Wednesday, March 31, 2010

The Fade of Glory


Earlier this month Hollywood bestowed its highest honor to Sandra Bullock for her role in BLINDSIDE. That Academy Award evening the actress proudly stood in the loving limelight of her peers and press. The gold on her Oscar tarnished with the report that her biker husband was seen in the presence of LA's leading tattoo model.

What can you expect from a man named Jesse James?

Fidelity?

Maybe Second thoughts, for one-night stands are always fun until the cameras start clicking like locust and now the biker doesn't want to trashcan his marriage for a 26 year-old who looks like a 40 year transvestite hooker. Instead his next residence will be Tiger Woods' sex rehab clinic, where he will learn how to be faithful or at least discreet.

Personally I go for the tattoo chick.

I like freaks.

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

BAD COMPANY - Bad Company


Some music still is kick-ass and none better than Bad Company's BAD COMPANY. They were one of the premiere supergroups of the 1970s with singer Paul Rodgers and drummer Simon Kirke of Free; former Mott the Hoople guitarist Mick Ralphs; and King Crimson bassist Boz Burrell. Their album BAD COMPANY went to #1.

Side note Paul rodgers had a thing for two of his sidemen.

To see this clip go to this URL

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sf3uiCfNkaM

Rock on.

God is All-Powerful


The Iraq War has entered its 8th year. The cost in human life and treasure is a constant drain on the nation. The sacrifice of the military is numbered in the tens of thousands and the toll on their family members took a wicked twist with the father of fallen marine was court-ordered to pay the legal costs of a extreme religious group. The leader of the Westboro's Baptist Church has been picket hundreds of military funerals for the sin of the Pentagon protecting gays from god's righteous retribution.

GAYS KILLED YOUR SON.

Their placards are deemed free speech by Kansas' Court of Appeals for the Fourth Circuit. The judges deigned not to explain their rationale on this ruling. My youngest brother died on AIDS. If someone had praised his death as god's justice, I would have fucked up his 1st Amendment right with a baseball bat. That assault would have been my free speech in action. I'm never good at funerals.

FUCK THE WESTBORO BAPTIST CHURCH

Nuns for Nope


Pope Benedict has a ticking bomb in his closet. As a German bishop he presided over the investigation of a pedophile priest. Over 200 boys were counted as his victims and like an iceberg more are thought to have been molested by this man. His punishment was to be transferred to another church without any warning to the parishioners about his predilection for young boys. The pope's brother was intimate with this offender's history and even a causal observer has to come to the conclusion that the Catholic Church has been acting with criminal intent to prevent any convictions of their priests.

I attended Catholic grammar and high school. My alma mater is the Jesuit-run Boston College. The only time I can recall a religious member acting strange was at Xaverian, when the librarian Brother Jerome would ask students to sit on his lap. None of us thought this request strange, even though we regarded gays as queers. Other than that episode the priests and brothers led exemplary lives dedicated to learning.

Other students haven't been so lucky judging from the newspaper reports telling of the widespread scandal. The cover-up is over and the highest ranks of the Church are guilty of conspiracy.

Thousands if not millions of Catholics are questioning their faith and Op-Ed writer Maureen Dowd has suggested that it is now time to transform the male hierarchy of the Vatican by naming a female Pope from the ranks of the religious orders of nuns.

A Nope.

A human who would look natural in a dress.

Not that the sisters of mercy are without sin.

At the local school of the deaf the nuns mistreated the unfortunate.

A friend's sister went to this school and through sign language explained how the nuns punished the girls by making them drink urine from the nuns. I was no longer a Catholic at this point. I was 17. I never told anyone about her story. It sounded unreal. Now I realize that it was the truth.

And because of this I say nope to Nopes.

Then again the Pope is infallible.

He can do no wrong.

Monday, March 29, 2010

No Fear of Flying


Witches were fearsome creatures in my youth. They consorted with Satan and seduced the souls of pure men. I must have met a score of the wanton succubus in my 20s. My faith wavered under the flames of their desire. The want for wealth weakened with their every caress. Sex was their reward and their punishment was celibacy. I've gone four months without a woman's touch and Mam, my wife, cursed me as I caught the bus from Jomtien to the Bangkok Airport.

"I never want see you again."

And her curse was effective.

Such is the power of an angry woman.

I've spoken with her every day. She calls to have me listen to my son, Superstar Fenway. My plans to return to Thailand have been crushed every month. Sales fall through with regularity. No one is buying diamonds. Least not my friends and clients, so I remained trapped in New York, far from my son. But I know my magic can be stronger than a woman's curse.

I've fought Mrs. Adorno's curse. She said that I would never have sex again. The old bruja was right for several years. In the end I had to ask her forgiveness and she gave it with a smile. We had been neighbors for over 20 years.

"You suffer enough." The wiry 4-3 Puerto Rican hated my throwing out a Spanish girlfriend. I had my reasons. Mrs. Adorno hadn't wanted to hear them in the past and neither had she asked for any excuses at the moment she accepted my contrition. I suppose Mam will have to forgive me too.

It's a word not many Thais know.

อภัย ; ให้อภัย
à-pai ; hâi à-pai

Not many farangs know the word in their language too.

Forgiving is easy, it's the forgetting that is hard.

Especially for witches.

Israeli War Plans


The New York Times published a multi-step scenario after an Israeli air attack on various Iranian nuclear facilities. The air attack is relatively successful in knocking out vital components such as centrifuges and fueling stations. The writer makes no mention on collateral civilian damages and feels that Mideast tensions will escalate only on the front lines of Gaza and Lebanon. The increased missile attacks will cause widespread flight from the attacks and Israel will respond with another punishing bombardment of the Hezbollah and Hamas strongholds. Iran plays the oil card sending gas prices into the stratosphere, pleasing the oil barons of Texas and that's what it's all about; oil and the Armageddon bringing Jesus back to Earth for his 2nd coming.

Hallelujah Glenn Beck the prophet of doom will be so happy.

I see the Israeli attack as a disaster; loss of planes, the spread of nuclear poison ala Three Mile Island, and the USA telling Israel finally YOYO.

You're on your own.

It's about time for the only 'true' democracy in the Mideast to stand alone.

And then they drop the A-bombs on Cairo and Damascus.

Angels trumpets blowing out 'Jesus is coming' all over the world.

At that moment I drinking the rest of my beer, because there will be no cold beer in Hell.

Saturday, March 27, 2010

Guns and Elephants


My godson Fast Eddie Silver is flying into New York for a visit with his mother. He was once a baby. I held Eddie in my arms as a one-month old infant over 17 years ago. He is a teenager into skateboarding and music and I'm looking forward to seeing him. His late father was one of my best friends.

Our last time together was in Thailand. Eddie and his mother Sara had come out for a holiday. I took them to Koh Samet and Bangkok, but my best photo of Eddie was taken at the Elephant Camp south of Jomtien. We rode the pachyderms through the coconut trees and fed them bananas before entering the gun range to shoot at paper targets. My choice was a 44 Magnum. Eddie liked the Glock. We shot two clips each.

"You're crazy." His mother disapproved of guns, but was angered by the location of the shooting range. "Guns and elephants. What do you think the elephants think about hearing those shots?"

"They seem okay with it." I looked out the door. The Thai mahouts were lounging peacefully atop their changs. The elephants showed no sign of alarm, as other tourists banged away at the targets. Most of them missed the bull's eyes by feet. Eddie actually hit the target every shot.

"Right." Sara was pissed at us.

