Wednesday, November 28, 2012

THE DEATH OF ME by Peter Nolan Smith

Last December I attended the opening of the "Dream' exhibition at Luxembourg's Mudam Museum. Madame l'Ambassador bailed from the event early for a formal dinner with diplomats. I was not invited for supper. "It's a diplomatic thingee." Madame l'Ambassador explained, as we walked through a thickening fog to the waiting Jaguar. "I understand." A writer-in-residence has to understand his place in the scheme of plans. Francois the driver opened the right-hand rear door for Madame l'Ambassador. It was the safest seat in the back of the car. He asked if I needed a lift back to the city. The museum was located on the opposite side of the gorge running through the city. I had traversed it several times on foot and refused his offer.

"You go with Madame. I'll be fine." After all I am simply the guest writer.

I lingered at the soiree for another half hour. The crowd was young and artistic. The curator waved to me. The amiable Italian was chatting to an aristocratic couple in their 70s. Patrons of the museum were much more important than a well-unknown writer and I ordered a beer. The bartender poured it into a special glass with reverence. Mittel Europe worshipped its beers.

I leaned at the bar and studied the passing faces. The queue at the bar seemed contently unconcerned by the chaos of the Euro. Their luxurious clothing cloned the bare threads of down-and-out artists, then again Luxembourg has the highest individual income in Europe and even the poor are rich in comparison to America.

The first beer had gone down quick and I ordered a second.

Luxembourg doesn't possess the ancient heritage of Belgium's Trappist beers, but their offerings are better than the Bud of the USA. The grand duchy also marked the highest beer consumption per capita in 1993 with an unbeatable score of seventeen beers for each man, woman, and child in the tiny country. A light-weight in my late-50s I put down my third beer and called it a night. The alcohol content of 6.7% was strong enough for a fourth to knock me off my feet and I had a good walk ahead to the upper city across the canyon.

Outside the I.M. Pei structure was shrouded by a gloomy fog. I skirted the spectral display of shadow and light, remembering my High School German teacher's telling the class the word for fog.

"Nebel." Bruder Karl spoke with a muted thunder.

Nebel coupled with Spiegel became fog and mirrors, the mystic atmosphere for magic and the intrigues of the Gestapo.

No one else challenged the deepening murk and I descended through the reconstructed fortifications in a silence of darkness. The Mudam disappeared into the gray murk. I followed the switchbacking trail like a man going blind. A train sounded its whistle on the tracks below. It was the 7:43 from Troisvierges.

Luxembourg had housed thousand of soldiers during its reign at the Gibraltar of the North. This path from Fort Thungen would have been travelled by hussars, dragoons, and mercenaries back in the 17th Century. Tonight my footsteps ricocheted unanswered against the stone ramparts.

The slurry of leaves crossed my path and I thought about a film a friend of mine who had made here several years ago. The story concerned a director casting a real vampire in his film. My friend Bill had played a vampire. The city's medievalism had lent the movie's exterior scene an unexpected aura of horror and this evening I glanced around me with a rising apprehension.

I was all alone.

The city was old.

I no longer believe in God, but I had watched enough vampire movies to know that I offered a fairly easy target for a bloodsucker. Were-wolves were not a worry. The earth was in the middle of the synodic month.

A twig cracked in the surrounding woods. Something was out there in the forbidding shadows. I wished for a sword, instead I bracketed a set of keys in the knuckles of my right hand.

A single pinpoint of light broke through the swirling overcast. Venus was too bright to be to be a star and I salvaged a little confidence by sighting a familiar object in the night sky. When my eyes dropped to Earth, a lisping wind scrapped the bare branches to chant an incantation from a time before electricity.

My pace accelerated to reach the tunnel underneath the bastion. A shiver scrapped a dull razor against the skin of my spine. My cellphone dimly illuminated the black passage of stone. Running would have been a sign of fright and creatures of the night prey on the weak. I arrived on the other side and the 7:45 train to Wiltz raced beneath the steep embankment. The smooth cobblestones gave way to gravel and the trail bore the ruts of wagons.

A rusting grate blocked the tunnel under the railroad tracks. Something inhuman was in the trees. I hopped over the metal fence and bushwhacked through the underbrush to the tracks. I looked both ways and clambered across the double set of steel rails to the other side.

I safely reached the street ten seconds later.

A streetlight glowed overhead.

My cell rang. It was Francois the driver. He asked if I was all right.

"Okay." The word meant the same in English as in French.

"Sure?" Madame l'Ambassador was concerned that something bad might have happened to me. She was a longtime friend. We shared mutual acquaintances. Neither of us wanted anything bad to happen to me on her watch.

“Fine, I'll be back at the residence within fifteen minutes. Thank the ambassador for asking." It was a nice feeling to know someone care and also that a good scare makes a man feel alive and that's 100% better than being killed by vampires any night of the week.

ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST by Peter Nolan Smith


Punk died before Disco. The next alternative defender of rock and roll was the New Wave, which combined electronic and experimental music with a minimal beat. Bands such as The Psychedelic Furs, Simple Minds, and Echo and The Bunnymen achieved critical and financial success during the early 80s, however American New Wave acts were shut out of the surge. TuxedoMoon, a San Francisco Post Punk group, had attained a modicum of fame within the USA, although not enough to satisfy their egos or pockets and the band emigrated to Belgium hoping to break into the European market.

Sell-out concerts Paris, Berlin, and Milan did not translated into box office boffo in America and the group toured the States in abject poverty. Battered vans and second rate-hotels were complemented by long road trips to isolated college towns always in hope of a lucky break. Few came their way in the Lower 48.

The group played the Bains-Douches in 1983. I was working the door at that fabled Paris nightclub. I saw two great SRO shows. After a tumultuous encore the band retired to dining room. I offered drinks to Steven Brown and Blaine L. Reininger. We knew each other through mutual friends.

"How was your last tour?" I was avoiding America. Reagan was in power and the NYPD Internal Affairs had a few questions to ask me about pay-offs to the 20th Precinct. The Atlantic acted as a good buffer zone between me and them.

"College campuses loved us. New York and LA too. Only problem is that the record companies could figure out what to do with us." Steven was eying the blonde bartender. She smiled at him. Corinne was a darling.

"It's not like you're Top 40." I loved their songs The Stranger, Scream With a View, and What Use?/Crash. No Tears should have been a hit in 1978, although 'no tears for the creatures of the night' stood little chance against Andy Gibbs SHADOW DANCING.

"We never said we wanted Top 40." Steven protested, starting an argument between Blaine and him about band direction. Within a minute they agreed that they were not destined to replace the BeeGees.

"Strangest Top 40 experience on the trip was during our drive through Tennessee. Wintertime in those hills the roads get dangerous. Snow, ice, and fog." Steven sounded like he did most of the driving.

"Don't forget the mountains." Blaine held the horror of the suicide seat close to his heart.

"One afternoon I'm driving from Knoxville to Johnston City."

"I know that highway." I had hitchhiked it in the summer of 1975. "Pretty country in August."

"Bare trees and blowing snow in January." Steven's words were a granite testimony to the highway's treachery in bad conditions.

"Fog too." Blaine was feeding lines to Steven. They were poets as well as musicians. "No one else on the road."

"Hit a stretch where I could see much, except a glow in the mist. Then we spot an accident. Three cars torn to shreds. One was on fire and a man lay on the highway."

