Up-Dated-Expanded! Rent – A – Sailor Part Two: ‘You Are Not Where You Think You Are’–Up-Side Down You May Be

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You Are Not Always Where You Think You Are:

Credit: Kurzgesagt – In a Nutshell

***

Up is Down

Down is Up

Sideways is just… well, sideways

(Apropos For Now, Eh?)

***

I still love you Diana

Always shall.

“Upside Down”

– Michael Jackson at Diana Ross Concert (1980)

******

We had three days steaming time to kill on our way to That–‘That Land Down Under’.

One night we were all sitting about, ‘cokin’ an’ smokin’ (shootin’-the-shit) in our little Gunner’s Mate ‘Office’ which was not much more than a walk-in closet with a couple of ‘make-shit’ chairs and a few Mae West life preservers for butt-comport composure.

There was GMG Me, GMG Rog, GMG Matt, GMG Eddie, and GMG Fish. Don’t know where was GMG-Geeky-Little-Maynard, nor ‘Bob-the-GMG-Body Builder.’ Probably Bob was in our ‘gym’. He pretty much lived in there. (Ed note: GMG–‘Gunner’s Mate Guns’–if you’ve read me, you’d already know this, btw.)

Speaking of things like gyms, weight-rooms, shitters, showers, berthing compartments, racks, …. Gunner’s Mate ‘offices’, et cetera:

On a U.S. naval war ship, space is always at a premium.

Ship’s Crew want a ‘weight room?’

Good luck. Find a machinery room with a little floor space available. Put your kit in there wherever you can find ‘space-to-no-avail-able’.

Want a quiet place to hang out? Good luck. Try the bilge compartment underneath the water line. (‘No thanks’)

Want peaceful, uninterrupted sleep? You should have joined the Air Force.

(I had some luck: I was the ship’s armorer—in charge of the… wait for it… the ship’s armory. All the small arms were stowed in there. You know, M14 rifles, grenade launchers, .50 cal Machine guns, riot shotguns, .45 cal pistols, grenades… Shit loads of ammo.)

And I WAS IN-CHARGE. Best Gig on The Fred! No Body, and I do mean nobody fucked with me. I had the key to all the guns. And my rep preceded me: I was known to be a ‘dead-eye-shot’. One shot/one kill. It was great!! As I did say, no one ever fucked with me. Fear is the greatest incentive for not fucking with a man.

A very ‘High – Security’ Space. I had one of the only two keys on board the Fred. My Department head, an 04 officer and third or fourth in command, had the only other one and he knew me from Nacogdoches back when I had my tropical fish store—yes! So he trusted me. I guess he thought we went ‘way back.’ We didn’t. But he was a good officer. And I usually don’t like officers, but I liked this one. Apparently we had a ‘history’ together…. I guess…

Moving on.

Yeah no shit. Small world. Supposedly  he had lived in Nacogdoches back when Janet and I did. We never really got to know each other. In fact, I do not recall him at all, but he remembered my store and I may have sold him a crud eater or two…

***

Anyway, the ship’s armory was my ‘go-to’ place when I did not wish to be talked-at, or just wanted a cat nap.

***

Back to our little Gunner’s Mate ‘Meeting’ in our ‘Office.’

The conversation had grown quiet.

Me, being me, I decided to have some fun with my shipmates. So I  broached a subject to mess with their heads.

As I mentioned, time to kill.

“Why do they call it ‘Down Under’ and not ‘Up Yonder’?” I asked the group.

Rog, always quick on the draw said, “Because it is down-the-fuck-under.”

“Down under what?” I shot back.

“Down under the regular world.”

“According to who Rog? And define ‘regular’” I said.

“According to everyone. And regular is, you know fucking regular,” he said back.

“That makes no sense.” I said. Then continued, “You mean because of ‘up and down’, ‘north and south’, ‘east or west’ bullshit?”

“That’s what he means,” Matt said. “Everyone knows this.”

“Guys, you ever seen those photos from the Apollo missions? The ones of the Earth taken from the Moon?”

“Of course we all have,” Fish piped in.

“Well how do you know what is up and what is down?”

Rog said, “Because the North Pole is up and the South Pole is down. Easy enuff to see in the damn photos.”

“What if the astronauts had turned the camera a hundred and eighty degrees?”

“Why would they do that?” Eddie asked.

“Why not Eddie? You ever been in outer space?”

“Uh, nope, not lately.”

