Saturday, January 31, 2009
In the 1960s young boys around the USA watched Bruno Sanmartino face off against George the Animal Steele in the square circle of wrestling. Our parents told us that these combats were faked, but we loved them as much as our teachers hated the Three Stooges. Real was Viet-Nam, Watts, and LBJ. Wrestling was an escape from that world and its fraud was half of its appeal.
"Bruno, Bruno, Bruno."
The names changed over the years and the crowds filled stadiums, but few enthusiasts realized the sacrifices the athletes made to revel in the glory of victory.
This ignorance was shredded by Mickey Rourke's performance in THE WRESTLER.
No one in Hollywood can play down-and-out like the actor who hit the big time with 9 1/2 WEEKS. His flirtation as a headliner lasted about a year as his excesses anti-endeared the Florida native to directors and producers. When in Paris he was hanging around with young junkies. I couldn't tell who was a bad influence on whom.
Despite the descent Mickey Rourke proved capable of creating off-beat personae such as BARFLY BARBET SCHROEDER'S 1987 film loosely based on the heavy drinking of the legendary poet Charles Bukowski.
Lines such as "Drinks for all my friends." or his quip about a passed-out Faye Dunaway "Don't worry about her. She's just drunk." won him new fans, which he trashed in a series of bombs. he appeared in SIN CITY under heavy make-up to keep from scaring the viewing public with the results of a blotched face-job which transformed him into an aged Axel rose from Gun n Roses of 2030.
But all this damage made him an obvious casting choice for THE WRESTLER a tale about a one-time champion struggling to remain a wrestler through steroids and other drugs. His life is a wasteland and his arenas small-time gyms. Mickey Rourke perfectly portrays this anti-hero seeking redemption and deservedly earned an Academy Award for his performance.
For some reason I never saw the end.
I doubt it was happy.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Times are tough everywhere and people are hard up for money. Nowhere more obviously than in Bangkok's Chinatown where crowds surged into the gold shops after the Chinese New Year to exchange their bahts of gold for paper baht. Gold might be beautiful, but you can't eat it. Gold merchants soon ran out of hard currency to finance almost $250,000,000 US in transactions.
Previously the normal selling day averaged $4-5 million.
The Global Meltdown thanks to the Masters of the universe and everyone's greed has hit the world hard. The Plaza Hotel is a far cry from Chinatown in Bangkok, but the desperation on people's faces is very noticeable.
"How much can you give me for this?" An older man offered me a ruby broach.
"I really don't want it." It was the truth.
"How much?" He needed money for rent on his Park Avenue apartment. $4000.
"$3500." The broach was worth $6000. Not to me. Not to anyone. He took the money with gratitude, saying he'll be back. I flipped the broach to a dealer. The store made $1000. These might be the worst of times, however there's always a way to make money.
And at least it's not a Ponzi scheme.
ps the global spot price for gold is $927 as of Friday.
So sell sell sell.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Years ago I was traveling through Mexico on my way to Texas. The bus stopped at a small village and I bought some tacos. One tasted funny. Within several hours my body was wracked by gastric convulsions. I got off the bus in a small nameless town and booked a room in a disreputable posada. I read HP Lovecraft's PITTMAN'S MODEL and fell asleep in a stupor.
A fevered dream of zombies chasing me through a decrepit garden became too real.
I shouted, "Wake up, wake up." As the undead followed me down the dusty paths. A gazebo offered shelter. The screendoor and windows kept out the man-eaters for they were too weak to push through the flimsy barrier. Dust from under their fingernails in the air. More zombies came from the darkness. I was doomed and a eerie voice said, "If you tell us the secret of human life, we will live another 60 seconds."
"The secret of human life?" Nothing I had read ever held the answer to this mystery, but I realized the secret. I couldn't tell the zombies or else they would east the rest of the world in a raw frenzy.
The secret was that no matter how bad the fate awaited me I still wanted those extra 60 seconds.
And the same is for the young man from this video.
No matter what there always another chance.
go to this URL
Nick Vujicic has no arms or legs but has come to terms with his lot in life and he delivers an inspirational speech to these school kids that they will probably never forget.
I bet he gets a lot of chances.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
"I still don't understand why that Aussie writer got 3 years for slandering the king." Aussie Mike was drunk. Most anyone would be if they drank 20 whiskey-cokes every night for the past three weeks. His words were slurred, but two waitresses at the Pig Pen narrowed their eyes as if a ghost or phi had entered the bar. Thais don't like foreigner saying anything about the king. Other than good, for he was the father of this nation.
"The King is a god." Jamie Parker had been brought up in America. His nation hadn't been ruled by royalty in over 200 years. It was the Land of the Free. They only worshipped superstars.
"To the Thais and no one else." Aussie Mike's irreverence was normally covered less treacherous grounds such as racism and illegal aliens. This vein was a threat to everyone within earshot and Jamie hushed the 300-pounder.
"Don't hush me. I was born a free man." His claim sounded funny coming from the descendant of convicts.
"You might be." Jamie never argued with men nearly twice his size. When they fall on you, neither of you can get up. "But the Thais are very touchy about the King and his family, so keep your trap shut or else you'll be banned from the Pig Pen for the rest of the month."
"You're only saying that because I paid my bar bill." Aussie Mike started off his evenings at the Pig Pen. He liked two of the girls. His nightly tab was around 2000. Other farangs might spend more er night, but Aussie Mike was steady. This month his bill came to 70,000.
"No, I'm saying that because it's true." Jamie wasn't losing the bar because of a big mouth. "I was telling my wife that the Thais have only been in the area for a 1000 years and everyone is part something else; Lao, Chinese, Khmer whatever. I said there is anyone 100% Thai. She looked at me like I had stuck my foot in a plate of food."