"We missed him by inches." Steven and Blaine had transported me to that interstate by imitating the screech of brakes. "We stopped and walked back. Everyone was dead. Four people. Couldn't tell what had happened, only something bad. We drove another mile to the exit, where we pulled into a diner. There were two waitresses, a cook, and a few customers inside. Blaine called the cops, as I told them what we had seen and the waitress put down her apron said accidents happen there all the time. She went over to the jukebox and dropped in a quarter."

"Played B-5." Blaine was the straight man.

"Queen's ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST."

"Biggest crossover hit in 1980.

"Number 1 in the USA and UK."

"You could always do it as a cover." I loved covers.

"We don't do covers."

And they never had a #1 hit like ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST, but I loved them still.

To hear NO TEARS go to this URL

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Z-DC66THOU

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

THE FOG November 2012

Shannon Greer captured the morning fog lingering off the Southern California coast. There are no ghost ships within the fog, only within our minds thanks to John Carpenter's movie THE FOG. It did not star Kurt Russell, but Jamie Lee Curtis had a role. I think she survived to the end.

Man Or Beast

The bedroom in my old East Village apartment faced an air-shaft. One summer evening I had to listen to a woman in the throes of pleasure for hours. My hillbilly girlfriend hollered for her to shut up. She was more the quiet type. The same scenario repeated itself night after night. Moving into the living slightly eased the noise. My girlfriend and I figured the woman was living two stories above us and my friend was giving her the business. My girlfriend wanted me to speak with him and the next morning I confronted Bill on the stairs. "We need to talk." "Yeah, we do." "Can you do something about your girl's screaming?" "My girl's screaming? I thought it was you." "No, it's not me." "Well, if not you, then who?" The door opened for the fourth floor apartment and out stepped two very content-looking females. One was petite and the other was three times the man Bill and I would ever be in this lifetime. We moved out of their way. Even back in the 70s a man knew his place amongst his betters.

Monday, November 26, 2012

A Letter For Ralph

Last October Ralph Jawad of Ralph's Meats on Lafayette Street in Fort Greene was arrested by the NYPD for possession on marijuana and two guns. The neighborhood mayor is out on bail after a period of incarceration on Riker's Island. The NY Post today heralded the approach of legal marijuana sales in New York, yet Mayor Bloomberg continues to target smokers and low-level dealers rather than the pharmaceutical companies selling oxycondin and countless other prescription killer drugs. We demand freedom for Ralph. If you live in Fort Greene, please write a letter to Ralph to help his defense with your contact information and bring it to Ralph's asap. Just follow the steps below. 1. Introduction: Who You Are. What you do for a living and for how long. 2. How You Know Ralph: For how long, and relationship, neighbor, landlord, 3. Give Specific Examples: i.e. good things he’s done, his reputation, honest etc. 4. Provide a good contact number, email, & / or address" Free the Ralph. It's the neighborhood thing to do.

Christo's Pyramid

The world-famous wrapper Christo has announced his newest project, MASTABA, a multi-colored pyramid constructed of hundreds of thousands of oil barrels. The $339 million structure will be erected in the Abu Dhabi desert as a permanent tourist attraction for the wealthy emirate. The height will beat out that of the Great Pyramid of Giza and according to the Daily Mail Christo said: 'When the sun rises, the vertical wall will become almost full of gold.' What's more amazing than the scale of his pyramid is that Christo found financing for this folly. My good friend Kenny Schacter felt that there was a myriad of better ways to spent money than this waste of effort in a desert. Fans of Christo claim that the project will employ numerous people, creative and otherwise as well as that the money spent by Christo will go into the pockets of regular people, and inspire millions. An equal amount of money is spent in one night at a large auction, often taking art out of public view and doing no good for anyone except those who have more than enough money already and that society benefits as a result. One woman asserted that Christo ALWAYS and ENTIRELY self-finances his projects. He raises funding from the sale of his drawings and then pays a very good wages to young artists to fabricate and build. I personally think it would have been better to buy 14125 fully loaded Prius 2s and gathered them together in a multi-colored circle to give them away to a waiting horde or donate nearly two million children multi-colored computer tablets instead of glorifying the addiction to oil. But what do I know about Art?

Yet Another Facebook Hoax

We are suckers for thinking that we are smart enough to fool the machine and this weekend thousands if not millions of facebook users posted the following warning in hopes of protecting their privacy. "In response to the new Facebook guidelines I hereby declare that my copyright is attached to all of my personal details, illustrations, comics, paintings, professional photos and videos, etc. (as a result of the Berner Convention). For commercial use of the above my written consent is needed at all times! (Anyone reading this can copy this text and paste it on their Facebook Wall. This will place them under protection of copyright laws. By the present communiqué, I notify Facebook that it is strictly forbidden to disclose, copy, distribute, disseminate, or take any other action against me on the basis of this profile and/or its contents. The aforementioned prohibited actions also apply to employees, students, agents and/or any staff under Facebook's direction or control. The content of this profile is private and confidential information. The violation of my privacy is punished by law (UCC 1 1-308-308 1-103 and the Rome Statute). Facebook is now an open capital entity. All members are recommended to publish a notice like this, or if you prefer, you may copy and paste this version. If you do not publish a statement at least once, you will be tacitly allowing the use of elements such as your photos as well as the information contained in your profile status updates." Snopes.com debunked the validity of this posting and suggested that people chill out about their privacy since most facebook members tell all and say all, but if they are truly concerned about this issue, there are three remedies; 1. Do not subscribe to Facebook 2. Bilaterally negotiate a modified policy of privacy with Facebook 3. Cancel your Facebook account My course of action is to do nothing and pretend that nothing I am is of interest to anyone other than myself. No commercial value, no sell-out - James Steele

Sunday, November 25, 2012

Texas We Love It

Janis Joplin came from Beaumont, Texas. She was an early bloomer and the U Texas campus newspaper wrote about her, "She goes barefooted when she feels like it, wears Levi's to class because they're more comfortable, and carries her Autoharp with her everywhere she goes so that in case she gets the urge to break into song it will be handy. Her name is Janis Joplin." The singer didn't finish school and headed out to San Francisco to become an icon of rock. About 116,000 Texans are feeling the same after the re-election of President Barack Obama. They have signed a petition for secession from the Union to show their unhappiness with the present state of the USA. Their leader Larry Scott Kilgore has stated on his website, "Secession! All other issues can be dealt with later.” Mainstream media has been enthralled by the talk of leaving the States, even though the signatories amount to .006% of the voting populace of the Lone Star State. By law any petition over 25,000 signatures require a response from the White House. Disgruntled voters in Alabama, Florida, Colorado, Louisiana and Oklahoma have joined the trickle of madmen seeking independence from the mightiest nation on Earth. The last secession didn't work out so good for the South. The 20th Maine stopped General Hood's Texan dead in their tracks at Gettysburg. The Texas petition reads: Given that the state of Texas maintains a balanced budget and is the 15th largest economy in the world, it is practically feasible for Texas to withdraw from the union, and to do so would protect it's citizens' standard of living and re-secure their rights and liberties in accordance with the original ideas and beliefs of our founding fathers which are no longer being reflected by the federal government. I only have a few words for these 'cess' mad rebels. Remember the 20th Maine and secede in your mind. No one will notice that you're gone. Unlike Janis Joplin. She still rocks. To hear COMBINATION OF THE TWO, please go to the following URL http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QXpYnakaM9M

The What Button

A Parisienne friend was at the Doors at the Paris Museum of Modern Art and discovered that someone had added new images to the men and femmes bathrooms. I played ignorant and asked, "What's the dot over the F line?" Ruth responded immediately, "Seriously? We need to talk. "Is it something mythical? "The on button for a woman." "Where's the off button?" I have certainly never found one with any woman I met over my sixty years of life. "Why would you want one?" Ruth was mystified by my query. "So I would know that a woman loves me for just me." In truth I should have answered 'a desire for peace and quiet'/ "The button is not a spot ...so I reckon you could be loved for your brain and how it has you coordinating your Self and your "Id"." I loved how women have no idea what men think, for I have no Id only an idiot button which get's turned on after six beers. I am a simple man.

