Wednesday, December 31, 2025

JOURNAL EXCERPT - JANUARY 1, 1979 - EAST VILLAGE

We saw in New Year's Eve at Hurrah and then took a taxi downtown. Traffic congested before Madison Square Garden. A skinny blonde man with orange-blonde hair stood bare-chested the the traffic. Cheetah Cheetah Chrome of the Dead Boys and we shouted the lead guitarist's name in passing.

Alice, Anthony, Alexa, and I got out of the cab on the 3rd Avenue. The driver didn't want to go any farther into the Lower East Side. Alice and I stood on the sidewalk. Chest-high Suburban disco drones muttered about our punk attire. I stepped fowards and asked, "What are you looking at creeps."

"Why do you have to always be so violent?" Alice came me from a city where the tarred roads led to dirt tracks into the Hollows. She know all about violence.

"I wish I knew."

Ship's fog horns from the southern harbor searched the night. I was familiar with the docks. Only a few ships moored on the Westside and none on the swift-moving East River.

A gang of teenage Puerto Ricans whooped drunken shouts. They weren't looking for trouble. They were poor, the neighborhood school were bad, and their only futures were as janitors, city workers, and manual labor other than dealing drugs. All of them dreamed not so much as escaping the East Village as making the neighborhood a better place for 'la familia'.

We wandered over to Eve's Lounge. We ordered drinks. They were weak. I was still straight and hoped to be sober the first morning of 1979.

"I want to go." I said to Alice.

"Then let's go."

Yesterday I had met Alice at La Guardia. She wore a white pleather coat, black striped skirt, a purple sweater and knee-high white boot. She was the prettiest girl in the air terminal and every man and woman watched her walk to me. I was a lucky man and tried to kiss her. She turned her face to offer her cheek.

We hadn't slept together in more than a month. New Wave Vaudeville at her soul and Susan the scrawny closet lesbian co-producer was a shrew poisoning my love.

"He's a loser," she said to my face.

I felt like a loser too. same way, but needed even this small money, plus anything I could glom from Hurrah.

"Me too," Alice replied, confessing to trouble sleeping at home in Charleston. "How was your holidays?"

"Good." One visit to family in Boston and a few drunken fetes at the East Village bar. She suspected me of fooling around, except once I've had two drinks I'm only interested in the third, fourth and fifth.

All I could see was a dark black future, but I restrained from revealing that vision to Alice that

She has the whole world in front of her.

MAN OF THE YEAR

My teachers at Xaverian Brothers High School told their students, "Never vote for yourself."

I'm only one vote, so I am can be Man of the Year in my own mind.

Carter's out for his adherent to Rockefeller's Capitalism and not admonishing Taiwan about their treatment of the people of that Island Nation. Anita Bryant's anti-gay stance ended her Sunkist Orange Juice reign as spokeswitch, despite her backing from the Silent Majority and the Shah of Iran is endangered of being ousted by the Persian populace, because of SAVAK, his torture squad, and their destruction of moderate dissidents. Reza Mohammad Pahlavi's murderous attempts to modernize his country had been met with outcries from liberals and western TV journalists, but dragging peasants into the future has failed for hundreds of rulers. The people like their lives and are threatened by any change, especially when you include religion and the mullahs despise him for supposedly distribute their ancient holdings to the farmers, although the lands go to the friends of the Shah in payment for their support.

Long live the Shah.

I bet the house on his not seeing out the 70s.

Times appointed Deng Xiaoping, the Chinese Mainland Premier as Man of the Year.

All hail the Revolution and the end to the Gang of Four.

DISASTER OF THE YEAR

Floods and earthquakes devastated the earth over the twelve months of 1978.

The Jonestown Massacre In Guyana set the massive suicide pact in the jungle from every other catastrophe and hopefully the bloated bodies will not be seen in the future.

CHOKE OF THE YEAR

The AL MVP Jim Rice and the Red Sox' team Captain Yaz popped out for outs in the ninth inning with two men on base to lose to the dreaded Yankees in Fenway in the 163rd game of 1978 and the Yanks won the World Series.

JANUARY 1, 2021 - BROOKLYN

I went nowhere last night. I drank nothing. I did no lines of cocaine. I called my families in Thailand. They had enjoyed their evening eating their favorite foods. I can't even remember what I ate.

2021 was a nothing year.

But I'm lucky to be alive and that's not a small thing.

Kicking Off The New Year 2007

After New Year's Day of 2008 my 'wife' packed the car with Angie, Champoo, and her fat sister for the return drive to Chai-nat. Her week stay for Xmas had been torture. My every word was ignored with visible disdain. She told my daughter that I was a worthless drunk. My young daughter and I celebrated her birthday together. Angie refused to choose sides and cried getting in the car.