"Thais are a little fierce about being Thai."
"As well as they should." Thailand was paradise on Earth some of the time. "But my girlfriend said maybe she wasn't 100% Thai, but there was one person who was."
"The King. May he live forever." The King had given my father-in-law solar panels for his rice hut. You stand up in the beginning of the movies not because of the anthem, but to honor the King, and you certainly don't say anything untoward to him.
"Amen." Aussie Mike ordered another round. "Maybe you should get a job with the foreign ministry. They are starting a program to teach farangs about the lese majeste laws. I read about it in the Bangkok Post."
"I think they have enough people to handle the job." Jamie's work permit was for managing a bar and nothing else. "But 15 years for lese majeste is the standard penalty, so that Aussie writer was lucky to get 3."
"Maybe someone should buy all the books and burn them."
"He only sold 7."
"That was 7 too many."
And that seems to be the truth.
At least for the moment.
Monday, January 26, 2009
The recent death of Riker's Island inmate Christopher Robinson has brought to light the brutality of the New york City penal system. Bad people do bad things. The deceased had been remanded to custody for a string of robberies. While in a single cell, three other prisoner entered his cell to give him a behavioral beating. He died soon thereafter. Correctional officers were accused of having sent in these thugs to enforce 'the program'. Several have been assigned to desk duty pending investigation.
Most pro-punishment advocates say the inmates get everything they deserve.
If you do the crime, then you do the time.
I believe that bad people shouldn't be on the street, but the judge said nothing about after-hours death sentences and no matter what we are supposed to protect every member of this society or else we can protect no one.
Of course we are exiting the era of Constitutional suspension.
No habeus corpus. No warrants for search or seizure. Everyone is guilty.
And does your crime warrant a beating to death.
I certainly don't think that decision should rest with sadistic lazy-ass COs.
Not in this USA.
At times contrite, at times defiant, Correction Commissioner Martin Horn broke his silence Monday about the beating death of a young inmate on Rikers Island.
Testifying before City Council members about youth violence in city jails, he called the Oct. 18 slaying of Christopher Robinson, 18, "a great tragedy."
"We are eager to get to the bottom of this case not only to bring to justice those who are responsible but also to understand the circumstances of his death and so try to prevent future deaths," he said.
Inmates told Robinson's mom guards let at least three young men assault her son. Two Rikers correction officers were put on desk duty because of the attack. The Bronx district attorney's office is investigating.
"Beware of the sick buffalo."
This warning should be displayed in large letters at all entrance to Thailand, for anyone who has lived there long enough has heard the old plea for money, "Buffalo sick."
"Buffalo?" This is the 21st Century, however nothing Thai farmers love more than buffalo or kwai. The bovine creatures symbolize wealth on the hoof. My father-in-law has a herd of 20. He remains in a ramshackle hut set amongst rice fields to oversee their daily meanderings. Kwai rustlers are always on the lookout for a sleeping farmer. Old Den hasn't lost one. He's that vigilant, so I mentioned to him that this Chinese New Year must be good luck. "Year of the Ox lucky for you."
"Not year Kwai. Year preut." He corrected my ignorance, for a Kwai is not a Preut or ox, plus the ox symbolizes good luck, but only through hard work. I researched the year of the ox online. Wikpedia mentions that anyone born under this celestial sign in a natural leader; dependable, calm, patient, tireless in their work, and capable of enduring any amount of hardship without complaint, although they need peace and quiet to work through their ideas, and when they have set their mind on something it is hard for them to be convinced otherwise. An Ox person has a very logical mind and is extremely systematic in whatever they do, though they have a tremendous imagination and an unparalleled appreciation for beauty. These people speak little but are extremely intelligent. When necessary, they are articulate and eloquent.
Unbelievably Barack Obama was born in the year of the Ox 1961.
This is his year.
He is no kwai.
At least as long as he doesn't fall in love with a Thai bargirl and I don't see that happening soon. Me on the other hand I'm a total fool or ngao, but I like it.
Happy New Year.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
The German came into the Buffalo Bar every night. His unnaturally orange hair bore the signs of a bad dye job, however also that if the effort wasn't made, then his scalp would be a snowy white or dirty grey, revealing his age like a snitch to the OEA or Old-Age Enforcement Agency.
Guys think that old matters to the girls in the Buffalo.
They have it so wrong. Girls here don't care about age. In fact they prefer old guys, because old guys are easier to manage than young bucks and don't tend to break a girl's heart.
Since my return to New York four months ago I have had sex with zero other humans. Of course that slump hasn't stopped my self-abuse, although I'm thinking about getting a restraining order against myself to prevent any more assault on my person. The court has yet to respond to my request.
I'm not the only person not having sex.
My brother-in-law sent this email to me.
TO MY DEAR WIFE:
During the past year I have tried to make love to you 365 times.
I have succeeded 36 times, which is an average of once every ten days.
The following is a list of why I did not succeed more often:
54 times the sheets were clean
17 times it was too late
49 times you were too tired
20 times it was too hot
15 times you pretended to be sleep
22 times you had a headache
17 times you were afraid of waking the baby
16 times you said you were too sore
12 times it was the wrong time of the month
19 times you had to get up early
9 times you said weren't in the mood
7 times you were sunburned
6 times you were watching the late show
5 times you didn't want to mess up your new hairdo
3 times you said the neighbors would hear us
9 times you said your mother would hear us
Of the 36 times I did succeed, the activity was not satisfactory because:
6 times you just lay there
8 times you reminded me there's a crack in the ceiling
4 times you told me to hurry up and get it over with
7 times I had to wake you and tell you I finished
1 time I was afraid I had hurt you because I felt you move
TO MY DEAR HUSBAND:
I think you have things a little confused. Here are the reasons you didn't get more than you did:
5 times you came home drunk and tried to screw the cat
36 times you did not come home at all
21 times you didn't cum
33 times you came too soon
19 times you went soft before you got in
38 times you worked too late
10 times you got cramps in your toes
29 times you had to get up early to play golf
2 times you were in a fight and someone kicked you in the balls
4 times you got it stuck in your zipper
3 times you had a cold and your nose was running
2 times you had a splinter in your finger
20 times you lost the notion after thinking about it all day
6 times you came in your pajamas while reading a dirty book
98 times you were too busy watching TV
Of the times we did get together:
The reason I laid still was because you missed and were screwing the sheets.
