I Don’t Need No More (Toilet) – Trouble

I Love To Laugh (at me) And My Chasing at Sobriety

“Hey Lance! What would you do if you ever caught the Sobriety Bus?”

“Burn my nose on the tail-pipe–I don’t know–haven’t thought it through.”

******

(Ed. Note: The Bob Marley Vid ain’t Necessary, nor requisite.
But I find it a ‘Nice Touch.’ Watch it if you like. Don’t if you don’t.)

“Totally ”Down-Stroyed'” I love a play on words!

(When it works…)

*****

So I discover a small lake in my ‘Head’—Bathroom.
“Whatever does this mean?”
I asked the Resident Gnat Watch-keeper.
“You’re the Fucking Genius, Tell Us.” he replied.

I scoped it out.

Sure as shit, The Shitter was leaking out of its ass.
I closed the water supply, emptied the basin, found some towels, threw same upon the floor.
Went back to my neglected beer.


Then came a knocking upon my door…
“Mister Marcom, is there a leak in your bathroom?
Water water everywhere in this hall.” Deb said.
I replied, “Uh, Yeah, but I fixed it.”

(Don’t want no trouble)

Deb said, “I’ll send Cynthia around to check it out. My ‘Guy’ isn’t here today.”

(Shit!)

Presently, My Love, My Cynthia, arrives.

“How you doin’ Baby?”
(She always calls me ‘Baby’—It is a ‘Black Woman Thing’)

“I’m Fine Baby.”

(I can do ‘Black Woman’ vernacular too)

“Y’all got a leak?”
“Yeah, it’s the toilet, but I ‘fixed’ it. Turned off the water and emptied it.”
“So, you need a new toilet?”
“I suppose.”
“Okay Baby. Tomorrow…”
“Cheers Baby. And Thank you.
Ciou”

And she left.

Now I have something to look forward to:
Some smelly fat white-guy Plumber invading my Sanatorium to replace my toilet and displace what little concentration I have left.

(As an Old–Fat, Smelly White Guy Myself–I know far too well, the Breed, and what to expect.)

There are no less than thirty empty wine boxes in my head. Curious as to how ‘Plumber Man’ will deal with them…

Oh Goody!
I can’t wait!

Memp-iphany

 

 

This afternoon I suffered a brief epiphany. Now yes I know, there is no such thing as a unique ‘brief’ epiphany. All epiphanies are brief. (“an experience of sudden and striking realization”) By definition. But I suffered one, brief though it was, now it is mine. I aim to keep it and make it not brief.

My ‘sudden and striking realization’ struck me at Kroger’s, standing in the check-out line and in my usual hurry. There was a man in front of me in one of those grocery-store golf carts. He kept bumping into shit, trying to navigate. He was cheerful. The cashier was cheerful. They both laughed at his lack of driving skills. Then… I had to laugh too. With them. Then it hit me. The cashier lady was black. The bumpy lousy grocery cart driver was white. In Memphis, this is how we roll: people are Kind to one another, regardless.

In Memphis Tennessee. My adopted ex-pat State, right there on the spot, I fell in love. Yes! Love! (took me far too long)

Ask me why? Why today? Why after so many times in which I have railed against the slowness of the shopping cart? The slowness of the cashier. The slowness of the people to gas their cars when the light turns green and I am in a hurry (hurry for what?) The casual way life is approached?

I cannot answer, but it hit me today.

It hit me! Suddenly!

I used to be that way.

That way. That bad way.

And I was happy, being mean.

Then I got in a ‘hurry’ and I was even less happy.

Never took the time to talk to folks. Never said ‘Hello’ Never helped someone needing help. In Memphis, people still help people; they have a conversation in the check-out line. Those waiting to check out, check their egos in their cars. Life is sublime. People are Nice! Nice! Civil! Nice Civil People! Can you imagine?

I need this.

I needed this!

I have it now.

I had an epiphany.

I have an epiphany.

And I am gonna keep it.

And I am gonna take it home (To Texas) when I get there. ‘ Lesson I learned in Tennessee.’ Shoulda learned it in Texas.  Texans have always had it. Understood it. Embraced it. With both arms open…

I Will Always Love My Country

I

They Say It’s Your Birthday (and please read/watch this one) It may be my swan

Happy Fucking B’Day to me. Blow out the candle and hand me my scotch. I was born two months weeks, three or four, before Sputnik, ’57.

