I like Critters
And Varmints
And Ants
And Spiders
And Crud Eaters
And Dogs
And Cats, especially Big Cats
The Summer of ’77 (sounds like a movie title)
Big Kitty
Charley The Cougar
Category Archives: Sinai Field Mission (SFM)
ABBA, Joni, Madelyn, Cass, and Lance
Yeah! I am trying to occupy (and distract) my mind with Beauty and Music.
(See previous posts if you do not know why this is requisite for me.)
Speaking of posts, and posting, This one is an unorganized, not edited, convoluted…. piece of shit.
(Screw it! I will NOT edit this. It was a ‘stream of consciousness! ‘If I ‘edit’ it, then it is shite, as a stream of consciousness.
And then would ring false. So I won’t fukkin’ edit it.
What you see is what you get. (I may go back and give ‘credit’ for all the vids/images I stole, but that ain’t ‘editing’– that is just not being an asshole.)
Read/Watch/Listen at Your Own Annoyance.
“Having The Time Of Your Life!”
It is impossible to not notice…
To not notice…
How HAPPY Agnetha & Anni-Frid ARE IN this!
They LOVED IT!
And for that,
That STAGE PRESENCE!
I LOVED THEM!
(I suppose ‘The Boys’ were happy too.
But Lance don’t pay attention to the moods of boys—LOL!)
**************
This will be brief (I promise)
I have been (In Light, or in Dark, of my too recent loss)
I have been pondering…
“The unexamined life is not worth living.”
(I believe some smart guy once said that)
Well, I been ‘prospectin’ down into MY Life.
Didn’t find no gold.
Didn’t find no silver.
Didn’t find no diamonds.
(Hangman! Hangman! Meet me at The Gallows’ Pole!”)
(“Bring me your dead sister then.)
Yeah! I am sick… and bitter!
Didn’t find…
No Solace.
Found a box of rocks tho…
Note attached:
It read, and I quote:
“Lance, this is all your life represents. Have a nice day”
—God
“Oh, and never forget: Jesus Saves.”
–G
Saves what?
Green stamps?
“Hey God!
Go to Fuck Yourself!”
(I know the grammar is fucked, but THAT is how Gladys always verbalized it)
(See Third paragraph for Gladys)
I loved her for her broken English.
Might be continued, but I doubt it…
*******
If you’re California Dreamin’…
Don’t.
As we used to say….In the Navvvyyyy! Cali…fornia or bust! Don’t hear that so much anymore.
While aboard a Haze-Gray-And-Underway Piece of Shit. We see the coast of CA and just keep steaming right on by.
Bye – Bye!! California!
(And NEVER EVER Call Her ‘Mama Cass’–Her name is ‘Cass Elliot’)
If you’re California Dreamin’…
Don’t.
As we used to say….In the Navvvyyyy! Cali…fornia or bust! Don’t hear that so much anymore. While aboard a Haze-Gray-And-Underway Piece of Shit.
We see the coast of CA and just keep steaming right on by. Bye – Bye!! California!
(And NEVER Call Her ‘Mama Cass’–Her name is ‘Cass Elliot’)
******
Street Cred: Memology 101:
If you are a ‘good and astute observer’ you will see Kamala trying (and failing) to dance.
Free Bonus Track
(But Donations Greedily Accepted)
“I’ve been rich and I’ve been poor.
Rich is better.”
–L. Marcom, Circa 2006
‘TA’ Does Not Necessarily Always Mean ‘Tits an’ Ass’ My Mind Has Gone Astray–Okay?–Perhaps I Will Find It Later—See Ya Later, Alligator!
Cred: See you later alligator – Bill Haley and Comets–Vomit Comments—Hahaha! Lance Made That Up!
America Used To Be Fun–
Just Sayin–
And Reminiscin’
Wandered Off Into The Wilderness. Someone, Anyone, Please Join The Search Party. I Need My Mind Back. I Was Kinda Trying To Use It.
I’d Love to Drop In More Vids, Bit It Ain’t Worth It
I Just Wanna Die in Peace
***
I Have Lost My Mind.
If Anyone Finds It And Returns It To Me–There Will Be A Substantial Re-Ward.
Trust Me:
I’m With The Government.
