mangozeen: December 2018

Sunday, December 30, 2018

Palm Beach Off Season / Not everyone is what they seem

During the 2008 NBA playoffs I escaped the luxurious confines of Palm Beach to watch the Celtics versus the Lakers at my friend's house in Jupiter Beach. I patted Pom Pom on the head.

"You be a good dog."

It was an impossible request.

The Airedale had been rescued from a Riviera Beach crack house. Her muzzle was laced with fight scars. She was crazy, but so was I.

"See you tonight."Andy and his kids picked me up at the mansion and we drove on I-95 north. His wife was cooking us dinner, except she was not in the house. Andy hadn't mentioned they had been fighting about her working at Macy's.

"She barely earns enough money to pay gas." Andy complained, while cooking dinner for his two sons. "It's not easy supporting a house on one income."

"Where is she now?" His wife had always been a little high-strung in contrast to Andy, who had been a hippie in the early 70s.

"At a friend's house drinking wine."

"Is her friend cute?" I hadn't seen any pretty women in Palm Beach.

"Yes, but she's going out with this salesman from the Bentley dealership in West Palm."

"Oh." A failed writer stood no chance against a good earner with any woman.

"They're pretty serious. I think they might even want to get married." Any further conversation about the couple was short-circuited by Andy's discovering that his blender was broken so he couldn't mix daiquiris for us. "Damnit, Christina probably dropped it."

"Just sounds old to me."

He wasn't listening to me and vented about his wife for several minutes. Within seconds he was on the telephone to Christina's girlfriend. "I want to speak with my wife."

He slammed down the phone.

"Guess you're wife doesn't want to speak with you."

I knew the feeling having two temperamental Thai wives. The phone rang again. It was his wife's friend. Gabby invited us over for drinks. Her boyfriend had heard that I was a diamond salesman. He was looking for a 3-carat diamond. Andy wanted to make a statement by not accepting her offer.

"Not a chance. Tell her we'll be right over." The profit on this sale could pay for a few week's in Thailand. I miss my daughter, wife, and mistress. "You get 10% of the profit."

Andy said we'd be right over and drove three minutes to another house identical to his, except the interior was a more deluxe. Gabby was on alimony payments. 5-figures a month.

"Excused the sunglasses I left my regular glasses in Palm Beach." I can't see anything without them.

"No problem, they're cool." Gabby served us drinks, while we watched the basketball game. The Celtics were killing the Lakers. Andy went home early. His kids were sleepy. I stayed to speak with Gabby's boyfriend about diamonds.

"Diamonds here are 50% to 100% more expensive than New York." I speiled the opening in less than a minute. Diamonds sell diamonds and I showed him a pair of 3-carat studs. Christina and Gabby were impressed by the sparkle and I explained that the stones were slightly imperfect but of a good color and cut. The boyfriend said nothing. It was getting late for me too. Too late to drive back to Palm Beach and chance a stop by the police, so I slept in Andy's spare bedroom.

In the morning Andy made pancakes with bacon, The syrup on the table was corn. I used raspberry jam instead.

"Palm Beach tastes." Corn syrup was good enough for Andy. He didn't eat pancakes and asked, "Gabby's boyfriend say anything about the diamond?"

"No, he didn't seem that interested. I'll email him the details and prices later in the week. Just say good for me. Car salesmen are more suspicious than lawyers. Both of them lie too much."

"I'll find out what he thinks about it." Andy stood to make a dime bone on the sale.

"Good." We went off to the beach and then I drove back to Palm Beach. Pom pom was floating with piss and spent about two minutes urinating on the next door neighbor's lawn. Good thing they were up in the Hamptons.

On Monday I spoke with Richie Boy in New York. He gave me the prices on several 3-carat diamonds. All good color, SI in clarity, and running around $30k. I emailed the information to Gabby's boyfriend and awaited a response.

None.

Two days later I called his cell and left a message.

No return calls.

I mentioned this to Andy.

"Seems he doesn't trust you." Andy told me over the phone. "You wore the sunglasses the entire time you were in the house."

"I can't see without them." They were prescription.