This makes me special. Real fucking special. I should have slapped my mama and moved to Moscow. Below taken from an email. I do hope I deacted, redacted, crossed out… Her name. If not. I gots beeeg trouble. Here goes:

“Oh fucking K. Four weeks and change B4 Spuds (Spittering Nic) MacKenzie….Math ain’t my thing. Never bin my thang. Shit! I was two weeks old. Gimme a fucking break.
On Fri, Sep 10, 2021 at 11:15 AM Lance Marcom <lancemarcom781@gmail.com> wrote:
Do NOT neglect the Linda at the end.On Fri, Sep 10, 2021 at 11:13 AM Lance Marcom <lancemarcom781@gmail.com> wrote:
“They say it’s Lance Marcom’s B’day. Les go burn down his house.”

“He ain’t got no house.”

“OK, let’s just burn him.”

“He is scary.”

“Doan wanna get that close.”

“Good pint. We can burn something else.”

Tomorrow I embrace my Sixty-Third Year.

So what?

I find me asking me of late:

“So… Lance, what have you done?

Vid Credit:

johnlennon

And ‘somewhat’ related: And…Talia Shire Will never, ever look so good. 

Again.

(That Beret! That Beret! Cabaret!) 

And of course, not without saying…

Joel Grey.

And Liza…

And Michael York.

And…

And… whatever happened to Jimmy Buffett’s hair??? (I did read his book, “a pirate looks at forty” fifty, sixty??. did not glean anything from it ‘cept that he loves ‘boat-planes’– shit! I could have ‘wrote’ a better book. Jes sayin’…)

My tweet (if I ever tweet) to Jimmy:

Dude, stick to music. That is what you do best. Leave the prose to those who have some prose… to share. And no! I ain’t talking ’bout me, but in general speakin’…)

(See way below for the JB bits)

(and, yes:  Navy SEALs)

Picks up that conversation:

“Not too much,” I must confess.

“But surely you have touched some lives?”

“Yeah, but mostly in a bad way. I did my best in war zones. I was ‘The antithesis’ of the ‘Bad American.’ Other than that, nope.”

“Perhaps you are being too hard on yourself?”

“You really don’t know me, do you?”

“Well… no. Not exactly. This is just a job to me. Go on.”

“I’d rather not, but hey! Thanks for stopping by.”

“I suppose my ‘work’ here is done. Then?”

“Yeah. You may be excused.”

“Thanks, because I am late for my appointment with J-Law.”

Running In Soft Sand: Intro

“Happy Trails.”

“But you said one thing; got my attention: You said ‘torched’.

“Naw! I said ‘scorched’ There is some difference.”

Vid credit:HistoryRepeats01

And I leave Y’all with this. It fits:

Or, as Mammy (Hattie McDaniel) said, via ‘Gone With The Wind’:

“It just ain’t fittin'”

(She ‘won’ an Oscar for that. Ya surely know) And in her acceptance speech, she said, and I quote: “I sincerely hope I shall always be a credit to my race.” Can you believe she actually felt compelled to say those words? Well, it was 1940… I suppose. 

Lance loves you Mammy (Hattie)

And look up the word ‘class’ in any dictionary. There you will find a photo of Katherine Hepburn.

Oops! I meant Bette Davis (shit! I cannot tell from the vid which one, Kate or Bette–HBO!–help a brother out here. Which one?) Personally, I am gonna go with Kate.   After further review, I am going with Bette.

“Just hold on and suck in.”

Vid Credit:

obxncpirate

 Yeah! I always pick the ‘raw’ video. Jus’ me, I suppose.

It was, in fact, my birthday.

Thanks for riding along.

For, there will be Nothing… Tomorrow! Tomorrow! Tomorrow!

Nothing tomorrow.

Cheers. Beers. Jears. Tears.

L

Namaste Bit:

And if you find a plethora of parenthesis here…They are for my friend, SS and solely for her own edification.

If you care to dare, Here is her link:

But Be Brave

http://theshitshowthatismylife.com/about/

(I was)

Yet…she scares me…

And last and certainly not least….

“We’re gonna let you go.”

I guess “all of the above” rightly sums up my life.

Happy Birthday to me.

Bonus in Honor of 2021 Version of Me:

Streeeeeet Cred: skychurchify

Escape From Memphis–Chapter One

Ed. Note to All You Nattering Nabobs of Nay-Sayers down there in the ‘Commentary Section’:
I say this:
‘This is “My Side” of the Story!’
Read Between the Lines if You Must.

(Or feel compelled.)

*****

Lance, No Longer Down an’ Out In

Memphis, Tennessee:

Street Vid Cred: kndfbl

******

Credit: Marc Cohn

*****

And SCREW YOU WORDPRESS For Not Allowing Me to Delete this below BROKEN Up-Load!!!

Stuck on STUPID.