Saturday, November 24, 2012

You Can't Put Your Arm Around A Memory


In May 1984 I ran into Johnny Thunders in Paris. He was playing at the Gibus club outside Republique. His manager was a German drug dealer. I owed Chris $200 for an 8-ball I had bought in 1982. It hadn't been half-bad. "You have to pay me." The German thought he was a tough guy. "Or else." "Fuck off." Paris was my city. "You think I'm joking." "No, but fuck off anyway." I had a black gang backing me. The Buffaloes came from the concrete suburbs. Johnny liked that I had told his manager to piss off. "Fucking kraut."

"That's right, you don't owe nothing for New York in Paris." We went to a cafe on the Canal St. Martin. A dealer gave us a couple of bags. The powder was brown. China White was impossible to find in Paris.

I was never friends with Johnny, but I loved YOU CAN'T PUT YOUR ARMS AROUND A MELODY. At dawn we bid each other farewell with a nod. He went his way and I went mine. Several years later I was saddened to hear of his death in New Orleans. I suspected foul play. Johnny was a cold stone junkie. Nothing could kill him. Certainly not drugs.

Two years ago I found this posting on Facebook from Patricia Jarozynski.

"Many rumors surround Thunders' death at the St. Peter House in New Orleans, Louisiana in April 1991. He apparently died of drug-related causes, but it has been speculated that it was the result of foul play. According to the autobiography Lobotomy: Surviving the Ramones, Dee Dee Ramone took a call in New York the next day from Stevie Klasson, Johnny's rhythm guitar player. "They told me that Johnny had gotten mixed up with some bastards... who ripped him off for his methadone supply. They had given him LSD and then murdered him. He had gotten a pretty large supply of methadone in England, so he could travel and stay away from those creeps - the drug dealers, Thunders imitators, and losers like that."

What is known for certain is that Johnny's room (no. 37) was ransacked and most of his possessions were missing (passport, makeup, clothes). Rigor mortis had set in with his body positioned in an unnatural state, described by eyewitnesses as "like a pretzel", underneath a coffee table. Friends and acquaintances acknowledge he had not been using heroin for some time, relying on his methadone prescriptions. The police did not open a criminal investigation.

Singer Willy DeVille, who lived next door to the hotel in which Thunders died, described his death this way:

"I don't know how the word got out that I lived next door, but all of a sudden the phone started ringing and ringing. Rolling Stone was calling, the Village Voice called, his family called, and then his guitar player called. I felt bad for all of them. It was a tragic end, and I mean, he went out in a blaze of glory, ha ha ha, so I thought I might as well make it look real good, you know, out of respect, so I just told everybody that when Johnny died he was laying down on the floor with his guitar in his hands. I made that up. When he came out of the St. Peter's Guest House, rigor mortis had set in to such an extent that his body was in a U shape. When you're laying on the floor in a fetal position, doubled over - well, when the body bag came out, it was in a U. It was pretty awful."

An autopsy was conducted by the New Orleans coroner, but served only to compound the mysteries. According to Thunders' biographer Nina Antonia as posted on the Jungle Records web site, the level of drugs found in his system was not fatal. And according to the book "Rock Bottom: Dark Moments in Music Babylon" by Pamela Des Barres who interviewed Thunders' sister Marion, the autopsy confirmed evidence of advanced leukemia, which would explain the decline in Thunders' appearance in the final year of his life. This also sheds light on the interview in Lech Kowalski's documentary "Born To Lose: The Last Rock and Roll Movie", where Thunders' sister Mary-Ann's husband says, "Only Johnny knew how sick he really was."

In a 1994 Melody Maker interview Thunders' manager Mick Webster described the efforts of his family, "We keep asking the New Orleans police to re-investigate, but they haven’t been particularly friendly. They seemed to think that this was just another junkie who had wandered into town and died. They simply weren’t interested." Marion claims that the original police report is largely missing and Webster further explains that the Coroner who conducted the autopsy was fired for falsifying a report in another case.

Thunders was survived by his ex-wife Julie and four children, sons John Genzale, Vito Genzale, Dino Genzale, and daughter Jamie Genzale. His oldest son Vito is serving a prison sentence in the Southport Correctional Facility in New York for drug dealing, having completed a previous sentence in Attica.

Like father like son.

Only these times ain't like the 70s.

Johnny Johnny we miss you now.

To hear YOU CAN'T PUT YOUR ARMS AROUND A MEMORY, please go to the following URL http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bBAujZTTV3o&feature=related

Thursday, November 22, 2012

The Dream Is Never Over

After spending a lovely night in Houston, JFK and his wife boarded the presidential jet for a short hop to Dallas. The crowds lining the route applauded the president and his hostess, Mrs. Connolly, commented, Dallas loved him and he replied, "That's very obvious."

The single bullet and then another struck JFK within a second of his reply.

November 22, 1963 was a bad day, however the video shows that he was having a good time in Texas.

The love was real and real now too.

Johnny Boy we miss you. To view the lovely night in Houston, please go to this URL

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jQlw-U8l6YY

# 1 Song November 22, 1963

The # 1 song on the U.S. music charts Nov. 22, 1963 was Dominique by the Singing Nun. To hear this ancient religious hit, please go to the following URL http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UHhyyRByuJ0

Lady Words That Men Don't Know or Use


JFK was reputed to be the fastest speaker in the English language. Whereas expert typists can tap out 120 words per minute, JFK could string over 300 words in a minute.

JFK is the recognized champ, however my fast-talking mother could have whipped the Boston-bred president like a red-headed step-child, mostly because women have a larger everyday lexicon than men.

16,215 versus men's 15,669.

Feeling has to be one of them.

Men only say that word singing the song FEELINGS.

Here's a sampling of words listed by The Magazine which will never cross our lips.

Book club: A female dominated affair, perhaps because women read more fiction, or perhaps because men aren't very good at talking about it.

Accessorize: If men were ever to use this word it would only be in the context of cars.

Empowering: Men never use this word, perhaps because for the 200,000 years humans have been on the planet, men have had all the power.

Burlesque: Something involving strip-tease that can apparently involve the above.

Size zero.

Home birth.

Pilates: Men in the UK, particularly, seem to have no interest in building up their core strength.

Pomegranate: Men seem ill-equipped to understand the significance and full range of superfoods.

Absolutely beautiful: The words women often use to describe friends who are not.

Breastfeeding.

