And, Oh, BTW, My Key-Board Is Beginning To Irritate Me. He said Whilst Causally Studyin’/Regarding The Un-Opened Window,,, And Ponderin’ What A Lovely Sound My Key-Board Would Make, As It hit the GROUND….
And Yes, Dear Fred,”My Mind Is Properly Fuk-ed.”
I May Have Some ‘Splainin’ to do. (Yeah. I Am A Film Nerd/Snob–Live Over It, Or Just Go Away!)
“Lucy, you’ve got some ‘splaining to do!” Perhaps the most infamous and viciously debated line on the internet, this oft-quoted and memed Ricky Ricardo line is more of a paraphrase, as he never says this exactly. He said things like, “Lucy, ‘splain,” or “‘Splain that if you can,” which evolved into this misquote.
Author’s Note: I Have COMPLETELY Fuck’d Up This Post.
Sorry Fred
“Memory Lane: Yeah! I Am Still Drunk Outta My Brain. I LOVE Lauren Bacall! That’s ALL!–My ‘Dream-Lover’
“Anybody got a Match?”
Bobby Darin “Dream Lover”
Cred for share: NRRArchives
Bertie Higgins – “Key Largo”
Starring in Our Own Late, Late Show–
Just Like They did…
In “Key Largo
Lauren Bacall’s Original Name:
“Betty Joan Perske“
“Anybody got a match?” Yeah, I got a match: Bogie and Bacall.
I have ‘swerved’ once more into Lauren ‘Bacal’ (Jewish spelling of her name before Hollywood COERCED her into changing it) and Bogie whirlwind of late.
****
Lauren Bacall, who died Tuesday (Aug. 12) at 89, had mixed feelings about her Jewishness. In “By Myself,” her autobiography, (Which I have read, cover to cover–twice)) she wrote that she “felt totally Jewishand always would,” yet chided herself for not being more open about her Jewish identity.
Below, five facts about Lauren Bacall’s Jewish life and — in her own words — how she felt to be Jewish:She was born Betty Joan Perske.
Bacall was born in Brooklyn to a Jewish family, but her Jewish-sounding name just wouldn’t cut it in the Hollywood of the 1940s and ‘50s. She changed it to a version of her mother’s family name, Weinstein-Bacal.
“It was a period when people believed that you demonstrated your Americanization byAmericanizing your name, and very frequently, Americanizing your nose,” saidJonathan Sarna, professor of American Jewish history at Brandeis University.
“She did not hide the fact that she had these Jewish origins, but it was expected in Hollywood at the time that you would have an American name and persona,” headded.
***
Fun Fact:
I once wrote a term paper for the head of the English Department at ETSU. Unbeknownst to me, he was writing an autobiography on Humphrey Bogart at thetime. Had I known this, I most probably would not have written my term paper onBogie and Becall.
But then again, I probably would have anyhow….
And I received an A++ on my paper.
My Prof loved it. Probably ’cause he was a Russian Jew.
Or Maybe not.
It was a great paper.
And he loved it.
(Of course I was drunk when I wrote it)
Took me all of 45 minutes to write.
That is how I ‘rolled’ back then.
Always waited until the very last ‘minuet…’
Bogie was forty-five when he met Bacal.
She was nineteen.
Perhaps there is hope for me yet…
Bogie an’ Baby
If there is just one thing the Navy taught me, it is this:
“No never means no”
“Nothing is ‘written’.”
This is how I got back into SEAL training when I was two years too old…
***
Oh
My
God!
She was / is so beautiful!
“We Played All The Parts”
I Will Forever LOVE Her!
She Enriched My Life So Much!
She Was A Delight To Behold!
And to Dream Of
***
One last ‘fun fact.’
In her book, Lauren described how she came up with
“The Look.”
She recounted of how she was so nervous…
when she played along side Bogie, she had to keep her chin tucked into her chest to keep from shaking uncontrollably.
She also tells the story of how the director, Howard Hawks told her she would have to sing in the movie.
Music Credit: Steely Dan – (‘Blackjack’) Do It Again
Video Edit Credit: Eduardo Montenegro
Bastardized Title Credit: Lance Marcom
***
So about six in the evening we walked down to the El Cortez. Shonnie goes in and I hang back a few. Smoke a Marlboro on the street then head on in.
