Daily Lenny: Judge Aaron Albamiser (sp) And This Has Turned Into a Rant. Sorry…

Judge Aaron Albamiser & Lenny Bruce:
“Thick Fingers and a Homemade Glass Eye.”
“A Red-Headed Junk-yard Jew.”

–Lenny

Two Four-Letter Words and a preposition.”

Friends, Romans, (Progressive Texans) & Others:

(Don’t some of Y’all hate to be classified as ‘Others’?

Smacks of Intellectual Racism to me, but that’s just me.)

Don’t you fain to disclaim?

Me no Alamo!

How does it feel?

How does it feel?

How the fuck does it feel?

To be on the long side of the short fence?

For Real?

Lend Me Your Beers!

(And yer FB password. Trust Me. I’m with the Government.)

Here is your (once again belated) Daily Lenny:

And Thanks for Listening, wherever you are.

Let The Buyer Beware

And now I am gonna step out on a limb and say this:

I am with my Brothers and Sisters in the Ukraine.

Keep your eyes on the prize.

(And I do not speak that flippantly; I mean it. The whole world is watching)

Oh, and thanks for listening (Did I say that already?)

Well hell! Appreciation can never be over-played (if it is sincere)

In this case, rest assur’d it is (“Hey Madge?! Did he mean ‘over-played’ or ‘sincere’? Can never get a ‘read’ on this schmuck.”)

Cheers to all.

And if you’d get a kick reading/hearing more about it, go here:

http://texantales.com/category/lenny-bruce/

Simply because, “An uneducated proletariat is a danger to freedom.”

That is My Lance Quote; I just made it up. But, Goddamn it! I do believe it.

“Aw Shit! Lance dun gone Commie on us!. Git a rope!”

Not at all. Nope. Cool yer Heels Cowboy! Lance just knows something has gone horribly wrong…with His Texas, and more importantly, with His America. It used to be His America.

Now, it seems. It ain’t.

*End of Rant*

If you have come thus far…

Well; you are a Commie!

(Just kidding)

And of course…My National Anthem:

Just for Multi-Media Attention:

If You don’t want to stand in-line…well… REFORM

(If Y’all don’t catch my drift… well then:

I am writing with no ink in my virtual pen.

And the line forms to the right. 

Get in-line!

And have fun.

And y’all thought I was bull-shitting when I posted a previous Rant:

Wake Up Lance!

I was speaking To America.

My America.

Addendum:

I just recently completed a Mark Twain Marathon, by Ken Burns.

“Good for you, Lance Marcom; we are happy you are soooo.. much into (Our) American History…”

I wanted such a telegram, but, alas, there are no telegrams today.

So, it may seem I was born too late…

For such Liberty.

No matter.

WE, We, WE can forge our own liberty, in that same same spirit.

If we have the wherewithal.

Alas, I fear we have not.

We have the Constitution; we have The Law of Our Land; we have Our Precedent…

Alas, we have not the will

The Will, we lack . Today .

This was to be… a simple American Call to Arms.

Alas, I do not know if I am young enuff to muster:

My time has long since past.

I have not the passion to fight yet another war.

Lord knows (and that is a metaphor) I have NOT  the will, nor the strength to fight such a war, yet, I am there, in spirit. I would gladly die for MY Country: My long lost America.

Rebel? Most Certainly.

Rebellious against my country?

Never

Therein lies that dilemma,

Not I! For I am too old, and this kind of business falls to younger men

BUT, when I see the masses, the masses, in squalor, I get pissed.

Really pissed.

When CEO’s in this country make ten thousand times more than the workers…

Well, it upsets me.

(any geographical or grammatical errors are surely mine. I do apologize)

These opinions are solely mine own.

Yet, I welcome our modern-day NSA to come knock on MY DOOR.

I certainly do.

Now…

I can finally be sated (for now)

And…I am gonna continue with this for some few weeks, until I give up…

But, Y’all know, when I get unto a ‘kick’ I hang on.

So…we shall see.

–Lance Out

Wow Lance! THAT was some long-winded RANT!

heheheheh

No Worries: Nobody Read it but The NSA of the USA.

There’s somethin’ happening Here…

 

Sinai Field Mission. Or The Story of How Lance Lost His Mind and Later Found it Ferreted Away in His Pocket

This Post is a Continuation of a Promise I made to Me (And to Y’all, Gentle Readers) to write about Sinai Field Mission. For brevity’s sake (The Soul of Wit), I am breaking it down into snippets. To catch the back story, actually the forward story, please go here:

“No Bare Feet Beyond This Point” (This is a ‘Re-Constructed Old Post.’ No Alcoholic Beverages Were Harmed, Nor Consumed While Operating The Requisite Heavy Machinery For The Successful Completion of This Project)

********************

Me and Boeing’s 747 partners: Wheels Down at Ben Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv Israel late one afternoon, October 1977, just a couple of days before Halloween, found the Talmud. I mean tarmac. 

My final destination, however was not Judea; it  was The Sinai Desert, to live for eighteen months-plus on a mountain-top base camp, Dubbed ‘Caddo Mountain’, (In deference to the Texans who built it and ran it and to whom I would soon become a compadre) some shit-hole between the Gidi and Mitla Passes: Historically, the only two routes armies could pass from east to west or west to east across burning Sinai to thwack upon each other’s opponents’ heads.