“Here’s the thing, why does the ‘northern’ hemisphere get to be ‘up’ and the ‘southern’ hemisphere have to be ‘down’? Seems real ‘hemisphere – centric’ to me.”

“Just because it makes sense,” Rog said.

“Bullshit,” I said. There is no up or down in space. It’s just all arbitrary from our perspective. Allow me to dial-you-in Rog: It’s because most of Western Civilization is in the ‘Northern’ hemisphere. That’s why.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Matt said.

“Think about it Matt. Who writes the history of war?”

“Uh… War? I thought we were talking about Australia.”

“Who writes the history of war?” I asked again. “Who draws the maps?”

Eddie gets a screwed-up look on his face, “The winning side!” He blurts out.

“Precisely, Young Eddie.”

Then Fish says. “No, it ain’t about that. It’s about the magnetic poles. They are north and south… ain’t they?”

“Fish, even if they were, which they ain’t, it doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” I continued. “Because ever’ fifty or sixty thousand years the magnetic poles do a one-eighty and swap places.”

“You’re bullshit,” Rog says.

“Nope,” I say. “Look it up. And here is the funny part: Earth is wayyy overdue for the next swap. Could happen at any moment. What if the ‘swap’ just so happens to happen right before we pull into Sydney?”

Matt says, somewhat exasperated, “Ok, I give. What?”

“We’d then be heading to New ‘Up Yonder’ and not old ‘Down Under’. The maps would all have to be reprinted. And we’d have to turn around to stay on course for all those broads who want to ‘Rent-A-Sailor’ in Sydney, New Up Yonder.”

*Collective Groans All Around…*

In unison: “Fuck You Marcom!”

***

Previously:

To be continued.

***

Author’s note: This post is in serious need of an edit enema.

I’ll administer it later.

Butt Busy now. (some pun intended–caint lie)

Cheers.

And thanks for sailing this far…

Just call me Ismael.

***

P.S. I am not nearly as smart as I think I am.

Not even half as smart as I think I am.

Truth is, I am only about one-third as smart as I think I am.

But,

Batting 333 will get you into the Hall of Fame.

In Baseball.

“Lance! This ain’t baseball.”

“No shit?

Damn! I musta took a wrong turn at ‘Albequerky’.”

She’s Not Here

NAVY CLUB of the United State of America MILITARY EXCELLENCE Award

“Presented to the graduating recruit who best exemplifies the qualities of enthusiasm, devotion to duty, military appearance and behavior, self-discipline and teamwork.”

This was the highest honor any recruit could be awarded.

I won that sucker in ‘85.

Before I went to Boot Camp, aka in Naval Parlance, “Recruit Training” my recruiter told my wife:

Great mistakes

“Hey, If Lance wins this award, The Navy will pay for your plane ticket and lodging at Great Lakes Naval Recruit Center so you may see Lance graduate. But of course, it is very unlikely he will win. I mean the odds are against it, but who knows? Lance has scored the best on his ASVAB and he looks to be squared-away.” Blah Blah Blah.

My wife was an Army Reserve Vet, a Non-Com in the U.S. Army Reserve, and for her day job, a probation officer. She should have smelled bullshit. So should I. But neither one of us did. We were poor. I promised her before I left for Boot Camp:

“Janet, I am gonna win that award and you are gonna be so proud of me. The Navy will fly you to Chicago and we will be together before I ship out to SEAL training. Don’t worry: the Navy is an honorable service. They cannot make these claims if they are not true.”

She put me on the plane and I headed off to Great Lakes RTC (Recruit Training Center). I arrived at 0400hrs and somewhat scared shitless, even though I was twenty-seven and a veteran of one war zone already (see SFM). But I had seen too many movies and I knew my next nine weeks would ‘test’ me.

Continue reading

‘Le Space Race’ Have A Blast (Off)

The Police – Walking On The Moon

Have a Blast (Off)

****

To the Moon Alice. To The Moon Do You want To go To The Moon?

Cred: IAintOverYet

*****

A Trip to the Moon – the 1902 Science Fiction Film

by Georges Méliès

 

 

 

Figured this is as good as that.

OR… why waste good ancient prose?

Your choice.

