Tag Archives: Hemmingway

Tattoo: ‘This is Awkward,’ or ‘Open for Suggestion’, Or “Using Parking Meters For Walking Sticks”–Tom Waits “Parking Meters As Walking’ Sticks?” Yep! Been There–Done That! I Have The T-Shirt.

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Author’s Note:

Yes. I’ve done some incredibly stupid shit in my time.

Below is an actual-for-real email I sent to a soon-to-be former boss (an attractive lady-boss, of course.) and is sadly very close to the top of the Misfit Hit Parade of lame-ass-actions I have perpetrated on innocents.

***

I have swerved into the solution for Drunken Emails.

Who could’ve known it would be this simple?

Street Cred for Vid: Big Play Films

***

From: Moron <lance_moron@misfits.fubar> cc bcc:

To: Lady_Boss@job.yrfired

Subject: Tattoo

Dear Suki,

Yes, I am getting a tattoo (for my ‘mousing’ musing hand).

It will read simply, succinctly, in Big Bold Letters:

“No!”

Subtle Reminder:

“No! Don’t Go There Lance!”

Brevity? Yes. (‘That soul of wit.’)

“Words have meaning Son,” my father often told me.

And short words, I have discovered, oft hold the most meaningful meaning.

It has been ‘awkward’ (to say the very least) to face you of late.

After my ‘email shot-gunning’ you, off-the-chain escapade of recent shameful regret, but… I did it and today found the courage to read all of what I did send and happily discovered, most were not of the obnoxious caliber of my historical wont.

Thank God and Baby Hey Zeus!

Alas, I wish I had an excuse.

Yet, in searching, there is one to be discovered, but so probably painfully evident that it requires no verbalization:

Two times per year, I get to ‘explore’ my darker side.

Two times per year, I choose a ‘lucky’ recipient to ‘share’ in my darkness.

Two times per year someone gets to be ‘it’.

Guess what?!

Tag!

You won!

You’re the New ‘IT’ Girl!

Congratulations!

You’re in Good Company.

Clara Bow: The Original It Girl, 1927

***

The thing about writers (and those so-called writers who call themselves ‘writers’) is that they are so full of themselves, and vain by nature (it is requisite-with the breed), and every writer and so-called writer I have ever met, are… assholes. All.

Vain, pompous, drinks-too-much, full of sound and fury, and desperate.

“A tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”

Desperate for…

Crying for…

Waiting for…

FEEDBACK

I am not (not really) stupid.

I know you cannot ‘comment’ nor even acknowledge, via email, all the posts I posted ‘at you.’

I dare say you would be wise to ignore me and my ramblings, given our professional relationship.

Yet, if you did read even one of the posts on my blog, (actually I think you read the first one I begged you to read—not the ‘best’ one, but one which apparently was on my mind–at the time)

It is a very simple thing to comment, ‘in disguise’ as

‘anonymous.’

Or ‘any-mouse.’

Or simply, “A Fan.” (tongue in cheek)

Too easy.

Do that once and I will be sated.

Do it twice and you get a Mickey Mouse Pencil Sharpener,

OR

An Autographed 8X10 Hollywood-Type-Glossy Photograph of Jesus Christ.

Sermon-on-the-mount, highly recommended, and our best-seller

But you cannot have both; there is a limited supply.

Do it thrice:  You should seek counsel.

Professional help.

Honestly.

Never mind…

“Writers are assholes.”

“Lance is a ‘writer’”

“Ergo, Lance is an asshole.”

***

Suki,

There is a point to this post, but most assuredly, I have forgotten my initial inclination in that regard.

***‘Jeopardy musical theme plays***

Oh yes!

Now I’ve got it!

This is my convoluted apology to you.

I am, and shall always remain, an Honorable Military Man.

I am cognizant of the duty (and the mission)

And, admitting I was wrong is something which seems to be easier (and more difficult—same time) to do lately.

My first wife once accused me of aspiring to be “King of the Idiots.”