I hugged my daughter and said, "I'll see you soon."

Chai-nat was a five-hour bus ride from Pattaya. My online site for selling fake F1 merchandise required daily attention, but I had come to Thailand to be with Angie and not flog second-grade copies to brainless racing fanatics in the Occident.

"You take care?" Angie's mom spoke little to no English. The former factory worker considered farangs 'so-kapok' and only one step above Arabs. Thais have a very high opinion of themselves and their country. Their chauvinism was not misplaced, for the Thailand was the France of the Far East.

"I'll be fine." I kissed my daughter good-bye. Her mother and I had not been intimate since before her birth. Our sole connection was our daughter and she had said on more than one occasion that Angie wasn't mine. Murder constantly paced the corridors of my mind and her slightest touch could lead to a stranglehold. Accordingly we maintained a defensive distance whenever we were close.

The Toyota backed out of the driveway. Angie waved from the backseat. She had my mother's smile, crooked teeth and all. I swallowed a lump and went inside my rented house to open a can of beer. It was twenty-three minutes short of noon.

I thought about calling Angie's mom to come back, but my words had lost their magic.

They had a full tank of gas and 2500 baht. More than enough to last two days, but if I've learned one thing in Thailand, "It's never enough."

The beer tasted of irony on an empty stomach. I was once more being deserted to my own devices in Pattaya. Nu's ex-boyfriend had disappeared from Pattaya weeks ago. Pi-et was no magician and the main prop for his vanishing act had been a bus north. Chai-nat lay in the same direction.

I turned the TV onto Fox News. Bill O'Reilly was praising GW Bush for saving America after 9/11. I finished the beer and threw the empty at the TV. The cheap aluminum didn't even scratch the screen.

As I got up for another beer, my mobile phone vibrated on the coffee table. The volume of the ringing was turned down to avoid unwanted phone calls during Nu's stay. My wife suspected the worst and a woman was never wrong about a man. I answered the phone

It was Mint. 22 years old, thin as a runway model, and convinced that I could never love her.

"Is she gone?"

"Back to Chai-nat."

"And her 'feend'."

The Thai word for lover sounded very much like friend.

"Yes."

"We have to talk," she said in English. She didn't watch farang movies, so that statement must be universal in every language. The topic had few options.

"About what?" Mint and I had been lovers for over a year, but we had never spent a night in bed together. We were pure afternoon or early evening.

"I tell you when I see you." She shared an apartment on Jomtien Beach with a gay friend. Glai was very jealous of our relationship. The hustler liked it better when I had been a customer. Mint felt the opposite.

"Can't you tell me now?"

I pondered the subject of our conversation.

If Mint wanted to leave me. No problem. She was young. I was ancient. Her old 'friends' called at all times of the day. She never picked up the phone, while we making love.

"No. Not now. I see you. I tell you."

If you can't say it over the phone, then it wasn't about money, although Mint wasn't greedy, despite having two kids. They cost money. I gave what I gave. It also was never enough. I could see #2 leading right to #1.

Mint probably had another boyfriend to bankroll her life. She was an ace at pretending desire. Her faithful clientele from her years on Soi 6 and the Mona Lisa Massage in Bangkok were legion. She juggled her time with us like a crap shooter hoping for the best roll, however she had been slinging snake-eyes for the past few months.

We were more than lovers.

I drove my scooter down the back roads to Jomtien. The vanishing wetlands behind Jomtien Beach put a good distance between my house and Mint's apartment, diminishing the possibility of my wife and Mint running into each other. I hated confrontations.

Pattaya was attracting thousands of long-timers. Coconut plantations were giving way to holiday villas.

By the time I reached Thraprassit Road, the sun had burnt through the morning haze. The cold front had sputniked down from Siberia. Thai beach-goers were reveling in the sea. Russians waddled out of 7/11 with ice creams. It was a too nice a day to hear goodbye twice.

I turned off the Beach Road and rolled up to her semi-abandoned apartment building hearing the start of the Doors' 'THE END' like this scene was the beginning of APOCALYPSE II. Mint sat on a stool. She was wearing a loose dress. A bottle of beer was on the table.

The two glasses had ice in them.

"You want drink?" She averted looking in my eyes.

"Yes." Beer protected me from everything.

She poured beer into the two glasses. Neither of us took a sip. Mint had her hands folded on her lap. I sat down and asked, "What is it?"