"He couldn't see your eyes," Andy explained without any need for further clarification. It was a dead deal and for more reasons than dark glasses.

That's bullshit."

"I don't think Gabby's ready to an engagement ring."

"Why you say that?"

"She met him three months ago and he's moved in with her and her kid. She knows nothing about him, so she had a detective do a background check."

"Find good?"

"Not really."

"That doesn't spell love to me."

"He's a good guy, but been married once before, has two grown daughters, and now wants to have more kids. Gabby's a little nervous."

"Understandable."

"And so is her boyfriend. He had a fellow worker call up Gabby and ask for a date. She told this guy that she was seeing someone, but it might not work out. The guy told her boyfriend this and they've been fighting ever since."

"That doesn't look good for our sale." Thailand was out of my reach.

"Yeah, but it's funny he said he couldn't trust you because he couldn't see your eyes. He couldn't even trust Gabby."

"Hey, everyone's gun shy in matters of the heart." It took me 5O years to give someone an engagement ring. "Hell, I don't trust me."

"Well, I do." Andy had purchase two diamond rings from me.

"You want to buy your wife a 3-carat ring?"

"I do but my wallet doesn't."

He was a school teacher in West Palm. The ring would have cost his yearly salary. "But who knows, Gabby likes him. Likes only two letters from loves."

Andy was counting eliminating 'ik' without considering the addition of 'ov'. The letters by themselves spelled nothing no matter how hard I tried to jumble sense into them. Kivo was the best and I said it to Andy.

"What's that?"

"The difference between love and like."

"I like that."

"I'll love it, if I sell the stone." Andy and I could both use the money and all we needed was for two people to trust one another, which isn't too much to ask, because the difference between like and luck was 'ieuc' and everyone knows that means nothing. Especially someone who wears sunglasses at night.

For a related article click on thsi URL

http://www.mangozeen.com/the-demise-of-naked-gay-discos-in-miami.htm

Lisa Rowan In The Stars - Happy Birthday

Last year in Palm Beach my good friend Lisa Rowan passed from this world into the stars. We first met in Paris back in the 80s and remained close for the next thirty years. Our favorite story was about my taking care of a cat on Rue du Dragon and when the owner returned from a modeling trip Christine shouted up to the top floor, "How's my cat?"

Lisa yelled back, "Fine."

And I showed a stuffed animal cat, which I dropped and Lisa screamed, as did Christine, until the stuffed animal harmlessly thumped on the ground.

"You bastards," screamed our friend, but her cat was all right and we had a good laugh at Christine's expense.

Lisa and I told that story hundreds of times along with many others.

A great athletic. She whopped me in tennis like I was a rented mule, but then the Philadelphia native had been selected to play on the 1980 Women's team to Moscow Olympics. And more importantly Lisa was a great mother to her son Krystopher and loving daughter to Renna Kimmel. She will always be our MY GIRL.

Today is her birthday.

Love you long time.

To hear MY GIRL, please go to the following URL

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6IUG-9jZD-g

Thursday, December 27, 2018

Trump's Flushing the Washington Swamp

On August 24, 1814 British troops tried to burn down the new capitol of the United States.

Washington.

A day later a hurricane doused the flames, but that salvation hasn't prevent further attempted cinematic destruction of the city along the Potomac River.

Aliens have destroyed Washington DC in countless movies.

For some unexplained reason science-fiction film makers think Washington DC is a beloved emblem of America. Not everyone shares their opinion.

The traffic sucks and rents are exorbitant. The bars close at 10pm and the town is loaded with free-loading politicians. Still young college graduates fill the ranks of the bureaucracy in hopes of political success and experience. Tourists come to visit the sights.

The White House.

The Capitol and the two houses of Congress.

The Washington Monument.

Few people realize that the marble, granite, and bluestone gneiss obleisk was the tallest structure in the world from 1884 to 1889.

Aliens have also had their way with the Monument, but nothing is more dangerous to a democracy than a demagogue.

