“They Opened Their Mouths & OUT Came Talk! Talk! Talk! They Used to Have Faces! I am BIG! It’s the Pictures that got Small!” Some Lenny Included too!

Today’s Daily Lenny

Message Movies:

“Miami Beach is where neon goes to die.”
–Lenny

Lenny on stage

Natalie Wood

A More Beautiful Woman…Cannot Even Imagine.

Thanks for stopping by.

More Lenny Here:

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

Here Comes a Rant: Stand By For Heavy Rolls As The Shit Comes About

And I claimed to hate The Eighties.

I lied.

To myself.

(Yup. I changed the Title. It’s My Blog After All,  Ain’t It?)

The Eighties SUCKED Music-Wise

(And Other-Wise)

Wow! What a Bold Statement!

“Yes, and I stand by it.”

Now… Y’all, fess up! The Eighties were devoid of decent music, save a few, (Damn few) exceptions.

Hey! We are talking ‘bout the decade of want here! The Decade of “We want shoes! Therefore we am!” Ya know what? Fuck The Eighties! I was still a young man during them yet, even I, even I… scratched my head and pondered The End of Western Civilization.

maddie

(But Damn! How I did love Madonna!)

I served my country during The Eighties.

I loved Reagan during The Eighties.

I grew prematurely old during the Eighties.

What the hell was there not to love?

About The Eighties?

Well…

For Starters,

The Eighties were not The Sixties, nor The Seventies.

The Eighties Had NO Moral Compass.

The Eighties had NO WAR to protest.

The Eighties had Nothing, save for ‘Michael Jackson’ and ‘Rambo’ and such jokes make not a decade to be proud of.

OK: Bet Yer Boots

There is more to come.

And Comments along the way: Encouraged

This Post Will Be Heavily slightly  Not Edited, but you will see all the edits (of which there will be none), as per my wont, and my promise in a  previous post. (Yeah: work in progress…)

Stay Tuned

Y’all

(Then again, I may probably won’t just delete this and move on)

So read fast; leisurely if you’re of a mind to…

And, if you have come this far:

I actually want  really desire this to be a ‘community post’. Now, what I mean by that is this: Throw in your comments/musings/rants/raves/loves/hates about The Eighties. I will mesh them into the post. (with credits to authors) This could be fun (if we allow it)

(And if y’all believe that shit, I have a bridge for sale–just kidding–I swear! I will fold any comments into the post)

Come on now! You know you have an opinion!

Cheers and Beers!

–Lancers

 

The eighties? what were we thinking????

Something Wrong

(This Post Is A Chocolate Mess–All Over The Place)

There must be something inherently wrong

Something inherently, just wrong, with a man who can love Joni Mitchell–Mitchell and LBJ all in the same virtual ‘sentence’

I have seen idiots from ‘Both Sides Now’ And… I have been the ‘Both Sides’ Idiot. Still am, I suppose.

Well, there you have it: My virtual dichotomy.

I love ‘em both.

Surely it is a Southern/Texan thang.

I surely do hope so.

For, if so, there is still hope for those of us who call ‘Texas’ our home.

We do ‘sailor on’…

There will be some commentary on “The Atomic Cafe” soon…

(http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/atomic_cafe/)

Bonus ‘Added Value’ Below

Credit: ClassicPerformances2

OOO! Atom Bomb Linda Baby!

Street cred for vid: ClassicPerformances2

Thank You Linda for helping me Tie a Bow on This One

And Put It To BED

OK. I lied.

(Never trust any words that come out of a sailor’s mouth.)

*****

I have expended a lot of virtual ink on Linda.

But I ain’t no where near to being done here.

Vis-à-Vis Linda

******

****

The First Step is Admitting You Have a Problem…

Therefore, here I go:

“Problem? I haven’t got a problem. I’ve got fucking problems. Plural.”

-Tim Roth (I think)

But for my purpose here tonight, I wish to discuss just the one. (It is My Blog after all, ain’t it?)

My ‘Tonight’s Problem’ concerns the fascination I hold for Lenny Bruce.

Now, for those of you who care not for Lenny, check out some of my other stuff which is about as far removed from Lenny as one could ever get: On a jet ski—or on a plane—or on a train—or in an automobile, or on an underwater water ski–actually a prototype that never went anywhere important.