"I'm pregnant." She lifted do-it-yourself pregnancy test. Two red lines indicated mint was carrying another life. I had thought her recent extra weight coming from beer.

"Pregnant?" I was old enough to be Mint's father, who's actually two years younger than me.

"Yes. Two months. It is yours."

"Mine." Two months ago had been Loy Krathong. I distinctly recalled a long afternoon in bed. The math worked out to 1+1=3.

"I not go with other man."

"I know." I wasn't brought up to accuse a woman of entrapment. It wasn't like I was the pick of the crop. "A baby."

"Chai." Her morning sickness and expanding belly should have been signs of impending fatherhood. I was too absorbed in my problems to notice the obvious.

"A baby."

Walking was easy in Thailand. Marriages dissolved like sugar in the rain. Men were free to come and go as the wind. Women were glad to see them go too. Mint was well aware of her position. The father of her two children had left her penniless at 18. Her beauty had saved them from starvation. I lifted her head with two fingers. Tears dotted the corners. She had been here before, but not with me.

"Two months."

"Chai." She was expecting a repeat of bad luck. Men ran from a woman in her situation. Thai and farang. Pattaya was the Last Babylon. It was every man for himself.

"What you want to do?"

"I want have baby." Mint wanted to make me happier. She was too crazy to do that all the time, but she had heard the sadness in my voice, as I told her about Angie. Her mother had signed the name of the father to Pi-et. The Thai authorities would never reverse that signature.

Mint wanted to have the baby. She wanted it to be mine.

"She be cute."

"That's the truth." Looks were the least of our problems.

"How do you know it's a girl?" She certainly had not done an ultra-sound.

"Old lady see my neck and say if blood move up and down sure to be girl." Mint indicated a pulsing vein on her neck. "Old lady say maybe I have two."

"Twins?" 30 seconds was not enough time to digest the first news let alone the second.

"Not sure. What you want do?"

Abortion was out of the question. It was illegal in Thailand and while I accepted the freedom of choice for a woman, I was old-fashioned enough to regard every life as sacred.

"If it's a boy, can I chose the name?" I was a 55 year-old American living in Thailand. Going back to the States was not in the books.

"Yes. What about your wife?"

"We were never married." Her numerous betrayals had cancelled that wedding.

"I not want be mia noi." Her smile was half-hearted. The second wife or mia noi usually ends up standing in the rain outside the house of her child's father. Thai TV soaps loved that scene.

"You won't be a mia noi." I couldn't guarantee how her countrymen would view her, but Angie and her mother were living up-country. They weren't coming back. My cash flow was threatened by the global slow-down. The big house in Pattaya was an unnecessary expense. Two families were an obligation for a real man. Jomtien had the beach. Mint and I could live small.

"You and me will be one."

"I not want much." Not much sounded good today. Much would be spoken later, because kids cost money.

"Only me." I felt good saying it. Believing it was not as easy, but Mint held my hand and said, "Only you, me, and babies."

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

You never do when there's only one choice.

For better.

Never worst.

I wasn't going anywhere, if I could help it.

Seven months later we had a child.

My son Fenway.

He's no girl.

Journal Entry - January 1, 1978

Death to 1977

Onto a year of 78 RPM.

It's snowing and I'm watching the Broncos beat the Raiders. 20-17.

Last night at 27th Street was weird. I hit on Alta. We made up and dry-humped in a dark corner. She begged off fucking. I accepted her no, got drunk, puked outside, and sobered up enough to last the rest of the night. Death to disco.

I've always said, "All I need is food and shelter."

Here in New York I eat foreign foods, mostly pizza and falafel sandwiches and live at a SRO hotel on West 11th Street off 5th Avenue. My 10' by 10' by 8' room has linoleum floors, a small bed, a sink, and white walls. $40/week. An imperfect cube located in a good neighborhood. What else can I do, except work as a busboy and rock out at CBGBs, where youth is eternal, the nights run long, and "Do anything you want to do."

My job at Serendipity sucks, but I love my fellow queer waiters and busboys. It also provide constant cash for a punk lifestyle in a blown-out city. The 60s were a time of no limits, while the 70s have borders on people like us, who fled the rest of America, and I foresee the 80s as a time of increasing corporate fascism with fear stealing people of their identity as humans. Most Americans think, "Who cares as long as I can eat potato chips?" "But there are two more years left in the 70s. Romantically I deal with illusions and hope for fantasies to become real, but Ro left to Paris the day I came here in May, although I recently overheard Andy Reese say to his fellow hustler Frank Holiday, "Ro is in Greensboro. I really like her." "Are she and Kirk going to get married," Frank asked, while I shivered silently with shock.