(She was an idiot savant…well, you’d have to know her to get my meaning, yet, I think–know, that I have posted about her…ON-MY-BLOG)

Back to my point:

Suki,

I am beginning to grow bored with my job.

You are the best supervisor/boss I have had in recent memory. All, and I do mean ALL respect you.

This should be enough for me (and for the foreseeable future it shall be)

But…

I don’t like to shit where I eat, BUT (and this is a curse), I have a opinions and I need to get that tattoo—post haste—and with all due prejudice.

I like you Suki.

I respect you.

I am trying to help you professionally (in my way).

And NO!

I am not trying to ‘do’ anything other than ‘talk’ to you and ‘work’ for you.

To quote Nixon:

“Let me make one thing perfectly clear…”

I am a whore, but only when it comes to my writing.

Nothing else these days (aside from my computer addiction) means anything to me.

Rest easy.

I am not as bad as I may, at first glance, seem.

(Truth: I am worse, but I do not bring that to WORK)

Cheers,

—Lance

(Yes: you may quote me. I’d be flattered…. Hahahahaaa)

See you on Friday.

And remember not to work too hard.

Life’s best moments can be fleeting.

Cherish Them

***

Number One

Beautiful Joni

Hem-Haw! Y’all!

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“Woolworth Rhinestone Diamond Earrings

And a Sideways Glance”

Greatest lyric in the History of lyrics

“The way into understanding him is through the relationships with women in his life.”

— Lynn Novick

“I can’t imagine how toxic it must have been to have been around him.”

–-Ken  Burns.

“I can easily imagine it.”

—Lance Marcom

“All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know.”

–Hem

“I could only care about people a very few at a time.”

–-Hem

“Wherever he was. Whatever he was doing. Alcohol fueled everything.”

–Ken Burns.

“I have been drunk since I was fifteen and few things have given me more pleasure.”

–Hem

***

She shot very well this good, this rich bitch, this kindly caretaker and destroyer of his talent. Nonsense. He had destroyed his talent himself. Why should he blame this woman because she kept him well? He had destroyed his talent by not using it, by betrayals of himself and what he believed in, by drinking so much that he blunted the edge of his perceptions, by laziness, by sloth, and by snobbery, by pride and by prejudice, by hook and by crook.

What was this? A catalogue of old books? What was his talent anyway? It was a talent all right but instead of using it, he had traded on it. It was never what he had done, but always what he could do. And he had chosen to make his living with something else instead of a pen or a pencil.

It was strange, too, wasn’t it, that when he fell in love with another woman, that woman should always have more money than the last one? But when he no longer was in love, when he was only lying, as to this woman, now, who had the most money of all, who had all the money there was, who had had a husband and children, who had taken lovers and been dissatisfied with them, and who loved him dearly as a writer, as a man, as a companion and as a proud possession; it was strange that when he did not love her at all and was lying, that he should be able to give her more for her money than when he had really loved.

–“The Snows of Kilimanjaro”

***

It was now about three o‟clock in the morning and Francis Macomber,
who had been asleep a little while after he had stopped thinking about
the lion, wakened and then slept again, woke suddenly, frightened in a
dream of the bloody-headed lion standing over him, and listening while
his heart pounded, he realized that his wife was not in the other cot in
the tent. He lay awake with the knowledge of two hours.


At the end of that time his wife came into the tent, lifted her mosquito
bar and crawled cozily into bed.


“Where have you been?” Macomber asked in the darkness.
“Hello,” she said. “Are you awake?”
“Where have you been?”
“I just went out to get a breath of air.”
“You did, like hell.”
“What do you want me to say, darling?”
“Where have you been?”
“Out to get a breath of air.”
“That‟s a new name for it. You are a bitch.”
“Well, you‟re coward.”
“All right,” he said. “What of it?”

–“The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber“

****

“I would rather have one honest enemy than most of the friends I have known.”

–Hem

Watch this Below!

Dammit! Just Fuckin’ Do it!