For the rest of you who graciously humor me, here goes:

I am posting this video simply because it is the only one out there of Lenny before he died. And in point of fact, the only one ever done, aside from his very early days before he hit his stride (shit like Steve Allen, etc). This is most definitely not Lenny at his best.

One commenter on YouTube summed it up nicely:

“Just for starters, this isn’t Lenny at his peak…he’s just rushing through his most famous bits, like so many classic rock bands do with THEIR greatest hits…At this point in Time, he had about a year to live…there aren’t enuff characters remaining for me to list all the comics who owe their careers to Lenny…”

–Andrew Geshen (Via YouTube)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GGDiyoVrMoU

Honestly, I can not say it better than Mr. Geshen did above.

What I can say is this:

I have a problem with Lenny Bruce.

And admitting that should make all the difference.

Please watch and comment, if you want to.

Cheers,

Lance

P.S. I would be doing a disservice, and remiss, if I did not include the last two minutes of his act:

“I never met a Dyke I didn’t like.”

And ya know what? Neither did I, now that I ponder on it.

 

 

Running in Soft Sand: SEAL Training Part Three. But Truthfully More Alternate Stuff (I’ll Write Another ‘Proper’ BUD/s Post Soon)

I actually know this meme-guy: he was an Instructor in BUD/s Class 158. I was there.

A BUD/s Instructor, i.e., a ‘Demigod’

Or…

Alternate Titles:

“Lance’s Ramblings from his 115th Dream Stream”

(Sorry Bob)

“Call me if they die.”

‘Semi Consciousness Streams of Conscientiousness’

Raining upon My Hit Parade’

‘Nights in White Satin’ – that one makes no sense. That is why I put it in.

Vid Cred: Redbaron863

Or, last and least perhaps: “I have become my Grandfather, or How I became Andy Rooney in One Thousand Words or Less, an essay.”

Gentle Readers, it has not escaped my undying attention that I tend to lean heavily toward the overly-dramatic. The ‘trauma drama’ effect even. Call it a ‘crutch’ if you will.

Yep. Call it that.

This I do know. Therefore, I have (Through my magical powers derived from watching old re-runs of ‘Dragnet’—“Just the facts Ma’am. Just the facts.”—decided to ‘come on back down to Earth, Son’.

–Boz Scaggs: Lowdown)

My (solely appreciated) goal here is to present just ‘them’—just them facts.

I hope I am successful. For y’all’s sake.

When last we left our hero, he was leading his class to their first BUD/s workout. Well, you cannot really call it such: more like a medieval (‘I’m gonna get medieval on your ass’) torture session.

Whatever

Even at zero five (‘Zero Dark Thirty?), The Grinder was a hot, miserable place to be, especially NOT designed for yoga or even step-up aerobics, and / or certainly not Pilates. (Gay Pirates?) No. ‘Twas Wasn’t. There is a reason they (Navy) call it ‘The Grinder.” You go ahead and figure out the obvious.

But this day I do not wanna write about Those Lazy Crazy Hazy Days of Summer…

I want to write about this:

I think. I think I am. Therefore I am… I think.

–Moody Blues, With apologies to René Descartes

***

Now Y’all, much of that I wrote late last night. (Under Some Influence)

Didn’t publish. (Thank Baby Hey Zeus). But I woke up this morning

(Praise be to Allah—Ah Ha!) And you, yes you! (My Human Friends) were on my mind:

To MORE BAD News Stories. I shall list them below so that you may share in ‘The Misery’ That is OUR ‘New World’ (You may thank me later. Send cards and letters…)

  1. The Middle East is still throwing gasoline upon their (and our) raging fire

  2. There will probably never be closure nor justice for Michael Brown or his family

  3. Ebola is raging strong (But only in Africa: So, who cares, right? The WHO, that’s who)

  4. ISIS is our new (never heard of till yesterday) National Crisis & Clear and Present Danger (or new best friend for our Military Industrial Complex, off of which I tend to make MY living)—Much hand-wringing and soul searching over that one. NOT! Damn! Put me in Coach! I live for this shit!

  5. My dog has fleas… Fuckin’ fleas. Dogs!

  6. My British GF finds me… well, of late, she don’t (find me)

  7. I dreamt late last night about my favorite dead cat (Her name was Lucia and she was ‘The Cat From Hell’ and I miss her still—probably the only ‘real’ relationship I have ever had with ‘pussy.’)