I Miss My Mind.
I Kinda Use It Ever’ Onct-in-a While.
I cannot find my Gladys Lehanni Post.
Whoops! Found It!
Give me time…
Arrived Tel Aviv one afternoon Late ‘78.–Sure to be Alone. Soon to be Stoned, Dazed and Confused and Somewhat Abused. One of my fellow SFM drivers, Perry, a good bud of mine, had convoyed with me through the Sinai Desert and into TA. Each of us driving deuce and a’halfs and at dangerous, reckless speeds.
We checked into the Pal Hotel which SFM had migrated to after
the New Sheraton had made it plain they no longer desired nor needed the patronage of Sinai Field Mission Types, specifically the Texan ones–Which made up about 88 Percent of Sinai Field Mission Personnel.
I/We, preferred the Pal Hotel anyway. (They loved us and our fun-loving ways and how we were always, without fail, Big Tippers to The Hotel Staff)
“Fuck You Uptight Sheraton New Hotel!”
(This sentiment was unanimous amongst all-of-us-Texan Expats)
Of course for both of you Lenny Fans out there in ‘Radio Land’ I just had to drop this audio bit in. It really is not germane (nor certainly not German) to the point, but it do expand on the title somewhat.
It occurred to me that when using the term ‘Tits an’ Ass” some would not know the etymology. Lenny first coined the phrase. (Bless his heart). He did some jail time too… for his transgressions.
So…when I first arrived to SFM and folks would talk of TA, imagine my confusion.
Lenny Bruce audio below ‘Tits and Ass’
Worth a listen
After settling in, Perry called me from his room, “Hey Lance. Got anything goin’ tonight?”
“Nope,” I replied. “Not a damn thing. You know Gladys done dumped me for that Venzu-walon dude.”
(Some Histoire on Gladys — Or as Bart Armstrong Called her: “Happy Butt”):
First Israeli Love. Her name was Gladys Lehani and she spoke French, English, Hebrew, and Lies. I was instantly enamored. She worked nights at the Tel Aviv Sheraton in the ‘Kum Kum’ Lounge, a bar. During the afternoons she was a cashier in the little lobby area of the hotel. A place where one could look out the huge windows at the Mediterranean, have a cocktail, read a book, and flirt with her. I spent many hours there doing all four.
“Come on up to my room.” Perry said, “We’ll smoke a bowl.”
“On my way,” I said and hung up. We smoked a few bowls of hashish,
(All we could get in The Middle of The Fucking East–Which we would have Killed For In Texas, But after a few Years of NOTHING But Hashish, We Missed Good Old, Old-Fashion Pot)
drank some Amstels, and decided to head over to Dizengoff Street to check out the action. And sate some munchies. Just yet another night in TA.
Dizengoff Cafe
We stepped out onto Hayarkon Street just after sundown and proceeded to float on toward Dizengoff,
a few short blocks away. We were stoned beyond repair. As we tried to navigate across the busy
Hayarkon four lane, we noticed more than the average number of folk on foot. As soon as we had arrived on the leeward shore of Hayarkon, a teenage girl came running up to us and smacked us both on the top of our heads with a little plastic mallet.
Then said something unintelligible in Hebrew and ran giggling away.
“What the fuck was that?!” I asked Perry.
“Dude, I gots no idea, but look yonder!” he said pointing up the street. Sure as shit, there were people everywhere; all armed with similar plastic mallets, just wailing the shit outta each other’s heads.
“Dude! We gotta sort this out. This is just too weird. Must be some kinda religious ritual.”
his is what my hashish soaked brain was telling me anyway. We made our way to Dizengoff, after having our heads bonked repeatedly by overzealous religious fanatics. I spied a street vendor displaying the plastic mallets with aplomb.
“Perry, we gots to git one ah them for self-defense.”
We purchased one each and went to whackin’ pretty Sabras about the head. (Great way to meet women, I must confess—Kinda Neanderthal—but what the hell?) Later
I was told we had experienced some joyful Israeli Halloween-Like festival. Mardi Gras, it weren’t but dammit! I had fun. (But I didn’t get any beads)
Nor Did I get laid that night, In spite of me whacking the heads of so many Pretty Sabras.