I wasn't talking about the crack in the ceiling, what I said was, 'Would you prefer me on my back or kneeling?'
The time you felt me move was because you farted and I was trying to breathe.
The fastest speed recorded on the French Autobahn was approx. 320 KPH or 205MPH by a BMW out past Strausbourg. The police never chased the violator. Catching them would have been impossible, so they radioed ahead to the toll booth to arrange a reception for the speed demon. Of course everyone exceeds the speed limit. we would get anywhere if we didn't, especially out West.
My friend, Johnny Justice, works for the Arizona Highway Patrol, and says, "If I stopped every speeder then they would be no one left on the road. I just go for excessive speed."
An Ohio trooper felt the same way and waited on I90 for a prize. An hour passed and then two, finally he hears the whine of a Ferrari. A flash of red zips westward and he flicks on his light. The high-speed pursuit ends as soon as the driver of the Ferrari realizes his crime. The cop pulls up behind him and then goes to the window of the sports car.
"You don't know how long I've been waiting for you." He was ready to write him a thick stack of ticket, except the driver quipped, "And I tried to get here as soon as I could."
Supposedly the police officer cut the driver loose.
A reward for his humor.
Faster faster is not always a crime.
Friday, January 23, 2009
England is the most surveilled country in the world. Video cameras record almost all outside activity in hopes of controlling an unruly populace. The result of these decades of Orwellian voyeurism is that nothing has changed in the crime rates, but that people will do stupid things even if someone is watching. The USA during the Patriot Years subscribed to our staunchest ally's spying techniques and Homeland Security funds spread across the land to set up video cameras to prevent terrorist attacks in Iowa and North Dakota.
Homeland Security in stopping any more 9/11s, however most of the CCTV cameras were used to counter the deadly threat of speeders. Pinal County Arizona has decided that we are safe enough to cancel their contract with a photo-radar firm recording traffic misdeeds of the highways of that desert state.
More a question of money, since the mobile vans led to an increase in accidents and didn't generate enough income from traffic violations to warrant a renewed contract.
So Arizona get ready to rev your engines in Pinal County.
No one is watching.
3TV talked to a spokesperson for the governor who said everything is on the table and they are considering ending photo radar.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
The Catholic Church and other derivatives of the Judeo-Christian faith extol monogamy as the true state of man and woman, then explain sex with the mystery of the birds and bees. Actually I don't ever recall getting that lecture from my parents, although the stork was mentioned whenever a new brother or sister arrived unannounced from the hospital. Storks at hospitals made no sense to me, but my parents remained faithful to each other till death like mating pigeons.
On the other hand I have been a wanderer. I can't count the number of my paramours on one hand or all my digits either. I've never made a list. Somehow that seemed a little too gauche. While I don't remember all their names I do recollect their faces, smiles, and smell. Strangely very little of the sex. Woman pride themselves on their memories. They can quote you twenty years after the utterance left your lips. I thought that females would be the same about the act of love.
Not all of them.
Several years back I ran into Valda at a studio opening in Manhattan. I had been out of town for a half-year in Asia. We sat on a window sill and spoke of our lives. Past and present. Two younger people came up to us and asked if we were a couple.
"You seemed so comfortable together." The male beamed with the promise of two hearts beating as one. He held his girlfriend's hand with tenderness. They had a lot to learn, but I wasn't giving them any harsh lessons, so I said, "No, we're not a couple, but we once were lovers."
"No, we weren't." Valda's answer was quick and harsh.
"We weren't? I was certain we had slept together on my futon. Sweat slickening our bodies on a hot August night.
"Not at all." She was adamant.
"Are you sure?" Her kiss had been long.
Those encounters couldn't have been a phantasm of my fantasies. She had scratched my back to shreds. A fury dwelt in her eyes. The young couple were aghast. I admitted surrender. "Sorry, guess I was thinking about someone else."
I had slept with two of her best friends; Mary Beth and Lucille.
They would know if I was right, but those two had vanished from New York at least a decade earlier. Valda walked away angry. She glared at me the rest of the night. I hadn't thought I was so bad, but you never are as your memory fades from clarity.
Many people were disappointed that the destination of GW Bush's helicopter was not Git-mo. The CIA refrained from enlisting the ex-president and his deposed VP into their rendition program and federal officers have received no orders for their arrest. Personally I would have been happy to see them clapped in irons as soon as Obama took the oath.
It would have been my first executive order, however one homeless person in Houston Texas took advantage of the occasion to splatter yellow paint on the statue of the departing president's statue.
Police are looking for a man with yellow paint on his clothing.
They won't be erecting any statues of GW Bush for a long while.
PAINT IT BLACK YOU DEVIL.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
The group STEAM recorded NAH NAH HEY HEY KISS HIM GOODBYE in 1969. GW Bush enlisted in the Texas Air National Guard that year. He must have been familiar with the hit, so that he might have even hummed along with the jeering inauguration crowd singing the classic 60s hit.
"Damn that was my song."
Sorry, but they were also singing it to Dick Cheney.
GW was greeted with silence by the crowds nearest to the podium, but I flipped him the bird as did many Americans who had had enough of the neo-con leader from day 1. When GW Bush departed via helicopter from the East Front of the Capitol one man was also seen giving the ex-president the "one-finger salute."