******

 

She just sat there on the front porch, smoking Camel Blues, sipping diet Dr. Pepper, and watching as I scurried back and forth, worker ant-like, schlepping boxes and boxes and boxes and sundry other shit to my Ford.
Never said a word.
Never shed a tear.
I was leaving her!
What the fuck?
No tears?
No desperation?
No tears?
No tears?
No tears?
No nada?
English!
English!
English!
(You live with Meskins, expect beans on the menu, ever’ once in a while.)
English!
Stiff upper lip and all that jazz…
After I had packed the Ford to the point of tightness unimagined (you could have poured a bottle of Jim Beam into it and not one drop would escape), I walked to the front porch and announced,
“Well, I guess that’s it then.”
“You’re leaving now?”
“Yeah, that’s the plan,” I said.
She stood up, looked me in the eye. I threw my arms around her and hugged her deep.
Now we were both crying.
I managed to blurt out something profound…
“I’m so sorry Helen.”
“Take good care of you,” she said, blinking back the tears.
I slow-walked to the Ford, looking back through MY tears only once. Got in, cranked her up and drove away.
The part where the cowboy rides away…
Took me a block an’ a half to stop crying.
Then I was so over it.
And her.
Four blocks later I realized I could not see out of my side-view rear-view mirror. My dismantled computer chair in the passenger seat was blocking my vision. This would never do. I pulled into a vacant parking lot and jettisoned said computer chair.
Just left it there in the dust.
With my life.
Merry Early Fucking Christmas to someone.
Some homeless one in Memphis.
And drove on, westward.
Nine minutes later at sixty-five miles per hour, I was crossing the Big Muddy and entering Arkansas.
I had achieved escape velocity.
I turned on the radio.
Loud and proud.
CDB was screaming something about Trudy and telephones.
And calling her.
And jail.
I cranked it up and sang along.
Very happy and oh so fucking proud of me.
My new life had just begun.
Just another tequila sunrise.
As I drove west with the sun over my shoulder.
So many thoughts were flying around in my head, gnat like… buzzing.
I was almost giddy.
I was staring down six hours of road trip.
No big deal, but it had been almost ten years since I had taken to the road or air or sea, and I was just a mite apprehensive.
“You can do this Lance,” I whispered to me over the radio, now playing Van Morrison.
“Hear That Robin Sing.’
Hours and hours and hours into Arkansas (when did Arkansas get so fucking BIG?)
I found a trucker’s rest stop and so I stopped.
And rested.
And pee’d.
Had to.
Walked about
Had to.
Stretched my legs.
Had to.
“Where is Texas?” Halfway through Arkansas…. And halfway from what I had called ‘home’ for ten years.
“What am I doing?”
“Going West, Young Man, Goin’ West.”
“Oh yeah, I almost had forgotten.”
By and by I hit the “border”
(On the border)
Wanted to stop and take a selfie in front of the sign what read, “Welcome To Texas, Drive Friendly.” But it was Interstate and not safe to do so, so I just kept on driving.
And singing at me!
“Texas! Oh Texas!”
“You are finally home, Cowboy!”
Now what?
Keep driving, I suppose.
I had pre-arranged a ‘garage’ to store my shit.
A ‘rent-a-space’ shed in Commerce.
Got a phone call from the proprietor….
“Lance, you still coming?”
“Yeah, fast as I can, but I will not arrive in time for your departure. Can you HBO? Help a brother out? I will arrive Commerce about 1800 hours…. Leave the key in the lock box or something; I want to off-load my shit before I go to the hotel.”
“Sure, got a CC number for me?”
“Yeah, no worries.”
That sorted, I drove on.
Presently I arrived Sulphur Springs.
And promptly got lost.
Could not find the road to Commerce.
Well, shit!
It had been some years and beers and tears since I had had to make this trek.
Finally found the proper road and guess what?
It was ‘under construction’ as they do.
Took me some few little minutes to navigate through that, but…. Finally… on the road again.
Commerce in my sights now.
Sped into town, saw Whitley Hall, High Rise and shouted out loud: HOME!
“Thank fucking God!’
(And this was a push for me, for as you know, I am an atheist)
Found the ‘rent-a-shed’ and off-loaded my shit.
Went to the Adult Beverage Store.
Then found the Magnuson, formally known as “The Holiday Inn Express,” checked in, and got very, very, very drunk.
Chapter Two Coming…
Whew!
Chapter One is Done!
Writing is hard!
As is my wont, I drop in music.
Music defines me, and yes, my life has a soundtrack.
I suppose this don’t make me nothing special.
Just yet one more schmuck.
Trying to get by.
And Waiting for Godot
(Vain reference from my college / university daze.)
Beautiful Loser
Read it on the wall.
Blue moon with heartache.
Nick of time
“Scared you’ll run outta time.”
Love has no pride
This old cowboy—MTB

Escape From Memphis–Chapter Two

Part threee may be discovered here:

New Life.  Video Credit: Cool Coyote  https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC9mNquw1Fc7beFfQ8OpnjRQ

Blinking back the tears.