Donald Trump had campaigned in 2016 on a pledge to close the US-Mexico border, which would be financed by our southern neighbor. The President of Mexico undiplomatically told Trump to 'vete a la mierda' or 'go fuck yourself'. Throughout the ensuing two years #45 has periodically repromised his constituency that the wall will be built to stop illegals from entering Freedomland and this December he rejected signing the federal budget unless $5 billion were added to erect a little over two-hundred miles of steel fence.

The Senate said go fuck yourself and Donald Trump tore up the last page of the finance bill in response to their rejecting his wishes.

The result.

No government except for essential services such as the ICE, the DEA, CIA, NSA, and the Pentagon, except for the Coast Guard. Over 800,000 federal employees were furloughed without pay. All national parks are closed to the public.

The Lincoln Monument remains open for selfies by Trump.

No wall. No government.

Which means we now do not have to pay income taxes, the same way Amazon and Apple pay nothing.

Paradise.

Thank you, Mssr. Trump.

ps you and Congress aren't getting paid either.

Unless it's by Melania's stiletto heels.

Wednesday, December 26, 2018

47 A GO-GO - BET ON CRAZY by Peter Nolan Smith

Last week the best antique dealers in our diamond exchange moved to a new address. Their vacated booth was both minuscule and expensive. The building management had been hard-pressed to find a new tenant in these hard times after Christmas.

I stood by the glass counter with the departing salesman and Jo-Jo the security guard, who were discussing the possibilities for such a constrained space. The salesman was in favor of a rest area for the ill-mannered hawkers of 47th Street. Richie boy hated them and Jo-Jo suggested a bar. It was a good idea, but I had a better one.

"We should open a go-go bar. The girls dance in the window. We have six seats. $10/drink, which have to be finished in less than ten minutes. That's $360 an hour. $3000 a day. Over a million a year. Most of it profit."

Jo Jo and the salesman turned their heads.

"The window isn't big enough for anyone to dance in it." The salesman was thinking normal like most people his age.

"This go-go will be special." I didn't even have to shut my eyes to envision the crowd inside the exchange. The mob on the sidewalk would be five deep. My idea was genius. "We hire midgets to dance in the window. Steel pole hobbits. No dwarfs."

"No dwarfs?" Jo Jo sounded uncertain of the difference.

"Midgets and dwarfs don't get along."

"Don't get along?" Jo Jo was drunk. The redheaded ex-cop had a drinking problem with Buds. I said nothing about it to no one. I wasn't a snitch.

"There used to be a midget bar in the West Village. The bartender never served dwarfs. Midget think that they merely short humans, while dwarfs accept their shortness as normal. Everyone has to have someone beneath them."

"You wouldn't want to be known for prejudice against dwarfs." Jo-Jo knew my politics.

"No, I wouldn't like that." But I had seen fights at that bar between the two vertically challenged groups. "Only one or the other. Not the both. I'll save that for the boxing arena."

"So what would you call the bar?"

"The 147 Club, because that's the average height of a midget."

"And they could be kosher." The salesman laughed at the possibility of shimmishabbah midgets dancing on the go go poles.

"Midgets willing to shave their heads for you." I pointed my finger upward. "Isn't there an office upstairs? That could be the short-time room. I'll be a millionaire in a year."

"The police will arrest you in the first week." Jo-Jo was an ex-cop and all cops are downers on a good time.

"I'll pay them off. For religious reasons."

"Like what?"

"I worship Hassidic midget go-go dancers."

Manny my boss was staring at me. He hated my bullshitting. My salary was too low for him to say too much, but we liked each other and I returned to my counter. There were no customers. Business was slow. Last year had been even slower.

"What were you bullshitting about?" Manny wanted to know how I was wasting his time.

"Midget go-go dancers in the next booth."

Manny shook his head. Most of his 80 years old had been spent in New York.

"You live long enough to hear everything. Please get back to work."

"Whatever you want." I returned to my desk and looked at the booth. The 147 a Go-Go was an impossible dream, but for one day it would have been a paradise for midgets. Me too because I would have served dwarfs just to see the shit go crazy. Once a punk always a punk.