"It's not like these guns can hurt them." .50 caliber bullets from a elephant gun might spook them, but the giant creatures were basically impervious to the under-powered bullets of the shooting range.

"What if one of the elephants was shooting at you?"

"I don't think they could hold this pistol." Eddie put his rented weapon on the table after cocking the chamber to see if it was empty.

"Probably have to built them a cannon gun."

"And they pull the trigger with their trunk."

Elephants chasing you with a cannon was a scary thought. I put down my gun too. Sara had a good point. Riling an elephant was a bad idea. Almost as bad as pissing of a woman, but I'd rather risk my chances with an amok elephant than a mad woman. Any day of the week.

Friday, March 26, 2010

SIGNED DC - Arthur Lee and Love


Arthur Lee wrote SIGNED DC watching his drummer fall under the spell of heroin.

Released in 1966 the song caters to the reality of smack versus the Velvet Underground's romanticism of the narcotic.

Everyone made their own choices no matter what song you heard first.

Love Signed D C lyrics

Verse 1:
Sometimes I feel so lonely
My comedown I'm scared to face
I've pierced my skin again, Lord
No one cares
For me
Verse 2:
My soul belongs to the dealer
He keeps my mind as well
I play the part of the leecher
No one cares
For me, cares for me
Verse 3:
Look out Joe, I'm fallin'
I can't unfold my arms
I've got one foot in the graveyard
No one cares
For me, cares for me

Listen to this classic by going to the following URL

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nw0zkHObMxQ&NR=1

Bad Influence


Last winter the president of a private jet charter service invited me to dinner at the Oyster Bar. We're old friends, even though his family forced him to quit drugs and drink. Overweight and overdose. Death was knocking on his heart. 2 weeks of cold turkey rehab and Enos was clean for eternity.

"You don't mind if i bring my my girlfriend and her daughter?" Enos liked to compartmentalize his world. I had met his lover once. She was older.

"Why would it bother me?" I was dying for a good plate of oyster followed by a pan-friend lobster stew.

"Just I don't want to hear anything about a diamond ring." My boss Richie Boy constantly bugged Enos about not making his girlfriend his wife. He was thinking about a diamond sale.

"We're go back before I was diamonds." My cousin Ty Spaulding had introduced us. "The Oyster Bar is about eating fish, oyster, and lobster."

"Exactly." Enos was more interested in pussy. He said his girlfriend was great in bed. That was good enough for me.

The Oyster Bar had a few good selling points. Best oysters in New York. The vaulted ceiling. A timelessness permanence. Fish fresh from the ocean and I descended from the main floor of Grand Central Terminal with an appetite bolstered by memory. I spotted Enos at the entrance. He greeted me with a smile. Toothy happiness.

"Where's your girls?"

"Her daughter is a vegan. She doesn't eat fish."

"No oysters?"

"None." Enos came from a good Jewish family in the Rockaways, but nothing was tref or unclean for his palate. We entered the restaurant and sat at the long service bar. We didn't need to look at the menu. "Clams casino."

"I have a question." The Bangladeshi waiter brought an Austrian Riesling. "Bacon is tref and clams are tref. So if you put them together, is that like two negatives equal
a positive?"

"Like bacon and shellfish aren't tref if you eat them together?" Enos might have stopped blow, but he regained an unhealthy appetite for a man approaching 250 at 50.

"Yes."

"As long as we eat them before my girlfriend's daughter arrives. She's a vegan Nazi."

"They hate us." We were omnivores and finished the clams casino, a dozen Malpecs, and a lobster stew before his dates entered the restaurant. I liked Enos' girlfriend. She was older, but smart and funny. Helen also liked Enos, which in many ways was better than loving him. She introduced her daughter. 12 year-old, a child-actress, skinny, cute, and more than precocious. Her name was Naomi. "Did you eat dead food?"

"We had a bi-valval feast." The Malpecs tasted of cold Atlantic ocean.

"You're a bad man." Her neo-ingenue eyes were trained to seduce casting directors. her beauty would blossom into stardom with the right training. At this point her Lolita power could overwhelm the weak. Her succubus eyes disregarded my age. I was simply another old geezer.

"You couldn't believe how bad." Enos and Helen were deep in conversation, happy that I was diverting the little monster. "I was brought up along the coast of Maine. Every summer a whale would get confused in the shoals and end up beached on the sands as the sea retreated on the tide. The fishermen fought off the sharks and cut off the best pieces of whale meat for their families."

"You ate whale?" Her eyes widened in horror. She was no longer acting.

"And it tasted good. No, actually it was the best thing I've eaten in my life." The story was bullshit, based on a A Whale for the Killing by Farley Mowat. I has tasted whale meat in Boston's Haymarket. 1970 with a hippie friend. We both agreed it was better than beef. Once was enough for a lifetime. I didn't tell this to the little precious actress.

"You're worst than bad."

"Evil?"

"Fucking evil." Those two words got her mother's attention off Enos' cock. Her daughter and I smiled without explanation and I lifted a finger. "I like your conviction. You want that I give your headshot to a casting director."

I mentioned a name. The woman was the biggest in the city. The skinny waif flipflopped with delight.

"Could you?"

"It'd be my pleasure."

After all it wasn't every day you got called evil by a 12 year-old girl.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

WHO DO YOU LOVE - Tom Rush


This cover of a blues classic was played on WMEX.

Electronic.

A growling voice.

Tom Rush

"A little bitty chimney made of human skulls."

Go to this url to hear WHO DO YOU LOVE

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iK7a_zhKE4k

Farrah is a Betty

Zombie Strippers / Kelly's Heroes


My parents exposed their children to the magic of cinema at the Cornish Drive-In in Maine. The screen faced the pine forest and the owner's house served as the concession stand. The grandmother sold salted popcorn and bottles of ice-cold Coke from the porch and her son worked the projector housed in an old chicken coop. My brother, two sisters, and I worn pajamas. None of us could stay awake past the first several minutes of the second more adult feature, although I fought off sleep to see all of Billy Wilder's THE APARTMENT. I fell in love with Shirley Maclaine that night and years later would lose my heart to a hillbilly actress from West Virginia who was her twin.

After moving to Boston my Irish grandmother would take my brother and me into the city. A visit to St. Anthony's Shrine. A hot dog at WT Grant's Department Store. The third act was a movie show at the Orpheum. She took us to see THUNDER ROAD. It featured Robert Mitchum as a hot rod bootlegger. My mother would not have approved of Nana's choice, but she had brewed 'whiskey' during the Prohibition and more importantly thought Robert Mitchum was handsome.

As teenagers my brotehr and I ventured to the Mattapan Oriental. Catholic girls were our prey or we were their beaus for the afternoon matinee. I made out with a girl called Jo. Her hair was stiff with a spray of lacquer. In the dark she looked like Kim Novak. I have no idea what film was on the screen.

GONE WITH THE WIND with Janet Stetson. THE HARDER THEY COME at an empty Orson Welles Cinema on a winter's day. GOING PLACES at the St. Marks Theater. APOCALYPSE NOW the first showing at the Ziegfield.

Epic movie outings spanning the globe for decades.

And now I never go to the movies.

I hate the cineplexes.

Partially because they feel so cheap.

Same as the movies.

I even avoided AVATAR on the big screen. My viewing was on my computer screen. I had to imagine the 3-D. It was easy on reefer. Last summer I drove past the old drive-in in Cornish. The parking area is overgrown by high grass. The screen has been ravaged by the Maine winters. I stood next to a vandalized audio pole. even with my eyes open I could see Jack Lemmon holding Shirley Maclaine.