Gee, that sounds nice.
Even better will be convicted felon ex-President Bush.
The parade of Presidents began with Jimmy Carter followed by a limping GH Bush and then a smiling Bill Clinton. Next will be the president of the last eight years. I'm hoping that the people at the inauguration boo GW Bush or throw shoes at him, however everyone is simply glad that his time in office is finally over. Goodbye DC and hello East Cowdunk, Texas. Thanks for nothing.
The four ex-presidents are a harbinger of number 44.
The new president of the USA.
It's been a long time since the townspeople in BLAZING SADDLES said, "Here comes our new NIGGAH?"
It was a funny line, but no one is saying that today.
We are ready for this change and I've been ready for decades.
Legalize pot, stop torture, bring in national health, bring the troops home, and free Palestine.
I know those are hard issues, but at least we'll be back to Life Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.
So here's comes da new prez and let's not forget, "All men are created equal."
Every 4th of July MOR radio plays the top 1000 hits of rock and roll. The #1 song for years was Zeppelin's STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN or else the Beatles HEY JUDE. The rest of the songs were basically tunes still played on the radio every day all the time until you can never forget them.
Elton John's BENNY AND THE JETS.
In fact most of the songs suck, because the compilers of these lists don't include classic songs like the Dead Boys SONIC REDUCER. Cheetah Chrome blistered the guitar on the lead into this paean to nihilism. Stiv Bators twitched across the stage like cockroach with bleeding feet and Johnny Blitz wondered whee the band in going and what song they are playing.
Stive had a favorite showpiece where he swung the mike over a low pipe and then wrapped the wire around his neck. As the band went through its fevered paces, Stiv would ahul himself into the air to replicate a hanging. Normally he'd let himself down after a few seconds but one time at CBGBs theater, the wire became entangled and Stiv's face started turning blue.Finally Cheetah noticed the lead singer kicking his feet and helped him down. Everyone at the show cheered them. They were the Dead Boys.
I loved the Dead Boys and still do.
Check out their VDO
Lèse majesté comes from a French expression derived from the Latin phrase Laesa maiestas or Laesae maiestatis meaning injury to royalty. The crime is listed on the books of every country led by a monarch whether titular or reigning and yesterday the Australian writer Harry Nicolaides was sentenced to 3 years in prison for besmirching the heir to the throne in his book VERSIMILITUDE. The novel is out of print, even though only 10 copies were sold to his public. It is not even available on Amazon.com, however someone somewhere must have read the book to discover its slander against the throne.
Now the Australian will languish in jail until his 44th birthday, despite his apologies to the court and King as well as his guilty plea.
"This can't be real. It feels like a bad dream."
All this for a single paragraph. Every word of which earned him a 1000 days in prison.
The new Prime Minister, Abhisit Vejjajiva, might be a fan of alternative rock such as Oasis, the Killers, Guns N' Roses, Metallica, and the Arctic Monkeys/Rascals side project, the Last Shadow Puppets. This divergence from popular Thai taste might signal a threatening modernism, however he has announced on several occasions that the monarchy must be protected because it offers "immense benefits to the country as a stabilizing force."
The PM knows his people after all.
Years ago I was in Malaysia on Tiomann Island. A sultan was reviewing the island's people, each of whom wai-ed His Majesty, as he distributed alms to his subjects. The Westerners watching the ceremony didn't show any respect and I was angered by their lack of etiquette. I bowed my head with my hands pressed together and the sultan came over to me.
"Where are you from." His English spoke of a youth at Eton.
"I went to Studio 54 there. It was a good time."
"I worked the door at Studio for a month."
He thanked me and walked onto the waiting yacht.
Obviously it's one thing to have bad manners, it's another to know when to not use them.
Sadly for Harry Nicolaides this is a lesson he'll have to learn behind gray walls.
Dan was a single guy living at home with his father and working in the family business.
When he found out he was going to inherit a fortune when his sickly father died, he decided he needed a wife with which to share his fortune.
One evening at an investment meeting he spotted the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her natural beauty took his breath away. "I may look like just an ordinary man," he said to her, but in just a few years, my father will die, and I'll inherit $200 million."
Impressed, the woman obtained his business card and three days later, she became his stepmother.
Women are so much better at financial planning than men.
FROM MY LOVING BROTHER IN LAW
Hurrah's nightclub existed from 1977 to 1981. Once its disco era was ended by the opening of Studio 54, the owners refashioned the second-floor club into a showcase for punk and new wave bands. I worked at the door with Howie Montauk and Jack Flood. The DJ was Shaun Cassette. The bands were the Dead Boys, the Damned, the Ramones, ESG, Klaus Nomi, the Police and too many others to mention without hurting my brain cells, however a new website has been dedicated to bringing those shows back to life thanks to the VDO DJ Merrill Aldighieri.
I hadn't thought I would ever seen Polyrock again or Gang of Four.
This is a must see for all fans of that epoch and here's the link;
ps We had a good times there; free love and good cocaine.
Before the age of 'just say no'.
The roof had a view of the Statue of Liberty. I made love to many patriotic girls there. I think I even fell in love with several of them; Lisa Johnson, Emily Johnson, the sisters from New Jersey. I thought I was a star and we were for several years. I just can't remember which ones.
Clint Eastwood has been my hero since his days as the fresh-faced TV cowhand Rowdy Yates in RAWHIDE. His movie career has been marked by great films dedicated to righteous violence and terse expressions; THE OUTLAW JOSEY WALES, THE GOOD THE BAD THE UGLY, DIRTY HARRY, THE UNFORGIVEN et al. Even more surprisingly he's a good director who made me cry in his jazz movie AROUND MIDNIGHT. Clint Eastwood is old, but the kind of old you want to be at his age; lean and craggy instead of morbidly obese like a third of this country. At his age most men are trying to remember their purpose in life, but in GRAN TORINO Clint resurrects the good man haunted by death fighting to save a young Hmong boy's life from a gun gang.