Here ya go:

*****

Now that is a good term from the Cold War, i.e., ‘Le Space Race.’
However, it still rings true today; rings true as something, almost… unattainable, yet so very much coveted.
“Escape Velocity”
Cal Gone! Take me away! (sic) Yeah: sick.
Point is, I have spent the better part of my life ‘playing’ computer games. Some might be tempted to label them ‘video’ games.
(They are NOT video games, Love: they are ways I increase my mental, mental…”)
Old Story warning here:
That guy. That guy, who used to write about distance running, what was his name” Oh Yeah! Joe Henderson; I read all of his books… Oh yeah! He died of a heart-attack… Just details…
He wrote a bit:
His bit went something like this:
He was ‘runnin’ down a road. Some kid says, “Hey, Hi! Mister Jogger!”
He replied, “Hey Kid! I am not a jogger; I am a runner! A ‘Runner!’ Get it right!”
The kid replied, “Well then, why are you jogging?”
I had to laugh; been there, et etcetera…
This is the part where I get pissed. (And when I get pissed… well, you would not like me)
The worst thing one (amongst the uninitiated) is to say, proclaim:
“Are you still playin’ that damn stupid video game?!!”
Perfect retort:
“Yes Madame. I am.”
“Oh. Well, be a good boy and don’t go downtown, protesting’ and such…”
“Yessum. I won’t”
“Good boy there then…”
“Yes, Ma’am.” (“Now Fuck Off” This is what I did truly think)

But,  she I did have a point, but my ‘point’ swerved into something else, which I really do not wanna talk about.
My point it thus: Kids that played computer games in the Eighties are now in charge of your world.
And to loosely quote Forrest Gump:
“That is all I am gonna say about that.”

Some thoughts?

And P.S., Yes! I have of late, been spending some quality time with some of my ‘computer’ games. They know me there, and I don’t have to be too creative (actually, I do, but most….) Well…

My blogging experience is failing me of late. Not to say that I do not appreciate The Community. Just to say… that I am between gigs and this is beginning to weigh upon me.

Certainly, I will be about, but please do not chastise me for not visiting your respective blogs on a respective basis. (My intent is to intentionally do so, albeit, tomorrow), yet… I am real tired.

And my health is no good.

I will catch up…

mañana,

I Promise.

 

 

 

Is One The Moon, Dear Clown Tied To A String For Me?

“For Love or Money” –Joni

***

And yeah! In case you missed my ‘subliminal’ bullshit:

I still miss Shonnie

’tis a curse: A curse of a good woman.

Shonnie: Just Some Last Thoughts & One “Reminisce”–Important ‘Breaking News’ Re: Shonnie’s ‘Make-Over’

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Tuesday Ed. Note: This Post Makes Absolutely NO SENSE

Hahahahaha

Very Early Christmas Musings: “Fuk Me! I Am / Have Been, Blessed by An Angel–A For Real Christmas Story–Just Happened, Moments Ago… There are still Good People in This World. Sadly, I am not one of Them.”

Joni is so F^#king Charming

I love her!

Surprised?

Joni is an American/Canadian Patriot—Wanna argue This Point? I am All Fricken Ears

Please see ‘other’ posts for credit…

Damnit!

I Cannot Find This Lovely Lady’s Name to give Her Proper Creds–

Someone Please Help Me Out–

It is Important to me to give proper credit

I actually ‘talked’ to her on the Internet some years and beers ago—

She was doing a Pod-Cast

She was so charming and graceful to me—

Damn!

Who could’a knew?

A Very Pleasant Surprise

I’ll Always Adore Her

***

BREAKING NEWS!!!

Hahaha!

I Found Her Name:

Delila Paz

***

I was sittin’ in front of my comp, wallowing in my own self-pity.

Yet one more Christmas spent all alone in some shit-hole.

Listening to Crit Drinker, pontificating over the recent state / demise of the MCU

There was a knock upon my door.

I grabbed my Glock

Went to the door

Who did I discover standing there?

LaTrish!

Bearing gifts!

Fuck me!

(I put my pistol away)

I was visited by an angel

I grasped and held her tight and tole her how much I did lover her, then I asked her: Why are you so good to me?

She simply said,

“Because you served our country”

How does she know this? I don’t talk to no one; I don’t make a habit of wearing my service on my sleeve, not here anyway, only on my Blog Page….

How does she know?

****

I went back inside

And wept.

I wept tears of Joy

Tears of Joy.

This is a true story

I have the Receipts:

I Never Take Good People For granted

She looked at some game she had put into the box, said, Not sure if you like silly games, but my kids like this one, Hope you do too

All I could do to keep from crying

Out loud!

Why? Why? Why??

Why did she do this?

For Me???

I am NOT Worthy of This!!!

This UnSolicited Kindness!

Merry Christmas!