"They are pretty heavy." Andy answered, looking for a reaction from me.

I showed none, but earlier I called Andy Kornfeld, who had read my unmailed letters to her and laughed, "You can throw away those letters. She probably has thousands from other failed lovers. You just have to understand she hates men, because of an ex-lover, who wasn't you. She was like that when I met her long ago."

Our affair meant nothing to her and left me with scar tissue on my heart. I was nothing to her other than a body in a bed, and my hopes were an exaggeration of my desires.

On other fronts Fran Malin remains in Brooklyn. I haven't been avoiding her, but she lives across the East River and she is a little insane. She might have feelings for me, but can't leave her boyfriend for good. Once when we were having sex, he knocked on the door.

"Fran, I know you're in there."

"Say nothing and don't stop fucking me," she whispered locking her legs around my knees.

I stayed hard as she moaned breathlessly, humping in synch with her boyfriend's knocking.

Libby has disappeared into New York. I wonder where she is.

Two days ago Tim Dunleavy told me, "Ann gave me a present for you. and it looks like a good one."

What could it be?

Will Alice come to New York again after finishing her college in Ohio?

We met at a birthday party for Janet Stephenson, who I was seeing at the time. I left with Ann and her friend and had sex with both of them in a Upper East Side townhouse's unheated pool. I think of her more as a companion than a consort and when she left to go back to college, "I always feel physically responsibly to anyone who spends money on me."

I had only paid the taxi.

Was that the sole reason for fucking me?

A LITTLE LATER

Today I went to Jimmy Day's, Blimpie's, Solo's on 52nd Street, Cowwboy's on 53rd, The Plaza Cafe, Dazzel on the West Side, back to Jimmy Days, to a closed Max's Kansas City, over to Broadway Charlies, CBGBs, and One-Fifth and finally to crash at my SRO room

A wasted evening.

No women or friends.

I even called Ann long distance from a phone booth.

No answer.

Alice's gift was a sarcastic note and William Goldman's MAGIC, which has too much dialogue to be a novel, but not a movie script.

1977 is over for good.

It's 1978 minus one.

STARTING ANEW 2009


2009

Someone once told me that how you spend the first day of the year depends how you will spend the rest of the year.

January 1, 2009 I awoke with a hang-over and thought about heading over to the 10th Street Bath to sweat out the poisons of December 31, 2008. Recovery seemed the perfect tone for the new year, except I rolled over on my side and fell back to sleep. Lethargy ruled by day. I read THE SECRET HISTORY OF THE CIA until 3pm and then dressed for a late lunch on West 90th Street.

It was at an Episcopal church. The pastor was a woman in her 40s. I had been invited by her cousin, an actress from Quebec. My hang-over dissipated with the 2nd glass of wine and my body was replenished by ham and lentils. The conversation was entertaining and by 7pm I was feeling a little more human.

This was my New Years.

Friends, fine food, and wine.

I left the soiree early and took the Lexington Avenue south toward Union Square.

At 59th Street a large crowd got on the train. Most of them were young. Two Brazilian young men spoke with six well-dressed black girls. They were laughing, as if they had spent a good first day of the year, then the taller Brazilian backed away from the women with a raised right hand. He was giving them the finger.

"Putas. In my country I could kill you for rejecting me and the police would give me a medal." He was drunk, but several newspapers had reported on the noblisse oblige the police accord macho behavior. Only this wasn't Brazil and I told him, "Boyo, soy tranquilo. No one wants any trouble."

He muttered something under his breath and his friend sat next to him.

I got up and moved closer to the girls. A black man in a leather jacket mumbled, "This ain't over."

Two seconds later the tall Brazilian jumped from his seat and ran down the train. Several feet before the girls he leaped in the air to kick at the girls. This feat proved his undoing for he slipped and fell to the floor. As he rose to his feet with something in his hand, the girls pushed him away. I tried to restrain him, but he cut my hand with a sharp object.

My plans for the first day of the year changed with my kicking him in the stomach.

He went down and I made sure he stayed down.

At the next stop the black man and I tossed the unconscious attacker from the train onto the platform. I taught him a few more lessons about manners. I threw off his friend too, booting him in the ass for not controlling his friend.

I asked the girls if they were okay.

Two were crying, but neither had been hit.

Before they could thank the black man and me, a score of cops hustled onto the platform. They surveyed the two fallen men and questioned the girls about the incident.

"That guy attacked me." The prettiest one explained to a rookie policeman.

"And how they get laid out?" The cop was looking in my direction. I stuck my bloodied hand in my coat. The girl's eyes met mine and she said, "I didn't see anything."