I watched this film on my computer thanks to www.watch-movies.net
No one plays Clint like Clint and his car in this movie is a classic muscle car. The type of car America used to make when it was really America, but those times are gone.
Certainly none of the new actors can hold a candle to the hurricane of his wronged persona. In GRAN TORINO his character reflects a new America where sometimes you have to let go of the old to live again without the old dreams.
No one does it better.
And the ax fight in the end is incredible.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
I no longer live in New York, yet any mention of the city snags my ear like a jilted lover hearing the mention of an old girlfriend. Not everything is good. This week the media covered a story about rats infesting a Greenwich Village KFC. The stock for Yum Corp, which owns the fast food chain along with Taco Bell, dropped fifty cents on the NYSE with the negative news and I felt bad, because for several years I had been a quality control inspector for KFC in the New York area.
I got the job in 1999 through Jim Rockford, no relation to the TV character. Our friendship dated back to an acid trip on Black's Beach in August 1974. I swam with seals and they spoke my name. Jim laughed at their jokes. Coming down we forgot the punchlines.
Jim was a hippie guru with a girlfriend who looked like Patty Hearst. The cops stopped us everywhere with guns drawn. The police attention was a buzzkill and Jim felt the urge for going. "Come join us in Frisco. You can wear flowers in your hair."
I was in NYC on 9/11 on my roof about a mile from the targets of the terrorists. My neighbors and I witnessed the World Trade Center collapse in flames, transfixed by the horror, yet I was not scared by the non-FX spectacle. Not in the traditional sense, however my email addresses keeps getting bombarded by sick sex websites more frightening than anything the CIA or Al Quada can organize in their Waziristan or Langley.
No over the river and through the woods for these grandmas.
GW Bush has been serving as president of the USA for almost 8 years. Only 3 more days remain of his second term and he's exiting the White House as the least popular president in history. Only 23% of Americans approve of his leadership and even worse only 16% consider the USA is heading in the right direction. 9/11, the Wars on Terrorism, the suspension of habeus corpus, Katrina, torture, the collapse of the stock market, and a trillion dollar per annum debt are only a few of his very low points.
Being a fellow C-grade student in college I tried to find something positive in his long reign. I came up with nothing. Nothing at all. But there has to be something.
The fall of Saddam?
Saddam would have abdicated for a billion dollar pay-off. GW said, "We don't do buy offs."
The collapse of the Taliban in Afghanistan
The 2001 defeat came only because the embattled country was on the verge of starvation and that victory was achieved by the Northern Coalition and not US Troops.
The Tax Cut?
That money went up to the rich and never came back down.
In fact it disappeared without a trace.
Trillions of dollars.
So let's raise a glass for the end of the horror.
GW Fucking Bush.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Dump the male flight attendants. No one wanted them in the first place.
Replace all the female flight attendants with good-looking strippers! What the hell, they don't even serve food anymore, so what's the loss?
The strippers would at least triple the alcohol sales and get a 'party atmosphere' going in the cabin. And, of course, every businessman in this country would start flying again, hoping to see naked women.
Because of the tips, female flight attendants wouldn't need a salary, thus saving even more money. I suspect tips would be so good that we could charge the women for working the plane and have them kick back 20% of the tips, including lap dances and 'special services.'
Muslims would be afraid to get on the planes for fear of seeing naked women. Hijackings would come to a screeching halt, and the airline industry would see record revenues.
This is definitely a win-win situation if we handle it right -- a golden opportunity to turn a liability into an asset.
Why didn't Bush think of this? Why do I still have to do everything myself?
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
A year ago I resided in Pattaya, the last Babylon. My house was on a cul-de-sac. The garden hosted orchids and flowers and a mango tree. Butterflies fluttered before my window. Birds haunted the tree. I drove a motorcycle to the beach and spent my night with the demimonde of the Buffalo Bar.
Now I'm living with my good friend, Walter. A basement room. I walk three blocks to the L Train, which I take to Union Square and transfer to the R train for a seven stop ride to 5th Avenue. This station has its own entrance to the Plaza Hotel. I work at the Retail Collection. It's downstairs from Eloise's playground, the Palm Court. In the evening I reverse the transportation process and fall asleep before 10pm most nights.
My total time above-ground per diem runs approx. 45 minutes.
I have become a subterranean like the denizens of the classic 50s horror film THE ATTACK OF THE MOLE PEOPLE.
I loved that movie as a kid, especially the pearly white princess who couldn't live in the light of day.
And I am her now.
Maybe not her, but the vizer of her father, the king of the Mole People.
Not a bad job for such a time of dismay.
ps there's also a video game by the title ATTACK OF THE MOLE PEOPLE.
So there is life after the 50s for B-movies.
I've eaten a number of strange 'delicacies' on my travels; snails in France, dog in Indonesia, fried rats and insects in Thailand, alligator in Florida, and sausage pies in the UK, but whenever the discussions comes around the table to the most revolting meal in the world the vote unanimously goes to the fabled Monkey brain feast in Hong Kong, where the skull of the monkeys are sliced from the animal while they are still living and the diners are given long spoons with which to scoop out the raw shaking simian cerebellum. While the Chinese will eat almost anything, live monkey brains are not on the menu according to most international cuisine experts. Dead monkey brains are served in several locations throughout Asia. I've seen monkeys eaten in Central American and SE Asia, but never brought myself to dine on them, since the roasted bodies look like little babies.
There are accounts of people eating live brains from the 1940s such as this one.