To this day, I do not know the holiday, or festival. Are there any out there who would care to enlighten me? Tis one-of-those-unknown-things that still haunt me today. Perhaps if I had not been stoned…
![banner_purim_sm[1]](https://i0.wp.com/texantales.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/02/banner_purim_sm1.jpeg?resize=300%2C250)
Purim
My Jewish Friends: Was it Purim I had experienced? My enquirin’ mind really do wanna know.
TITS AND ASS BIT: LENNY
This is Reeely Reeeely Long. So What Does Lance Do? He Re-Posts it! Listening / Watching Audrey Sing “Moon River” ALWAYS Makes Me Cry, But Then, I am A Hopeless, Helpless Hapless Romantic. Ain’t I?—
Shonnie The Biker’s Wife Part XIII:
La Jolla:
Lifestyles of the Rich and Infamous
or
My Beautiful Fair Mystery Lady
Wrapped in an Enigma
For Audrey.
And for Mom. (Mom always wanted to be “Audrey”) To me, she was. Still is.
And for Shonnie.
Always For Shonnie.
Preamble:
‘Moon River’
“There’s Such A Lot Of World To See”
A beautifully touching metaphoric side of Shonnie no one ever got to see.
Except for me.
Yet it was fleeting.
Like a Shooting Star or Moonlight in a Martini.
Saw it only once or twice.
But that ‘once or twice’ was enough to ensure my memories of time spent with her would live on forever.
“Shonnie Darling, my hopeful dream and only channeled aspiration is to write you honestly, passionately, and well. I am doing my best. Please be pleased.”
–The Cowboy / Sailor who keeps you and loves you still
***
MY FRIEND
“There was once a very lovely, very frightened girl. She lived alone except for a nameless cat.”
Moon River
(IF You Don’t Know/Or Are at least, Slightly ‘Intimate’ With This Movie…
No I won’say ‘Fuck You’.
But I Shall Pity You
Oh My God!
This is ART
Imitating My Life.
*****
Shonnie Begins Here:
It’s a pretty good drive from Seaport Village to La Jolla. We stopped along the way for cigarettes, sandwich stuff and beer and arrived at “Auntie’s House” about seven-thirty. This isn’t it, but a reasonable facsimile:
I’ve often wondered what it would be like to have a shit-load of money
“Your aunt rich?” I asked stupidly.
“Yes. What was your first clue?”
“Lucky guess, I suppose.”
“Come on. It’s even better inside.”
She led me into the condo.
“First class joint,” I said. “Really classy.”
“Allow me, Good Sir, to give you the nickel tour.”
(“Good Sir?” “Allow me???”)
She led me through the living room, past the dining room and into the kitchen. It was all stainless steel, dark wood, and stone.
Wow! It made my eyes hurt.
We put the sandwich stuff and the beer in the fridge. Shonnie produced two tumblers and threw some ice into each. I took the bottle of Jim Beam, splashed a little into each glass, and handed one to her.
“A Toast!” I said. “To us!”
We clinked tumblers, took a swig and fell into each other’s arms. Lips to lips. “You make me happy my dear,” I whispered into her ear as we broke our lip lock.
“I had a wonderful time in Vegas. I won’t be forgetting that anytime soon.”
“Yeah, but next time please, please listen to me a little more often.”
“Hahaha! Sure Cowboy. I promise to be good… ‘Next time’. Come on. I want to show you the rest of this ‘joint’.”
We took the stairs and she led me into what I surmised to be the master bedroom suite. It was large as condo bedrooms go I suppose, but then I was no expert on anything ‘condo’. In truth, this was my very first ‘Close-Condo-Encounter-Of-Any-Kind’ experience. There were double French doors opening up to a small patio overlooking the Pacific.
The bed was gigantic. I pushed down on it with my hand and watched as it rippled. Waterbed. Last time I had seen a waterbed was back in The Seventies. I wondered silently if this one leaked…
There were Asian paintings on the walls and very deep beige shag-carpet on the floor. Some legit hand-carved Maasai Warrior statuettes stood lookout on the dresser. I recognized them from my eight days spent in Kenya back in ’86.
The bathroom had an old-timey tub, green towels, and a shower stall… and a bidet! Wow! Mishmash of so many cultures. (And decades) Well, California. What could one say?
