafiz, who barely even speaks English, kindly filled mine out for me while I wondered if he had taken the Iowa Test of Basic Skills, knowing if he had he would most definitely  done better than I, while I kept one eye on the pretty girl.

I watched over her shoulder while she filled in the little bubbles.
“If you win, I’ll just DIE” I said.
She looked up and smiled “So will my husband!”.
So I held my hand to my ear, as if I had a phone, and said “Call me, OK?” and we both laughed at the thought that her husband might die, and we become lovers, billionaire lovers at that, and we might live on the beach at Monaco, drinking champagne and eating Oysters, Duck Galantines, and Shrimp Paella .
A little bit of hope is a dangerous thing.

Then Hafiz says “OK, we got your numbers right here buddy”, and I paid my 10 bucks.
You know, somebody has to win, it happens all the time, but the odds are that the ten minutes of my life I spent at the Quick-pic are ten minutes of my life I will never get back.

****************


I found out this morning I didn't win the Four-Hundred Seventy-Five Million Dollar Jackpot, but there is always this:




JUST IN TIME FOR THE END OF THE WORLD, 12/21/2012!

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

HOPPER, ON DYLAN AND THE MAKING OF EASY RIDER



"In the end, I decided to pack the Easy Rider soundtrack with all the hits songs of the day. It was a pretty far out idea – no one had done it before. I thought it would be so cool if the movie ended with Dylan’s “It’s Alright Ma (I’m Only Bleeding)”. The problem was Dylan didn’t like Easy Rider or the song so much. He thought the track was pretentious and he had a real problem with the end of my movie – “You can’t end it like that! Peter should go back and blow those guys away.” Eventually, he said I could use it as long as I didn’t play it over the end credits – “Man, it’s depressing enough as it is.” Then he did something amazing. He got out a pen and paper and started to write – “The river flows, it flows to the sea, wherever that river flows, that’s where I want to be. Flow river, flow.” He then handed it over to me and said, “Give this to McGuinn, he’ll know what to do with it.”
FROM SABOTAGE TIMES

I can hardly believe this is the only picture I can find of Hopper and Dylan together.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

A MIGHTY POOR THANKSGIVING

It was back when I lived at the end of the road, in a burned out trailer, and had a sometime job of helping a blind man fix his supper, which he shared with me.

At Thanksgiving that poor year, he had been out of town, and when he was out of town, I had no food.
I hadn't eaten in a week.
There were some railroad tracks behind me, and in my hunger I would wonder if I could catch one of the pigeons that came and fed on the spilled grain that lay between the tracks.
Then one day, as I caught myself wondering what the neighbors cat might taste like, I knew I had to make a move.

There was a guy down the road kept chickens, and I took my beat up van, and went up and down the road until I ran over one accidentally on purpose.
It didn't kill it entirely, just cracked its back.
And then I felt bad, real bad, about what I done, so I took it, cackling and squawking, up to the man’s doorstep. He said it was no problem, that he hated those “stupid chickens”, and while explained to me that they had no sense, no sense at all, he snapped its head off.
Then he had his wife cook it up for me, complete with mashed potato, green beans, biscuits, and gravy.
Well, she was a big fat woman and she couldn’t cook for shit, and I was sick for three days.
True story.
It was a really bad year.

Whenever I think of Thanksgiving, and things to be thankful for, I always think of Arnold, the blind man who took care of me when I could not care for myself.
Hope ya'll have a nice Thanksgiving!

Monday, November 19, 2012

ANOTHER REASON I'M GLAD TO NOT BE AN ASSHOLE CHEF ANYMORE

'My roommate Angel Eyes comes in with all these bags of groceries.

“Are you going to make the dressing for us Thanksgiving?” she asks.
“Sure, I’d be glad to!”
“How about the gravy? Will you make the giblet gravy too?”She asks.
“OK. I’ll go get a turkey to cook, and make the giblet gravy.”
“You don’t have to get a turkey. T-Bird is cooking the turkey at her house” she says.
“Well, then Teresa should be making the giblet gravy” says I.
Angel Eyes looks at me all baffled.
She blinks twice--*blinkblink*-- and says:
“WHY?”
“Well” I say “Because you need the drippings to make turkey giblet gravy. And also the giblets, which come with the turkey.”
I said it with all the kindness in the world, but it still comes out with an edge.
Angel Eyes reaches into one of her grocery bags and pulls out a couple pouches of Chicken Gravy mix.
“Can you maybe” --*blinkblink*-- use this to make the turkey giblet gravy?” she asks.
I can’t help it. I reach into one of her bags and pull out a can of sweet potatoes.
“I don’t know Angel Eyes. Do you think you can use these to make green bean casserole?”
God, I feel like such a prick.
I’m so glad I’m not a chef any more.