I still love her and movies too.

They are the dreams we can dream ourselves.

Pandora


In Greek mythology Pandora was the first woman. She was moulded out of the Earth by a goddess to punish Prometheus for creating fire. Her name in ancient Greek means 'giver of all'. Her benign reputation has been maligned by the legend of her opening a box containing all the ills besetting this planet. The act was not malicious and neither is the power of www.pandora.com to open a new music world to those deaf to the AM-FM radio stations. Setting up an account is easy and free. Listeners can sculpt radio stations according to their wasted taste. I've mixed metal, folk, world, punk, psychedelia, jazz, reggae, and blues.

IT'S A BEAUTIFUL DAY.

There are a few commercials based on age. I get a promotion for the Hebrew Home in the Bronx. Spend your last days in Talmudic bliss. At least they're not selling grave plots. Lie about your age and find out what the world is pushing on the young.

www.pandora.com

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Civil War 2010


The politics on 47th Street run right of center. Manny, my boss, is a radical. the 80 year-old believes in legalization of all drugs, withdrawal from Iraq and Afghanistan, universal health care, and the re-education of right-wing extremists. being Jewish he also is a proponent of wiping every Arab off the face of the Earth. An old man is entitled to his morality contradictions. No one in the diamond exchange takes our opinions seriously, although the retired Bronx cop seconding as a security guard for the diamond exchange considers both of us commie bastards.

"If it were up to me, I'd shoot you." Andy is pissed off by he passage of the Obama Health Care Bill and parrots Fox News when he says like an altar boy molested by a priest, "They're ramming this down our throat."

"Free health care is a bad thing?"

"We'll end up like Canada or France."

"My friend had brain cancer in France." Randy passed through the operations with success. He filmed my story THE LAST QUALLUDES ON EARTH last summer. French socialized medicine saved his life. I told Andy about his struggle. "When he left the hospital the staff got hi a taxi."

'And what does that prove?" The ex-cop was boiling like a man on the verge of joining a lynch mob. "He was a commie like you."

"I'll tell you how I see the future. Free wine. Free health care. Free pussy too."

"And who's going pay for all that?"

"We're going to pay for that through conquest. Fuck democracy. Rob Iraq. Invade Saudi Arabia. Steal all their oil." This was Rome's strategy. It worked for 600 years and then I whispered, "Fuck Israel too."

It was a welfare state.

No one in the exchange wanted to hear this. They were angry about the new medical plan. None of them understood its offerings. Me too, except the government wanted a payment for my health care. I haven't been sick once in my life. I can faded into the fabric of chaos, however the irate right have declared war on the measure seeking to offer them better health. Bricks have smashed the windows of Democratic offices.

"Extremism in defense of liberty is no vice." Barry Goldwater.

It almost seems as if America is on the verge of a civil war with the pat VP candidate for the GOP cross-hairing the opposition majority party as if they were moose in Alaska.

I've promised Andy a safe place to hide if it comes to bullets.

"As long as I get some of that free pussy I'm your man."

Viva la revolution.

LOST AND FOUND / Bet on Crazy by Peter Nolan Smith


Our store ships diamonds mostly with Fed-Ex. More expensive items go Brinks and overseas transaction are transported by Ferrari. Each company delivers countless millions of packages every day without mishap. No thefts or lost packages, although we always pray for a slip-up since shipments are insured for their exact value. When I first started working at the diamond exchange, I asked my boss to explain such a contrary desire.

"If they lose a package, we get paid twice. Once by the customer and another by Fed-Ex." Richie Boy told me while at the same time making sure that I followed Fed-Ex's stringent packing policies. Customers liked their merchandise without any problems and for my twenty years working for Richie Boy's father I can't recall Fed-Ex ever losing a package despite our wishes otherwise.

Thankfully our customers are more helpful. Their houses are burgled by thieves. Diamond studs fly off the ear at weddings, and on occasion they forget where they put their jewelry. I once cached a diamond ring in my apartment in the East Village after a night of drink. The next morning I searched my usual hiding holes without success. It was gone and I blamed its disappearance on the mice infesting our tenement building since they looked fatter thereafter.

My Irish grandmother said whatever you lose wasn't yours in the first place. I agreed with her, but at the diamond exchange we listen to tales of loss with practiced sang-froid. Commiseration with a query about replacing the lost bracelet, ring, or necklace. My co-worker Cindy had a client this week looking to replace two vanished items. An emerald ring and another diamond ring. A $30,000 purchase. Her commission would pay a month's mortgage. She waited for a month for the insurance company to settle with the suburban couple. Everything looked green light for the new sale until the woman called and said that she had found the rings. Her eight year-old daughter had traded them to a campmate for a sandwich. Bologna for tuna. It seemed like a good deal in the summer. Cindy's client was honest and reported her discovery to the relieved insurance company.

"The little bastard." Manny said without hesitation. He liked Cindy and in these hard times understood she needed this sale. "Better luck next time."

Cindy was a good person. She was happy with her client's good luck, although probably not as much as her client's insurance adjuster. they would be able to dine out on that story at Outback for the next month. Bonne Chance.

Message from the Grave


My younger brother's best friend was Tom Ferris. They met in Provincetown. Michael was sunning on Race Point Beach. A beautiful speedboat anchored close to shore. My brother told his friends that he was going to swim out to see who owned the boat. Tom greeted my brother with open arms. Michael's nickname was 'Aquaman' to Tom, who survived my brother by a decade. He joined the ranks of the missing some years ago, which was why I was surprised to received an email from him this morning. It wasn't from the grave but London.

I'm sorry for this odd request because it might get to you too urgent but it's because of the situation of things right now, I'm stuck in London, United Kingdom right now. I came down here on vacation, i was robbed, worse of it is that bags, cash and cards and my cell phone was stolen at GUN POINT, it's such a crazy experience for me, i need help in sorting out the hotel bills, the authorities are not being 100% supportive but the good thing is i still have my passport but don't have enough money to pay the hotel bills and get back home, please i need you to loan me some money, will refund you as soon as I'm back home, i promise.

I haven't responded to this plaintive plea.

Somehow I feel it's a fake.

GUN POINT?

London?

What does sound right is that the authorities weren't cooperative.

Looks like this other Tom Ferris is going to stuck in purgatory for the time being.

Sorry.

Monday, March 22, 2010

Baby Killer Maniacs


Congress acted as one with the two parties voting their separate ways to pass the Health Reform Bill. This legislation was seen as a sell-out by the radical left and the opening of abortion factories by the GOP tea-baggers. Not a single republican cross the aisle during the tally and a Texas congressman responded to a turncoat Democrat's yea vote with a cry of 'baby-killer' despite the fact that the bill contains nothing about federal funds paying for abortion.

'Baby klller."

The shout was heard by all present, although the arch-conservative legislator denied accusing the Michigan representative of being a 'baby killer'.

"It's a baby killer." He said was what he shouted in Congress

At least it wasn't 'nigger lover'.

The GOP hate this Health Reform Bill for its intrusion into the private freedom of Americans to pay the most money for the unhealthy medical care in the West. They have vowed to fight for the repeal of this measure in the Congress and state legislature.

Anything but socialism.

Because everyone knows know much they hate fat people.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

A Not Very August Afternoon - The Beacon Street Union


I was 16 in 1968. Boston was my hometown. The two best bands were Ultimate Spinach and Beacon Street Union. I attended several of their concerts on Cambridge Commons. The girls there had long hair and didn't wear bras. None of them were fat. My high school friend Jim Lally and I lied about our age. Neither of us got lucky with the co-eds. this afternoon I played several song from BSU's 2nd LP THE CLOWN DIED IN MARVIN GARDENS. The best is A Not Very August Afternoon. It'll make you feel very hippish, whihc is not a bad thing of a sunny Sunday afternoon.