"The monkey's head was supported by its neck in a bracket, two pieces of wood with a semicircular hole on each side such that when you put them together, they form a complete circle around the animal's neck, allowing the head to be exposed above the plank. The hair around the head is shaven with a shaving razor. A small chisel and a hammer is used to quickly chisel a circle around the crown, and the top part of the skull is removed. A teaspoon is used to scoop up the brain, which is immediately eaten. This has to be done before the monkey dies."
Of course this all could be urban myth, but I'm not making any effort to find out if it's true or not.
We tout America as the Land of the Free, however we have to ask ourselves how much more interference with our diplomatic efforts to end the injustice in Palestine can we allow the State of Israel. Yesterday Prime Minister Ehud Olmert of Israel called GW Bush to stop Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice from voting on a United Nations resolution on Gaza that she helped write.
When told the president was busy giving a speech in Philadelphia, the Zionist PM said, "I don't care what the fuck he's doing, get him on the phone."
This request got a reaction faster than when GW received news of the 9/11 plane crashes. GW interrupted his speech to take the phone call and told Ms. rice to abstain from the vote which went 14-0 against Israel.
The Zionist Pm had the balls to gloat over the incident by saying about Rice, "She was left pretty embarrassed."
He should know the difference between embarrassed and pissed-off, for after the vote Rice said, "The United States "fully supports" the resolution, which called for "an immediate, durable and fully respected cease-fire leading to the full withdrawal of Israeli forces from Gaza,"
Her only reservation was to see the outcome of an Egyptian-French peace initiative, which will be nothing for Israel is using this new phase of the occupation to rile the Arabic World into action. So far the goads have failed and it's left to the West to stop their Madness.
I had previously written that go-go bars never play Pink Floyd, however the correspondent from the deceased PattayaGhost.com claims the following, "Another Brick in the Wall Pt. 2 has been played at a number of Pattaya go-gos. I’ve heard it in all the “farang-friendly music” joints, such as Champion, Club Nevada and even Classroom 2. What’s Up!, of all places, was indeed playing tracks from Dark Side of the Moon one night. Some guy paid the DJ 500 baht to play it. Girls dug “Money.”
I stand corrected as always in light of this evidence.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Yesterday the Plaza Hotel's Retail Collection was opening at noon, so I took my time getting to work. L train to the G to the A to High Street. I ascended to Cadman Plaza and headed through the park to the stairs leading onto the Brooklyn Bridge. The only people in sight were a crew of volunteers scrapping the black ice from the walkways. No tourists. None at all and when I got to the bridge's pedestrian way I was surprised to not see a single person on the span, but reaching the wooden slatted section of the walkway explained the dearth of humanity, for the surface was covered with a slick layer of ice rendering any passage nearly impossible. I continued carefully to the center of the bridge, where several workers were dusting the pathway with dirt. I stopped to walk with them.
"Years ago I wanted to go skating at Wollman's Rink. The sidewalks of the East Village were slippery, but nothing in comparison to the glazed entrance of Central Park. I guess it was colder in the park than the East Village. People were dropping like they were on greased banana skins, so I put on my blades and skated through the park helping people to their feet." I didn't mention anything about stopping with a schuss of ice dust in the faces of bankers.
"Yeah, maybe we should get a toboggan run on the bridge." One of the workers suggested, then his partner said, "Don't give anyone ideas."
I bid them farewell and negotiated the rest of the way to Manhattan holding onto the support wires to avoid getting sent to the emergency ward with an SOI or Slipped On Ice injury.
Still I did try a little sliding.
"Watch out below."
An Indian news agency reported that Supermodel Kate Moss spent 100,000 pounds or $150,000 during a first-class holiday in Thailand for her lover, daughter, and three friends. Yacht and villa in Phuket. The Thais were very appreciative of her generosity or kwaam-aa-ree after having been subjected to the lowest of high season in anyone's memory.
"Kayte mai kee-neo."
And they were sad to see her go.
Big spenders always make friends.
Only nine more days until GW Fucking Bush leaves the White House. A goodly percentage of Americans are holding their breath, hoping that the 43rd President of the USA doesn't succeed in staging a coup d'etat to remain in office. Many of his fellow citizens consider GW to be the worst president in history, however certain right-wing political flaks are already extolling the last 8 years as the golden dusk of conservative leadership. Fred Barnes of Fox News even came out with an article 10 THINGS GW BUSH DID RIGHT.
Here's his list why;
Rejection of Kyoto global warming treaty, so we were able to make, sell, and drive SUVs, thereby saving the American economy, so it could fall apart under the sub-prime mortgage scam driven by fat people's need to have a house to shelter their SUVs.
The introduction of torture to protect America from another 9/11 attack. Actually the USA has been torturing people for decades from Viet-Nam, Laos, Cambodia to the Philippines to Chile, Argentina, Central America, and even the USA under the Jim Crow Laws. Even Bill Clinton was into torture, but what else would you expect from a nation whose existence is based on the extermination of one race and the enslavement of another? Coddling?
The re-establishment of an imperial presidency so the executive office can ignore the Constitution as it was written by the Founding Fathers mostly in order to torture anyone you like and eavesdrop on US citizens. The first appealing to sadists such as Dick Cheney and the latter to bored functionaires without real lives.
His backing of Israel so they could spread their Zionist reign over Palestine and hopefully caused the war to end all wars so Jesus Christ comes back for the 3rd time. Wasn't his coming back from the dead the real 2nd Coming or i am just bad counting on my fingers?
No Child Left Behind (NCLB) fucked the education system by setting up ever-increasing frontiers of achievement for under-funded schools with the plain desire that the only things worth teaching should come from the Bible.
The promotion of democracy as presented in his 2nd inauguration address supposed that we live in a democracy dedicated to proposition that all men are created equal. Equal like gays and women and blacks are equal to fat old white men. Go white men go.