Anyway, Thanksgiving morning comes and T-Bird brings the cooked turkey over so I can make giblet gravy. She had called two days before to find out how long to cook it.
"You got a whole turkey, yes?" I ask.
"Yes, a whole turkey" she says "Should I have gotten just a breast?"
"No, you did good. The whole turkey will have the giblets and the neckbone. They are either in the carcass, or sometimes they put them in the neck flap, in a little paper bag. Just take them out of the bag before you cook the bird."
"OK"

So T-Bird brings in the turkey on thanksgiving morning. Its a beautiful golden brown.
I drain the stock and grease off the pan.
I look in the pan. No Giblets
I look in the carcass. No Giblets.
I open up the neck flap. No giblets.
Hmm.
"Hey T-Bird, where are the giblets for this turkey?"
"Oh, I got them right here."
She reaches into her purse and pulls out a baggie with the giblets in it.
They are just as raw as a live cow, giblet juice in the bottom of the bag.
I can hardly believe it.
So in my best Pepe Le Pew voice I say
"Hoh-hoh-ho! and what ees thees my sweets? A courtship gesture? The raw giblets are so nice. so HOT. We can make the love now, yes?"



Friday, November 16, 2012

THE MOST IMPORTANT MEAL OF THE DAY

It’s a very pleasant memory for me, thinking back to the kitchen table when I was in grade school and studying the cereal box positioned just the other side of my bowl. It could be dark outside, mom could be chatting away, but my attention was always focused on the box. I studied the nutrition facts the way I study Labor department statistics these days, and I would imagine what a wonderful place Battle Creek, where all the cereal seemed to come from, must be.


And oh my the games, and the fun facts, and the fabulous prizes you could win by saving box tops!
I think that’s how I got my first ant farm, was sending in box tops.

I remember saving up for a bowling alley too, but it was a major disappointment when it came in. It wasn’t really a bowling alley at all, it was just a cheap plastic thing with a guy with a spring loaded arm that shot the ball and hit these pins and they all were connected together and every shot was a strike.
There wasn't even a ball return, like there was in the picture.
Completely bogus, man.

But yeah, breakfast was always cool, even with the sleepy eyes and pillow-face, and being tired (everyone is tired when they first wake up) and mom chirping out “Oh what a beautiful morning!” like she was Doris Day.
Breakfast was always cool, because I had all those cool breakfast pals; the Waffle Whiffer, Aunt Jemima, and my very own Malto Meal mobile.

I’m thinking back, and I suddenly realize that the first girl ever kissed was on the back of a cereal box. She had red hair in pigtails, and a straw cowgirl hat, wearing a blue checked mini-skirt and cowgirl boots, and her eyes were also blue. She was on the Wheat Chex box, one of the Checkerboard Squarecrows friends, and I thought she was hot.
I kept that box underneath my bed for a while, at least until I discovered the brassiere section of the Montgomery Wards catalog. I outgrew cereal boxes, and started lusting for the Tang Bang girl on TV and the little dance she did with two other girls and a guy, and I just wanted to get between 'em with a great big ol' hard-on like a BoisD'arc fence post you could hang a steel rail gate from.

My friend Nancy says she grew up on Captain Crunch and Dr. Peppers. Nancy made straight A's. Who knew?

These days, on weekdays before work, I sit in line at Whataburger like schmuck and get a Taquito with bacon and sausage, and contemplate that if I got it without the extra bacon I could save 120 calories.
I keep a box of Special K at home, but I couldn’t begin to tell you what is on the box.
I seriously doubt there are any games, or offers for ant farms on the back of that box.
The Tang Bang girl might be on a box of Special K, but she would be all grown up, and serious about fitness, and no longer an inspiration for juvenile lust.

God how I hate being old. I don’t really have an imaginary rabbit telling me “Tricks are for Kids”, or a Sugar Bear singing “Can’t get enough SuperSugarCrisp, keeps me going strong", or loud-mouthed Tony shouting “ITS GREAT!” anymore.

It’s a bad business, growing up.


THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!
SUNNY SIDE UP!