Click on this url to hear the song.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Sm0EEZf3yg&feature=related

Band Reunion of Bad Boys


Thursday had been a long day at the diamond exchange. Manny was worried about money and Richie Boy had shown up late. Schitkah or drunk. His eyes were the color of deviled ham and vodka vapors were fuming from his flesh. His father is a hard worker, but at age 80 his hearing is 90% of a normal person. He can't answer the telephone without saying 'huh' a hundred times. His son was transported to the same age by a fierce night on the town. I was suffering from Padraic's Day. Too much beer.

Manny decided to close early and I headed to Grand Central with my pillow as a final destination for the evening. dinner would be a bowl of clam chowder at the Oyster Bar. The terminal was bustling with rushing commuters and I descended the western steps to the main floor. As I poised to turn, a spectral apparition appeared from the well-fed faces.

A man gaunt and grey. His head lowered in a heroin nod. At first I thought that I was seeing the ghost of William Burroughs. Our paths crossed often in the late afternoon. Grand Central Terminal had to be close to where the infamous novelist scored his drugs. He didn't know my name. in fact he knew nothing about me other than we shared the same affliction, mine a mere shadow of his colossal addiction. still he would acknowledge my affiliation with a finger to his head. An old signal between comrades.

For a second I expected the same from the man approaching me. it was not william Burroughs. He had been dead for years. The phantasm was familiar for another reason. It was an old friend. He looked horrible. Heroin had stolen his youth in his 20s. Younger than me by a decade he looked twice my age, although just as likely to survive every person in the terminal with a junkie's determination. I almost let him walk by, then called out his name.

His greeting was bereft of any surprise or pleasure.

He yellow teeth gleamed in the half-light of the sunset streaming through the terminal's cathedral windows. My sober morning was an anomaly. He was happy that I didn't ask many questions. Even happier that I didn't ask him if he was holding any dope. I would have loved some. A little smoke would take away the pain of being in new York. The pain of being in my late-50s and the remaining residue of my hangover.

I mentioned a soiree featuring punk rock. Emily and Pat were showing their film NIGHTCLUBBING at NYU.

"I really don't go out much anymore."

"Neither do I." We had our reasons. His was more believable than mine. "I have a picture of you, Barney, and Phillip. We look like an old rock band re-uniting for an oldies tour. I'll send you a copy."

"I'd like that." My friend bid me farewell.

I wanted to say that I wouldn't tell anyone about seeing him. His name sets everyone's heads to shaking. He's a bad boy. Still alive and I am glad for that too. There are too few of him around these days and one day I might need to ask him for help. My days of being a bad boy aren't over only delayed

Wonderful World of Yesteryear


www.2bangkok.com published this color photo on their website. The caption said 'Chonburi'. I have pinpointed its location to Wongamat Beach in Naklua. If only it was like that now. The problem was only few people could foresee the future and one of them was Mr. McGuire in the film THE GRADUATE.

Mr. McGuire: I just want to say one word to you - just one word.
Ben: Yes sir.
Mr. McGuire: Are you listening?
Ben: Yes I am.
Mr. McGuire: 'Plastics.'
Ben: Exactly how do you mean?
Mr. McGuire: There's a great future in plastics. Think about it. Will you think about it?
Ben: Yes I will.

There was no plastic bottles in 1967.

There are billions now.

And some of them end up on Wongamat Beach every tide. Plastic refuse lines Jomtien too. Any time I go their with my son Fenway I pick up all the trash. It's a Sisyphean task. His beautiful mother thinks that I'm crazy. At least he'll see the beach the way it used to be before plastic. Nothing but sand.

Saturday, March 20, 2010

A Good Defense


The problem in defense is how far you can go without destroying from within what you are trying to defend from without. ~Dwight D. Eisenhower

7 Years of Iraq


7 years ago GW Bush gave the green light for the invasion of Iraq. Saddam's military quickly was overwhelmed by the Pentagon's 'shock and awe' tactics and the American public cheered the president for the swift victory.

Mission accomplished was declared on the US aircraft carrier Abraham Lincoln.

Somehow the war refused to heed those words.

The occupation has had some brilliant moments of failure. No WMDs, widespread looting. IEDs. Unprotected Humvees. Re-rotation of troops. Abu Dhabi prison. Blackwater security guards. Internecine warfare. Car bombs. Civil war. The surge. Elections. No electricity. No water. No security. Corruption.

The list of failures lengthens with every year as does the death toll.

Nearly 5000 American dead and over 200,000 Iraqis.

Yet today no one in America is talking about this war.

It's March Madness.

Time to band together to watch some b-ball.

Cinderella St. Mary's College beats Villanova.

Homer Simpson Everywhere


THE SIMPSONS have been one of the funniest shows on TV. Homer's face is everywhere. This photo has been making the rounds on the Internet. The big question?

Is it a man or a woman?

My moobs are smaller so it's not me.

Do'h.

White Trash Fairy Tale


Traditionally there are only three ways to get rich; birth, marriage, or theft. Anne Nichole Smith, Texas sex bomb, stepped off the runway of a strip club into popular culture by wedding an admiring oil tycoon. Their age difference of 63 years evoked cries of gold-digger from the billionaire's family. he certainly looked happy in all the photos of them together and upon his death the lawyers for his estate announced that Anne Nicole Smith was left with a third of his fortune. The rags to riches fairy tale was denied a happy ending by her in-laws' legal battle to deny the buxom blonde high-school dropout her share of the fortune, nearly $300 million. The potential heiress was constantly in the tabloid headlines. Nothing those scandal sheets like better than to see someone fall back to earth. first her son dies of a drug overdose and then Anna Nicole Smith herself is found dead of a drug overdose administered by her 'doctor'. All the drugs were legal. She left a daughter and the US Federal Court has decreed that the deceased starlet's young girl will never see any of the money left to her by the tycoon.

The rich get rich and the poor get dead.

Her daughter should be happy to be alive.

The only question is for how long.

Fairy tale over for now.

I See Stupid People from David Russell


STUPID PEOPLE AWARDS

1. When his .38 caliber revolver failed to fire at his intended victim during a hold-up in Provo, Utah would-be robber Jason Ellison did something that can only inspire wonder. He peered down the barrel and tried the trigger again. This time it worked.

And now, the honorable mentions:

2. The chef at a hotel in Switzerland lost a finger in a meat cutting machine and after a little shopping around, submitted a claim to his insurance company. The company expecting negligence sent out one of its men to have a look for himself. He tried the machine and he also lost a finger. The chef's claim was approved.

3. A man who shoveled snow for an hour to clear a space for his car during a blizzard in Chicago returned with his vehicle to find a woman had taken the space. Understandably, he shot her.

4. After stopping for drinks at an illegal bar, a Zimbabwean bus driver found that the 20 mental patients he was supposed to be transporting from Harare to Bulawayo had escaped... Not wanting to admit his incompetence, the driver went to a nearby bus stop and offered everyone waiting there a free ride. He then delivered the passengers to the mental hospital, telling the staff that the patients were very excitable and prone to bizarre fantasies. The deception wasn't discovered for 3 days.

5. A teenager was in the hospital recovering from serious head wounds received from an oncoming train. When asked how he received the injuries, the lad told police that he was simply trying to see how close he could get his head to a moving train before he was hit.