“Why don’t you rinse off in the shower while I gather some more ice and build our bar?”
(“Gather??”)
“Uh… Okay,” I said. “I’ll do that.”
After my ‘rinse off’, I wrapped a green beach towel about me, lay on the bed with my drink and my Marlboro. (Figured it permissible to smoke, as there were about five ashtrays strategically placed about the room.)
Shonnie reappeared with the whiskey, two sandwiches and a pack of Doritos precariously balanced on a serving tray in her right hand. Two longneck beers peeked out from a bucket of ice tucked under her left arm. An unopened pack of Marlboros was clinched between her teeth. Quite the juggler, she was.
She walked over to the rather huge oaken set of dresser drawers; released the pack of cigarettes from her mouth. I observed it bounce once on the dresser’s edge then disappear into the beige shag-carpet forest.
“It’s okay. Don’t get up. I’ve got this,” she said with some small sarcasm, as she set down the rest of her items.
“You must be hungry” I said.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. Lose that towel.”
I did and she ‘lost’ her jeans et al.
We made slow love for some thirty minutes. Deep kisses, lots of teasing, and finally, we came together…
As we lay back in the bed, silently smoking, she turned and said seriously, almost ominously, “You’re quite the catch, aren’t you Cowboy?”
“Not sure your meaning, Little Lady.”
“Just saying. You’re quite the catch.”
“Not really. Just another lonely sailor far from his home port.”
“Yes with fireplace eyes, the gift of bullshit, some smarts, and an ‘any-port-in-a storm’ laissez-faire philosophy.”
“Somewhat true enough, I suppose,” Then added quickly and clumsily, “Used to be ‘true enough.’ Those days are long since gone for me now.”
She gave me a ‘look’ which told me she wasn’t buying it.
(‘Fireplace eyes?’ I’d only been described, accused of this once before. From…, by… my wife. Somewhat unnerving to hear it again verbatim after so many years. And ‘laissez-faire??’ From the lips of My Shonnie? What-the-hell is happening? Is this a ‘haunted’ condominium? Do I need to call an exorcist?)
***
From the very moment we set foot inside the condo, a change, although quite a subtle one, had come over Shonnie. Difficult to describe, but I’ll try. I sensed more than ’witnessed’ it. But I witnessed enough. More than enough.
The first change was the tone of her voice. It immediately lost a bit of its gravelly coarseness; not actually becoming ‘soft,’ but most definitely ‘toned down’ a few degrees.
Next thing was her gait or ‘walk.’ Very difficult to describe as well, but she had suddenly acquired an almost elegant manner of moving from place to place. I would not go so far as to describe it as ‘gracefully gliding’, but it was a noticeable departure from her frenetic ‘bull-in-the-china-closet’ mode of self-transport I had learned to live with and to love.
And here is the weirdest thing of all:
Her vocabulary had grown exponentially, and her employment of the vernacular was… different—sophisticated–weird.
To the untrained eye and ear, these subtle changes would have gone happily, blissfully ignorantly unnoticed. But this cowboy/sailor had not survived three years in the Sinai, Egypt, Israel war zones and four years in the Janet-the-first-wife war zone along with the Nacogdoches, Texas, ‘Boy Y’all ain’t from ‘round he’ah ar’ Y’all?’ war zone by not paying, as they say in the Navy, close ‘attention to detail.’
And always, always maintaining ‘situational awareness.’
(The very first thing the Navy did to me was drill a hole in my head and pour those in. “Always Pay Attention To Detail. Always Maintain Situational Awareness.” I already had these traits. The Navy merely refined them, upgraded them, topped them off, and permanently cemented them into my mind.)
Thusly cursed with my talent for applying ‘attention to detail’, ‘maintaining situational awareness’, and also properly cursed with a thoughtful and enquiring mind, I wondered if the Shonnie I had so hopelessly fallen in love with were the ‘Real Shonnie’ or just a ‘Make-Believe Shonnie’ who the ‘True Shonnie’ had used so effortlessly to capture my heart. Was she just playing around with me? Was she a Black Widow type? (‘Just fuck ’em and eat ’em’) Was she too clever for me? Was I in way over my head? Was my heart in peril?