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

WHIRL ON SILVER WHEELS

High speed drift on a prairie road
Hot tires sing like a string being bowed
Sudden town rears up then explodes
Fragments resolve into white line code
Whirl on silver wheels

Black earth energy receptor fields
Undulate under a grey cloud shield
We outrun a river colour brick red mud
That cleaves apart hills soil rich as blood
Whirl on silver wheels

Highway squeeze in construction steam
Stop caution hard hat yellow insect machines
Silver steel towers stalk rolling land
Toward distant stacks that shout "Feed on demand"
Whirl on silver wheels

100 miles later the sky has changed
Urban anticipation -- we get 4 lanes
Red orange furnace sphere notches down
Throws up silhouette skyline in brown
Whirl on silver wheels

Sundogs flare on windshield glass
Sudden swoop skyward iron horse overpass
Pass a man walking like the man in the moon
Walking like his head's full of irish fiddle tunes
Whirl on silver wheels

The skin around every city looks the same
Miles of flat neon spelling well-known names
USED TRUCKS DIRTY DONUTS YOU YOU'RE THE ONE
Fat wheeled cars squeal into the sun
Whirl on silver wheels

Radio speakers gargle top 40 trash
Muzak soundtrack to slow collapse
Planet engines pulsate in sidereal time
If you listen close you can hear the whine
Whirl on silver wheels



Bruce Cockburn “Silver Wheels”

Friday, November 09, 2012

GRAVITY CAN'T KEEP ME DOWN

Outside my office we have one of these big antenna structures. It’s a couple hundred feet high. Its right off 183, and sometimes when I pass by with a group of friends in a car, I’ll point it out and tell them that is where I work, in the building under the big antenna.

Then I say “That antenna? I built it!”
They look at me and one will say ‘Really?” and almost before they have finished saying “Really?”, I will reply “No” and we all laugh and its pretty good fun.

Anyway, a couple times a year they send some dudes out to work up at the top of the antenna.
They were out there this morning, suiting up.
One of the guys, probably 25 years old, good looking kid with a soul patch and “Rusted Root” T-shirt on, he looked up as I was passing by, and so I stopped.

I said ‘Man, whats it like up there on a pretty morning like this”
He grinned and said “Dude its beautiful up there.”
“So you love your job?”
“Oh yeah, I wouldn’t trade places with anyone. It’s a good workout too”
“Yeah, I bet it is. Have a good day” I said and moved along into my office.
I stopped there, but there was so much more I wanted to ask him.

I wanted to ask if he ever got that sinking feeling in his belly like I do when I’m looking out a third floor window.
I wanted to ask him if he ever felt like gravity was sucking him over the edge of something, and had to approach the edge of a roof, or a cliff, on his hands and knees to keep from throwing himself off.
I wanted to tell him that it gave me the heebie-jeebies just to go across an overpass in my car, and ask if he ever felt that way.
I wanted to ask what his dreams might be like, if he imagined himself like that Red Bull guy, and had dreams where he fellandfellandfelldowndowndown for longlonglong time; or dreams like mine where I can float and land softly from a fall that would otherwise kill me; or leap over houses drifting through the old neighborhood, past the High School parking lot, eventually landing smack dab in the middle of a Keg Party at Grapevine Lake, surrounded by spawning redheaded beachcombers in Artic Patrol hats.

But I didn’t ask him any of that stuff.
I didn’t want to jinx him, and that is what it surely would have done.



Saturday, November 03, 2012

MOTHERS HATE THE SCREAM MASK


Shila was that way. 
She didn't mind what movie I took the kids to, just don't take them to see Scream.
"Why not?" I ask
"I cant stand that mask" she says.
So I took them to see Roadhouse.

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

BEYOND THE WALL OF SLEEP


From my experience I cannot doubt but that man, when lost to terrestrial consciousness, is indeed sojourning in another and uncorporeal life of far different nature from the life we know, and of which only the slightest and most indistinct memories linger after waking. From those blurred and fragmentary memories we may infer much, yet prove little. We may guess that in dreams life, matter, and vitality, as the earth knows such things, are not necessarily constant; and that time and space do not exist as our waking selves comprehend them. Sometimes I believe that this less material life is our truer life, and that our vain presence on the terraqueous globe is itself the secondary or merely virtual phenomenon."
 - H. P. Lovecraft
Beyond the Wall of Sleep



But wait, there's more...God how I loved this album.



Friday, October 26, 2012

FULLY CLOTHED WOMEN, DANDELIONS, ECT.