6. A man walked into a Louisiana Circle-K, put a $20 bill on the counter, and asked for change. When the clerk opened the cash drawer, the man pulled a gun and asked for all the cash in the register, which the clerk promptly provided. The man took the cash from the clerk and fled, leaving the $20 bill on the counter. The total amount of cash he got from the drawer. $15. [If someone points a gun at you and gives you money, is a crime committed?]

7. Seems an Arkansas guy wanted some beer pretty badly. He decided that he'd just throw a cinder block through a liquor store window, grab some booze, and run. So he lifted the cinder block and heaved it over his head at the window. The cinder block bounced back and hit the would-be thief on the head, knocking him unconscious. The liquor store window was made of Plexiglas. The whole event was caught on videotape.

8. As a female shopper exited a South Carolina convenience store, a man grabbed her purse and ran. The clerk called 911 immediately, and the woman was able to give them a detailed description of the snatcher. Within minutes, the police apprehended the snatcher. They put him in the car and drove back to the store. The thief was then taken out of the car and told to stand there for a positive ID. To which he replied, "Yes, officer, that's her. That's the lady I stole the purse from."

9. The Ann Arbor News crime column reported that a man walked into a Burger King in Ypsilanti , Michigan at 5 A.M., flashed a gun, and demanded cash. The clerk turned him down because he said he couldn't open the cash register without a food order. When the man ordered onion rings, the clerk said they weren't available for breakfast. The man, frustrated, walked away. [*A 5-STAR STUPIDITY AWARD WINNER]

10. When a man attempted to siphon gasoline from a motor home parked on an Atlanta street, he got much more than he bargained for. Police arrived at the scene to find a very sick man curled up next to a motor home near spilled sewage. A police spokesman said that the man admitted to trying to steal gasoline, but he plugged his siphon hose into the motor home's sewage tank by mistake. The owner of the vehicle declined to press charges saying that it was the best laugh he'd ever had.

And we're growing more stupid people all the time.

Porno Cover-Up

My cousin Sherri had been in over 2000 XXX films. I have only seen one of them, THE ABDUCTION OF JULIE. The teenage girl had sex with three men in the film. Each of their orgasms culminated in an explosion of semen in her mouth, belly, or back. In the parlance of the adult film industry this pay-off is called 'the money shot'. Sherri once asked me to be in a small film. It was a foot fetish video. Very low-rent. I was offered $200 for my role of submissive male. The director promised that my face would never be in the shot. Only my penis. It was flaccid during the ten takes during which Sharon's high heel ground into my balls and cock. I wore no condom and Sharon was careful not to hurt me. We were family. A month later an acquaintance said, "Nice cock." He had seen Sharon's film. Apparently the director had lied about giving a face to the unerect penis. I felt betrayed, but what can you expect from the XXX film industry.

My cousin quit the business to start up a clinic to protect sex- workers and adult film actors and actresses. Her protocols suggested stringent testing to prevent the transfer of STDs or sexually transmitted diseases and even worse that of AIDS. Her suggestion for condom use was ignored, for the money shot is what sells the films. It's the resolution of the storyline, especially in bukkakee films where women are covered in semen.

These dangerous behaviors are now threatened by a proposed California state regulation mandating the use of condoms for adult entertainers as well as sexual awareness training for workers in the XXX films.

No more bareback anal films is considered an infringement of the First Amendment by the adult film industry. Money shots are as important to the Freedom of Speech as words to the producers, although workers live with the danger of getting HIV such as those infected during the 2004 HIV outbreak in the San Fernando Valley.

My cousin Sherri is pro-condom. I don't use them when I masturbate. I wish I had worn one during that foot fetish film. Not over my cashew penis, but over my head to protect my identity. I was such a bad actor.

Friday, March 19, 2010

BET ON CRAZY - Chinese Food by Peter Nolan Smith



After Valentine’s Day business on 47th Street gets really slow. Customers are blown away by the arctic winds howling down Manhattan’s avenues and purchasing a diamond is the last thing on most people’s mind in the dead of winter. Some days no one enters the diamond exchange. At least no one with an honest intention of buying jewelry.

Once we set up the counters and front window, the standard procedure was to plod through the repairs and pick-ups from the setters and polishers. Those tasks usually lasted up to lunch, but not in the last days of February. By 11am Richie Boy, his longtime employee Domingo, and I were standing around the space heater shooting the shit. Richie Boy’s brother was on vacation. Manny, my boss and Richie Boy’s father, wasn’t happy with our obvious idleness.

“I might as well hired three brooms than you heroes.” Manny hates his help doing nothing.

“There aren’t any customers. What else should we do? Get down on our knees and pray for customers?” Richie Boy’s clientele came from his going out at night. None of them were getting out of bed before noon or out of work until lunch.

“Maybe that would do us some good.” Manny pointed to Domingo and me. “I got two goys. Both of you must know some prayers for getting money. Who’s the patron saint for money.”

“St. Matthew is the patron saint of money managers. He doesn’t really count.” I had been an altar and a good Catholic in my youth. Some of the nuns learning still stuck with me. “Saint Agatha is the patron saint of jewelers. She was martyred for refusing the sexual advances of a Roman. Her body is supposedly incorruptible.”

“Bleech.” The thought of a 2000 year-old virgin corpse disgusted Manny. “But say a little prayer to here. You too, Domingo.”

“I don’t know any prayers.” Domingo had dropped out of Sunday school in 2d grade.

“Say something. We need money.”

I muttered out several words to St. Agatha in hopes of making a sale, but stopped before saying how much cash I wanted, because lunch had arrived from the Chinese take-out.

“Great, first I have bullshitters and now I have loafers.”

“A man has to eat.” Richie Boy was paying for lunch. Domingo was good at tearing open the paper bag. He was always hungry. “Who ordered General Tso’s chicken?”

“Me.” I loved the succulent meat covered with crunchy batter and the sweet tang of the sauce. None of us ever mentioned the source of the meat after whoever ordered the General Tso’s chicken had finished their meal. It was just good manners.

“What about me?” Manny asked from his desk. The surface was cluttering with bills, invoices, and folded packets of loose diamonds. He never seemed to make any progress on this pile.

“What you order?” Richie Boy pulled out his order of dim sum.

“Nothing.” Manny had said earlier that he didn’t want anything.

“Then you get nothing chow mein, fat boy.” Richie poked his father’s belly. A good three inches of fat hung over his belt. He liked his food.

“Great.” Manny threw down his pen. “I pay everyone to do nothing and I get to starve.”

“You’re not going to starve. We ordered you Moo Sho Pork.” Richie put Manny’s food on the counter. “Eat here.”

“I’ll eat at my desk.” Manny started pushing his papers aside.

“No you won’t. Last time you did that you ate a diamond with a dumpling.”

“It was only a twenty-pointer.” Manny remembered everything that he had ever done with diamonds. “And I found it two days later.”

“Don’t tell us where. We’re eating.” Richie Boy had a delicate stomach.

Manny stood up and put a paper towel under his collar. His tie was Armani. Mine was Cerruti. I ate at my desk with a real fork and spoon. Something about eating with Richie was on the phone with his wife. He mumbled out his apologies. He had had a late night last evening.

“Were you with my son last night?” Manny was making a small crepe from the pancake accompanying the Moo Shu Pork.

“Only until midnight, then we both went home.” I had left Richie Boy at 11. I had no idea what time he went home.