Friday, December 21, 2018

Beer On Mars

The European Space Agency aimed the Mars Express High Resolution Stereo Camera at the Red Planet's North Pple and discovered a huge frozen lake in the Korolev crater.

82 kilometers wide and 2 kilometer deep of frozen H2O meaning that there will be beer on Mars.

Some hopefuls have claimed that discarded beer cans have already been discovered on Mars.

Hopefully the first beer won't be Bud.

It sucks everywhere on this world and any other.

And my son Fenway knows better than anyone else about that.

Only the young will get to Mars.

Me.

I can only dream of the Red Planet.

Christmas Truce

Peace on earth.

I'm declaring a Christmas Truce on all bad thoughts.

Enjoy.

Friday, December 14, 2018

Sic Transit Gloria Mundi

Sic transit gloria mundi translates from the dead language of Latin phrase into "Thus passes the glory of the world" in English, even though no one in America speaks that language. There is very little glory left in this world, which is why we look to the stars.

Next year Andromeda.

Friday, December 7, 2018

Not CIA

Phillip Brook came from Tasmania. We met in Paris during the 1980s. He was a journalist and hardcore junkie also a little queer, not that I minded, because queers were much more fun than straights in Boston, New York, or the City of Lights. We worked together for several magazines and journals. He was a better writer, but he never criticized my typos.

"What can you expect from a man with a lisp, a stutter, and dyslexic fingers?"

I didn't have an answer for him, but we were good friends and right before Christmas of 1991 he came to New York to interview the head of the UN. He asked where we should meet for drinks.

"The Sheraton on 6th Avenue. The ground floor bar's decor is pure 1960s."

"Perfect."

That evening I met Phillip in front of Rockefeller Center showed up at the aging hotel. Thousands of demonstrators surrounded the Hilton. They were protesting the visit of President George H. W. Bush. He was running a war of genocide in Guatemala. Hundreds of riot police manned the barricades.

"Maybe we should go someplace else."

"What for?"

We were both wearing suits. I approached the cops. One asked, "Where do you think you're going?"

"To meet two hookers in the bar." I pointed to the Hilton.

"I like an honest man." He pulled on the steel barrier. Shouts harangued us. Phillip and I ddin't care, but he asked, "Are there hustlers too?"

"Only the best for the Hilton."

We had several drinks and I told him how my sister-in-law had worked for Bush during his time as Director of the CIA.

"You know everyone in Paris thinks you're a spook."

"I have a rejection letter from the agency. 1980."

"Further proof you are what you say you're not. They probably dosed you with LSD and then planted you as a mole to blossom in the sun decades later."

I realized brook had been holding out of drugs and I body-searched him for three seconds.

Success.

"I was going to give you."

Yeah, right."

I did a little of this and more of that.

We entertained the working boys and girls at the bar. Phillip told them I worked for the CIA. They believed him too. I pimped them to the hordes of GOP supporters awaiting the President. I asked for nothing. They all bought me drinks. Way too many for comfort and I told Phillip, "I have to go to work tomorrow."

"I do too, but how are we going to get through the mob."

"Mob?"

Shouts chanted profanities outside. People were angry. I could pass for GOP, even though I was 100% anarchy. We were going out the same way we came in and I said to Phillip, "We'll leave by the garage."

"I'll follow you."

We left the bar. The security was lax. The first line was fat cops working overtime. The second line of defense were State Troopers. Dumber than a bucket of mud. The garage was ahead. A few SAecret Service agents glanced at us. They deemed us harmless. AS we arrived at the exit, a limousine hauled up to the curb. Everyone snapped to attention. Someone opened the rear door and out popped the President of the USA. Taller than I thought, but I called out, "George."

He turned his head with alarm and I approached him to say, "My sister-in-law worked for you."

I mentioned her name and he relaxed.

"I love that girl."

"And she always says good for you, Mr. President."

We shook hands and he entered the hotel. An agent came up and asked, "Who are you?"

"A citizen of the USA."

Phillip and I exited from the hotel.

"Not CIA. Bullshit."

"100%"

He didn't believe me and there's some times when I don't believe myself, except I have the proof.

RIP George H W Bush.