Here is a sampling of images either removed or saved from my Facebook album titled
"Fully Clothed Women"


The Facebook police didn't remove this one.
I don't imagine they knew what they were looking at. 
I call it "The Speed of Light"



They didnt get this one of Deborah Harry either. I guess her breast is just not big enough, and the grill on the Thunderbird was just too shiny.



I knew when I posted this one of Jimi Hendrix that I was way over the edge, but I just couldn't help it. Facebook removed this image.
"Have you ever been experienced?"



They didn't get this one either. I don't know why not. Just that look on her face ought to get her banned from something. My caption for her was
"Stirred Straight Up With a Twist"







"The world was moving she was floating above it and she was"


My albums are not really about naked women. In fact, out of some 1500 images, Facebook only actually removed three. Sure, they missed a few, but the point is that the overwhelming preponderance of evidence suggests that I'm not really a pervert. I just have an eye for beauty and an outstanding sense of humor. One of the things I have found to be very beautiful are images of Dandelions. They are so completely feminine.
Follow this link by clicking here for one posted a while back with another take on dandelions




They didn't get this one yet either.
I'm sure they will be back for it someday. In the meantime...
"If I say its safe to surf this beach, young Captain, it's safe to surf this beach!"

"My cup runneth over"
I'm just throwing this one in because its pretty, and I haven't seen a bobby pin in a long long time. They did not remove it.



Yes, they took this one down. How could they miss it?
My friend Gary says it is a muzzle-load shotgun.

Finally...I really do love dandelions.

"Time works like a damp brush on water color. The sharp edges blur, the ache goes out of it, the colors melt together, and from the many separated lines a solid gray emerges."
- East of Eden, John Steinbeck

From the comments:
Gary: Time actually seems to bring me more aches, not remove them.
Me: Then you havent ached enough yet.




As I gather these images, I am seldom able to identify the photographer, but at this point I should credit some of the sources:

Thursday, October 25, 2012

WELCOME TO HELL

Why is it nobody ever comes back to tell us about hell?

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

FULLY CLOTHED WOMEN IV

The Facebook police have come in the night and removed one (1) picture from one of my albums. It was beautiful. Probably taken in the 1920's by a famous photographer, it was a nude woman hanging chistmas ornaments from the ceiling. They hung down all around her, they looked like galaxys and stars that were in orbit inside the softness of her universe, caught in the pull of her shining gravity.
I don't mind losing the image, I still have it in my files, but I have no idea what caption I may have put with a picture like that. And the comments from friends are gone forever.
That is what I will miss. That is what I can't replace. The photographer is Andre de Dienes.

So apparently Face book right now is going through my thousands of photographs with inspirational naughty witty eductaional captions, and removing any that might show a stray tit. Their bollocks is your boon.
I'll be moving some images from my albums to store here for future reference.
It was fun, pushing the envelope at Facebook. 



Sculpture by Auguste Ottin, 1883

Here we see the beautiful Campaspe, mistress of Alexander the Great, taking of her clothes in order to be painted by Apelles. The legend is that Appelles fell in love with her, and painted Campaspe so well, that Alexander kept the painting but gave Campaspe to Appelle as a gift.

Her beauty was later heralded by John Lyly in this poem, which I find interesting because it tells us so much about Cupid.


Appelles Song
"Cupid and my Campaspe play'd
At cards for kisses—Cupid paid:
He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows,
His mother's doves, and team of sparrows;
Loses them too; then down he throws
The coral of his lip, the rose
Growing on's cheek (but none knows how);
With these, the crystal of his brow,
And then the dimple of his chin:
All these did my Campaspe win.
At last he set her both his eyes,
She won, and Cupid blind did rise.
O Love! has she done this to thee?
What shall (alas!) become of me?"






"Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
...But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams."
— W.B. Yeats, “He Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven”

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

THE GREAT DEBATE, Parts I, II, and III

I had a Navy Blue sports coat and the Worlds Biggest tie.
My partner wore a Marigold miniskirt and White Stockings with a seam up the back. The type stockings that make the legs look kind of blue on the edges, a sort of Doppler effect.
Her name was Kathy, with a K, and she wore a blouse with Peaches on it. Like most Kathy's, with a K, , she had great breasts, and when she wore that blouse there were these two really well placed Peaches, and when I was stoned I always had to ask myself if the designer had done that on purpose.
I wonder that to this day.
Kathy was my partner on the Debate Team.