Making my way through the slot machine triple canopy jungle I head to the back, the bar, and the blackjack tables while looking for Shonnie.
I spot her all alone at a two-dollar-minimum table decently close to the bar. She was sitting next to ‘Third Base’ on her left, and five empty seats to her right, just as I had instructed.
“Good Girl,” I thought, “Now, let’s see what you can do.”
‘Blond Bombshell Blackjack Babe’s Back
I sat down at the bar, lit a cigarette and ordered a gin and tonic while watching Shonnie. She placed a two-dollar bet then defiantly tossed her hair back.
I cannot prove this, but she must have sensed my stare and was showing out for my benefit. Glancing about the casino, I observed it to be a mite slow.
Almost dead, in fact.
From my look-out perch I could spot only one or two others playing blackjack. Sitting at the closest table to me was an old geezer with long gray hair and a long brown cigar.
He had a modest stack of red chips in front of him. He didn’t appear to be drunk, just a little ‘un-steady’. There were some bored dealers manning the other, mostly empty tables, struggling to stay awake, would be my ‘astute’ observation.
Dead or not, the casino noises are forever a constant. Most of the sound emanates from the banks and banks and banks of slot machines.
Slot machines never shut up, busy or not.
The slot machine cacophonous chorus resembles that cicada sound, but the cicada sound comes once every seventeen years. The slot sound is ubiquitous, loud and intrusive, even somewhat abusive.
Don’t get me wrong. I love the ‘Casino Sounds’–When I have money–Hate them when I don’t. But with or without funding the earworms are always there, unavoidable as a matter of fact and as a matter of course.
No escaping ‘them’. I can still hear their noise as I type these words, and it has been more than some few years since I have been treated to a ‘live’ performance.
Yep, they’re the only ‘Ear Worms’ that don’t fuck around. Once they bore deep inside of you, you’re done.
Forever.
Deal (pun intended) with it.
True Casino Junkies must live with them forever. One gets used to it though. There are definitely worse afflictions to be had.
Trust me.
I could see a few banks of slots from my bar stool as well. In modern era casinos slots are dominating and they areeverywhere. Some joints even have them in the head.
Allow me to go even further: you cannot throw a dead cat across a casino floor without hitting a slot machine.
Impossible.
(Never actually try this Y’all; just take my word.)
But I used to have this fantasy whereby I was allowed to try—for science, of course. This fantasy only appeared if I had lost my stake and was forced to go home to my ship, empty-pocketed, empty-headed, physically and emotionally spent and depressed.
There is nothing on Earth more disconsolate than finding oneself in a lively casino with no money.
***
A few blue-haired ladies were feeding the beasts. There is something rather charming, heart-warming and endearing about ‘Grandma’ gleefully tossing away the social security or the pension or ‘Daddy’s’ money.
Not their ‘Actual Daddy’, but their husband, if they happen to be from Dallas, or Fort Worth, or Waco, or Atlanta, or Little Rock or Baton Rouge or… Y’all catching my drift here?
Good
The ‘Erstwhile Southern Belles’ are always a delight to hear and to watch.
As much as I love to ‘Casino-People-Watch’, I could not indulge. Had to keep my attention on Shonnie and wait for her to light a cigarette in her left hand.
‘The Signal.’
Never thought I would be waiting for that girl to fire up a smoke.
Sometimes life is just weird.
‘Ghost Town’
The barren emptiness of the El Cortez would not last long. It was a Saturday Evening, soon to be a Saturday Night and the place would fill up soon enough.
Allow me a word or two about the El Cortez. It has been my experience that this particular joint has always been frequented more by the locals than by the tourists, at least in the modern era.
The place has a long and rich history. First constructed in 1941, remodeled many times, but still manages to maintain what I like to call ‘The Cheers Effect’.
‘Where everybody knows your name.’
Not quite, but it is a pleasant fiction.