The Medicare prescription drug benefit of 2003, which solidified the drug companies' monopoly on the USA. Where'
s the free trade? Or are we so scared of drugs from Canada. Personally I treat myself with illegals such as cocaine and marijuana. And don't pay taxes on them either.
Conservative court appointments of John Roberts and Sam Alito insured that we will be living with the legacy of GW Bush long after he has served 20 years for illegal torture and subversion of the Constitution.
His diplomatic triumphs as crowed by Fred Barnes count the strengthening of East Asia to combat our natural foe; fanatical Islamic fascist terrorists and helping India become a frontline state in the War on Terrorism. Green light for nuking Pakistan whenever you want.
Lastly Barnes says that by sending long-overdue troops to Iraq in 2007 he saved our efforts there, when in actuality the peacifying of that country came about by assassination squads aimed at suspected terrorists so al-Quada moved in droves to Afghanistan, where our troops are at a disadvantage.
Bravo GW Fucking Bush.
A good well done.
Can't wait to see you go.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
My good friend Jorge has been inciting comments on facebook with the publication of non-Israeli articles about the Zionists' incursion into the Gaza Strip Concentration camp. Tanks versus bullets. f-16s versus crude missiles. Death and destruction over a land tortured by politics. I know it's the NFL play-offs but the lack of concern for the injustice done the children of this conflict amazes me, so I criticized the West's apathy on fucking Facebook and earned this spiteful comment from the doyen of downtown style, Edwige Belmore.
"What do you want me to do Peter? Gear up and go to Gaza? Peace starts within yourself ! Fuck you! What are you doing for World Peace?"
Gee, I thought that a little harsh.
What have I done for world peace?
Burned down a missile base at age 12. Supported Civil Rights movement. Protested against the Vietnam War at age 17. Dragged people off the street when guns were being fired on them in Nepal and Thailand. Didn't punch a few people in the head when they deserved it for being fascists or assholes, but then what do I know. I'm only a fuckhead.
ps Edwige supporters wanted to beat me up.
Obviously they don't know what kind of 'starker' I am.
There are too many fat people in America.
None of them take responsibility for their fatness, claiming, "It's in my genes."
An obesity gene?
I've never seen an obese geneticist, but more truthfully the only way obese people can handle their disease is by following the words of the immortal Jesse Ventura, "Every fat person says it's not their fault, that they have gland trouble. You know which gland? The saliva gland. They can't push away from the table."
He took a lot of heat for this statement, but never have truer words been spoken about obesity, although the real reason Americans are fat is because the food industry makes fucked-up food.
4000 brands of potato chips for a start.
Free the fat people.
Last year the population of America topped 300,000,000. India and China are over a billion each, however while the average weight of a Chinese or Indian person is 54 kilos, over one-third of Americans are considered obese. Not fat, but obese meaning that there is a good possibility that what we lack in numbers we make up for in sheer bulk, which means that the excessive body heat of these turbo-heavy patriots could be yet another cause of global warming along with the friction of the wind passing over the surface of their bodies.
Personally I'm in the low range of overweight.
I can still see my feet without having to bend over, but there are a good 6% of Americans who are considered extremely obese and I bet none of them have seen their feet in years.
Go fat people go.
USA USA USA.
We love you.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Most farangs living in Thailand have been subjected to the sight of a brown-shirted cop waving their vehicle over to the side of the road. Some feel they are unjustly persecuted for their western roots, however my Thai relatives and friends attest that they are also subjected to the random stop by the tam-luat or cops seeking to achieve their quota of traffic stops. Their vigilance increases according to the time of the month. Easy=going in the beginning and avaricious at the last of the month.
I've been stopped mostly for driving a motorcycle without a helmet, but always fear traversing Bangkok on the Skyway, since the cops are always in force at the tollbooths. Once I was stopped in Bang-Na. The cop said there was something wrong with my license plates. In actuality they were completely in order. He mumbled that we would have to settle the paperwork in Klong Toey, therfeby wasting several hours. I told him I would like to help him, except I had no money.
"Farang mai mii taeng?" He asked in the bright sunlight.
"No, my wife took it all." It was the truth. "I have 200 baht, but we can wait at the police station until she brings me some money. She lives in Chai-Nat."
Chai-nat is 200 kilometers from Bangkok and the copper waved me out of his sight.
The 200 baht paid for tolls and two beers.
Strangely Thai cops awarded a percentage of the fines they accrued through the month. Their higher-ups consider this an anti-incentive against sin-bon or bribes, however over 50 Chiang Mai policemen were disappointed to discover that their commander absconded with their 1.5 million baht pay-out.
Cop scams cops.
Som num nah.
ps the Police Sergeant disappeared with his family.
I'd look for him someplace in Rayong.
www.2bangkok.com put this 1928 French map of Bangkok online. The city has certainly changed considerably in 80 years. No more klongs or trolleys or trees, but then the old are always saying, "You should ahve been here before."
As a young man I thought they were full of cow paddy, but now I'm not so young anymore I know they were right.
"You should have been in Bangkok 1990."
It was really something.
Click on image to enlarge.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Last evening I attended an opening for THE ART OF LIZ RENAY curated by SCOTT EWALT at the 76 Grand Street Gallery. The late artist's contributions spanned two centuries in exotic dancing, literature, and film most notably as Divine's co-star in John Waters' 1977 paean to bad taste DESPERATE LIVING, but she was much more than that role of a dogfood-eating murderess. Her 2007 Washington Post obit listed her many careers as 'gangster's moll, ex-con, author, painter, stripper, Hollywood Boulevard streaker, actress and charm school instructor'.