We had two shoeboxes filled with index cards that we carried with us into our first debate. One held cards with quotations and information about our case, otherwise known as "The Affirmative", which was our answer to "The Resolution":
"Resolved: The United States of America should significantly change the method of selecting and electing Presidential and Vice-presidential Candidates"...
Resolved being the topic adopted by the UIL for High Schools throughout America for the 74/75 season, it was part of the aftermath of impeaching Nixon. It also was the most Scholarly thing I have ever attempted to do.

The second shoebox was filled with index cards for the Negative. That is, after our opponents presented their Affirmative case on what to do about the scumbags in Washington, we were to pull index cards with quotations, facts and figures in order to rebut, destroy and make nonsense of the affirmatives case. As I was to find out, this is a difficult, pressure filled thing to do.

Sitting behind the table at the front of the classroom on the day of our first Debate, I took note of my suroundings. There was the Chalkboard with Eisteinian equations, there was a Periodic Chart of the Elements, a poster of Madam Curie or Ethel Merman in some Movie, I couldn't quite tell. There was a chart of the 10 rules for Chemlab.

There was a machine my math teacher had brought to my own classroom one day called a "computer" that you fed "Data". I had gotten sent to the office for asking if his newborn son had learned to say 'Data" yet, while predicting the ultimate failure of this "piece of ca-ca*"

It was a Math and Chemistry Room and I flunked both of those classes.
When you say "let x=y" I can't comprehend it. It strikes me as being most unfair, and to both of them. But I do believe in Alchemy. Thats part of why I flunked Chemistry twice, but thats another story.

And then the were the three judges siitng in front of me. The first was a dust dry little old lady with those CatGlasses, attached with a chain that ran around her neck that allowed them to rest on her bosom until she put them back on to take a long critical look at me. I nodded and gave my best Eddie Haskel smile to her, but she took them off with a disdainful look, seemed to shiver a bit and went back to chewing her gums** and reading "The Grape Gaspy" or something She wore support stockings amd Army Boots...no....Granny Shoes and I imagine she had a really bad case of varicose veins.
Yes, she had blue helmet hair.

The second judge was a studious looking middle aged man and completely unremarkable. Sometimes the most you can say about someone is that they are unremarkable. Bald or with hair, necktie or no, bearded, cleanshaven or in blackface, this guy would not get your attention even if he were barebeamed and buck naked. He looked like the kind of guy that kept a diary of every nonevent that occurred during his livelong day. Cut out articles from the Student Newspaper and latest hobby would be "Paint by Numbers".

But the third judge, well....
He was young, cool looking and dressed smartly. The shirt was solid colored, Deep Purple I believe, , except for the collars and cuffs, which were white. On the corners of the collar, was a tiny little embroided Carrot, and the Green top of the Carrot fairly resembled a stylized Marijuana leaf. He had hair longer than mine, and droopy eyelids, but his eyes flashed a certain brilliance that I was sure went brain deep. He had on Brown corduroy pants, and they were tucked into Buckshin knee boots . around his neck was a leather strap holding a little leather Medicine bag. He looked like a cross between Zonker and Mingo.

I looked at him and he gave me me a backwards nod, you know, not one where he dips his head towards you, but rather tosses his head back a touch.
Then he went back to looking at his copy of 'Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail" while stealing furtive glances ay Kathy's Peaches.
                                     ********************

Years later, a friend of mine in the fashion industry told me Kathy’s blouse with the Peaches was deliberately tailored that way.
Duly noted.

******************

PART TWO
"Sweat and Underwear"


Now Kathy was a nice girl, and I was lucky to be her Debate Team partner.
Later in the Debate season, Kathy and I actually would actually win a Debate Tournament when I used Dick Gregory's analogy comparing electing a president to choosing a whore. I had argued that:
"After all, no matter how many candidates are running, or whores you have to choose from, they are still all whores".
It came to be known in our club as "Steve's Great Whore Case”.
The first time I used that line, Kathy put her face to the desk covering her head in shame.
Kathy did that a lot.
But we were both surprised that the Judges seemed to favor this rebuttal of attempts by our opponents wanting to change the Two Party Political system.

But back to our first Debate.

Kathy and I waited with the three Judges and our two shoeboxes filled with index cards with facts and figures, information and quotes, seated at a table for the arrival of our opponents.

It was our Debating debut and we were nervous. Not only was the subject of Campaign Election Reform complicated and new to us, but we weren’t very organized.