***
1941: THE EL CORTEZ IS BORN
John Kell Houssels partnered with John Grayson from California, and Marion Hicks, a Los Angeles Architect and developer, to build and operate the El Cortez Hotel-Casino on East Fremont Street. Constructed for $245,000, it was Downtown Las Vegas’ first major resort with 59 rooms and designed in a Spanish Ranch theme.
But I hoped we would not be here long and we would be long gone before the crowds arrived.
As recounted in a previous chapter of this series, for Craps, the louder and rowdier, and crazier the better.
None of that is needed, nor even desired for Blackjack. In truth, better off without it.
Shonnie had learned the basic count pretty quickly, but I did not think she would be able to sustain if there were a table full of other players and thus many more cards to count and many more distractions to distract.
If she could pull it off with just herself and the dealer, well that was good enough. We had already made a good score with the Craps game the night before and I really wasn’t looking to get rich. I just wanted to (truthfully) impress her with my ‘Gangsta’ ways.
Merely To Prove a Point, as it were.Whatever ‘Point’ I was trying to ‘prove’ escapes me now.
She was playing a double-deck game (again per my instruction), and I noted that the dealer dealt deep into the decks (a very good thing).
Between reshuffles, I could see Shonnie chatting it up just a little with the dealer, a very young, diminutive ‘Ornamental’ Girl wearing a bright perma-smile: Pretty much the ‘Norm’ in Vegas at that time. Chinese or Korean, best guess.
Definitely not Southeast Asian; her face was too flat. The lovelier S.E. Asian girls mostly worked The Strip.
And yes, ladies and perhaps even some of you gents may be tempted to chastise me roundly for being a male sexist pig, but damn it! I am a Sailor!
It is genetic in me, like the salt water that runs through my veins. Nothing to be done. Believe me, many women have tried.
In vain.
I was on my second gin and tonic and my third Marlboro when some schmuck waltzed over and sat down to Shonnie’s left–Proper Third Base–My Seat!
He looked about fortyish and was wearing a fake cowboy hat, ruffled shirt à la George Strait, red, yes, red! cowboy boots, and a stupid face.
He began chatting her up. Now, I had not really planned on this, but I did realize a good-looker such as Shonnie, sitting all alone at a BJ table, would be bound to draw some varmints. I only hoped this asshole did not distract too much from her count.
We had practiced ‘distractions’ in the hotel room. As I played dealer and dealt way too fast, I would ask her questions and play with the remote on the TV.
She did just fine.
(She is sharp, this one. Very sharp. Sharp of mind, and being the faithful reader that you are, you also know she is sharp of wit and tongue and temper as well.)
Shonnie played through three reshuffles and was winning. I even saw her double-down a few times and in fact she was increasing her bets.
‘What the fuck?!’ I’m thinking. ‘How long does it take a double-deck to go hot?’
‘George’ remained and was beginning to piss me off. Obviously he was distracting her from her count. I ordered up another gin and tonic, lit a cigarette and stewed in my own juices some.
My drink arrived just as I saw Shonnie pull a cigarette out of her pack, hold it in her left hand and wait for George-The-Sycophant to light it. He ignited his lighter and Shonnie seductively put her hand on his and guided it to her cigarette!!
I WOULD be bringing THIS up with HER later in the evening.
Anyway, Game on! Blackjack Game. The ‘GeorgeGame / Situation’ would have to wait.
I gathered my drink and my pack of Marlboros and sauntered over to the table. Sat down at first base, threw out (drunkenly, for show), a few crumpled up hundred dollar bills.
The dealer smoothed them out on the table for ‘The Eye in the Sky’ to peruse, then announced over her shoulder toward the Pit Boss, “Changing six hundred.”
She passed me some big stacks of red and some lesser stacks of green chips. I noted that Shonnie had slid two stacks of five chips just slightly to the right of her stack. If she was spot on, this meant the count had gone to ‘plus ten!’
I had coached her to constantly count and fiddle with her chips, as if she were nervous or bored, so that this act would not draw any undue attention.
“No Darlin’, gimme a few black,” I half-slurred to the dealer, pushing away the red chips. She took them back and pushed out three black chips to go with my twelve green. I placed two bets (two hands—one may play multiple hands if the table is basically empty) of one hundred dollars each.