"And what about you?" The cop's query was directed to the black man and me.

"All I saw was that guy attack these girls. They did nothing."

"Me too." The black man followed my lead.

"So you saw nothing?"

"Nothing."

The engineer sounded the train was leaving the platform. The cop knew something was wrong, but only because we might have done something right.

The doors slid shut and the train pulled out of the station. I turned around and thanked the black man. He shook my hand. It was sore as was my knee. At 56 I don't give a beating without some damage.

Our fellow passengers applauded our actions. I was a little ashamed by the intensity of the violence, however 2008 had been a tough year, but 2009 promised to be better, because at least I wasn't spending the first night of the year in jail.

Pacem.

STARTING ANEW by Peter Nolan Smith

Someone once told me that how you spend the first day of the year depends how you will spend the rest of the year.

January 1, 2009 I awoke with a hang-over and thought about heading over to the 10th Street Bath to sweat out the poisons of December 31, 2008. Recovery seemed the perfect tone for the new year, except I rolled over on my side and fell back to sleep. Lethargy ruled the day. I read THE SECRET HISTORY OF THE CIA until 3pm and then dressed for a late lunch on West 90th Street.

It was at an Episcopal church. The pastor was a woman in her 40s. I had been invited by her cousin, an actress from Quebec. My hang-over dissipated with the second glass of wine and my body was replenished by ham and lentils. The conversation was entertaining and by 7pm I felt almost human.

This was my New Years.

Friends, fine food, and wine.

I left the soiree early and took the Lexington Avenue south toward Union Square.

At 59th Street a large crowd got on the train. Most of them were young. Two Brazilian young men spoke with six well-dressed black women. They were laughing, as if they had spent a good first day of the year, then the taller Brazilian backed away from the women with a raised right hand. He was giving them the finger.

"Putas. In my country I could kill you for rejecting me and the police would give me a medal." He was drunk, but several newspapers had reported on the noblisse oblige the police accord macho behavior. Only this wasn't Brazil and I told him, "Boyo, soy tranquilo. No one wants any trouble."

He muttered something under his breath and his friend sat next to him.

I got up and moved closer to the group. A young black man in a leather jacket next to me mumbled, "This ain't over."

The women lagued innocently, but the tall Brazilian got offense jumped from his seat to run down the train. Several feet before the girls he leaped in the air to kick at the women. This feat proved his undoing. He slipped and fell to the floor, but rose to his feet with something in his hand. The girls pushed him away. I tried to restrain him, but he cut my hand with the sharp object.

Badly.

My plans for the first day of the year changed with my kicking him in the stomach.

He went down and I made sure he stayed down. The black man and I pummeled him with fists and boots.

At the next stop the black man and I tossed the unconscious attacker from the train onto the platform. I taught him a few more lessons about manners. I threw off his friend onto his knees too, booting him in the face for not controlling his friend. The first one was in convulsions. THe second laid still.

I asked the women if they were okay.

Two were crying, but neither had been hit. One pointed at my hand. It was bleeding badly.

Before they could thank the black man and me, a squad of cops hustled onto the platform. They surveyed the two fallen men and questioned the women about the incident. I stuck my hand in my pocket to hide the blood. Thankfully none was on the floor.

"That guy attacked me." The prettiest one explained to a rookie policeman.

"And how they get laid out?" The cop looked in my direction. The woman's eyes met mine and she said, "I didn't see anything."

"And what about you?" The cop's query was directed to the black man and me.

"All I saw was that guy attack them. They did nothing to deserve it."

"Me too." The black man followed my lead.

"So you saw nothing?"

"Not a thing."

THe first Brazilian's tremors were lessening. I hoped I hadn't killed him.

The engineer announced that the train was leaving the platform. The cop knew something was wrong, but only because we might have done something right.

The doors slid shut and the train pulled out of the station. I turned around and thanked the black man. He shook my hand. It was sore as was my knee. At 56 I don't give a beating without some damage.

Our fellow passengers applauded our actions. I was a little ashamed by the intensity of the violence, however 2008 had been a tough year, but 2009 promised to be better, because at least I wasn't spending the first night of the year in jail, although for the next week I checked the New York Post without finding any mention of the incident.

I told no one about it.

I was a different man than in 2008, but not much.

Pacem.