I emphatically answered ‘No’ to all of these questions.
Best and most logical explanation is that my Shonnie, the one I fell in love with, was ALL TOO MUCH REAL.
I’ll admit, I did not understand the true magnitude of her deeply profound and complicated psyche at first, but I did sense it. Hence the initial attraction—an attraction whose growth I did nothing to curtail–allowing it to grow stronger and stronger day by day until I found myself in my current situation. A ‘situation’ I had allowed to flourish.
And to cherish.
And would never give up.
This may be going a ‘bridge too far’ but it was as if she had morphed from ‘Eliza Doolittle’ into ‘Holly Golightly’.
In an instant!
From This…
To This!
As if by Magic!
***
I found the change somewhat disconcerting, yet fascinating and tantalizing. I truly and fervently wish there were ways to fully and articulately describe this ‘sophisticated’ transformation of hers, but alas…
That would require a much more skilled raconteur than the one who is now so ‘unsophisticatedly’ spilling virtual ink on this virtual page.
Here is one thing I can unabashedly report and with great sincerity and veracity: this proves beyond any doubt, any doubt at all…
That Shonnie was the most fascinating woman I have ever known, or will ever know. I will climb even further out on this limb with my saw strapped over my shoulder:
There is no woman, real or imagined, whom I will ever love more than this biker chick. (By proxy and by definition to her core, she was a true biker chick, albeit a multidimensional, brilliantly unusually unique one)
***
“Eat your sandwich,” she said. “Then we can watch a movie. The night is still young.”
She got up and I watched her walk toward the bathroom. She navigated her perfectly petite body while (purposely? hell yeah! she knew I’d be watching) intentionally twitching her little ass, tantalizing me still–and although I was quite sated at that moment–I could never become totally immune to her wily charms.
I reached for the sandwich even though I was not hungry. Suddenly becoming self-conscious about my nakedness and feeling vulnerable, I got up and put my pants on. I lay back on the bed, picked up the sandwich, took one bite and put it down.
There was a large television conveniently facing the bed. I picked up the remote from the night stand and switched it on. CNN appeared. Some info-babe talking head was blathering on and on about something horrible that had just happened in Iraq:
‘Breaking News!’
I muted the volume.
“You’re watching the News?” She said incredulously, suddenly appearing in front of me wearing a white terry-cloth robe and a frown.
“Hey, did you lift that robe from the Plaza?”
“Don’t be stupid. This belongs to my aunt. And don’t change the subject. You’re watching The News. I hate the news. It’s always bad.”
“I think it’s watching me.”
“How depressing. You must be a very lonely man when you’re not with me.”
“Current events are important,” I said.
“Not to me.”
“Well, here’s a news’ flash for ya: You are drop-dead sexy and beautiful and gorgeous.”
“Careful there, Cowboy…”
She walked over to the ‘Entertainment Center’ which was part of the whole TV thing and began perusing some VHS tapes. “What kind of movies do you like?” she asked.
“Hysterical hilarious history drama,” I said.
“Well, that does narrow it down a bit.” She selected and loaded a tape. With a remote in each hand, she began pushing buttons. “Top Gun” appeared on the screen as if by technological magic. (Or Witchcraft)
“I was thinking of maybe something a little less contemporary,”
I said as Kenny Loggins began his bit.
Yeah! I Flew Right Into The ‘Danger Zone—With Shonnie Holding My Hand,,,,
Video Credit: KennyLogginsVEVO
“Nonsense!” she said. “This is perfectly apropos for you. You’re a sailor.”
(There she goes again! ‘apropos’?? I am losing my damn mind!)
“Yeah I am, but not a fighter jock. And I despise Tom Cruise.”
“Relax. Have you seen this movie?”
“’Fraid I have, but okay. Kelly McGillis is never a waste of my time.”
“Asshole!”
“C’est moi.”
“Well, I have not seen it. I’d like to see it. With you. Do you mind? Besides, I’ll allow you to provide the ‘Color Commentary’ which I am certain you won’t be able to resist doing anyhow.”
With that she jumped on the bed causing me to spill some amber onto the sheets and almost drop my cigarette. She grabbed my head with both hands and planted a deep kiss, sticking her tongue deep down my throat.