Shonnie dropped a green chip (I had told her nothing fancy dammit!) George dropped a red and seemed more interested in Shonnie than his game as whispered something in her ear.
“All bets placed,” ‘Ornamental Dealer Girl’ said as she began the deal. I estimated only one-third of the two decks had been dealt, so this bode well for me.
A plus ten count!
Outrageous!
I caught a pair of eights on my first hand and a hard eighteen on my second. Shonnie caught a natural blackjack and sent me a smug sideways glance.
George caught a ‘dead man’s hand,’ a thirteen. Which seemed appropriate to me.
The dealer had her hole card concealed, but a five showing. Surely she would bust on that weak ass shit. She would have to take a hit, no matter what and with the decks so rich in face cards, she was bound to bust.
Of course I split my eights. (‘Always split Aces and Eights’—Never forget this ‘red-bird-cardinal rule’) Caught a three on the first eight and doubled down (now two hundred on that hand) Caught a jack!
Twenty one!
Caught a deuce on the second eight, doubled down again. Caught a king! Twenty on that hand.
Another two hundred. I am now five hundred into this deal. I stood pat on my other hand, the eighteen.
Shonnie had already been paid for her natural blackjack, so it was up to George. He hit his thirteen! (A stupid, stupid, should-be-illegal stupid rookie move: He should have stood on his thirteen against a dealer showing a five up card. Idiot!)
He caught another face and busted. A face card meant for ‘Miss Ornamental’. Again: Idiot! I have seen players get their ass kicked for being so stupid and screwing up a play such as George had just performed.
But it all worked out…Lucky for him.
Still, he had pissed away a face card!
The dealer flipped her hole card, revealing a ten, making her a fifteen. She hit the fifteen (as required), caught a nine and busted.
Pay Me!
The deck was still hot (plus to the plus) so I played another three hands and won eight or nine hundred or a grand more. Shonnie won another fifty or sixty or so. George lost another ten, or twenty.
The dealer started to reshuffle.
I was done here.
I pushed all my chips toward the dealer and said, “Color me up Darlin’ and keep this one,” as I tossed her a green. I saw Shonnie throw me yet another sideways glance, rolling her eyes.
I gave her and wink and a discreet nod in ‘George’s direction in an effort to make her understand I wanted her to leave earlier than we had originally planned.
“Leave in ten, instead of twenty” was my silent communique. Not sure if the transmission arrived in-tact and un-garbled.
Shonnie ignored me and turned her attention back to her drink and her Marlboro.
George tried to whisper some more bullshit into her ear. She pulled away, but not quickly, nor forcefully enough to suppressthe ‘Green-Eyed-Monster’ inside me.
The Green-Eyed-Monster who Torments Me Is Always Female, Feline-Like, and Redheaded.
Yours May Be Different.
“O beware my lord of jealousy.“
“It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on.“
–Iago (From ‘Othello’)
Green-Eyed Lady
Sugarloaf – Green Eyed Lady
Cred for Vid: musicvideoswhd
***
I had to leave before I blew my cover by goin’ up-side this asshole’s head.
I gathered my chips and headed over to the cashier. Got my money and split back to the Union Plaza to wait for Shonnie.
Below You Will Find Most Of The Original Posts. Once / If You Arrive At Thirteen There Are Links To The Final Few Chapters. Please keep in mind however, that each and every one of them is in the process of being rewritten: first to last. This will probably take at least two or three weeks.
I hope you were not arrested, dude, by anybody, really.
Peace.
Mark
LAMarcom July 7, 2014 at 22:42 Edit
Exile,
You are correct: The vid did not look right to me either, but I have smoked a lot of shit in my time and … I was in a hurry to get the post ‘posted’, so I probably did not pick the best YouTube.
Point well taken: I shoulda know’d.
I will change it (when I have time)
Cheers,
Lance
LAMarcom July 7, 2014 at 22:39 Edit
Mark,
Thank you for reminding me of that song (one of the best Steely Dan) and it does fit.
Sorry for the tardy response. I was arrested by the NSA.