Cocaine By John Wieners versus White Lines by Peter Nolan Smith

For I have seen love                         At midnight way before the dawn and his face is choice Heart of Hearts,      Your face, the Ace of Spades a flesh of pure fire, fusing from the center    Flames black as my heart where all Motion is one.                        Not white like the cocaine before me__  

And I have known                              I have lived this moment before despair that the Face has ceased to stare       Many times my eyes on the lines at me with the Rose of the world                Our eyes on the lines but lies furled                                 We seek not truth, we seek no truth__  

in an artificial paradise it is Hell to get into.   Lean over and huff the cocaine If I knew you were there                        Vintage Bolivian flake I would fall upon my knees and plead to God     My heart pound a bass drum to deliver you in my arms once again.           Knowing the truth__there is no god, only cocaine__

  But it is senseless to try.                      Elation my blood on fire One can only take means to reduce misery,       It's all a lie confuse the sensations so that this Face,       Yet a lie easy to believe what aches in the heart and makes each new      Easier to believe than the lie that is their truth__

  start less close to the source of desire,        The rush's embers fade fade from the flesh that fires the night,       It's your turn to burn with dreams and infinite longing.                Hell, let's live for never__

New Year’s Eve 2007 Pattaya

On the afternoon of December 31, 2007 heavy lorries, pick-up trucks and 125cc motorcycles with sidecars exited from the distributor at the end of my soi with thousands of beers every minute. Thousands of Thai and farang tourists were flocking into the city for the year's final drunk in the beach resort's countless bars, go-gos, hotels, and brothels from Jomtien to Naklua.

"What are you doing tonight?" Sam Royalle asked on my porch in the shade of a Norfolk pine. He had been out the previous night with our friends and couldn't remember coming home. His skin exuded a sheen of excess alcohol.

"Nothing." I had avoided the debauch and fallen asleep before the TV during a Star Trek ENTERPRISE marathon. The mozzies had partied with my feet during my unconscious state and I was scrubbing the red splotches with salt.

"Nothing?"

"I worked in nightclubs through the 70s, 80s, and 90s. My fellow workers referred to 12/31 as 'amateur's night' and the same stupid behavior of fights, accidents, and stupid conversations held as true for Pattaya as it had in New York, London, Paris, or LA.

"I'm giving it a miss. My wife is going out with her friends though, so I get to care back of my daughter. We're going to watch the fireworks from my garden."

"Have a party." Sam was a family man and understood kids came first. He drove off on his scooter in the direction of home.

My wife left the house at 8:30 without any good-byes. Angie didn't care. She and I had KFC and played rodeo on the bed. We had a glass of Pepsi and watched some more Star Trek. It put both of us to sleep before 10. I was dead sober.

I heard the fireworks and tried to open my eyes.

Not a chance.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

What has happened to my wickedness?

Children.

They tend to rescue a bad man's soul.

Better them than the devil.

New Year’s Resolutions 2015

Every January 1st millions of Americans vow to better their lives and the world. The Top Ten New Year's resolutions rarely differ from year to year, since few people ever realize these impossible resolutions. Last year I made no resolutions.

Not one.

At my age I've failed enough times to accept my unsuccessful resolution rut with resigned aplomb, but here are the perennial Top Ten;

1. Spend More Time with Family and friends
2. Exercise more
3. Lose weight
4. Stop Smoking
5. Enjoy Life
6. Quit Drinking
7. Get Out of Debt
8. Learn Something New
9. Help Others
10. Get Organized

After reading this list I figure I'm not so bad off.

There's some of them I do without the help of a resolution.

Hell, I must have quit drinking a hundred times in 2012 and I got out of debt by cutting up my credit cards in 2008. Two months of stress knocked off 15 pounds and I don't really smoke cigarettes, except when I drink at a bar.

I do feel good about life, especially when I'm with my kids.

Somehow I got to get over to Thailand more often.

The end of January is the next trip.

So don't worry too much about resolutions.

Most of them are unattainable, otherwise you wouldn't have to make them, so life is for today.

It's the best resolution of all.

Like the Grassroots sang in LIVE FOR TODAY.

To view this classic 60s hit, please go to the following URL

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5lRWXHomzF0

New Years Eve 1978 - Journal

Anthony and I worked Hurrah. The punk disco was packed with young people. I was one of the older at 26. Same as Anthony. The owners called it a night a 3am. Robert and Barbara wanted to go to Studio 54. Alice, Anthony, Alexa, and I decided on CGGBs on the Boweryand exited the club and went to the corner.  

Somehow after exiting from Hurrah's a checker taxi stop on West 72nd Street to let out two punkers going to Hurrah. I said nothing about the club being shut. Finding a taxi on New Year's Eve was a miracle. Anthony told the drive, "Downtown." Traffic congested before Madison Square Garden. A skinny blonde man with orange-blonde hair stood bare-chested the traffic. Cheetah Chrome of the Dead Boys and we shouted the lead guitarist's name in passing.