I was 40 days leeward of twenty years and a little more than apprehensive. (These Two States, Egypt & Israel, were still technically, At War)

UNEF BUFFER Zone

I knew some of the history, but I couldn’t be bothered that day about ‘Ancient’ History (Yom Kippur War, Six-Day War, ‘Suez War’ of ‘56, Holocaust. Nope: I was here for ‘New History’, ‘My History’, ‘My Adventure’: A Dangerous Desolate Gig (my first). I had never been out of CONUS (Continental United States) before.

And I was stoked. A fresh-faced, bullet-proof Texan Kid newly escaped from Louisiana and cock-strong! Fuck did I care for Mid-East Politics? I am here! Step right up! Texas has arrived! “Step aside, Son!”

Gathering my luggage (my father’s old sea-bag left over from his USMC Korean War days) and a few other bags, laden with tennis shoes, workout gear, books and magazines… way too much superfluous shit, I scampered to find my liaison, struggling with all my kit.

Finding him, a tall, skinny, thin-haired, gaunt-faced, ‘Middle-East-Hardened’ Texan Veteran (four months here previous to me, I discovered later), man who spoke with an air of, ‘Oh, you’re the ‘New Kid’… Follow me’ he said laconically.

He looked an old thirty-five to me. (Later I found out he was twenty-nine, but we were all so young there. Back then.)

Ignoring his attitude, I tried very hard to ‘get into the groove.’ It was hellishly hot, even for an October—a Texas October. I had jet lag and fatigue like a pup that had been crated too long. Even though I was ‘stoked’, all I really wanted was a gallon of really cold orange juice, an air-conditioned hotel room, and a bed. The ‘plane ride’ from Dallas to Tel Aviv had robbed me of some (I thought) important part of my young life and my health. I was severely dehydrated, completely spent, and pretty much left wondering if I had made some horrible mistake.

But, I sucked it up.

After a hot and hotter and even hotter bizarre drive (The Road signs looked so foreign to me, some form of hieroglyphic—never having seen Hebrew before—had not at that point read the Old Testament) from Ben Gurion Airport, through the busy streets of Tel Aviv (me resisting the urge to ask, “Hey! are we there yet?”) we arrived at the Mediterranean Sea and the Sheraton Hotel.

My ‘liaison’ deposited me at the front desk of the ‘New’ Sheraton Hotel on HaYarkon Street Tel Aviv, telling me in parting,

“The R&R Vehicle leaves at 0800hrs; meet here in the lobby. Don’t be late. Goodbye.”

“Thanks Asshole.”

I checked in, and got me that room, such as it was. It was more a closet than a room, but it was cool and clean, and there was that bed tucked away in the corner…

I hit it, and slept like the dead.

To be continued…

Early Thursday TB: ‘TA’ Does Not Always Mean ‘Tits an’ Ass’

I cannot find my Gladys Lehanni Post.

Give me time…

Arrived Tel Aviv one afternoon Late ‘78. 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

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.” This 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]

Purim

My Jewish Friends: Was it Purim I had experienced? My enquirin’ mind really do wanna know.

 

TITS AND ASS BIT: LENNY

“Anybody got a match?”

“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 Jewish and 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 by Americanizing your name, and very frequently, Americanizing your nose,” said Jonathan 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,” he added.

***

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 the time. Had I known this, I most probably would not have written my term paper on Bogie 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 beautiful!

***

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.

She was mortified.

Lauren cannot sing.

She knew this.

But she did it anyway…

It was in the script.

And she was charming.

***

Video credit: HollywoodClassics33 Returns

Great article. link below:

https://www.biography.com/news/humphrey-bogart-lauren-bacall-relationship-marriage?fbclid=IwAR29mwY13msWcV5Sa5zof3mvbl-Lopb1AbsIYVx_QBGWABi5ItfIV1oGapY

Must watch this below.

It relates!

Here is a clue

And some Nickles:

Hem

***

Had to Add:

Street Cred for Vid: Somewheremaybe

I Gave it the Ol’ College Try

I tried real hard.

Real hard.

Real hard to watch this movie (one of my favorites)

But I am a-feared…

It does not age well.

Guess I need to stick to Hemingway…

VeryVeryVery

Very loosely based on Hem.

But L. Bacal is worth the price of admission.

(BTW, the spelling is correct.

She was ‘Bacal,’ but Hollywood made her change the spelling–too Jewish, they said.)

Lenny Bruce is Dead

Lenny Died.

I know this.

lenny grave

Yet, he lives on in my mind and in my heart.

Not going to go over the top here, but I am taking myself out of the ‘Daily Lenny Business’ business. (not many enjoyed it anyhow. I did. But I did  not ‘write’ for Lenny. I ‘wrote’ for me,  and for the edification of a few of my readers.)

No matters…

So.. This is your last ‘Daily Lenny’. I do hope you have enjoyed the previous seventy or so.

There will be no more.

This makes me sad. (because there is so much more Lenny I want to share, but alas, I am tired.)

–Lance

This video really sucks. I will search out a better one. (Maybe tomorrow) I do it for the children..

Oh! More Lenny Here:

https://404.com