“Madame! I am aghast!” I said as I was freed from her embrace.
“Shut up and watch the movie.”
Kenny was just finishing up ‘Danger Zone’, and proving once again that I needed to pay closer attention to my life’s soundtrack, especially when it is foreshadowing and trying to connect.
We got through the horrible movie thanks to several glasses of Beam and a few beers and not a small number of cigarettes. It was, I have to admit looking back, the best screening of one of the worst movies of all time. I kept Shonnie in laughter as I picked apart the utter bullshit and un-factual parts of the movie. Yes, sometimes I can do sarcasm with the best.
As the final credits were rolling, Shonnie snuggled up to me and asked, “Lance, do you love me? Truly love me?”
“Probably,” I said.
“I’m a little hard to love.”
“Not for a schmuck like me.”
“I’m serious here. I have issues.”
“Yeah, don’t we all?”
“Goddamn it! I am serious.”
“’Serious’ is not something I’m good at.”
“You are EXASPERATING!”
“That’s a pretty good four-bit word,” I said with a mocking grin.
“Actually, it’s five bits, you bastard.”
I counted off the syllables in my head. ‘Ex-as-per-at-ing.’ Yep. Five.
“You’re right,” I said.
“You know my estranged husband is one mean son-of-a-bitch, right?”
“Never met the stud. Do tell.”
“Trust me. And he called me up at Mama’s the other day and asked me who was my new boyfriend.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I think he’s been following me.”
“I’m not much into ‘threesomes’.”
“Listen Asshole. I’m getting scared.”
“Wanna end it?” (What an incredibly stupid, stupid, stupid bluff on my part! If she calls it, I am properly and deservedly destroyed. There are some things even I should never gamble.)
She paused and I saw some sorrow creep into her eyes. “Might be a good idea,” she said. Then quickly added, “But just for a little while. I don’t want to lose us.”
“Let’s sleep on it. I have to leave here at zero-five-thirty so I can make morning muster on my ship.”
She buried her head under my arm and we fell asleep under the blue TV screen light.
***
Previously:
Coming Soon:
“Shonnie The Biker’s Wife: This is the (NOT) The End”
Update: Part XIV is up
***
If you are new here, or a long-lost returning Pilgrim, you may want to begin your Shonnie Journey Below
And then simply “Follow the Yellow Brick Road” i.e., The Lancelot Links:
***
Comments below from the original version of this post.
Please read from the bottom up for continuity.
19 THOUGHTS ON “SHONNIE THE BIKER’S WIFE. CHAPTER XIII: LA JOLLA”
johncoyote October 3, 2020 at 05:06 Edit
My friend. Create a wonderful story. I liked the house and the conversation. You are making the characters worthwhile and interesting. I like how you made the small details important. The ashtrays, for a example. A vey good chapter.
Teela Hart July 18, 2014 at 18:27 Edit
🙂
LAMarcom July 18, 2014 at 18:21 Edit
Wow!
Thank you Teela for the compliment.
Made my eve.
Cheers!
P.S. Donna was great!
Teela Hart July 18, 2014 at 10:48 Edit
I was about 9 years old the first time I heard Donna Summer, after that, I fell asleep listening to her.
Have I told you lately that you are an amazing talent?
You are, I meant that.
T
LAMarcom July 18, 2014 at 02:10 Edit
This made it’s way into my spam. Sorry ’bout that.
Merci.
LAMarcom July 14, 2014 at 15:59 Edit
She truly was a rare talent.
Mélanie July 14, 2014 at 15:57 Edit
I loved la Jolla… 🙂
P.S. I was in Naples, Florida when Donna Summer passed away, 2 years ago, RIP. A wonderful artist and a lovely lady!
LAMarcom July 14, 2014 at 10:46 Edit
big ol’ Texas smile *
lauramacky July 14, 2014 at 10:44 Edit
lolol you’re welcome Lance. I always feel like I’m in a time capsule when I read your posts. Love ’em!
LAMarcom July 14, 2014 at 10:37 Edit
Especially the dysfunction junction!