Emotional intelligence: Something that men usually do not possess, instead preferring the kind of intelligence that involves dates of battles.

What are you thinking?: The classic female condition check.

Feminism: If even veteran feminists can't agree on what this means then it's probably best avoided by men.

Airbrushing: The process by which magazine picture editors oppress women in an underhand way.

Babies.

Superwoman.

Why: As in "why do you never call?"

Now that I think of it, JFK never used any of these words, because he was a real man.

Just don't tell my wife Mam I said that.

My Brother In Law's Thanks 1961

1961 was 51 years ago. I'm thankful to have DR as my BIL.

Bad Mouthing the Eagle

Benjamin Franklin proposed the turkey for the national bird. The turkey of his era was nothing like the domesticated bird slaughtered for Thanksgiving. The wild turkey was a cunning wood creature living in large communes of fellow avians. Huge flocks of brightly plumed turkeys would cloud the skies. Benjamin Franklin was vehemently against the choice of the eagle as the national bird.

“I wish that the bald eagle had not been chosen as the representative of our country, he is a bird of bad moral character, he does not get his living honestly, you may have seen him perched on some dead tree, where, too lazy to fish for himself, he watches the labor of the fishing-hawk, and when that diligent bird has at length taken a fish, and is bearing it to its nest for the support of his mate and young ones, the bald eagle pursues him and takes it from him…. Besides he is a rank coward; the little kingbird, not bigger than a sparrow attacks him boldly and drives him out of the district. He is therefore by no means a proper emblem for the brave and honest. . . of America.. . . For a truth, the turkey is in comparison a much more respectable bird, and withal a true original native of America . . . a bird of courage, and would not hesitate to attack a grenadier of the British guards, who should presume to invade his farmyard with a red coat on.”

Nice talk for the national bird.

As for eagle as a meal, I googled cooked eagle and only came up with the following query on answers.com I was driving the other day and hit a bald eagle that was flying across the street. It was a country road that usually isn't very busy, but I figured I would cook it since I've never had eagle before. Are there any recipes I should know about? Or any spices specifically? I live in Eastern Iowa so you know what may or may not be available to me. I didn't mean to hit it, it was like if a deer ran across the street. 2 years ago This posting attracted outrage and weirdos. KILLER: I kill eagles all the time, for fun. Especially since bald eagles don't even exist where I live. maie: okay i believe you didnt mean to kill it, well you cant help things like that all the time, but they are an endangered species and it is illegal to kill it (on purpose im sure they will forgive an accident) and it is also illegal to have possession of it. i would call the local animal control center and see what they would tell you to do cuz if someone says that you have one, or sees it in your trash then you can get arrested. at that point you havent made a report and you cant prove what happened. OUTRAGE: It is a Federal Offense to Kill a Bald Eagle, or even HAVE one of its feathers in your possession. MOR: WITH HOT SAUCE AND POSSUMS! NOM NOM NOM! just cook it like chicken Otherwise nothing else on the internet. So I guess eagles don't taste good.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

A Good Nose


I graduated 'sin laude' from university. Most of my classmates entered straight 9-5 jobs. I drove across the USA with my friend Andy and a coed named Carole. Two months later I returned to Boston. America was in a recession. A banking personnel director said that I had a stutter. He was right. I didn't get the job, but my gay friend Bruce knew of a position at Filene's Department Store as a perfumer.

"I don't know anything about scents." I wore Old Spice.

"Doesn't matter." Bruce was connected in the gay world. We went to baseball games together. He had a thing for Bernie Carbo of the Red Sox. Bruce hoped that he was queer.

The manager of Perfumers' Workshop hired me on sight. Pay was $200/week plus commission. I mixed fragrant oils for old ladies searching a cheaper version of Chanel # 5. We had the combination in our playbook. The boss talked about sending me to New York.

"The Big Apple." Bruce was excited by this prospect. He liked back rooms and dirty sex. New York was infamous for its loose lust.

I failed the final test.

IE sleep with the boss.

Bob fired me the next day and my career has an olfactory engineer came to an end. My good nose went to waste, although the entrails of scents haunted every inhalation. Peaches reminding me on an old girlfriend. Cinnamon of my grandmother's kitchen. Burnt tree of a fire that my older brother set on Easter Morning. The conflagration covered half of Chickatawbut Hill. We fought the blazes with hoses.

Great fun.

But not Singapore.

That straits enclave is notoriously the most unsexy city in Asia. The women work from 8-8. Out of the office they spend two hours at the shopping mall. Dinner is rice balls. That ain't no life, then again Singapore is a city where it is against the law to not wash your hands after urination.

Fine for violation $200 Singapore.

Worst is that the government of that city/state has hired people to smell the hands of its citizens to insure that the masses are following this edict. I could have gotten a job with Singapore, except I'm no coprophiliac or piss lover.

I like flowers and the smell of my son as he sleeps.

Mam too.

She's Fenway's mom.

And a woman you love always smells good.

SHAWALLAGAH PA. BET ON CRAZY

Thanksgiving Day plus One started the Holiday season on West 47th Street. Accordingly the majority of the ground floor exchanges extend their operating hours and stay open every ding-dong day until Christmas. Throughout the week regular customers and natives to New York flock here, but on the weekends they are replaced by busloads of tourists from Shawallagah, PA or Dover Delaware. Armed with a box of chicken and a bag of quarters, they gawk at the jewelry and demand incredulously, "Those aren't real diamonds, are they?"

"All of our diamonds are real and set in 14K and 18K gold or platinum jewelry," I answer cordially, for the most part.

We might enjoy poking fun at these out-of-towners, yet their purchases can only add to our profit line, so once they're in the store we treat them as we would any valued customer, even if they're only looking for a Big Apple charm or want to tell us about an opal ring their great-grandaunt possessed back in Schwallaga, PA. As my boss says, "Be nice. It can't hurt."

While my company prided itself in dealing relatively fairly with members of the trade and our customers, there are a few diamond dealers who prey on these unsuspecting tourists like wolves tailing a cripple calves and every year ABC NEWS1 20/20 puts out a report to warn about unscrupulous diamond dealings on 47th Street.

Typically during holiday season the show's producers send out a young man to purchase a diamond engagement ring and inevitably ends up getting nailed by the same dealer on the corner of Sixth Avenue. The entire process of the sale is recorded by a hidden video camera to reveal the dealer's misrepresentation of the diamond's quality.

Weeks later Diane Sawyer will confront the dealer with the proof of his lies and close with a warning for the public to beware. One would expect that the dishonest merchant would be punished by such negative publicity, however the dealer points to the photo of Diane Sawyer hanging on his wall and proudly states, "Diane shops here every year. One of my best customers."

To avoid getting fleeced, we suggest anyone looking for a diamond to head up to Tiffany's or Cartier first and get one of their diamond buying guides, which are free and offer a great thumbnail source of information to the novice.

Otherwise caveat emptor. Let the buyer beware and remember if it sounds to good to be true than it is too good to be true.

For any questions on jewelry or the diamond trade stop by 34 West 47th Street.

The first piece of advice is always free.

Everything thereafter cost. How much? Depends on the day.

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Dif-Tor Heh Smusma


The Masoretic version of the Bible purported that Methuselah achieved the epic age of 969. His name has become synonymous with longevity in the West. No one in modern history has touched his nonacentarian record, although my great-grand aunt Bert lived to 103.