(Now…that was a joke–kinda)
Peace,
Lance
LAMarcom July 7, 2014 at 22:24 Edit
I alternate between black coffee and whiskey. Keeps the cocktail waitresses on their toes.
Thanks for your comment. I have been in jail for the past few days, so I do apologize for the tardy response.
(I was framed, by the way).
Cheers,
Lance
P.S. “All’s Well That Ends Well With The Protagonist Still Alive and Walking About.”
markbialczak July 4, 2014 at 22:29 Edit
It looks like Walter Becker to me, 1971 or so.
Exile on Pain Street July 4, 2014 at 21:39 Edit
WTF is up with that video? That’s not Donald Fagan singing, but that’s his voice. What’s going on there?
Exile on Pain Street July 4, 2014 at 21:32 Edit
I never drink and gamble. There’s a good reason why the casinos want to ply you with free hooch while you’re trying to do the odds math.
Things look good but why do I feel like it’s not going to end well? Where have I heard this song before. Oh, yeah…I’ve sung it myself a time or two.
markbialczak July 4, 2014 at 08:59 Edit
Just like with The Dan, with The Lance and Shonnie, I will wait patiently and enjoy the ride. “Aja, when all my night dancin’ is through, I run to you” … said the song “Deacon Blues.” And that’s the song that your Vegas tale is now reminding me of, Lance. “They got a name for the winners of the world, I want a name when I lose. They call Alabama the Crimson Tide. Call me Deacon Blues.” So, you see, I fear your winning streak is coming to an end here. Can’t wait to read more. I am already hating “George.”
LAMarcom July 3, 2014 at 18:49 Edit
evil grin *
🙂
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LVital7019 July 3, 2014 at 18:47 Edit
Well, I’m over 18 so… 😉
LAMarcom July 3, 2014 at 17:09 Edit
I still remember the street address of my house in Fremont California back in ’66, but I can’t remember what I had for supper two nights ago. Go figger. 😉
Thanks very much for your visit and I do hope you will read the entire series. It does get a little racy in parts though.
Cheers to you!
-Lance
LAMarcom July 3, 2014 at 17:02 Edit
Hi Annie,
Thanks for the enthusiasm. 🙂
Appreciate your visit as always.
Cheers,
-Lance
LVital7019 July 3, 2014 at 10:17 Edit
THAT was flipping fascinating! I’m listening to Steely Dan as I type this – cool song; great band! Seriously, you make me wanna sign up and take classes with you! I’ve always been fascinated with films about card-counting heists – they always have savant-like mathematical & memory skill. My only skill is REMEMBERING numbers; like phone numbers from 35 years ago…
Now I have to go back & start from the beginning of your Shonnie-tales. 🙂
Mad Annie, Bronwyn, Ann July 3, 2014 at 08:43 Edit
I am with Sadie and Heathen here…I GOTTA know what happened! LOL
LAMarcom July 2, 2014 at 23:40 Edit
My Friend,
I am gonna end this one soon.
I hope.
Cheers,
Lance
Loading…
LAMarcom July 2, 2014 at 23:39 Edit
Thanks Sadie.
I truly, do, want, to, end this one.
But there is so very much more to tell.
Please be patient.
Cheers,
Lance
~ Sadie ~ July 2, 2014 at 23:32 Edit
Damn – your killing me here Lance – can’t wait to see what happens – LOVE me some Steely Dan from way back . . . 😉
happierheathen July 2, 2014 at 23:31 Edit
I hate waiting. Especially on a woman who’s being chatted up by a dude in urban cowboy get-up. Especially with that song playing. Good choice or diversion?
Keep writing, man! I’m ready for the next installment already!
This Georgia Filly Was in Way Over Her Head With Texan Lyle
**********
Asshole From El Paso
Richard Samet “Kinky” Friedman (born November 1, 1944)[1] is an American singer, songwriter, novelist, humorist, politician, and former columnist for Texas Monthly who styles himself in the mold of popular American satiristsWill Rogers and Mark Twain.[2]
All the beautiful women still left in California who haven’t yet moved to Texas are just busily packing their bags.
(Give them some time—they are on their way)
But they gonna have a lot of competition:
We have indigenous beautiful women here.