Hahhah
Thanks Laura for the read and great comment.
lauramacky July 14, 2014 at 10:29 Edit
Brings back such memories for me….the music, the wild times and the dysfunction LMAO.
artourway July 14, 2014 at 09:15 Edit
Je peux pas parler longtemps … if you would like to now Lance
artourway July 14, 2014 at 07:21 Edit
mmmm
LAMarcom July 14, 2014 at 00:58 Edit
Thank you my friend.
inspiredbythedivine1 July 14, 2014 at 00:43 Edit
I’m really enjoying these tales.
LAMarcom July 13, 2014 at 21:39 Edit
Great clip/song Sadie. Thanks for taking me back. I remember when I was at SFM back in the late Seventies and Rod Stewart came out with his ‘disco’ album: ‘Blondes Have More Fun’. Most of us at SFM were hard-core rockers and despised ‘disco’ (although I had a secret major crush on Donna Summer… please never tell…)
We even had our own pure rock band there: The ‘Sisco Ducks’ — get it? Hahahah
Anyhow, when Stewart let loose that ‘Disco’ Album, all said,
“Whelp, I bet that’s the end of Rod Stewart as a serious musician-man.”
Glad I did not take that bet. (and you know I am a gambler)
Rod Stewart is absolutely one of the all-time greats. And he do have some longevity too!
Sadie,
Your comments always brighten my day/night/mornings.
Cheers & Thank You,
Lance
~ Sadie ~ July 13, 2014 at 21:21 Edit
Damn it Lance LOL!! You are killing me here . . . . 😉
Like I said before – great storytelling & great suspense!!!
Breathlessly . . . you just keep me hanging on . . .
(one of my fav albums!!) 😉
Final Footnote:
Mickey Rooney almost ruined the Movie, ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s.’
But he couldn’t.
He had not the talent.
(Look it up)
***
Just A Bonus…
Own Us!”
I Still So Much Miss My Sis! I Will NEVER Allow Her Memory To Die.
God’ammit it! Why did she have to die? I Did NOT Giver My Permission To Die. Updated! Some Cali-Bashing! “ABBA, Joni, Madelyn, Madelyn, Madelyn, Madelyn, Madelyn, Madelyn, No Class NO Cash! Ne
I am Dying Inside Over My Remembrances of Her
:
“Hey Buddy, CAN You Spare a Dime?”
Yeah! I am trying to occupy (and distract) my mind with Beauty and Music.
(See previous posts if you do not know why this is requisite for me.)
Speaking of posts, and posting, This one is an unorganized, not edited, convoluted…. piece of shit.
(Screw it! I will NOT edit this. It was a ‘stream of consciousness! ‘If I ‘edit’ it, then it is shite, as a stream of consciousness.
And then would ring false. So I won’t fukkin’ edit it.
What you see is what you get. (I may go back and give ‘credit’ for all the vids/images I stole, but that ain’t ‘editing’– that is just not being an asshole.)
Read/Watch/Listen at Your Own Annoyance.
It is impossible to not notice…
To not notice…
How HAPPY Agnetha & Anni-Frid ARE IN this!
They LOVED IT!
And for that,
That STAGE PRESENCE!
I LOVED THEM!
(I suppose ‘The Boys’ were happy too.
But Lance don’t pay attention to the moods of boys—LOL!)
**************
This will be brief (I promise)
I have been (In Light, or in Dark, of my too recent loss)
I have been pondering…
“The unexamined life is not worth living.”
(I believe some smart guy once said that)
Well, I been ‘prospectin’ down into MY Life.
Didn’t find no gold.
Didn’t find no silver.
Didn’t find no diamonds.
(Hangman! Hangman! Meet me at The Gallows’ Pole!”)
(“Bring me your dead sister then.)
Yeah! I am sick… and bitter!
Didn’t find…
No Solace.
Found a box of rocks tho…
Note attached:
It read, and I quote:
“Lance, this is all your life represents. Have a nice day”
—God
“Oh, and never forget: Jesus Saves.”
–G
Saves what?
Green stamps?
“Hey God!
Go to Fuck Yourself!”
(I know the grammar is fucked, but THAT is how Gladys always verbalized it)
(See Third paragraph for Gladys)
I loved her for her broken English.