Was Ernest Hemingway a Misogynist? 

Naw!

He Wern’t

Fuckin’ Sneeze Louise

I am an Idiot/Accident

Goin’ Somewhere to Happen

But I’ve Got Three More Bottles of Whine

So Screw You!

I Love Emmy-Lou

****

This is the BEST Vid in the History of Vid

Re-Post Be’Cuz I Can. I Have The ‘Technology’–Hem Is On My Mind Today: “On Writing. On Thinking. On Drinking.” HAHAHAHA!

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I Throw Excuses at Me for Not Writing:

‘Too Early’
‘Too Late’
‘Too Hot’
‘Too Cold’
‘Too wet’
‘Too Dry’
‘Too Sober’

‘Too Drunk’

‘Oh Wait!—There’s ‘Breaking News on CNN!’

(I am far too Easily Distracted!)

Eventually, I empty out my ‘Excuses-Bag-of-Tricks’

Then I Park My Ass On The ‘Writing Chair’

And I Begin trying to write.

I have SO Much Shit to ‘Write’ ABOUT!

Not Un-Like So Many Fire-Flies

Swirling About in My Head–

As Fire-Flies On A Hot Texas Summer Night

***

But then My Mind

Wanders.

“Meanders.”

NO!

Not the proper, suitable Metaphor.

My Mind is trapped in a Pinball Machine.

Stolen (by me) From The Movie

‘Tommy’

Cred For Vid Share: Umbrella Entertainment

***
I am the Stainless Steel Little Ball.
Just Bouncing About.
Aimlessly
Flying All Over The Fu^king Place.
Just Looking to Rack up ‘Points.’
And for what?

****

Fun Fact: When I, Bob, Peanut Et al, used to hang out at the Pool Hall (er.. ‘Recreation Center’) on Sixth Street, Honey Grove America…

We would place empty Marlboro packs underneath the front legs of the pinball machine—Thus making it impossible for us to lose…

Yes. We all had larceny flowing through our veins.

***

But To What Purpose?

Just for Fun, I Guess

(And we had a limited cache of quarters)

I will never write like Hemmingway
(But at Least I can drink like him)

That’s Half the Battle/Bottle Won.

Ain’t it?

Apocryphal Hemmingway Quote:

“Write Drunk. Edit Sober”

Ernest never said those words, but he should have.

Right?

Right?

RIGHT??

Will never even be a Two-Bit Paperback / Pulp-Fiction Writer.

Yet I ‘Sailor’ On!

Pour yet another drink

Park my Butt on my ‘Writing Chair‘

And attack that GD keyboard

****

Cheers!

See You in The Funny Papers!

My Writing, Self-Delusional Façade

****

I just drop this photo because I am infatuated with Info-Babes

(See Below Recent Post O’ Mine)

Babes, Info (Info-Babes)

Re-Post Be’Cuz I Can. I Have The ‘Technology’–Hem Is On My Mind Today: “On Writing. On Thinking. On Drinking.” HAHAHAHAHAHHAAH!

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0

I Throw Excuses at Me for Not Writing:

‘Too Early’
‘Too Late’
‘Too Hot’
‘Too Cold’
‘Too wet’
‘Too Dry’
‘Too Sober’

‘Too Drunk’

‘Oh Wait!—There’s ‘Breaking News on CNN!’

(I am far too Easily Distracted!)

Eventually, I empty out my ‘Excuses-Bag-of-Tricks’

Then I Park My Ass On The ‘Writing Chair’

And I Begin trying to write.

I have SO Much Shit to ‘Write’ ABOUT!

Not Un-Like So Many Fire-Flies

Swirling About in My Head–

As Fire-Flies On A Hot Texas Summer Night

***

But then My Mind

Wanders.

“Meanders.”

NO!

Not the proper, suitable Metaphor.

My Mind is trapped in a Pinball Machine.