You Cali-Girls don’t stand a chance.
Because God Blessed Texas Women, Not You.
Not You.
Git over it!
And stay away from my Republic of Texas.
We neither want nor need you.
Try Portland.
Or Seattle.
I hear they are hard-up for pretty women–fresh out.
Fun Fact: when I was with Rhonda, My Second, we lived in a trailer park called “Southfork Trailer Park” And we were less than a mile from the actual bona-fide Southfork Ranch
We are, each of us, all of us, complicated, worthy people, full of brightly brilliant ideas, passionate passions, boundless potentials and infinite possibilities. We have our Stories. We want to Share Our Stories.
We are “Writers,” which makes us just a little bit different, special, andweird.
(In a very good way)
We each have our own personal foibles, strengths, weaknesses, levels of humanity, quirks, degrees of sanity, degrees of insanity, levels of intelligence, variancesof meanness,variancesof kindness, oscillatingmagnitudes of mood, cascades of creativity, brilliance of brevities, vacillating verbosities, and on and on…
In short we are all individuals possessing something unique that only each unique one amongst us can share.
And THAT, My Dear “Special Writer-Friends” is whatmakes this vocation so Magical.
And so very fulfilling and so very rewarding.
***
Ninety-Nine Percent of my Writing is Autobiographical.
And I know from visiting the Blogs, that most of my Fellow Writers, at the very least, Write a good deal of same.
Yet,We, each and every one of us, is worthy: Agenda Full, orAgendaEmpty.
Honestly, I am fresh out (of agendas)currently, but I am shopping for one to rent.
***
Upon ‘Sober’ Reflection…
(Yes! I have Quit for Good, The Drinking–Having Chosen Life Over Death Because I still have years and years and years worth of shit I want, need, to write and to share.)
Yes!Upon sober reflection, I realize I DO have an agenda after all: My ‘agenda’, modest as it may appear, is to spread a little joy and deliver a bit of enrichment into the people’s lives who honor me by investing some of that most valuable, finite commodity we ALL share:
“Time”
I work very diligently not to waste even one single moment of yours, because there is no such thing as a ‘Money-Back-Time-Guarantee’.
“Love It, Or We’ll Refund All Your Time Spent. With Interest. No Questions Asked! Guaranteed!”
Sorry.Don’t work that way.
Some of us are Brilliant, Talented Writers.
Some us are just getting started and may need advice from time to time. Just ask; you will most likely get an inbox overflowing full.
Some of us are polished, published, poets, prose-writers, playwright professionals, some of us are copywriters, some of us are even journalists, some of us are a combination ofa few or of them all.
Some of us have genetic talent.
Some of us must work harder at it.
Most of us sufferWriter’s Block from time to time:
But the fact that we are all here,grinding out word after word,
Proves our worth and our respect for our craft.
And the Fact that you are reading these words right now proves you have respect for your fellow writers in Our Wonderful Writer’s Community
I think what my ‘message’ is trying (and most likely failing) to eloquently say… is that I love the writers in my fellow writer community.
We all have worth.
(Well except for that worthless schmuck who don’t like Lenny Bruce… and Y’all know I am even just kidding on that.)
“Thank You Mask Man – Lenny Bruce”
Video Share Credit: ThankYouMaskedMan1
Kinda
Not Really!
Neverkid About Comedy; Comedy is SeriousBusiness!
Never Joke About Lenny; Lenny is Serious Business!
And if Y’all Think I’m a Serious Person, and not joking, I am gonna purchase you a one-way ticket to ‘The Re-Education, Never-Take-Lance-Too-Seriously Gulag Facility’, recently re-modeled and up-graded–it has running water now.
And Gulag Goulash Every Saturday Night.
–Lance, Your Humble & Worthy Servant, Who Loves, and Respects, All of ‘Y’alls’.
“Lil Kim’s got the hydrogen bomb” His news bitch announced in singsong “He’ll mount it one day “And launch it your way “Then smartly fuck off to Hong Kong”
In a Loon we call Kim Jong-Un The World sees a silly buffoon But he put up his Dukes Oh Fuck me; They’re Nukes! And The World is now singing new tunes!