She circled the world in a sailing ship. One port of call was Bangkok. Bert was the first of my family to visit the Siamese capitol, but not the last. Other relatives have reached ripe old ages. My father lived to 90. I expected to hit at least 110 if only because many more Americans are living longer, for wrinklies are becoming the largest growing segment of the population.

Why?

People don't die as much as they used to die.

Once past 30 few people want to live by the James Dean adage 'live fast and die young. Leave a good-looking corpse', especially since most of the young in America aren't attractive after the age of 13.

Even morticians don't want to hump fat kids and those ghouls will hump most everything dead.

With that macabre phenomena in mind I'm living as long as possible.

I don't want anyone touching my dead flesh until I'm way pass my prime.

Of course Vulcans like STAR TREK's Mr. Spock live to 300.

LIVE LONG AND PROSPER or Dif-tor heh smusma in Vulcan.

Monday, November 19, 2012

Green Everywhere Around Israel

After WW2 hundreds of thousands of Jews sought refuge in Palestine joining the thousands of their religious kinsmen who had fled the pograms of Czarist Russia. This influx of refugees swelled the small British Mandate, so that by 1948 32% of the population of nearly two million people were Jewish, yet the UN resolution awarded over half the land to the newcomers, who seized even more territory after their decisive victories against the Arabs in 1948, 1956, 1967, and 1973 as well as occupying major portions of the West Bank and Gaza to quell any rebellion against Israel. Americans tend to think that Israel has existed forever, however since the Romans conquered the Hebrews no Jewish state existed for almost 2000 years. We have seen countless movies about the struggle to establish a homeland for a people persecuted by the Nazis almost to the point of extinction. Our sympathies were heightened by the romanticism of EXODUS. No president has ever really spoken out against the apartheid democracy and my fellow Americans consider all Arabs as terrorists as evinced by this facebook entry by my cousin Kim "I'm worried about Israel...there will never be peace but hopefully a cease fire. McCain calling for Bill Clinton to go in. Anyone that is willing to cross boarders with a bomb strapped to their chest is a dangerous zealot. No Israeli would do such an act. Beyond war into terrorism. Golda Meir said the conflict would end when the Arabs love their children with the same intensity that they love their children..below a map. Israel is surrounded by enemies. Kim posted the above map showing an Israel wrapped by green. I responded as follows; "Israel put itself in that situation when they stole the land from the palestinians. How many palestinians were at Dachau? Zero. As for the terrorists with a 10lb bomb strapped to them, what about the US made F-16s strapped with 1000 pound bombs. Oh, I forgot that's precision bombing. Fuck an eye for an eye. All I want to say to the two parties is what Grace Slick said at Altamont, "Calm down people." addendum ps on a geographical note Israel has four neighbors and the sea. Then again Americans aren't too good with geography. Kim, I'm glad you have GPS or else you couldn't find your way to Starbucks Her friend Jay jumped into the discussion, "Let's all relive history and make Israel the bad guy again. After all it worked so well last time... NOT!" Kimberly wasn't amused either. Zealots on both sides have no sense of humor, "I shall always love Israel, and what it stands for..Jews persecuted for centuries..shit on for all time..mass graves...gas...six million slain as they whisper the one hope: Israel..the promised land. Yesterday at 3:44pm · Like "Once more there were no Palestinians at Dachau. Love an ideal, do not support apartheid." I wasn't leaving her with the last word. Or at least that's what I thought. Kim. "Hamas is a terrorist organization. The Muslim brotherhood is a terrorist organization. No need to talk down to me. Apartheid. REALLY? We will have to agree to disagree. I tried to reason, "This is all a shadow play at the cost of lives. The plot cannot be seen by those unprepared to challenge the lies of politicians, media, and perception. All is not what it seems, but you know what you've been taught to know. There are no other options when you don't question the truth. Kim: "What, are you in the CIA? LOL" "No, but I know what happened. Over the past months parties within Hamas, Israel, and Egypt pursued a peace pact. The proposal was handed to Ahmed Jabari and hardliners within Hamas snitched him out to an equally obdurate faction within the IDF, who ended all peace prospects with a drone attack. Of course this is all a hunch based on Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country, but then all life is an imitation of art." "Unleash the dogs of war." - General Chang Klingon commander I love Star Trek.

Gaza Versis Goliath

The Old Testament has great plots; Adam and Eve, Moses freeing his people, and the classic David versus Goliath. Israel has touted their relationship to the young shepherd downing the giant throughout the wars against their neighbors without ever mentioning the help of the West. They were never really alone, but few Arab states have openly supported the PLO or Hamas on a military basis in fear of earning the wrath of the Big Dog of the USA. The most recent escalation of violence in the Gaza Strip has resulted in over a hundred dead on both sides, although the Palestinians are taking a beating from their arch-nemesis. Low-tech rockets in one direction and top of the line bombs and missiles in the other. Egypt has offered terms for a ceasefire. Israel demands no hostile fire from Gaza and an end of arms shipments to Hamas, while their fellow falafel eaters demand a cessation to the Gaza blockade and Shin Bet assassinations. While newly re-elected US President Obama attempted to reach a common ground between the combatants, he also green-lighted Israel's right to defend itself. No one wants Israel to lay down in the face of aggression, but neither will the world approve of a bloodletting such as occurred in the last Gaza incursion. PM Netanyahu has called up 75,000 army reservists and Hamas has said 'bring it on'. The IDF has superiority of arms, but as they learned in Lebanon their tanks are only good for one thing, so Israelis are rightfully worried that "Bibi' is leading them into another war without victory only more mayhem. Come on people, demand for a ceasefire. As Winston Churchill said, "It is better to jaw jaw than war war."

Saturday, November 17, 2012

What's Yours Is Ours

AN OLD JOKE FROM THE 60S.

A rich man comes out of his mansion and spots a young man camping on his lawn. Filled with indignation he strides up to the squatter and demands him to leave or else he'll call the police.

"How did you get this land?" The young man remains seated by his fire.

"What difference does it make?" The rich man wishes he had his shotgun to put the fears in this interloper.

"The difference between my staying or leaving."

"I worked for it." 18 hours a day when he was a young investment banker.

"And who owned it before you and your kind?"

"I don't know." Rock salt in the young man's ass would get him moving.

"It belonged to the Indians, right?"

"I suppose so." Buckshot might work better.

"And how did they lose their land. Someone took it from them and I'm taking it from you."

"You're only one." The rich man was thinking of a .45. A single shot to protect his estate.

"Not one." The young man pointed to the ivy-covered wall. Hundreds of people were climbing over the barrier between those that have and those that don't. "We're many."

"This is theft." The rich man would need more than the police to evict this many people.

"We like liberation better, my name's Jake, neighbor."

And they lived happily ever after on the rich man's wine cellar and grilled foie gras, because a barbecue was better than a bonfire.