Might be continued, but I doubt it…
*******
If you’re California Dreamin’…
Don’t. It was once a Magical Place,
Now it is just One More Shit-Hole! Trust me! I Know! I have been arould the World. Twice! I know most Places are Shit Holes! But California Was Always Different! No Mas! Now it is Just One More Shit-Hole! In a World Full of Shit Holes!
It ain’t the way it used to be!
As we used to say….In the Navvvyyyy! Cali…fornia or bust! Don’t hear that so much anymore.
While aboard a Haze-Gray-And-Underway Piece of Shit. We see the coast of CA and just keep steaming right on by.
Bye – Bye!! California!
(And NEVER EVER Call Her ‘Mama Cass’ In my earshot–Her name is ‘Cass Elliot’)
And Yes! I have been to Paris France!
No Less Than Ten Times!
If you’re California Dreamin’…
Don’t.
As we used to say….In the Navvvyyyy! Cali…fornia or bust! Don’t hear that so much anymore. While aboard a Haze-Gray-And-Underway Piece of Shit.
We see the coast of CA and just keep steaming right on by. Bye – Bye!! California!
(And NEVER Call Her ‘Mama Cass’–Her name is ‘Cass Elliot’)
******
Street Cred: Memology 101:
If you are a ‘good and astute observer’ you will see Kamala trying (and failing) to dance.
Free Bonus Track
(But Donations Greedily Accepted)
“I’ve been rich and I’ve been poor.
Rich is better.”
–L. Marcom, Circa 2006
If You Don’t Mine, It Don’t Matter
There is sand in the Sinai Desert. Lots of sand. There is wind in the Sinai Desert. Lots of wind. There are landmines in the Sinai Desert. Lots of landmines, some dating back to the ’56 war. Most of them are still functional.
When wind and sand collide, the sand moves. In waves. The sand does not respect manmade things. Manmade things such as roads or landmarks, or mine fields. Sand does not care if it inconveniences you. Or puts your life in danger. Sand has no conscience and actually does not give two shits about you or me, or anyone or anything.
Sand is just sand.
These truths about sand were to become blatantly obvious to me one day back in 1978. I was driving my Chevy Van Passenger Vehicle to the Suez Canal to rendezvous with a similar R&R vehicle coming from Cairo. My vehicle was loaded with ten passengers,
all very happy to be headed out on R&R. It was my simple job to get them to the rendezvous point so they could take the little boat across the canal, climb into the other van and head on to Cairo and their scheduled flights back to The Real World.
From SFM Base Camp to Suez is about thirty klicks.
SFM Base Camp Located Between
The Giddi and Mitla Passes
Travel time on average, an hour and change, depending on how long the Egyptians wanted to detain me at the check points along the way. I always brought along some packs of Marlboros to provide them when they insisted on ‘baksheesh’. No big deal. I could afford the bribe. Hell, in our little BX (Base Exchange) cigarettes were three bucks a carton.
This particular day back in ’78 was a day after a particularly savage sand storm. The roads to Suez are passable most days. And safe. Off-roading is not safe.
Stay on the pavement. I can compare it to the line from Apocalypse Now: “Never get out of the boat.”
As I drew closer and closer to the canal the roads began to get more and more difficult to discern. Now mind you, I had made the canal run many, many times, but I am a guy who can get lost in his own hometown of Honey Grove Texas, Population 1800. This is a small town, not too many ways to get lost, unless you are real creative. I am real creative.
I came to a point whereby I just could no longer make out the paved road. I took a turn in the general direction of the canal, hoping to pick up the road again after a few minutes. As I was bumping along I noticed one of those landmine signs:
So did my passengers.
They freaked. I suppose this could be considered a normal reaction. They all started jabbering at once. I invited them to shut the hell up, and then I calmly backed the fuck out of the mine field, carefully retracing my inbound route.
Once I got back to the spot where I had obviously taken a wrong turn, I took the other turn and eventually made it to Suez. Picked up the inbound passengers and didn’t even have any shit to clean up in my vehicle, but I think at least one of my passengers had shit his pants.
Now all I had to do was make it back to Base Camp without any more drama. I gave it fifty-fifty.
Home, Safe Home
More to come on SFM
Thanks for reading.
“Landmines Bring me Down.”
(I cannot help it if Stevie Fucked Up The Lyric!)
*****
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