“You’re a good friend, but a bad liar.” Manny crammed the Moo Shu Pork into his mouth. The sauce dripped on the counter. Pork was tref to most Jews, but Manny, Richie Boy, and everyone from our partners’ firm were bacon Jews. They loved the taste of pork.

“Manny, when you were a kid, did your mother let you eat pork?”

“I’m from Brownsville. We couldn’t afford pork. My mother covered everything in a gravy. I had no idea what we ate. It could have been cat same as that General Tso’s Chicken.”

“Thanks.” I put down my fork.

“What you think a Chinaman is going to serve you cat?”

“There are no cats in Chinatown.” Richie Boy shouted from his desk. “We were on Canal Street 20 years and I never saw a single cat and the Italians in Little Italy never let their cats out of the house. Cat very good General Tso’s Chicken.”

“If it’s cat, I have to admit cat tastes pretty damn good, but I have a question for you. Why do Jews like Chinese food so much?”

“Because it’s cheap.” Richie Boy never went to Chinese restaurants. He was more into Italian.

“It has nothing to do with the money. Chinese culture and Jewish culture go back thousands of years. We know each other since Adam.”

“Marco Polo found Jews in China.”

“Probably from one of the lost tribes. My father said we were a lost tribe in America. He was right, but we found China in Brooklyn. When I was a kid, there were Chinese restaurants on every corner and every Sunday the Chinese restaurants were crowded with families. We never went, because my father was so poor, but sometimes my father would treat us with take-out. We ate on paper plates, but my mother would hide them, so the neighbors wouldn’t know we were so poor. Like she was fooling anyone.”

“So you went, because it was cheap.” Richie Boy wasn’t letting go. Manny liked to save money. He wore the same shirt twice. To prevent his collars from getting dirty, Manny placed a paper towel between his neck and his collar. We called it his ’sweat rag’.

“Sure, it was cheap, but it was also good, plus we ate pork, because eating forbidden foods showed we were Americans. My father never mixed dairy and meat, which the Chinese rarely combine, plus he never ate pork, except at Chinese restaurants. He wouldn’t even look at the menu. he’d order #3. Pork Chow Mein. The waiter would say, “#3 and never mention pork. They were respectful that way. Number two, Chinese weren’t goys. At an Italian restaurant there was a always a cross. How can you eat at a restaurant with a Jew nailed to the wall. Feh. But Buddha, he always had a smile and as kids we rubbed his stomach for good luck.”

“I thought you said you didn’t eat at restaurants.” I thought I had caught Manny on this, but he shook his head. “What you think we had telephones back then. Take-out meant you went to the restaurant, ordered, and brought the food home and another thing we weren’t Jews to the Chinese. They thought all white people looked the same, so we were the same as everyone, because they couldn’t care less about anyone as long as you had money.”

“So you never ate in a Chinese restaurant as a kid?” Richie was finished with his dumplings.

“I never said never. We went on Christmas, because they’d be no one there and afterwards we’d go to the movies. Also no one there. My old man didn’t like waiting for nothing.” Manny made himself another crepe. He was an expert. “Stop looking at my food. If there’s anything I hate, it’s a schnorrer.”

“Your son is the worst in here.”

“Only because he studied with the best.” Manny bit into the pancake loaded with pork and pointed to the door. Two customers were coming out of the cold. A man and woman. My prayer to St. Agatha had come through. “Enough talk. Work.”

“You got it.” I put away my food before Richie Boy or Domingo could get out of their chairs. I was hungry for money and ‘nimmt geld’ or tale money was the first rule of 47th Street. I could eat my lunch later. Chinese food always tastes better with a little money in your pocket. Even cold.

Porno Cover-Up


My cousin Sherri had been in over 2000 XXX films. I have only seen one of them, THE ABDUCTION OF JULIE. The teenage girl had sex with three men in the film. Each of their orgasms culminated in an explosion of semen in her mouth, belly, or back. In the parlance of the adult film industry this pay-off is called 'the money shot'. Sherri once asked me to be in a small film. It was a foot fetish video. Very low-rent. I was offered $200 for my role of submissive male. The director promised that my face would never be in the shot. Only my penis. It was flaccid during the ten takes during which Sharon's high heel ground into my balls and cock. I wore no condom and Sharon was careful not to hurt me. We were family. A month later an acquaintance said, "Nice cock." He had seen Sharon's film. Apparently the director had lied about giving a face to the unerect penis. I felt betrayed, but what can you expect from the XXX film industry.

My cousin quit the business to start up a clinic to protect sex- workers and adult film actors and actresses. Her protocols suggested stringent testing to prevent the transfer of STDs or sexually transmitted diseases and even worse that of AIDS. Her suggestion for condom use was ignored, for the money shot is what sells the films. It's the resolution of the storyline, especially in bukkakee films where women are covered in semen.

These dangerous behaviors are now threatened by a proposed California state regulation mandating the use of condoms for adult entertainers as well as sexual awareness training for workers in the XXX films.

No more bareback anal films is considered an infringement of the First Amendment by the adult film industry. Money shots are as important to the Freedom of Speech as words to the producers, although workers live with the danger of getting HIV such as those infected during the 2004 HIV outbreak in the San Fernando Valley.

My cousin Sherri is pro-condom. I don't use them when I masturbate. I wish I had worn one during that foot fetish film. Not over my cashew penis, but over my head to protect my identity. I was such a bad actor.

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Southbound


Vladmar is heading to Florida. he's never been there before. 50 years old and never to the Holy Land.

My first time was in Spring 1971. 4 friends in a Chevy Nova from Boston to Fort Lauderdale. The highway was half-finished. No beltways. Straight through Savannah. We drank and smoked reefer the entire journey. The cops didn't stop us once. We were 18 year-old freshmen on college break. Only I had long hair.

We crossed the state line listening to WBZ's broadcast of the Bruins-Canadians playoff. Boston up 5-3 in the 3rd. The station faded to static at the welcoming rest stop. Free OJ and dreams about finally throwing off the curse of the Les Habs over the Bs. Woke the next morning on a beach.

Our crash pad was across the street from the infamous Elbow Room in which more co-eds have exorcised the demons of alcohol than any other south Florida bar. Got the local newspaper. Jean Beliveau scored 2 goals to tie the game. We lost in overtime. Fucking Canadians. That night I drank in the Elbow Room. It had been featured in the movie WHERE THE BOYS ARE.

I met a girl and we walked on the beach. Stars glistening above the Gulf Stream. I let a joint. We smoked surrounded by other teenage couples making out like turtles getting ready to lay eggs. I stared the constellation Orion. It glowed in the night. Florida. The smell of salt off the breeze.

The Way We Live


Tristam Dequatremare posted this prediction for our lives.

I'm definitely in the abyss of work.

I dream of death for a release from its grasp.

On my death bed I can tell my boss to take this job and shove it.

ps all you vision-challenged neo-seniors click on the image so you can read it and then weep.

Life so fleeting, the end so ruthless. It comes before we know its too late.

Monday, March 15, 2010

Route 7 to Pattaya


The first highway in Thailand was built with American assistance in 1957. Route 2 connected the Satthathip naval base with the airfields in the Isaan Plateau. The road was later extended to the Laotian border. The all-weather surface allowed military convoys to transport war material even during the monsoon season. The US air campaign against Laos, South Vietnam, Cambodia, and North Vietnam would have been impossible without this supply route. The dual carriageway has faded into obscurity with the end of the Vietnam War and other highways are link Thai cities and port. The most important is Route 7 to Pattaya and the Eastern Seaboard.