Friday, November 16, 2012

Not Chuck Daly

Two days ago I went into the NBA store of 5th Avenue and a salesperson on the elevator said that I looked like Chuck Daly, the 80s coach of the Detroit Pistons. I was crushed that I was in such a state of ruin, however today I went there to buy a gift and the same salesperson apologized and said, "I went home thinking about it and realized that you didn't look like Chuck Daly, but someone else." "Who?" I was hoping that it wasn't Al Franken. "Eric Robert." "Better." I was insulted until seeing his photos. Younger than me and I loved him in RUNAWAY TRAIN. ps I actually went traitor to the Boston Celtics and bought my nephew James Pollack a Knicks tee-shirt. # 1 Amare Stoudemire "Is he good?" James asked with the blessed innocence of a seven year-old. "He is very good," his father replied with love. His four school friends and James chanted, "The Boston Celtics suck." It sounded cute, but last night that was the truth versus the Brooklyn Nets. "James, sssh." His father stilled their mantra. His son obeyed his order. They are a good father-son team, but the Celtics will out in the end. 2013. Beat the Heat.

My Boy Tristam

Tomorrow night at L'espace 11 111 Rue Stalingrad The good, the bad, the wicked. My boy Tristam. Nothing better.

You Bet I Would Commie Teacher

And Commie teachers never wore underwear. Just like the nuns at Our Lady of the Foothills. And any woman featured by Roy Lichtenstein.

Drummer Boy

There are rock drummers and then there is Keith Moon. To hear the bare drums of Keith, please go to the following URL http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=moNGqf6iSME&feature=related

The Sky Is Green

Scott and his girlfriend were coming over to New York from London to celebrate his birthday at the Who concert at the new Barclay Center in Brooklyn, which is only a few blocks from the Fort Greene Observatory. I half-expected to be invited along with the glamorous couple, except upon the day of their arrival into this fair city, Scott texted a message. "Problems." His girlfriend Cara, a smart blonde publisher, clarified the situation with another SMS; "Glitch in concert plans." Within hours the two were planning on permanent separation. She was too attractive a girl to lose over nothing and I argued for re-conciliation, since I had never seen the Who. I had come close in 1970. They had been playing at the Boston Tea Party, but I went to see Rod Stewart on the Commons. I missed Woodstock in 1969 along with Altamont. This year I thought that I could relive my past through the present. I was wrong. Yesterday Scott and I sat in General Fowler Square eating bagels and he explained, "No matter what I said about the blue skies, she said that it was green." "Couldn't you last out the madness?" PMS is only called PMS because Mad Cow Disease was already taken by another ailment. "Impossible." "You know you're not the most communicative of people?" Scott didn't answer the phone. He thought that texting was intimate. I thought that he was dead wrong. "I know." "Recognizing your faults is a step in the right direction." "Maybe, but I can tell you right now that we aren't going to see the Who tonight." Scott and I had played basketball on Tompkins Square Park, he had preferred to snort K with me rather than go home with Naomi Judd, and my first article was in his Paris magazine. "Not a chance?" "Not none. The sky is blue and she sees it green. She's taking a friend to see the Who." "I know what you mean." I hung up the phone and cursed Cara for fucking up Scott's birthday and then damned her for not taking me. The sky is frequently blue from the windows of the Fort Greene Observatory, but I have seen green too.

The Freedom of No Speech


Moses led his people out of Egypt without a map. The distance from the Nile to Palestine was a ten day walk, yet the prophet wandered through the eastern deserts for forty years. Like all men he wasn't willing to admit that he was fucking lost and neither are the Zionists of the occupied territories who have most recently declared that their seized lands are Jewish and that they also know how to identify a Jew like Josef Mengele the SS doctor.

"Jews to the right. Arabs to Gaza."

A facebook 'friend' posted a video from the Israeli Ambassador showing the normalcy of life in Gaza. Glittering buildings, vibrant street life, food in the groceries, and cars on the roads. I posted a riposte, "Welcome to the gulag of Gaza."

She defriended me for this comment, for like most people living a lie they do not want to see the truth.

Free Palestine.

As for Giselle, you are a hypocrite.

Here is the real story

http://vimeo.com/13714769

The Unfreedom of Speech


Freedom of Speech is protected by the 1st Amendment of the US Constitution.

"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances."

This right has been besieged by politicians, church leaders, big business, and the military without respite. Anti-war activists were jailed during World War I under the Alien and Sedition Act and the Supreme Court has ruled that there are special exceptions to Free Speech such as 'fighting words', obscenity, imminent lawless action, and several other infringements on the public safety, however the off-limit for any American is any questions on the sovereignty of Israel.

This past summer White House reporter Helen Thomas was ostracized by the media and White House for her comments on RabbiLive.com

Here is a transcript of that interview;

Nesenoff: Any comments on Israel? We're asking everybody today, any comments on Israel?

Thomas: Tell them to get the hell out of Palestine.

Nesenoff: Oooh. Any better comments on Israel?

Thomas: Remember, these people are occupied and it's their land. It's not German, it's not Poland ...

Nesenoff: So where should they go, what should they do?

Thomas: They go home.

Nesenoff: Where's the home?

Thomas: Poland, Germany and America and everywhere else[55]

Nesenoff: So you're saying the Jews go back to Poland and Germany?

Thomas: And America and everywhere else. Why push people out of there who have lived there for centuries? See?

Helen Thomas was exiled from the White House press corp for her speaking her mind, proving that free speech does not apply to the State of Israel. She issued an apology to quell the firestorm, but later confessed, "I paid a price, but it's worth it to speak the truth"

And in December Helen Thomas had the audacity to reiterate her earlier comments by saying at a conference centered on Arab Perception, "Congress, the White House and Hollywood, Wall Street are owned by Zionists. No question, in my opinion."

These words earned the old lady more outrage and an accusation of anti-Semiticism, even though her bloodline is Arab ie Semitic.

Here's to Free Speech and Helen Thomas.

She says what she says and damn those who don't want her to say it.

Free Palestine.

Thursday, November 15, 2012

A Good Job

In my youth my father said to me "If you can't do a job right, then why even start?" His statement sought to instill a desire to accomplish an assigned household chore to the best of my ability. Sweeping out the garage, empty the trash, weed the yard ad infinitum. We lived in the suburbs of the South Shore. Boston was the Hub of our Universe. There were high expectations for the children of the Greatest Generation. One summer afternoon my father returned home from working intown. He found me watching TV. There were only re-runs on that time of year. "Why wasn't the lawn mowed?" "I didn't think that I could do a good job." He was not amused and I never tried to skirk a chore again.

Eyefilled In Gaza

The IDF shock and awe display in Gaza in retaliation for the Hamas missile attacks. "We recommend Hamas leaders to keep their heads down the next couple of days." These words from an IDF spokesman was a red flag to Hamas. But the business of the military is war. Never peace.

