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 want. 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…
I spend almost all of my ‘awake’ hours thinking about writing.
I spend what is ‘left-over’ actually writing.
Since most of Y’all who are kind enough to visit me here are writers too, I would like to share some of my thoughts about the ‘writing process’, or at least ‘My’ Version of the Writing Process.
As I said, I spend an inordinate amount of time ‘Thinking’ about writing.
Not ‘searching’ for things to write ‘about’
Oh Hell No!
I’ve got so much shit in my head I WANT to write, but Most of it is garbage.
But ever’ once in a while, a light bulb comes to life (Light?)
And then I write.
To be completely honest, at that point, it takes me very little time to write it. I don’t (for the most part) fuss much over spelling, punctuation, nor anything else.
I DO, however, invest way too much time searching for music or images, or videos to accentuate and help my narrative.
(Truthfully, I use music and videos as a crutch to hold me up and forestall my lack of confidence… )
This is a character flaw I possess.
Anyway, at some point I clik the ‘Publish Button.’
Just need to wait for her to send me the photo records…
“Dear Karen, I have a favor to ask: Would you please email me any and all photos of us together? (All Mine perished in a fire—that my last Wife started) I am working on a blog story. Don’t worry. I am respectful. It will be very flattering to you. Because I did love you once. (Probably still do) But you weren’t no Texan.
Video credit: patgree
I forgave you that however. Thanks in advance, -Lance.”
She emailed me back:
“I can and will. Give me a few days, I’m not at home at the moment. I do get the just. (Pretty sure she meant ‘Gist’, but English was never her strong suit–she had ‘other talents.’) So a favor back, do I get to read what you are writing?”
I replied,
“Of course you do. The post is gonna be all about you.
Jet, the oldest at the table–about thirty—wore a goatee, long brown hair on top of a head that looked a little too big for the rest of his frame.
He had a laconic manner, but was not what one could ever call ‘brusque’.
He just didn’t say much. He seemed to save his words like cash money is what I’m saying.
Presently, he asked, “Mog, when’s your next run to TA?” (‘TA’ = Tel Aviv).
Mog (who spent words with reckless abandon) replied, “I got the fuckin’ R&R run tomorrow. Shit! Hey Lance, what run you got? Wanna trade?”
Mog hated the R&R runs mainly because R&R runs meant taking passengers. He loved driving the trucks into ‘Town’. Two reasons: He loved trucks and he loved to drive trucks very, very fast. Mog was a great driver, but riding with him scared the shit out of me.
“Sure Mog; I’ll trade with ya.”
“Which run you got?” he asked, now slightly wary at my all too quick agreement.
“Canal run.”
“Aw Shit No! Forget it.”
SFM Basecamp was about thirty klicks from the Suez Canal.
Every day an R&R vehicle left SFM to rendezvous with one coming from Cairo. Passengers would take a small boat across the canal and continue on to Cairo or back to SFM.
Incoming and out-going mail was also exchanged. Having ‘The Canal Run’ meant getting off-base only for an hour or two.
Going to Tel Aviv meant driving only four hours, checking into the Sheraton and having the rest of the day and night to paint the town red with Per Diem and whatever else one wanted to contribute or muster out of his own purse.
Mog had an Israeli girlfriend in Tel Aviv, actually she was his fiancée, and he took all the Tel Aviv runs he could get, so he could go see ‘The Little Mama’.
In fact all the drivers had Israeli girlfriends except Big Mo. His ‘Honey-Co’ was a Big-Boned, Tall Drink O’ Water, Texan Gal, working for SFM, just like us.
Her name was ‘Big Mammu’ and if those two didn’t eventually get united in hellish matrimony, then I say ‘Fuck it.’
There is no hope for the rest of the world. Perfect for each other they were, is all I’m saying.
********** !!!!
STILL LAUGHING!!!!
FUCK ME TO TEARS!!
Street Cred Vid: UnionSquareMusic
Yeah. I’m a fukking Moron!
Hahahaha!
(For any who do not get my sense o’ humor… You boarded the wrong boat)
NO Refunds.
Sink or swim!
*****
‘Awesomely Sexy’
Sassy and Sexy
does not even begin to come close to properly describing these ladies.
Especially Susanna Hoffs!
(See below ‘Waltz Like an Egyptian’ vid)
Just Sayin’
People just don’t seem to have fun anymore—too uptight
Right?
Or perhaps old age has made me jaded.
***
Addendum:
When the ‘Gyptian’ vid came out I was floating around on the USS Callaghan, somewhere in the North IO…Indian Ocean… HQ in San Dog had sent us a copy of the vid. Guess what we did.
Yep.
We had the ship’s photographer film the crew… Walking like Egyptians.
I wish I had a copy, but you can use your imagination.
********
Footnote to this story:
In ’79 Egypt hired a Jap construction company to dredge the canal and to increase it’s girth by about thirty-three percent.
This made life difficult for me.
From then on I had to take my passengers to Ismailia close to the Med coast to be able to cross over into Egypt proper.