  8. My blood pressure remains off the chart and I think I may have given myself diabetes: Type Duh

  9. I have been remiss in visiting and commenting on the blogs of my good friends

  10. Maybe I will just go and eat worms. Maybe I like to eat worms…

Now, Don’t let it bring you down, but that is how I woke up. (And I was happy to have woken up… for just-one-more-day…stay?)

And hey!

Don't stay here

Photo taken in Iraq (or Afghanistan) I honestly don’t remember…

There really is no point to this post. Let us just call it “Unconscious Stream of Consciousness”.

And I will most likely, delete it (and y’all know, I am quick on the mouse trigger when it comes to deletion: I see it as a form of… birth control. So read fast!)

So There.

Now to the ‘Meat of the Matter’:

KAREN

I want to write about ‘The Age of Innocence’: The Seventies.

Yep. I tend to live in the glory that was Roaming… You may bail out here. Here, in fact here is your parachute. Be certain to locate the RIP Cord before you exit the plane: Just a word to some wise and hey!

Bon Voyage!

***

For those of y’all who still remain, I want to write about Karen Carpenter. Not ‘The’ Karen Carpenter, but the Karen Carpenter that symbolized how I felt about the Seventies. Yeah, that one. Her.

***

I woke up with Karen Carpenter on my mind (and yes: I have posted about her recently, but I wanted to try to explain why now)

I woke up with Karen and sadly not in my bed, but in my mind.

Why?

Because… of the ‘Age of Innocents.’ I call her one. The first casualty of the sickness that guides us: This American Dream of having to be some other person. A person, in the spotlight who is …. Drumroll: PERFECT!

No one is perfect and certainly not me (though I am pretty close). Yet, no one is perfection. We cannot be. There is no God and if you believe that there is, you are about as far removed from ‘Perfection’ as a Human…

I should delete that sentence, as it is not Germane, nor German, to my point. Let me think on it…

Back to The Seventies: The Age of Innocents (I was innocent; were you? Probab’ly not.)…

I am running on empty now/here.

“I don’t know where I’m runnin’ now; I’m just runnin’ on…

The Seventies.

I would like some thoughts on that/those. From you! And then, having received same, I will continue. Maybe.

Your choice.

Shalom

Salaam

Namaste

Hook ‘em Horns

Peace,

–Lancers

And P.S. I am sorry for stealing all the vid clips. I will (I promise) accolade y’all later–more later–but later)

And: to any readers I have left:

I am in some form of cryxis: I will be, as Shakespeare once wrote, “King Richard is himself again.” once be.

Stay tuned…
Or not: Yer choice.

Peach,

Lanced

Oh! And by the way… Jackson Browne was/is an asshole

Read it here

Bye now…

On The Street Where I Lived: School Days

Scrool’d daze.

Part Three in a Continuing Series

Part One & Part Two

****

The school I attended from Fourth through Sixth Grade segregated the kids into three classes: High Aptitude, Medium Aptitude, Low Aptitude. Of course my buddies and I had our own names for these three ‘Classes’: “Smart Kids” (us), “Dumb Kids”, and “Really Dumb Kids.” There was absolutely no socialization between the three classes. None. Ever. I cannot imagine California (or any other state school board) using this practice now.

Once initially ‘placed’ into your category, there was virtually no way to make a move (in either direction). But during the second half of my Fifth Grade year, I took a real running stab at getting ‘demoted’ from ‘Smart’ to ‘Dumb’ Classification. I have always been easily distracted. One day during Mathematics Class, the teacher showed us a trick I found fascinating. He taught us we could make a curved line out of a bunch of straight lines. This was a revelation to me.

Curved Lines

For the next several weeks, I spent all my time in classrooms experimenting with this new found ‘miracle’. I created countless drawings, some very colorful, some just black on white. The possibilities seemed endless. Of course my school work suffered in direct proportion to my budding creative talent. I quit doing my homework or even participating in class. I attribute this to my addictive personality. I was addicted to making curved lines out of straight. Nothing else was as much fun, especially while in class. Strangely enough, it really wasn’t fun at all as soon as I got home from school in the afternoons.

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