Author’s Note:

The “Order” of this is slightly skew’d–I wro’t it in a hurry-slurry right after the event. I am still in shock

May God ALWAYS Bless Latrish

She is SUCH Good People

You’ve Got to Give a Little. To Get A Little. Kindness is the Best Cure for all ills. Try It–Works Every Time.

(Of course Glen was full of shit, (ask Tanya Tucker) but I do love this song.)

***

To get a little.

Give a little of yer self…

Your reward??

Heaven.

Blogging philosophy:

Wonderful World of Worthy Writers!

“Visit. Comment. (sincerely comment) Read. Read. Read. And Then Read some more.”

Then comment some more.

Rinse and repeat.

Then the folks will come.

Works ever’ time.

And… it’s good for the soul.

Good for Our Community of Souls, some lost, some found, and all manner of in between, but there are no more appreciative for time spent than writers / bloggers. 

So, therefore, Give a Little of Yourself to your lost and found, and searching fellow souls.

The Divine Miss ‘M’

Bette Midler – The Glory of Love

(We love her)

Thank You for your visit and for your time.

Pap, Huk, Peanut, Delirium Tremens, and Lance or “I Feel Like Hank Williams Tonight”

“Lately I been Thinkin’,

I Just Might Quit Drinkin’.

Now I don’t Know–All–In–All”

I Just May Stay Home

Get Drunk All Alone–

Pound A Few Holes In The Wall

Cred: Jerry-Jeff–No Shit Sherlock

I’m Not Really An asshole–I Just Play One On The Internet.

Basically I Am A Good & Decent Man–

I’d Give You the Shirt Off My Back

If You Were In-Need

***********

 

I post a lot of shit. I post a lot of off the wall shit. If you have read my ‘By Way of Introduction’ page you will know this.

But, OK,  most of you have not (read that).

Therefore, I will be brief here (“More matter and less art,” Yeah yeah yeah…)

More matter below:

And here is some ref: Peanut, stuff, more stuff, and even more stuff.

I stole this from Sam Clemens. I hope you like it a lot. (I do)

I don’t know how long I was asleep, but all of a sudden there was an awful scream and I was up. There was pap looking wild, and skipping around every which way and yelling about snakes.

He said they was crawling up his legs; and then he would give a jump and scream, and say one had bit him on the cheek–but I couldn’t see no snakes.

He started and run round and round the cabin, hollering “Take him off! take him off! he’s biting me on the neck!” I never see a man look so wild in the eyes.

Pretty soon he was all fagged out, and fell down panting; then he rolled over and over wonderful fast, kicking things every which way, and striking and grabbing at the air with his hands, and screaming and saying there was devils a-hold of him.

He wore out by and by, and laid still a while, moaning. Then he laid stiller, and didn’t make a sound. I could hear the owls and the wolves away off in the woods, and it seemed terrible still. He was laying over by the corner. By and by he raised up part way and listened, with his head to one side. He says, very low:

“Tramp–tramp–tramp; that’s the dead; tramp–tramp–tramp; they’re coming after me; but I won’t go. Oh, they’re here! don’t touch me –don’t! hands off–they’re cold; let go. Oh, let a poor devil alone!”

Then he went down on all fours and crawled off, begging them to let him alone, and he rolled himself up in his blanket and wallowed in under the old pine table, still a-begging; and then he went to crying. I could hear him through the blanket.

By and by he rolled out and jumped up on his feet looking wild, and he see me and went for me. He chased me round and round the place with a clasp-knife, calling me the Angel of Death, and saying he would kill me, and then I couldn’t come for him no more.

I begged, and told him I was only Huck; but he laughed SUCH a screechy laugh, and roared and cussed, and kept on chasing me up.

Once when I turned short and dodged under his arm he made a grab and got me by the jacket between my shoulders, and I thought I was gone; but I slid out of the jacket quick as lightning, and saved myself.

Pretty soon he was all tired out, and dropped down with his back against the door, and said he would rest a minute and then kill me. He put his knife under him, and said he would sleep and get strong, and then he would see who was who.

So he dozed off pretty soon. By and by I got the old split-bottom chair and clumb up as easy as I could, not to make any noise, and got down the gun.

I slipped the ramrod down it to make sure it was loaded, then I laid it across the turnip barrel, pointing towards pap, and set down behind it to wait for him to stir. And how slow and still the time did drag along.

Shoot at me you son of a bitch!

“Lately I been thinkin’, I just might quit drinkin’… now I don’t know, all in all…”

Yep!

Grace!

Love You!