Hotel California. Uh, I mean Hotel Indigo: LaSheeka

Not LaSheeka

(‘Sheeka’ is much more attractive and fiercer) but damn close.

(LaSheeka was the Night Manager)

One night she got pissed off (she had a hair-trigger—I loved her for that)

“Why don’t you just get a fucking job?!”

(She Screamed at some pan-handler at Hotel Indigo late one night.)

I just walked away, but said to her, “Baby, calm down.”

She replied, “These idiots piss me off.”

Had to concur.

LaSheeka and I worked Night Shift at Hotel Indigo for probably at least a year.

We became instant ‘Fast Friends.”

More Instant Karma. (Seems to be a pattern with me and Indigo Girls. See other related posts in the series.)

We ‘understood’ one another and neither one of us ever put up with bullshit.

Because neither one of us gave a fuck.

We just did our respective jobs.

And LaSheeka was never hesitant to tell a drunken refugee “Guest” from Beale Street that he/she was full of shit and needed to just go the fuck to bed. And STFU!

We spent many long nights swapping tales.

I told my stories.

She told hers.

We BONDED.

I MISS HER.

***

Part 2: More Me And LaSheeka, Indigo Girl.

Dumb Blondes

 BY LAMARCOM

LaSheeka hits me up on the handheld radio:

“Lance come to the lobby; we have a situation.”

“Okay. On my way.”

Got there. Discovered some young blonde damsel in distress, Sobbing.

“What’s the matter Girl?”  I asked.

(LaSheeka looked at me and rolled her eyes—yeah, I caught that look—she and I were mind melded—almost mentally joined at the hip.

Blonde says, “My boyfriend has abused me. He is drunk. I just want him to go away.”

“What room you in?” I asked

“902”

“Ok. Let’s go there.”

“Please don’t hurt him. And don’t call the police. I just want him to go away.”

“No worries Lil Lady.”

We arrived at the room.

I confronted Mister Asshole.

(Who was Half- Naked and Barefooted.)

“Hey  Dude! Guess what? You are out of here! Come with me!”

“Can I at least get my shit?”

“No! Come with me Asshole!”

He did and I threw him out.

Onto the Memphis Streets. At two o’clock in the morning.

Over his protestations.

Eventually he came wandering back into the lobby of Hotel Indigo.

I looked at LaSheeka and said,

“Call Memphis Finest before I kill this mother-fucker.”

She did.

Police showed up.

And sorted it all out.

Asshole and GF made up.

And went back to their room.

(Fucking dumb broad.)

Wasting my time.

Indigo Girls Chapter One: Jenna

First “Indigo Girl”: JENNA

My First night working at Hotel Indigo. (I was a ‘licensed’ armed security guard, with no ‘arm’)

Jenna, (Night ‘Auditor’—manager) asked me:

“Do you like music?”

“Of course. I love music,” I replied.

“Look at this video,” she said as she came over to me with her cell phone locked and loaded.

“OK”

I watched some dude singing and playing guitar (pretty well actually) some obscure C/W song. Then I recognized said dude. He was a rather familiar face—I had already made a couple of ‘patrols’ and had noticed this guy unloading some shit from his truck in the parking garage. He looked a little (very little) like Garth Brooks, but still…

“Uh, isn’t that one of the construction workers, working here on the renovation of the Hotel?”

“Good eye,” Jenna said. “Yes.”

“Your boyfriend?” I asked.

“Kinda,” she said.

Well damn, I thought, there goes MY plan and hopes Dashed (Jenna was VERY attractive, long slightly blonde / brunette hair, sleepy eyes—and probably too young for me—but what the hell. I am an optimist.)

“He’s not from Memphis is he?”

“No,” she said. “Texas.”

“So, he’s just living here in the hotel as the renovation work is going on?”

“Yes.” And then she added quickly, “He’s also a rodeo cowboy.”

“I see.” I said. “And what’s your story?”

“I have a degree in classical music,” she said. “I can play several musical instruments: Violin, the viola, the cello and the double bass”

“Yet, you like country and western?”

“Yes. I love all music.”

“Me too. Got any more on that phone of yours?”

“Yep. Sure do. Gimme a sec.”

“Can you sing as well?” I asked while she was searching on her phone.

“Nope. Can’t sing a lick.”

Instant Karma

We became fast friends after that.

*******

Not Jenna, but close enuff:

Nikon D4s, Lifestyle, Copyright Dixie Dixon