He Drinks Now Most Nights With the TV On

And all the house lights left up bright.

Happy  New Year.

“I’m gonna blow this damn candle out.”

“Holidays are hard on some guys.”

(I stole that line from a favorite movie of mine, loosely based on a wonderful play by some guy: “Sexual Perversity in Chicago” which I first saw in the Sinai, and then saw it… wait for it… in Chicago.

When I saw the movie in Shy – Town, It had been bastardized into… “About Last Night.”

“Travesty” as a word…

“Cynical and drunk?”

“May-hap: C’est moi?”

“Huh?”

“What did he say?”

*******

Honestly, when it comes down to it, we all die alone… boring someone in some dark café.

“Jesus Christ! Lance! Some happy thoughts for the New Year?”

“Naw, been there…”

“You’re either too stupid to die, or too stupid to live.”

“Yes. Both.”

I like to think that I only write for me.

That is some vain fantasy. Or just a pleasant fiction.

I write to get bed, er… read.

I do.

I really do.

I am a “writer”

Or, at least, I think of me in that way.

And I love commas.

And I edit as I go.

Someone once said of “Lord Ernest” (Hemingway),

Someone said he said, “Write Drunk. Edit Sober.”

Now, personally, I think that apocryphal, but what do I know?

Yet, I am going with it.

(at least the write drunk part)

Now, back to Joni:

“Love can be so sweet.”

“Go look at your eyes.”

“Drink up now. It’s gettin’ on time to close.”

Some footnote:

Oh, and by the way, The Last time I saw Richard was Great Lakes, Recruit Training Command, ’86,  and he told me… something about staying alive while with the Navy SEALs in SO CAL, just before he went to Florida and committed suicide,  because He could not handle the Pressure that was (then) the U.S. Navy Nuclear Submarine Program. Thank God I was in Coronado with the SEALs.

And So Safe

So safe.

I miss Richard.

He was braver than me.

And nobody ever committed suicide while at BUD/s (Navy SEAL) training: we were just all too busy, you see, just ‘busily’ trying to stay the fuck alive.

“Richard got married to a figure-skater–post-humorlessly.”

Somehow, I live.

His name was “Richard” and he was a real person.

Yeah, I left  out the tag line (on purpose):

“when you gonna get back on your feet?”

 

 

**********

 

 

If you happenstance to swerve into this blog, and catch yourself saying,

“Gee! This guy is cool.”

Don’t.

(Just don’t.)

But if’n you do, Do not then… follow the comments.

Just don’t fuckin’ do it. 

Save some:  them, them the good memories.

And walk on by.

(You just knew I had to.)

 

I Did Promise Music and Laughter: I Kind of Lied

I actually gave this some serious thought earlier today.

And truthfully I was inspired by a post I read over yonder at

http://sharoncummings.wordpress.com/2014/03/28/p-r-o-b-l-e-m-s/

We were talking about optimism.

Well Sharon was but it got me to thinking.

(Scary, yeah.)

Anyhow, I had this post develop in my head. A post about good and bad. A post about optimism and pessimism. A post about Human Decency.

Then I promised me: I Promised me I would not post it because it might sound too preachy, but when we fall away from stating the obvious, because “it has been said too many times before,” well then we forget. And dammit! Some of us need reminding from time to time.

So, here it is:

I have spoken on ‘racism’ before.

Nothing Like a Dame

No Preacher: me.

Just a schmuck.

But I love this movie.

Here are some links, if ya wanna read some scholarly shit:

Continue reading

For you film scholars out there:

I understand the point behind the Musical “South Pacific.”

Yes, I do.

It was about the idiocy that is racism.

I used the video clip (see below)  for humor and to point out a point.

Sailors were innocent (for the most part). Times were heady. Facing death, which I know, can make feminists of us all:

“Mommy! Please don’t let me die here!”

Nuff said.

End of rant.

P.S. If we ban the word, ‘Bossy’ what follows when we can seriously consider banning any word?

Or Book?

Hunger Games?

As much as I admire Jennifer Lawrence, I do not wish to go there.

*******

“You’ve Got to Be Carefully Taught” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-JjiaRJqKIU)

(sometimes “You’ve Got to Be Taught” or “Carefully Taught”) is a show tune from the 1949 Rodgers and Hammerstein musical South Pacific.

South Pacific received scrutiny for its commentary regarding relationships between different races and ethnic groups. In particular, “You’ve Got to Be Carefully Taught” was subject to widespread criticism, judged by some to be too controversial or downright inappropriate for the musical stage.[1] Sung by the character Lieutenant Cable, the song is preceded by a lyric saying racism is “not born in you! It happens after you’re born…”

Rodgers and Hammerstein risked the entire South Pacific venture in light of legislative challenges to its decency or supposed Communist agenda. While the show was on a tour of the Southern United States, lawmakers in Georgia introduced a bill outlawing entertainment containing “an underlying philosophy inspired by Moscow.”[2] One legislator said that “a song justifying interracial marriage was implicitly a threat to the American way of life.”[2] Rodgers and Hammerstein defended their work strongly. James Michener, upon whose stories South Pacific was based, recalled, “The authors replied stubbornly that this number represented why they had wanted to do this play, and that even if it meant the failure of the production, it was going to stay in.”[2]

–From Wikipedia

Shoulda Left Las Vegas

Las Vegas
And pondering why I love the TV show, ‘Nashville’ so much.

Here goes:

Many a time while stationed in San Diego, I would make a spur of the moment decision to drive the five hours to Vegas.

Occasionally with a buddy or two after closing down a bar somewhere downtown San Dog. Once or twice with a female accomplice,  but usually alone.

“It’s OK. We (I) can sober up on the road. We’ll get to Vegas about sunrise.”

Would just show up, never having the wherewithal or forethought to reserve a room so I’d just nap in my Tornado if necessary.

But then, I never really slept while in Vegas anyhow. Why would I need a room?

One Saturday night after a not-too-lucky session at the craps table, I fell asleep in my car, which was always parked in the Union Plaza Parking Lot & Cow Pasture.

plaza

Union Plaza
Live it Up!

Well I woke up Sunday morning, (with no way to hold my head that didn’t hurt) knowing full-well that I was due back in San Diego and on my “boat” before nightfall.

While attempting to drive out of the parking lot, the young uniformed schmuck informed me that I owed two dollars for the parking.

“Listen Asshole, I just dropped two grand in your casino last night.”

“Sorry Sir, but the parking is two dollars.”

“Let me say this one more time: I just ‘invested’ two large in your fucking casino.”

“Sir, I am just doing my job.”

“And me mine, for fuck’s sake. I’m protecting your way of life and your right to be an idiot.”

Continue reading

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. 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.

More later.

I have a deadline.