The four of us got out of the cab on the Bowery. The driver didn't want to go any farther into the Lower East Side. Alice and I stood on the sidewalk. Suburban disco drones on their way to the disco Infinity on Broadway muttered about our punk attire. I stepped forwards and asked, "What are you looking at creeps."

"Why do you have to always be so violent?" Alice came from a city where the tarred roads led to dirt tracks into the Hollows. She know all about violence.

"I wish I knew."

Ship's fog horns from the southern harbor searched the night. I was familiar with the docks. Only a few ships moored on the Westside and none on the swift-moving East River.

A gang of teenage Puerto Ricans whooped drunken shouts. They weren't looking for trouble. They were poor, the neighborhood school were bad, and their only futures were as janitors, city workers, and manual labor other than dealing drugs. All of them dreamed not so much as escaping the East Village as making the neighborhood a better place for 'la familia'.

After seeing Richard Hell & The Voidoids, we wandered over to Eve's Lounge. We ordered drinks. They were weak. I was still straight and hoped to not be sober the first morning of 1979.

"I want to go." I said to Alice.

"Then let's go."

Yesterday I had met Alice at La Guardia. She wore a white pleather coat, black striped skirt, a purple sweater and knee-high white boot. She was the prettiest girl in the air terminal and every man and woman watched her walk to me. I was a lucky man and tried to kiss her. She turned her face to offer her cheek. We hadn't slept together in more than a month. Her show New Wave Vaudeville had seized her soul and Susan, the scrawny closet lesbian co-producer, was a shrew poisoning my love.

"You're a loser," she had said to my face.

I had felt like a loser too. Same way, but needed even this small money from the waiter job at an executive dining room, plus anything I could glom from Hurrah.

"I feel like a loser too," Alice replied and confessed to having trouble sleeping at home in Charleston. "How was your holidays?"

"Good." One visit to family in Boston and a few drunken fetes at the East Village bar. She suspected me of fooling around, except once I've had two drinks I'm only interested in the third, fourth and fifth.

All I could see was a dark black future, but I restrained from revealing that vision to Alice. She has the whole world in front of her.

MAN OF THE YEAR

My teachers at Xaverian Brothers High School told their students, "Never vote for yourself."

I'm only one vote, so I can be Man of the Year in my own mind.

Carter's out for his adherence to Rockefeller's Capitalism and not admonishing Taiwan about their treatment of the people of that Island Nation. Anita Bryant's anti-gay stance ended her Sunkist Orange Juice reign as spokeswitch, despite her backing from the Silent Majority and the Shah of Iran is in danger of being ousted by the Persian populace, because of SAVAK, his torture squad, and their destruction of moderate dissidents. Reza Mohammed Pahlavi's murderous attempts to modernize his country had been met with outcries from liberals and western TV journalists, but dragging peasants into the future has failed for hundreds of rulers. The people understand their narrow-minded lives and are threatened by any change, especially when any threat to religion and the mullahs despise him for supposedly distribute their ancient holdings to the farmers, although the lands go to the friends of the Shah in payment for their support.

Long live the Shah.

I bet the house on his not seeing out the 70s.

Times appointed Deng Xiaoping, the Chinese Mainland Premier as Man of the Year.

All hail the Revolution and the end to the Gang of Four.

DISASTER OF THE YEAR

Floods and earthquakes desvatated the earth over the twelve months of 1978.

The Jonestown Massacre In Guyana set the massive suicide pact in the jungle apart from every other catastrophe and hopefully the bloated bodies will not be seen in the future.

CHOKE OF THE YEAR

The AL MVP Jim Rice and the Red Sox' team Captain Yaz popped out for outs in the ninth inning with two men on base to lose to the dreaded Yankees in Fenway in the 163rd game of 1978 and the Yanks won the World Series.

JANUARY 1, 2021 - BROOKLYN

I went nowhere last night. I drank nothing. I did no lines of cocaine. I called my families in Thailand. They had enjoyed their evening eating their favorite foods. I can't even remember what I ate.

2021 was not a nothing year.

But I'm lucky to be alive and that's not a small thing.

Thai New Year's Traffic Death Festival 2019

From 2019

The Thai Festival for the end of 2018 has come to an end. The police are are overwhelmed by the traffic, as milliions of Thais travel to the distant provinces to see their families. The holiday death toll reached over 400 with countless thousands injured in car and motorcycle accidents.

Driving drunk is a norm.

Everyone is in a hurry.

And there is no telling what's on the road ahead.

Only Libya has a worst fatality record.

Only space invaders are worse.