Even today, the kids down at Blockbuster Movies shudder when I walk in the door because they know I can’t find shit in there. They use a System of putting the movies in alphabetical order, but they also have categories like New Releases, Drama, Comedy, and Action. Oh yeah, there is a Horror section too. These categories, to me, are quite subjective. One man’s action movie is another man’s drama and so on and so forth.

I think the movies should all be under one category.
“Sweat and Underwear”
That’s what everything all boils down to anyway.

But back to the debate….and our opponents entrance.
They carried Gold Plated Briefcases, Rolodex files, and had a Desktop name tag made from Etched Glass that read:

Ignacio and Nicholas
Jesuit Preparatory Academy

They were wearing Red Bow-Ties and Coal Black Double Breasted suits with the School Crest blazoned on the pocket.

They placed all this high tech debating equipment on their half of the table, glanced pitifully at our shoeboxes, went and shook hands with the three judges and returned to the table, standing “at ease”, hands clasped behind their straight backs to face Kathy and I.
It was enough to make me stop my slouching, and sit straight up in my seat.

But the most intimidating thing about this was not the Jackets, the Bow Ties and Breifcases, or even the Glass Placard that gave them the look of O.J. Simpsons Defense Team.

It wasn't even the Rolodex files that I was sure were filled with more and better facts, figures and quotations than our shoeboxes, or the fact that they would actually be able to find the card they needed when they needed it that made me queasy...

It was the fact that our opponents could not have been more that 12 years old.
The biggest one was about 85 pounds, soaking wet. My kid sister coulda' broke him in two.
The smaller one was no bigger than a minute.
They were lap babies and they were about to kick our ass.

Kathy looked at me. She was goggle-eyed like you wouldn’t believe, and she had turned white as a sheet.
Kathy was a good kid, but I knew she was shook, so I leaned over and whispered to her:
‘Man, we are in the shit now”
and gave her my best grin.
But inside I was all sweat and underwear.

*****************

PART THREE
"Who wants Red Lobster?"

Our 13 year old, pre-pubescent , never-kissed-a-girl-or-squeezed-a-titty opponents were about to kick our ass. They opened their gilded briefcases and began their case. They were the Affirmative which moved towards Election Reform.
Just 60 days prior, Nixon had resigned as President. Slush Funds, CREEP (Committee for the Re-election of the President) and Watergate had become words even a 4th grader was familiar with.

The House and Senate in Washington were debating the same topic as Kathy and I and all the other High Schools. Election Reform was prominent in the country's consciousness. Looking back, I did not realize at the time how cool it was to be role playing (if not playing a role) in this issue.

Bear with me here.

The centerpiece of our opponents case was to take all donations for each party and put them in a big pool, then distribute those funds equally through a General Accounting Office. The hope was to eliminate secret contributions, illegal donations, and make certain no one would gain a monetary edge.

As our counterparts gave their presentation, Kathy and I scrambled frantically through our shoeboxes, looking for facts figures and information with which to refute their case.
We had determined that I was to go first to present my 5 minute rebuttal.
On shaky legs, I stood up.

Who watched the Biden/Ryan debate?
What they do up there is really hard to do, especially for a High School kid, but the 85 pound 13 year old (with the Paul Ryan hairline) that led off was like William F'n Buckley.
It was either Nicolas, or Ignacio, it didn't really matter.
His presentation was flawless.

Why I had joined the debate team I didn't know at that moment. I was born to be a Chef.
The room seemed to be spinning around me, my knees were about to buckle and it sounded like sand was pouring into my ears. I wanted to crawl under a rock.  So I cleared my throat and began:
"I need a moment to get my shit together."
Yep, that's what I said.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Kathy pound her forehead into the table and cover herself with her hands, and from under her tousled blonde hair an audible moan escaped.

Motivated by shame and with a sense of pity towards my partner, I finally began to speak. I don't recall what I said, I was dizzy and having an out-of-body experience up there. But suddenly, the smell of Kathy's perfume was replaced by the faint scent of apples.
Like I said, I was born to be a Chef, and I could smell apples.

As I spoke, the apple smell grew stronger. I looked to our opponents. I saw in their opened briefcases they each had a small Brown Paper bag.

With this new visual input, my senses heightened and I began to detect a faint but unmistakable smell of Tuna, and then Roast Beef on Rye, and even a Hostess Twinkie.
OMG! Their Momma had packed their lunches!

