Gnat Pool Party

So, I am tryin’ real hard (Yes it is hard. Hey! Get Yer Mind Outta That Gutter!)

Tryin’ real hard to tone down on the drinkin’.

Poured me a ‘HALF-GLASS’ of wine, (Not much more than would fill a hen’s ear) into a ‘Normal’ wine glass as opposed to my usual, ‘Barrel Glass Runneth Over.’

NE-Way….

Phone started ringing (as it sometimes do)

Set my glass on the counter and waltzed over to pick-up the phone:

“Hello,” I said.

Voice on the line asked,

“Is this Lance Marcom?”

“Might be. What do you want?”

“Mister Marcom, I am Helga with Corporation Blah, Blah, Blah. Our records indicate you are two months in arrears. When may we expect a payment to your account?”

“Let me get back to you on that.

My Fridge is running and I need to go catch it before it escapes.
Bye now.”

*Click*

Remembered my ‘Left-all-alone’ wine glass.

Went back to re-capture it and take it hostage for my liver.

Discovered the Gnats were having a Gnat Pool Party in MY POOL. Doing back-flips, canon balls, and competitive diving off the rim of my glass.

I rescued my glass and drank down the wine along with the Fun-Loving Gnats.

“That’ll teach ‘em, by God!”
I said to no one in particular.

*****

Theme Song:

Shared Vid Cred: benjichilders

*****

Footnote to the Story:

After taking Inventory, Discovered I was Dangerously low-on-Booze.

Needed to go shopping next day.

Gonna go down and shop at

“The Tom Waits Booze Emporium & Bicycle Shoppe”

Cheers Y’all!

Part Two of a Sailor’s Scholarly Series on U.S. Naval History in The South Pacific

Viva Young

As mentioned in the previous post, Viva Young was a tiny joint about a block or two off Magsaysay Boulevard. Upon entering, immediately on the left was ‘Mama San’s ‘Office,’ which was simply an enclosed counter with an ancient cash register, a small table lamp, a perpetually over-flowing ashtray, and a counter sign which read: “No Credit.” Every bar or club had a ‘Mama San’—‘Manager’ to put it into Western Parlance. I had a bit of a history with this Mama San.

(Yeah we were ‘Fuck Buddies’)

We were roughly the same age and found each other mutually attractive. She did volunteer work for the mayor of Olongapo and was quite astute. She wanted a career in government. But first, she had a bar to run and girls to manage. In this regard she was all cold business.

When on liberty in Olongapo I generally spent the night with Mama San. She lived with her mother and a sister and a brother and a few children in a fairly decent (though small) house about a mile from Viva Young. She was supporting the entire family and was never ‘hesitate’ to hit me up for contributions to her domicile. I knew ‘the score’ and happily donated to her cause. What did I need money for anyway? We had a convenient relationship and genuinely liked each other. And to my mind, she was doing good work.

Running the length of the bar was the ‘stage’ or ‘cat walk’. Or picture a runway, similar to what one might find in a very low-rent fashion show. Bordering this runway on three sides was a narrow counter top: narrow-minded and horse-shoe-shaped. The open end faced the door and Mama San’s watchful eye. Bar stools (ancient and uncomfortable) finished the Spartan scene. The bar girls would line up on the runway and dance to the music from the equally ancient jukebox. Yes, this was best unflatteringly described as a ‘Meat Market’. But then, that was Olongapo in 1989. Matt, Rogers, and I knew all the girls. (Just not in the Biblical sense). I suspect some were under age. If you’d ask one hundred bar girls in Olongapo where they were from, you’d get one hundred same pat answers:

“I from da Pra’bince (Province). I make money so go to college.”

I never met a single gal (see how easily I throw in some Texan vernacular to cover up the horrible reality?) who told me she wasn’t actually from Olongapo. Nope, these were all ‘country gals’ with aspirations–from ‘The Province–the true aspiration was to marry a U.S. Serviceman and get the hell out of the Philippines. And who could blame them? Many a young Sailor or Marine, after having his first sexual encounter fell in love with a Filipina and did fulfill her dream. They would marry and the new bride would move to San Diego. Within a few months the rest of the family would be sent for. This was called the ‘Filipino Pipeline’. Sadly, more often than not, once secured with U.S. Citizenship and the rescue of her family, the new bride would divorce her Sailor or Marine and make her way into the American Dream, leaving the husband wondering what the hell had gone wrong.

I never felt sorry for the cuckolds. I was a cruel son of a bitch back then, and secretly, as a perpetual con and huckster, I was always for the Filipinas.

Actually everything always went wrong with such agreements.

Part One Here: 

Part Three Here.

I have a deadline.

I Jumped Off A Bridge Once. Someone Wrote A Song About It. I wasn’t impressed, Bein’ Dead an’ All

I love ‘Southern’

“Pass the biscuits please.”

 

Really love Southern.

bobbie_gentry

Truly absolutely love Southern

Truly absolutey love Southern, and all them entrails… (That would be ‘boudin’, for those uninitiated out there)

I love Bobbie Gentry, arguably one of the best Southern Singer-Song-Writers to come down from the hollow.

Been wanting to write about her, but somewhat overawed and, quite frankly, struck. (and stuck)
“Loss for words,” would suffice.

Message in a bottle time:

Help me out here: what can be said (personal experience with the music here: Please no Wiki shit) about Bobbie Gentry?

I await