For years this road ended at a barrier some 20 kilometers from the resort on the Gulf of Siam. Traffic was detoured back onto Sukhumvit. Thai police preyed on motorists exiting off and heading toward the highway. The most famous speedtrap was the one on the Bangkok-bound section after the International School. The police stopped cars for a variety of violations; speeding, passing without a signal, no seatbelts, bad lights, out-of-date permits. 200 baht was the regular fine. Farangs got off with 500. A 1000 if they were in a hurry. I was stopped once with only 100 baht in my pocket. The tam-luat waved me on my way, disgusted that I had nothing more.

This snare will probably become extinct with the opening of the new extension of the Chonburi-Pattaya Motorway will open before the end of March. Traffic will skirt Naklua and Banglamung, easing congestion on Sukhumvit. The completion of this bypass will delight developers keen to exploit the pastoral farmland along the route. Once the roadsigns and lane dividers are finished, the project will be turned over to the Highway Department and Thai drivers can compete for the dubious honor of having the first accident on the motorway.

I give it a day.

Red Is the Color Of My True Love


The fall of the Iron Curtain inspires various other countries to embrace democracy. Eastern Europe immediately opened its borders and their populaces flooded the West. The US sent the GOP into eight years of exile from the White House. Asian countries were not so lucky with their aspirations for freedom. Their leaders were well-supported by the rich, the military, and the police. Burma remained under a draconian dictatorship. Nepal's monarchy repressed the dissidents with gunfire. I was in Bangkok during the 1992 demonstrations against the return of military rule. The newly-appointed Prime minister had broken his vow to the King. The hopes of the Thai people was bolstered by the lack of action from from hometown troops. No one thought that the protests would ended in violence.

"Violence not Thai Way." Kenny told me, as we stood at the tail-end of the hundreds of thousands gathered before the Democracy Monument not far from the temple of the Golden Mount The sun was blazing down on their heads. Kenny and I retreated to the Hotel Royale. The beer was cold and the room was cheap. Tourist had fled the city in anticipation of serious trouble. The balcony overlooked the entire avenue and I surveyed the masses with a pair of counterfeit binoculars I had bought in Patpong.

"Things are going to get ugly." I spotted a shift in troops stationed beyond the distant traffic circle. Fresh troops were their replacements. Thousands of frightened murmurs wavered through the crowd. "Suchinda has found loyal soldiers."

"They not shoot Thai people." Kenny had a bar near the Malaysia Hotel. He dealt with the police and soldiers. They laughed playing poker in his backroom. None of them ever mentioned anything about his being gay

"I'm not so sure about that." The drunk farangs in the bar joked about how small they were, but something about their smile spoke murder. "Suchinda and his bosses don't want the people to be free."

"Free?" Kenny dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. "No one free. My mother slave to father. Father slave to big people. And Kenny slave to good time. But Khon Yai not free. Rich people slave to poor people. Everyone know place. Good. Not mob. No one know what come next."

"Nothing good."

And I was right.

The troops had been brought from the country. Their officers told them that they were putting down a communist revolution. The gunfire came as a surprise to the demonstrators. They died by the hundreds. The number will never be known. Kenny and I hide several in our hotel room. The police wanted to take them outside. Kenny gave them all his money. I gave all mine too. The students were left alone.

The next day I took a bus to Chiang Mai. Suchinda was ousted by the King. A week later everything was back to normal. Kenny was right. The Thais knew their place.

Nearly twenty years later the people are not so obedient. The yellow-shirts represent the old school of Khon Yai. Privilege and power. Cars are 30% more expensive in Thailand. Gas too. The money lines the pockets of the rich. Thaksin's red-shirts want change. The deposed leader promises redistribution of wealth if he resumes his position as prime minister.

Tens of thousands of red-shirts are in Bangkok. They have no intention of going home. The military sits in their barracks. No one is willing to give Suchinda's order to shot on the people. Not yet and Kenny would be happy about that.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

NEW ROSE - The Damned 1979


The Damned played Hurrah in September 1979. New York's Misfits opened the show. The 62nd Street club was packed with punks. I was working security and my job was to lead the band up to the stage. Several minutes before the show I asked them if they needed anything and one of them said, "4 Bottles of Vodka."

I went to the bar and returned with the requested 4 bottles. They twisted off the caps and poured the vodka straight into their mouths like hungry baby birds feeding on their mother's spew. Most of it ended up on the floor.

The show was classic. Fast and Loud.

Afterwards Cheetah Chrome of the Dead Boys fell asleep in the baggage storage of the group's touring bus. He woke up in some other town.

Punk rock at its best and I love NEW ROSE

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WaOraUh1AyM&feature=PlayList&p=81EF7096C0EE514C&index=1

Red Rhum Rally


Tens of thousands of Thaksin's red-shirt supporters have descended on Bangkok in an effort to overthrow the present government of Prime Minister Abhisit. The numbers fall far short of the million predicted by the UDD. Funds are short for the Thaksinites. The Thai Supreme Court seized a billion dollars last month. According the reports the rally has been jovial, although several pro-Thaksin leaders have called for a siege to the 11th Army HQ and threatened to stay in Bangkok until a new vote dignifies the democratic process trashed by the 2006 military coup organized by the old power elite. The poor showing of demonstrators is a marked reversal to last year's tumultuous mobs violently opposing the police and army. Mr. Thaksin has yet to address the crowds. He has been exiled from Dubai and is now in transit to Switzerland, where he might be presented with extradition papers. His options are limited for flights from there. Only Cambodia is offering refuge and Thais would view that choice as the act of a traitor.

The magic or 'red-rhum' is fading from the great leader.

Sometimes it's best to know when to quit for good.

He still has a billion dollars.

And a billion dollars can always buy another chance at success because nothing is going to happen in the next month. Songkran is never the time for revolution. It's party time.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Troops Over There


The USA is coming up to the 7th anniversary of the Iraq Invasion. The quick victory over Saddam's Republican Guards concealed the possibility of a civil war between the three major groups; Sunni, Shiites, and Kurds. The entire sad story is detailed in the movie starring Matt Damon THE GREEN ZONE. The Bush administration with the help of Tony Blair misled the world about the dangers of WMD. There were none. The head of the occupation Paul Bremer failed to foist exiled Iraqis on the tribal leaders and compounded this error by disbanding the Army. Torture, murder, corruption, insurgency. All of it denied by GW Bush, Dick Cheney, Congress, and the American people. No one sacrificed nothing. fat people didn't sacrifice potato chips. The rich got richer. The middle class was happy with the inflated value on their houses. The poor were unheard, because they were fighting the war. Few people know anything about the war. DANCING WITH THE STARS is more important to the masses. The two wars only effect soldiers, families, contractors, and the citizens of the many countries where the Pentagon is still fighting the last administration's wars.

This week a young lady from Alabama walked into the diamond exchange. She wanted to sell two diamond rings. One was hers. The other belonged to her boyfriend. The 27 year-old was a 2nd lieutenant in the Army Reserve. Her beau was a sergeant in the Army. He was deploying to Afghanistan next month. Erin was heading out in the autumn.

"Good weather for it." I had been in the high Asian plains. Hot dry and high. Breathing is a task. Thirst a constant companion.

"Were you in the military?" Erin seemed a little slow for a soldier. Her skin was clear. She should have been a mother.

"No, I'm anti-war. Protested this war, but not enough." 9/11 had America in a fighting mood.

"I'm not too happy about going either."

"At least you'll be with your boyfriend." Men and women in the military were coupling same as any group of people. "I thought it was against the military code for officers to fraternize with enlisted soldiers."