And then an idea hit me like someone had dropped the Watergate Hotel on my head, with Haldeman, Dean and Mitchell all tumbling down, and CREEP members and Secret Cash funds all spilling out...I knew I had to find a way out of that shoebox. It was killing me, but I sensed an opportunity..
Right in the middle of my rebuttal, I came to a complete stop and looked down at Kathy.

I said:
"Kathy, how much money do you have?"
She looked at me all confused and I gave her that "Just Tell Me " look and she reached for her purse and said "I think I got $4"

"Four dollars?" I said while pulling out my billfold. "Thats fine Kathy, just put it there on the center of the table, and I'll put my two dollars with it..."

I was gaining some momentum here. I turned to my counterparts and said...

"Nick, Iggy, how much do you boys have?
They looked at each other and started to reach for their wallets.
I continued...
"No, don't bother to get up, you don't need to put your money in the General Fund here. We will just pretend that you have...oh...$10...so that gives us $16 in the General Fund. You betcha. Now, I see you boys brought your own lunch, probably Tuna on Wheat and Roast Beef on Rye, and that can be your vote..."


At this point they were lookin' at me like I was Kreskin because I knew exactly what they had in their little lunch bags. I was born to be a chef.
I was on a roll, and all the way out of that shoebox full of index cards.

"...But Kathy and I, dog-gone-it, we are voting for Red Lobster and we are going to take our half of the GAO fund which includes ya'lls $10. Now I know what you boys are thinkin'... that we aren't going to get much at Red Lobster for $8, and you are right. But clearly, as I am about to show, your case does nothing to stop Secret and Illegal Campaign donations"

I pulled my billfold back out and and produced the Twenty Dollar bill that Dad had taught me to keep tucked away for emergencies. With a dramatic flourish, I held it high.

"But I just happen to have a little 'Slush Fund of my own, and now not only do we have enough for Kathy and I to eat like Kings, we have enough to take two of these three judges with us.
So, who wants RED LOBSTER?"

Like I keep sayin', I was born to be a Chef.

I sat down. Kathy was beaming.
My opponents spent their next 15 minutes arguing against my convoluted case, while Kathy drilled holes in theirs.
We won our first Debate!

Here, Richard Nixon presents me with my Debate Trophy!

Monday, October 22, 2012

ROLLING IN THE SLUDGE

The radio station I’ve been listening to has become lame. I’m hearing the same songs the same time of day all the time.

I hate that.

Increasingly, I’ve been turning it off entirely.
I had it on Friday, and they played some horrible song and I thought about turning it off.

But then another song came on, a catching little tune by some chick with a great voice. It was so “POP” that it had to have enough cyclamate in it to kill a pony. I really couldn’t stand it, but neither could I turn away. I listened and wondered about that voice.

It wasn't Janis, or Grace Slick; it didn’t have the personality of Chrissy Hynde, or even Edie Brickell; it was a thick sweet syrupy voice, like drinking non-dairy hazelnut creamer right out of the container. It was kind of like Cher maybe, without all the testosterone; it was Madonna, minus the Prozac.
Who could it be?

And then, the horror of it all. Suddenly I knew it was the artist I’ve avoided all year. I’ve never heard one of her songs straight through, but I knew I was listening to Adele.
I have got to find a new radio station.


Put a hat on her and you got Boy George.
Crack her in half and Andy Devine and Cindy Lauper come crawling out.

Friday, October 19, 2012

BIG TEX IS BURNING

He was 60 feet tall, and dumb looking, but everyone loved him anyway. He actually said a big  "HOWDY" every 20 seconds or so at the entrance to the State Fair of Texas. But about 20 minutes ago Big Tex caught fire.

"My My, Hey Hey...its better to burn out than to fade away."

Heres what he looked like before...



Goin' home to Jesus.

Thursday, October 18, 2012

MY FAVORITE MISTAKE

Last I heard, she was a $5000-a-night Vegas Escort.
It had been just a rumor, but I had every reason to believe it.
She was just that good. Really.

I had met her when she was 16, going on 25. She seduced me, plain and simple. There was nothing sleazy or slutty about Tressa, She was just one of those natural born lovers, like Aphrodite or Venus; Anne Boleyn or Cleopatra.
And the next four years would prove we had a thing.
I was 19 and she was 16 that first time, and after, as I lay on my back, her propped on one elbow looking me right in the eye, grinning she says:
"That was FUN!"