Her claim to ex-con came after a perjury conviction in LA for refusing to snitch out Mickey Cohen for tax evasion. This loyalty earned the actress a stint in prison. Not jail. Prison.
"It sure knocked the hell out of my career when I went to Terminal Island. I would have been a big star had I not gone to prison." The actress did the time without complaint and was released after 27-months for good behavior. With her 44DD-26-36 measurements she must have driven the guards and inmates crazy. She exited from prison a cult figure, whose persona was tawdryized by writing the classic exploitation novel, "My First 2,000 Men."
A good title, although Ms. Renay issued a calm disclaimer. "It wasn't really anywhere near 2,000 men. I led a wild life. But 2,000? C'mon, that's too many, even for me!"
Her show was packed with downtown illiterati gawking at the deceased diva's art and collection of newspaper clippings. Several transvestites showed up in Liz Renay drag. Big breasts were a must. Her paintings were simplistic, but touching, especially a portrait of an angelic little girl. I thought it might have been the actress herself, but suspect the young girl was actually Ms. Renay's daughter, who had stripped with her mother for many years until her suicide.
Photos were taken of the attendees. Each aspiring to acheive the greatness of Ms. Renay, if only for a few minutes. I stared at her S&M gear; a shabby whip, leather cuffs, and black undies. If I was into that kind of thing, then she would have been my mistress, instead I wandered from the gallery into the cold night, dreaming of 44DDD cups and having been one of 2000. I would have put on a good show too.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Someone once told me that how you spend the first day of the year depends how you will spend the rest of the year. January 1, 2009 I awoke with a hang-over and thought about heading over to the 10th Street Bath to sweat out the poisons of December 31, 2008. Recovery seemed the perfect tone for the new year, except I rolled over on my side and fell back to sleep. Lethargy ruled by day. I read THE SECRET HISTORY OF THE CIA until 3pm and then dressed for a late lunch on West 90th Street. It was at an Episcopal church. The pastor was a woman in her 40s. I had been invited by her cousin, an actress from Quebec. My hang-over dissipated with the 2nd glass of wine and my body was replenished by ham and lentils. The conversation was entertaining and by 7pm I was feeling a little more human.
This was my New Years. Friends, fine food, and wine.
I left early. 9PM. I took the Lexington Avenue south toward Union Square and read a discarded NY Post.
At 59th Street a large crowd got on the train. Most of them young. Two Brazilian young men spoke with six well-dressed black girls. They were laughing and I thought they had spent a good first day of the year, then the taller Brazilian backed away from the women with a raised right hand. He was giving them the finger.
"Putas. In my country I could kill you for rejecting me and the police would give me a medal." He was drunk, but several newspapers had reported on the noblisse oblige the police accord macho behavior. Only this wasn't Brazil and I told him, "Boyo, soy tranquilo. No one wants any trouble."
He muttered something under his breath and his friend sat next to him.
I got up and moved closer to the girls. Things seemed to be alright. A black man in a leather jacket mumbled, "This ain't over."
Two seconds later the tall Brazilian jumped from his seat and ran down the train. several feet before the girls he leaped in the air to kick at the girls. This feat proved his undoing for he slipped and fell to the floor. As he rose to his feet, the girls pushed him away. I tried to restrain him, but he cut my hand with a sharp object. This was not my plan for the first day of the year and certainly not my kicking him in the stomach.
He went down and I made sure he stayed down. At the next stop the black man and I tossed him from the train onto the platform. I taught him a few more lessons about manners. I threw off his friend too, booting him in the ass for not controlling his friend. I asked the girls if they were okay. Two were crying, but neither had been hit. They were grateful, but before they could thank the black man and me, a score of cops hustled onto the platform. They surveyed the two fallen men and questioned the girls about the incident.
"That guy attacked me." The prettiest one explained to a rookie policeman.
"And how they get laid out?" The cop was looking in my direction. I stuck my bloodied hand in my coat. I could be looking at assault and battery for being a vigilante. The girl's eyes met mine and she said, "I didn't see anything."
"And what about you?" The cop's query was directed to the black man and me.
"All I saw was that guy attack these girls. They did nothing."
"Me too." The black man followed my lead.
"So you saw nothing?"
The engineer sounded the train was leaving the platform. The cop knew something was wrong, but only because we might have done something right. The doors slid shut and the train pulled out of the station. I turned around and thanked the black man. He shook my hand. It was sore as was my knee. At 56 I don't give a beating without some damage. Our fellow passengers applauded our actions. I was a little ashamed by the intensity of the violence, however 2008 had been a tough year. Still 2009 promised to be better, because at least I wasn't spending the first night of the year in jail.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
These racers never heard the words.
"Gentlemen, start your engines."
This was full out go.
I used to go to Beech Ridge Speedway in Maine. The cars were bigger and newer, but the spirit was the same. Every man for himself and the checkered flag. None of the F1 processional racing shit.
By the way I had been #1 in google for selling Ferrari Shirts.
Not one of them was licensed I found out later.
Then again I never asked.
"Get your motors running."
DARK SIDE OF THE MOON had sold over 15 million LPs, cassettes, and CDs. Pink Floyd soared to even greater heights with THE WALL. 22 million units, yet I have never heard a song from either effort in a Pattaya Go-Go. Pink Floyd does better in Soi 8 beer bars.
"We don't need no education."
Dinosaur Rock rules Pattaya. It's what farangs hear on the radio driving back and forth from their meaningless jobs. Me, I'm into garage rock. LOUIE LOUIE is a fantastic go-go bump-n-grind song and the Kingsmen hit evokes memories of Boston's Combat Zone. The sax-organ-drums trio playing covers for leggy blonde runaways of 1971. Hilde. She was 16. I was 18. Together we were trouble. Even more trouble when he boyfriend got out of reform school. The 19 year-old car thief and I had a fistfight over her. He won.