Calm Down People

In GIMME SHELTER, the epic 1969 film about the mayhem at Altamont, Grace Slick of the Jefferson Airplane beseeched the unruly crowd and the pool cue-wielding Hells Angels from the stage, "Calm down, people." There was no calming down that crowd. Nor do the parties of Israelestine seem interested in peace. Yesterday the Israeli Defense Forces missiled a car of transporting Ahmed Jabari, the Head of the Hamas Military, who is credited with the 2006 capture of an Israeli soldier in a complex cross-border raid that killed two other soldiers according to Huffington Post. In October 2011, Israel traded 1000 Palestinians for Gilad Schalit ending his five years as a hostage at the hands of the Izz ad-Din al-Qassam Brigades, the Popular Resistance Committees (which includes members of Fatah, Islamic Jihad, and Hamas), and a previously unknown group calling itself the Army of Islam as reported by Wikipedia. Hamas vowed to avenge his assassination and their military wing launched a fusillade of STS missiles into the Occupied Territories, reaping a deadly harvest in Kiryat Malachi, 20 miles from Gaza. The IDF responded with ATS missiles and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu boasted that Hamas had been defanged by the counterattack. Sirens sounded in Tel Aviv for the first time since the 1991 SCUD crisis, warning Tel Aviv residents of incoming Hamas' rockets. Three struck the coastal city without causing any casualties. Shin Bet and the IDF are at high alert for a possible land invasion of Gaza. The Independent reported that Paz Azaran, a 17-year-old Ashkelon schoolgirl welcomed the Israeli military operation. “We’re standing behind our army and we are very proud.” More to come, but people, what about a little calm or is it too late in the season for peace. To view the IDF Pinpoint Strike on Ahmed Jabari, Head of Hamas Military Wing, please go to the following URL; there are people on the street. http://www.youtube.com/verify_controversy?next_url=/watch%3Fv%3DP6U2ZQ0EhN4%26feature%3Dshare%26bpctr%3D1352933338

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

You Bet I Would Natalia Vodianova

Of course it'd have to be a wicked half-hour in a midtown hotel, since she's married with the heir of the LV fortune and I'm in no shape to be wicked with a beauty like Natalia Vodianova. So you're safe. Curses.

7:03 AM

Last month I started waking at 7:03am. I am not a light sleeper, but something was disturbing my slumber cycle. I opened the window of the Fort Greene Observatory to the morning air and heard a machine rumble. I immediately identified the source as the transformer powering the construction of a condo tower several blocks to the north. No one else in the house heard the noise, since they live on the lower floors, plus I'm very sympathetic to noise complaints, whereas some people are insensate to any foreign stimuli. The building looks about six months from completion, so welcome to early mornings. At least I don't live across the street.

The Searchers - Ending Scene

Without a doubt one of the best closing scenes in a western movie or any movies. John Wayne bringing his niece home. To view this scene, please go to the following URL http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=woahas_W35A

Honest To Goodness Patriot

I didn't vote for him but he's my president, and I hope he does a good job. John Wayne - On John F. Kennedy's election Disgruntled GOP voters should learn from that as well as Democrats. We are one.

A Little Racist

After the Obamaslide a GOP friend complained about the electoral college system, saying, "Romney won nearly half the states and still lose the election." "Obama won 26 states and Mitt only had 24. That's less than half and he lost the popular vote too. The math adds up the same way. My guy got more votes than your guy." "Not via the electoral college. Obama won the most populous states with the excpetion of Texas." Mitt's constituency was the Deep South and square states in the West with the least population density in the nation. "Well, it's wrong." "You didn't feel that way in 2000." Even with Florida stolen from the Gore camp, the VP had more popular votes than his opponent, the ill-fated GW Bush. "So suck it up and act like an American for once. E pluribus unum." "Out of one many." My Republican friend was better educated than most voters. Former GOP vice-presidential nominee Paul Ryan agreed with my friend in a recent interview, "President Barack Obama got turnout. The president should get credit for achieving record-breaking turnout numbers from urban areas for the most part, and that did win the election for him, but it was close." It wasn't close and I propose a Pax Obama to heal the chasm created by the right-wing pundits fearmongering race war to their aging audience, however hundreds of thousands of these listeners have mailed requests for their states to secede from the Union. Over 100,000 letters have deluged the Texas State Capitol in Austin. Troughout my adult life I have fled the USA whenever the GOP have been in power. Europe in the 80s. Asia in the 90s. Thailand during the GW Bush years. So to those dissenters I say, "If you don't love this America, leave it." Not that they could survive in Mexico or socialist Canada.

Monday, November 12, 2012

A Little Secret

Washington has expressed shock over the resignation of CIA director David Petraeus after his affair with a biographer and a former army officer came to light. At first I thought that the former general was ousted by a cabal of right-minded thinkers seeking to avenge his wrong-doings in Afghanistan and Iraq, however Petraeus's meandering from his wife was part of an ongoing investigations into abusive emails by the general's paramour to a friend of his wife. There is something really funky about this story. Firstly any CIA director who can't keep his affair secret should be fired by lack of discretion, but Paula Broadwell doesn't seem the type not to hold her sand. This scandal has all the hallmarks of the hacked phone and internet. And only one group of people do that. Newscorp. Personally I'd greenlight his affair faster than okaying the assassination of Osama Bin Ladin. 'A Collosal mistake'. I don't think so. There is something else to this story. What?

Sunday, November 11, 2012

The Eternal Struggle


“Women are always right and they are never more right then when they are wrong and you try to convince of this.” - Pascha Ray

Yesterday I visited my friend Richard Sweet in Brighton Beach. They hadn't suffered from the huricane floods. I showed up on time, for his Ukrainian wife and he were celebrating their baby girl's 2nd birthday. I brought Lakee a gift. Her mother couldn't have been more pleased. I was an honored guest and Richard an attentive host. His friends and I spoke about Russia, the KGB, Taras Bulba, and drinking.

"Never mix vodka and water. Sacrifice." Alex had drunk two glasses more than me.

"You mean 'sacrilege'." A single cube was floating in my shot glass.

"Yes, sviatotatstvo." Alex wasn't drinking vodka. He had started with sangria. "I never mix drinks."

"I'm half-Irish. We drink anything." Our cultures were at a clash until we told jokes. Laughs are a universal language and soon all the women were inside the two-story house with the children. The men spoke in hush voices.

"A woman is always right." Alex had been living in this country twenty years. "And there's only one person more right than your wife."

"Her mother." I answered to a chorus of muffled chortles. Any married man fears his wife's extraordinary sense of hearing. Our oppressed state is an accepted sacrifice for the surrender of their bodies.

To us sex is lust. For a woman it's love.

Women are a completely different species as proven by this mail from Brian LeBouef featuring a short story exercise written by a male and female student at the U of Phoenix.

The professor told his class: “Today we will experiment with a new form called the tandem story. The process is simple. Each person will pair off with the person sitting to his or her immediate right. As homework tonight, one of you will write the first paragraph of a short story. You will e-mail your partner that paragraph and copy me on the email. The partner will read the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to the story and send it back, also copying me. The first person will then add a third paragraph, and so on back-and-forth. Remember to re-read what has been written each time in order to keep the story coherent. There is be absolutely NO talking outside of the e-mails, and anything you wish to say must be written in the e-mail. The story is over when both agree a conclusion has been reached.”

The following was actually turned in by two of his English students:Rebecca and Gary.

THE STORY
(first paragraph by Rebecca)

At first, Laurie couldn’t decide which kind of tea she wanted. The chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked chamomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So chamomile was out of the question.

(second paragraph by Gary)
Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. “A.S. Harris to Geostation 17,” he said into his trans-galactic communicator. “Polar orbit established. No sign of resistance so far…” But before he
could sign off a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through his ship’s cargo bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out of his seat and across the cockpit.

(Rebecca)
He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who had ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4. “Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel,”
Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously excited her and bored her. She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth, when the days had passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspaper to read, no television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at all the beautiful things around her. “Why must one
lose one’s innocence to become a woman?” she pondered wistfully.