She may have been my junior, but I was way overmatched.

When ever I tell a story about doing something I shouldn’t have and having it come out right, I think of Tressa.
Whenever I see the ghost of a half-moon in the middle of the day, I think about Tressa.

She was always so natural being out of place...but she was always right where she ought to be, at least when she was with me.
What she did after that, on her own time, I did not know. It seemed to work both ways.
She never asked where I had been, or what I had been doing either.
I don’t recall we ever once said good-bye. It was always see you later; unbinding, tentative on visibility, and pending whenever later might be, presumably at a future date. They say that two objects, once captured into each others gravity, can never escape from it. It was kind of like that.

I remember the end of the summer of 1980. Rita had left late that spring. It had been long lonely summer that had dragged its sixty-nine 100 degree days out far too long.

It was strange the way Tressa had called out of the blue at 3AM.
It was strange that I was so relieved to hear from her, even though she said she was in big trouble. How can you be relieved to find a lover in trouble? Because there are some, those who gravitate towards the edge, that you are relieved to hear from at all.
It was very strange that the stupid movie I had been watching had just finished having Fred Astaire tell Ginger Rodgers that “Fate is a fools word for chance” when the phone rang.

Tressa said over the phone “I am taking a chance you can help me”
I said “Chance is a fools word for Fate”
And Tressa just laughed and said “Are you watching that Fred Astaire movie too?”

Man, that’s Fate for you.

It was strange the way Tressa would call when I needed a friend when she needed a friend.
It was strange that I didn't know then that she didn't call enough, that it would have been OK for me ta call once and a while.
It was strange to see that it was still 102 degrees  at 4AM as I passed the big clock downtown to save Tressa from whatever she had gotten into, that summer of 1980.
It was strange. She wanted to go to the bus station. But my car drove itself back to my house, and we made love the way we always did. We had always, from that first time, moved at the same speed, and our timing was always perfect. Just before dawn I made breakfast, her scent still on my hands and lips, her silage seemed to fill the room, fill the entire morning. I was taking her to a bus that would take her far away, much farther than ever before. The dawn was pink, and light blue, and the radio played "Shower The People" as we pulled into the station.

I can say all that was strange now, 29 years later, but really it wasn’t strange in 1980. It wasn't strange at all.  Just another day that when you check the sky, there it is... the ghost of a half-moon faintly in the noonday sun.

I can still see her face, framed in my car window at the bus depot, grinning her dimpled grin and saying
‘See ya later, Steve”
‘Yeah , Tressa, see ya later”

This time it took 29 years to see her later.
Seeing her again was like seeing a magician perform his tablecloth trick without spilling a single drop of wine.

Because,  you see, the last I heard, she was a $5000-a-night Vegas Escort.
It had been just a rumor, but I had every reason to believe it.
She was just that good.
Really.








Wednesday, October 17, 2012

ONLY TWO SYLLABLES

"Women! What can you say? Who made 'em?
God must have been a fuckin' genius.
The hair... They say the hair is everything, you know.
Have you ever buried your nose in a mountain of curls... just wanted to go to sleep forever? Or lips... and when they touched, yours were like... that first swallow of wine... after you just crossed the desert.
Tits.
Hoo-ah! Big ones, little ones, nipples staring right out at ya, like secret searchlights. Mmm. Legs.
I don't care if they're Greek columns... or secondhand Steinways.
What's between 'em... passport to heaven.
I need a drink.
Yes, Mr Sims, there's only two syllables in this whole wide world worth hearing: pussy. Hah! Are you listenin' to me, son? I'm givin' ya pearls here."
Lt. Col. Frank Slade


Monday, October 15, 2012

FOR A WHILE I WAS MY BEST CUSTOMER






BUT EVENTUALLY, I WAS MY ONLY CUSTOMER

Friday, October 12, 2012

IT IS ALWAYS FIVE O'CLOCK SOMEWHERE






I HAD SO MUCH FUN WITH THIS ONE ON FACEBOOK.

Linda: I get a sense from your posts, Steve, that although you appreciate a woman's physical attributes, what you really admire is their internal strength and devotion to ones they love and support. Or am I reading too much into your posts?

Steve: In this picture, I like the placement of the ribbons in her hair, and the fact that it looks like she might need a ride home.

Linda:Well, like I said "I might be reading too much into it!"







"You might use your eyes, your hands, or your smile to help her, but it will always ultimately be your words that undress her”
STOLEN @ ASSORTED