Stolen (by me) From The Movie

‘Tommy’


I am the Stainless Steel Little Ball.
Just Bouncing About.
Aimlessly
Flying All Over The Fucking Place.
Just Looking to Rack up ‘Points.’
And for what?

****

Fun Fact: When I, Bob, Peanut Et al, used to hang out at the Pool Hall (er.. ‘Recreation Center’) on Sixth Street, Honey Grove America…

We would place empty Marlboro packs underneath the front legs of the pinball machine—Thus making it impossible for us to lose…

Yes. We all had larceny flowing through our veins.

***

But To What Purpose?

Just for Fun, I Guess

(And we had a limited cache of quarters)

I will never write like Hemmingway
(But at Least I can drink like him)

That’s Half the Battle/Bottle Won.

Ain’t it?

Apocryphal Hemmingway Quote:

“Write Drunk. Edit Sober”

Ernest never said those words, but he should have.

Right?

Right?

RIGHT??

Will never even be a Two-Bit Paperback / Pulp-Fiction Writer.

Yet I ‘Sailor’ On!

Pour yet another drink

Park my Butt on my ‘Writing Chair‘

And attack that GD keyboard

****

Cheers!

See You in The Funny Papers!

My Writing, Self-Delusional Façade

****

I just drop this photo because I am infatuated with Info-Babes

(See Below Recent Post O’ Mine)

Babes, Info (Info-Babes)

Welcome to My Pity Party. Pull Up a Chair. The Bar is Open (and free) Post Only For Ela, (Elizabeth) The Sexy Goddess: Last and Last and Last Wife I Will Ever Be Blessed To Have

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Throwing away perfectly fine, Good Women Is My Primary Profession.
Second is Regret and Self-Pity
(Those come as kind of a ‘set’)
Third is….
I have not figured out yet..
I’ll get back to you.

Our marriage lived and died over these two songs attached.

I do miss her.

Marvelous much.

And I hope she sees this post.

Yet, then again,

I hope she does not.

Not Her below, but pretty Goddamn Close.

“I haven’t stopped lovin’ you yet.”

Coast of Marseilles – Jimmy Buffett

“How good it’d be to feel that way again.”

Vid Cred: Parrothead Poet

Ten or fifteen years living in dangerous desolate foreign places will turn anyone into a hopeless romantic.

Don’t believe me?

Ask Hem:

https://texantales.com/2021/08/22/hem/

Or Hem:

HEM. I am HiM! Oh Vain Vanity!

Or Me:

The Trouble With Lance And Beer Cans (And Tribbles) I’m apologize for the U-Boob links— I may fix this later…. or not

Moldy Moldy Old Oldie Re-Run, (Just Fer Fun)–Tattoo (or ‘This is awkward,’ or ‘Open for Suggestion’) Or… “Don’t Shit Where You Eat.”

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Tom Waits – “Eggs and Sausage

(In A Cadillac With Susan Michelson)”

“Why do men chase women?”

“I think It’s Because They Fear Death”

Author’s Note:

Yes. I’ve done some incredibly stupid shit in my time.

Below is an actual-for-real email I sent to a soon-to-be former boss (an attractive lady-boss, of course.) and is sadly very close to the top of the Misfit Hit Parade of lame-ass-actions I have perpetrated on innocents.

***

I have swerved into the solution for Drunken Emails.

Who could’ve known it would be this simple?

Street Cred for Vid: Big Play Films

***

From: Moron <lance_moron@misfits.fubar> cc bcc:

To: Lady_Boss@job.yrfired

Subject: Tattoo

Dear Suki,

Yes, I am getting a tattoo (for my ‘mousing’ musing hand).

It will read simply, succinctly, in Big Bold Letters:

“No!”

Subtle Reminder:

“No! Don’t Go There Lance!”

Brevity? Yes. (‘That soul of wit.’)

“Words have meaning Son,” my father often told me.

And short words, I have discovered, oft hold the most meaningful meaning.

It has been ‘awkward’ (to say the very least) to face you of late.