(Gary)
Little did she know, but she had less than 10 seconds to live.
Thousands of miles above the city, the Anu’udrian mothership launched the first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dim-witted wimpy peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace disarmament Treaty through the congress had left Earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were determined to destroy the human race. Within two hours after the passage of the treaty the Anu’udrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire planet. With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan. The lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in his top-secret mobile submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion, which vaporized poor, stupid, Laurie and 85 million other Americans. The President slammed his fist on the conference table. “We can’t allow this! I’m going to veto that treaty! Let’s blow ‘em out of the sky!”

(Rebecca)
This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic semi-literate adolescent.

(Gary)
Yeah? Well, you’re a self-centered tedious neurotic whose attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium. “Oh, shall I have chamomile tea? Or shall I have some other sort of F—ING TEA??? Oh no, I’m such an air headed bimbo who reads too many Danielle Steel novels!”

(Rebecca)
Asshole.

(Gary)
Bitch.

(Rebecca)
F__K YOU – YOU NEANDERTHAL!

(Gary)
Go drink some tea – whore.

(TEACHER)
A+ – I really liked this one

Women are not the enemy. They are merely women. An alien race created from our flesh.

And every man knows this to be true.

Just don't say it too loud in the company of women.

Not if you know what's good for you.

11-11-1918

My grandfather and grandmother met in France. The year was 1917. They served together in a frontline hospital for the Royal Canadian Medical Expedition. They came home with German helmets, bayonets, zeppelin debris, and medals as souvenirs of that horrible conflict. Neither had much use for God after witnessing the carnage of trench warfare.

Today I toasted them both and thanked the stars that I’ve never had to fire a shot in anger and thanked the fallen for their sacrifice so that I remain a pacifist.

Almost a hundred years ago they were sitting along the Marne for the Armstice.

The truce between the Axis and Allies was signed at 5am, but ceasefire didn't take effect, until the 11th second of the 11th minute of the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month.

The guns along the Western Front unloosed their last cannonade for six hours.

The 11th second came and went without any abatement in the fury. Soldiers on both sides had ammo and they weren't taking it home from 'over there'.

It is estimated that over 10,000 men were killed or wounded between 5am and 11am.

The last casualty is reputed to be a Canadian, Private George Lawrence Price.

He was struck in the chest by a German sniper at 10:58am.

One of the 60,000 dead from the Great North.

Pacem in Terrem.

I asked a number of New Yorker about Armstice Day. It's a national holiday. Out of the twenty I questioned only two could say why they had a day off from work.

"As you get old, you forget. As you get older you are forgotten."

But not by me.

I'm a true old git.

Nope to the Dope With No Hope

Phillie.com reported that 13 wards in the City of Obama Love cast 99% of their vote for the President. The GOP won in the traditional strongholds of the South and West, although the Republicans lost Florida, Virigina, Nevada, and Colorado due to demographics changes in the population. The country remains divided on a thin ideological batttleground, because in my eyes the nation is 90% conservative. But at least it isn't going to be run by Mitt Romney and that is a good feeling.

Saturday, November 10, 2012

EASY PEASY

Those pundits weren't too embarrassed by their calls for a close race. To see Jon Stewart's take on their wisdom and the elation of marijuana legalization in two states, please go to the following URL http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/11/08/jon-stewart-mocks-fox-news-marijuana-legalization-video_n_2099896.html

Thursday, November 8, 2012

Sorry Comrades

I've been working hard at making money. These are difficult times. I've actually had to work blue-collar for a living. The Fort Greene Observatory suffers in my absence. But better times are coming somewhere for you and me. Peace and Love Peter Nolan Smith.

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

Da Granite State

The fall foliage has fallen to the colding ground of Dixville Notch. The mountain resort earned the attention of the nation by casting the first votes for the 2012 ecltion. Voting in the remote hamlet resulted a tie for President Obama and Mitt Romney, however down south in Crawford Notch the imcumbent scored a landslide victory amongst the voter of Hart's Location. The thirty-three good people of that community made decision in 5 minutes. I waited in line two hours in Fort Greene. The lateest results from the Granite State are 65% O'Bama / 32% Romney. I voted for the mick. It's the Irish in me.

Da Election 2012

President Obama has been leading America since January 2009. He inherited two unfinanced laws, a tax code exempting the very very rich from a fair share of taxes, and an fractured Congress and Surpreme Court. His term disappointed those that hope for better and satisfied those praying for the worst, yet the Union of 50 States survived those travails. I am pissed at Obama for not withdrawing the troops from GW Bush's invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq. The President has stuck it to the pro-weed camp and his drones murder suspected combatants in the War on Terror as well as any innocents within two hundred yards of the missile strike. The rich remain rich. The fucking rich and I mean the .00001% hiding amongst the 1%. But today I went down to Brooklyn Tech to wait two hours to cast my vote for a seocnd term by Barack Obama. I have never worried about him losing the election, because no matter how much some white voters don't want a black in the White House, something spooks them out about having a Mormon ruling America. And it ain't about the Magic Pajamas. My prediction: Obama takes Ohio and Pennsylvania, loses in Virginia and Florida, but takes Wisconsin and it's always been about Wisconsin.

Monday, November 5, 2012

THE BACK OF MIDDLE AGE by Peter Nolan Smith


Three years ago my friend George Wrage celebrated his 50th Birthday. I've known him since 1978. We worked together at Hurrah. I was the doorman and he was the ticket taker. We came up with the scam of reselling tickets for sell-outs. It was a good gig until another doorman snitched us out after we refused to cut him into the racket.

30 years of friendship and now George is 50. He was 20 in 1979.

"I'm middle-aged," He announced on the telephone.

"40 is the old age of youth and 50 is the youth of old age."

"You read that online."

"No, I heard it somewhere. I think it comes from Victor Hugo." The Frenchman wrote LES MISERABLES as a novel, not a musical."We're both middle-aged now."

"You don't get any argument from me about that."

Neither of us subscribed to the recent adage that '50 is the new 40'.

50 is 50, unless you're doing AIG math.

"I figure I've been middle-aged ever since someone called me 'mister'." George was seven years younger than me.

"The first time for me was teaching school in Boston. I was only 24." I substituted at South Boston High School during the busing riots of the 70s. "That's a little early."

"Not for teenagers. Remember WILD IN THE STREETS." George loved that movie in which teenagers take over the country after the senate changed the voting age to 12. "Never trust anyone over 30."

"Teenagers think I'm ancient, but my official inauguration into middle age was finding a brochure for a grave in my mailbox." The wall tomb for my ashes had a view of the Hudson. "But now I'm wondering when middle age ends."

"It has to be 62 or 65. You get senior benefits at those ages."

"62?" It was only five years away.

I couldn't be that old and I looked in the mirror.

Without my glasses I looked the same as always, then again the best lies are the ones you tell yourself.

"60's coming up really quick. The only benefit I want is half-price beer."

"You can get that at happy hour." East Village bars sell draft Stella for $3 from 3-8.

George doesn't drink and hasn't in years. He doesn't miss it.

Not that way he drank.

"Yeah, so maybe I'm already a senior."

"Don't rush it." George hung up. He was at work. I was unemployed.

A neo-senior bum.

THere was only one way to handle that fate and head over to Solas on East 9th Street. Even at 3 in the afternoon the bar is dark enough to believe your lies after a few beers and I drank my beers to make girls pretty and me younger.

Sometimes the illusion works if I get the chemistry right.