"I'm Reserve. That doesn't apply to me."

"What about that colonel in Afghanistan who wanted to courtmartial pregnant soldiers for desertion?" The military had big problems with women being sexually abused by their comrades. It really didn't make the news.

"There's a lot of idiots in the officer corps."

"In Iowa I met guardsmen deploying for the 4th time. Their CO wants another service ribbon."

"I'm hoping for Obama to end it before I have to go. But I'm in logistics. So it won't be so bad."

"It's never bad until it's really bad. The British invaded with 15,000 troops to install a puppet government. The political officers decided to stiff the tribute to the tribes along the Khyber Pass. The uprising took them by surprises. Only one soldier escaped the debacle. If you have to get out of there, head north. And bring as much MREs as you can."

"Thanks for the advice."

We bought the rings. Erin was happy with the price. I wished her good-luck. She smiled with a salute. Two minutes later no one remembered her name. Those soldier 'over there' are invisible here. GREEN ZONE might not be the best movie in the world, but it brings the war home.

Now bring the troops home, Obama, before it's too late.

Wife of J


Candida was 17 when I met her at the bar of the Privilege. Paris bars had no drinking restriction for age. She asked if I wanted to go home with her. The teenager was no virgin. That night and morning we fucked five times. It was easy to confuse lust for love in the 80s. It was the end of the sexual revolution. Candida was unfaithful at least once. She gave me the clap and blamed it on a toilet seat. I was no longer in love, so I didn't believe her. We separated after I came home to her apartment in La Ruche and found her in bed with another man. I beat the shit out of him. Her I would have killed in cold blood. I probably could have gotten off charges thanks to the French belief in a 'crime of passion'. I must have have loved her. I can't remember that love anymore, but I was surprised to discover on Facebook that she was a nun. All sins are forgiven in the eyes of the their god. I only wish I could be that divine. Instead I'm human and everything that isn't forgiven can be forgotten with time. she was only 17.

Holy Batman and Robin


Of course at the 147 a Go Go we would featured special shows.

BATMAN and ROBIN.

Robin would have to perform her act on her knees.

Batman wouldn't have it any other way.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

The Quiet Wall of Blue


The police don't have a good reputation anywhere in the world. The Brits call their bobbies 'the filth', the Thai police are known as 'tam-luat' or 'make blood', and Americans refer to the cops as 'pigs, Man, or heat'. Expletives usually accompanied both the real and slang words for law enforcement officers. The police are trouble. They issue tickets, stopped speeding violators, bust drug suspects, search houses and possessions in violation of the constitution, plant evidence, take kick-backs, and even find time to fine me for drinking beer in public.

Guilty as charged I later admitted to the judge in court.

The pigs also stop crimes, save people, and deal with dead bodies on a regular basis, however Antoine Fuqua's BROOKLYN'S FINEST dwells more on the negative aspects of cops and robbers in a hard Brooklyn neighborhood. All the guards working in the diamond exchange are pensioned cops. I get along with a couple. Jo-Jo is easy. He's a Red Sox fan from the Bronx. He loves that I named my son Fenway. Bobby is from Brooklyn. The ex-corrections officer tells tales of his fights. The best one was in Junior's. I had never known that they had a bar in the world-famous deli until Bobby told a story about fighting two punks. I used to brawl a little too in my younger years. The third guard is more problematic. Ray was a stereotypical NYPD cop. Racist, mean, and a GW Bush lover. When I mentioned BROOKLYN'S FINEST, his response was immediate.

"More propaganda from liberal Hollywood." His philosophy has been polished by his source of information. "Probably the same old bullshit."

"Not really. The movie covers an uncover cop going native, a 22-year officer a week away from retirement, and a stone-cold killer looking for money anyway he can get it."

"See, more bullshit." Ray wore his hair like the 50s singer, Jerry Vail. He walked like a small John Wayne. The other guards hated him. He used to be their boss. The building's new owners took away that position. He was like the rest of them and Ray wasn't happy about that.

"Are you saying that there aren't mad dog cops?"

Sean Bell was shot in self-defense. 17 times. Outside a nightclub. 19 of 41 bullets hit Amadou Diallo in the Bronx. The courts exonerated the shooters. Civil cases are still pending against the police involved in these and many shootings. Ray thought that the cops were always right even when they were wrong.

"Nothing like they show in the movies."

"I knew a cop like that. A mad dog killer." I first saw Jimmy in 1980,

"Yeah." Ray didn't believed a word any civilian said about the cops. "You don't know nothing."

"I worked nightclubs. After-hours. We paid off the cops in the 9th and 20th precincts. Paid off the firemen too. The Mafia tried to get their cut, but we told them to get in line after the cops. They never came around after that." These clubs existed in the 80s. The first was the Jefferson on East 14th Street. It was my friend's loft. "We stayed open over six months. I made $500 a night at the door. It was too good to last and we were raided by Internal Affairs and Vice. I got arrested with 3 cops, the bagman for the FD, 2 TVs, and my ex-girlfriend. Vice broke the fireman's leg with a baseball bat."

"That shit happens." Andy was right. Shit does happen to bad people. Good people too. "Breaking a dirty cop's leg doesn't make you a mad dog."

"I wasn't talking about him. We opened another nightclub a year later. The Continental. Money came from the Russian mob, my boss was on the wire for the FBI, and I was paying off the cops every night. Once more I made a lot of money and everyone wanted their share. One night this tall blonde guy comes up to the ropes alone. He flashed a badge. His eyes warned against any hesitation. His suit was Armani. Everything about him said 'detective'. He didn't need any back-up.

"Where's Arthur?" The club's impressio.

Security was a mountain of a Jamaican. Lawrence looked at with with surrender. This cop was bad. His face wore a mask of murder. Anything but the truth would cause pain. I pointed to the bar. "Arthur's at the end of the bar."

"My name's Jack." The big cop said walking out of the club. "I'll be back."

Arthur wasn't pissed by my selling him out. Jack was the meanest drunk in the bar. His fame in the city came from his arresting Harlem's biggest dope dealer. He was on probation for having shoot up the wrong apartment during a raid. A grandmother was killed in the one-sided exchange of gunfire.

"Jack?" Ray said that officer's last name.

"One in the same." His name comes up in Google.

"You're right. He was one fucked up individual."

"So you knew him?" I saw him take out a sniper on 10th Street. He walked through the cordon of police with his weapon at his side and entered the apartment building. The gunman was on the 5th floor. A minute later one shot was fired in that apartment. The newspapers never covered the story.

"Not friends."

"I wouldn't suspect Jack had many friends." Someone once firebombed his basement apartment. That someone vanished from the Bronx a la an alien abduction. No trace. Jack left NYC for LA soon after that incident. A part-time gig offering technical advice to producers. "His bio on Google said Jack had stopped his service to the NY community, because of injuries."

"No way, they threw him off the force. He was a menace."

"I saw him 13 years ago in LA. At our nightclub in Beverly Hills. Arthur nearly shit a bowling ball upon seeing him. Jack lifted a finger to his lips. He was scared his Hollywood companions would freaked out about the real Jack. Arthur and I had a few drinks with him. We didn't talk about the old times. the one and only time I saw him."

"Good riddance."

"So you admit that there are bad cops?"

"Jack was no cop. He was a criminal. They come in all colors."

"So go see BROOKLYN'S FINEST."

"Fuck you." Our bond over Jack was done. Ray was back to being himself. He flipped the finger and went down to the vault. He wouldn't come out of there until it was time to go home. He was a good ex-cop that way and so was Jack.