After my ‘email shot-gunning’ you, off-the-chain escapade of recent shameful regret, but… I did it and today found the courage to read all of what I did send and happily discovered, most were not of the obnoxious caliber of my historical wont.

Thank God and Baby Hey Zeus!

Alas, I wish I had an excuse.

Yet, in searching, there is one to be discovered, but so probably painfully evident that it requires no verbalization:

Two times per year, I get to ‘explore’ my darker side.

Two times per year, I choose a ‘lucky’ recipient to ‘share’ in my darkness.

Two times per year someone gets to be ‘it’.

Guess what?!

Tag!

You won!

You’re the New ‘IT’ Girl!

Congratulations!

You’re in Good Company.

Clara Bow: The Original It Girl, 1927

***

The thing about writers (and those so-called writers who call themselves ‘writers’) is that they are so full of themselves, so full of shit & vain by nature (it is requisite-with the breed), and every writer and so-called writer I have ever met, are… assholes. All.

Vain, pompous, drinks-too-much, full of sound and fury, and desperation just to be read.

“A tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”

Desperate for…

Crying for…

Waiting for…

FEEDBACK

I am not (not really) stupid.

I know you cannot ‘comment’ nor even acknowledge, via email, all the posts I posted ‘at you.’

I dare say you would be wise to ignore me and my ramblings, given our professional relationship.

Yet, if you did read even one of the posts on my blog, (actually I think you read the first one I begged you to read—not the ‘best’ one, but one which apparently was on my mind–at the time)

It is a very simple thing to comment, ‘in disguise’ as

‘anonymous.’

Or ‘any-mouse.’

Or simply, “A Fan.” (tongue in cheek)

Too easy.

Do that once and I will be sated.

Do it twice and you get a Mickey Mouse Pencil Sharpener,

OR

An Autographed 8X10 Hollywood-Type-Glossy Photograph of Jesus Christ.

Sermon-on-the-mount, highly recommended, and our best-seller

But you cannot have both; there is a limited supply.

Do it thrice:  You should seek counsel.

Professional help.

Honestly.

Never mind…

“Writers are assholes.”

“Lance is a ‘writer’”

“Ergo, Lance is an asshole.”

***

Suki,

There is a point to this post, but most assuredly, I have forgotten my initial inclination in that regard.

***‘Jeopardy musical theme plays***

Oh yes!

Now I’ve got it!

This is my convoluted apology to you.

I am, and shall always remain, an Honorable Military Man.

I am cognizant of the duty (and the mission)

And, admitting I was wrong is something which seems to be easier (and more difficult—same time) to do lately.

My first wife once accused me of aspiring to be “King of the Idiots.”

(She was an idiot savant…well, you’d have to know her to get my meaning, yet, I think–know, that I have posted about her…ON-MY-BLOG)

Back to my point:

Suki,

I am beginning to grow bored with my job.

You are the best supervisor/boss I have had in recent memory. All, and I do mean ALL respect you.

This should be enough for me (and for the foreseeable future it shall be)

But…

I don’t like to shit where I eat, BUT (and this is a curse), I have a opinions and I need to get that tattoo—post haste—and with all due prejudice.

I like you Suki.

I respect you.

I am trying to help you professionally (in my way).

And NO!

I am not trying to ‘do’ anything other than ‘talk’ to you and ‘work’ for you.

To quote Nixon:

“Let me make one thing perfectly clear…”

I am a whore, but only when it comes to my writing.

Nothing else these days (aside from my computer addiction) means anything to me.

Rest easy.

I am not as bad as I may, at first glance, appear

(Truth: I am worse, but I do not bring that to WORK)

Cheers,

—Lance

(Yes: you may quote me. I’d be flattered…. Hahahahaaa)

See you on Friday.

And remember not to work too hard.

Life’s best moments can be fleeting.

Cherish Them

***

Number One

“Win or lose, win or lose
To the losers go the heart-sick blues
To the victor goes the spoilings
Honey, did you win or lose?”

Lovely, Beautiful Joni