Journal Entry - December 31 1977

The last day of 1977.

365 days.

The most important; moving from Boston, Libbie's rejecting me, Ro's leaving for hours before I arrived in New York in a semi-stolen car, and staying her no matter what. I was never going back to the Selma of the North.

On the 7th Avenue Line

I hit bed in the SRO early. The radio was on. The announcer said it was twenty to five. I had missed the stroke of twelve. New Year's at CBGBs. Five vodkas fucked me up....I lay on my whirling bed, wishing the mattress had handles.

Tuesday, December 30, 2025

New Year's Resolutions - 2026

Yesterday a young woman asked, if I had any resolutions for 2026. I was stumped by her query. I tried to think of something to better my life. More money. Yes, more money was a good idea. Only my job selling diamonds ended on Christmas Eve. My savings might last into the next month. If it was only me, I am good for the rest of my days, but I have two distant families. Two wives, five kids, two grandchildren in Thailand. Only two are earning enough to take care of themselves. So make more money is a good resolution. Not going to happen tonight, but tomorrow is another story. The future, The unknown territory to quote Star Trek the Next Generation. Live long and prosper. Chai yo.

WHEN FAT MEN FLY 1978

On the morning of New Year's Eve Sookie and I ferried across the harbor to Staten Island. She loved the boat ride and passing the Statue of Liberty hung on the starboard railing to fall in love with France's gift to America.

The Statue of Liberty was bigger than I remembered from my last trip to New York. Nick met us at the terminal in his Mini-Cooper. He looked splendid in his hippie dealer clothing; patchwork leather jacket and shiny boots. We had breakfast at his parents' house in New Dorp.

His mother fried eggs in bacon fat. I loved them crackling crisp. She fed Sookie, until her tight belly extended over her hiphuggers. The skinny twenty year-old disappeared into the bathroom for several minutes. When she emerged, her face was red and she said, "I need some air."

After lunch Nick drove to Shooter's Island and we smoked a joint among the shore-wrecked tug boats and half-sunken barges. The three of us wandered across the rotting wharves. The water glistened with oil and the faint clouds in the blue sky hinted at an evening snow.

Only a few hours remained in 1971.

"What are you doing tonight?" Nick jumped from a rotting ferry to a half-sunken tugboat.

"No one's playing at the Fillmore, so we're watching the fireworks in Central Park." Wayne had mentioned this alternative.

"And your friend has some more of this reefer" Selling a pound here will pay my rent in Brighton.

"Yes, sure." My outstretched hand guided Sookie over a gap in the planks.

"Sounds like a plan. I'll drive you into the city." Nick climbed onto a stranded pilot boat. We followed him into the shattered wheelhouse. The walls were covered with moss.

"Can't we stay here?" The twenty year-old was in no hurry to get back to Manhattan.

"Why would you want to stay here?" Nick had lived most of his life on this island.

"She's scared of Wayne's friend." I stood at the helm. The wheel was slimy in my hands. "He's a little fat."

"A little fat" He weighs as much as a walrus." Sookie shivered from the cold. "I have a thing about fat people."

"One in a freak show tried to eat her," I joked, but she wasn't smiling.

"The clowns scare me," said Neil

"Clowns are scary?" I had been on the TV show BOZO THE CLOWN three times. I loved him.

"It's called Coulrophobia. One tried to pull me into the ring. I kicked him in the shin. My mother and father laughed and so did everyone else in the audience. The clown called me a little shit under his breath." A long-buried hatred burned his eyes. "I kicked him again. So I understand about the fears, but are you prejudiced against fat people?"

"You ever hear me call Wayne fat?" Sookie was the complete opposite of Wayne's friend. Eddie was probably five times her weight.

"Wayne's not fat."

"He is not thin," countered Nick.

"I don't see him that way."

“I’ve met Wayne.” Nick was a movie buff. “He’s like Ernest Borgnine in FROM HERE TO ETERNITY. Borgnine’s character kills Sinatra for calling him ‘fatso’. And then Montgomery Cliff calls him ‘fatso’ and kills Borgnine.”

“Ernest Borgnine didn’t kill Frank, because he was fat. He killed him because he was mean. Wayne’s not fat.”

“What about Eddie?” Sookie cocked her head to the side.

“He weighs as much as a walrus and will have to drop 200 pounds before he can fly in a glider.”

“Glider?”

“Eddie wants to fly in a glider," I explained to my friend.

“He’s on a cocaine diet. He’ll never lose that weight," Sookie declared with a thin person's disdain for weight.

“Maybe you could teach him how to be thin.”

“What are you saying" That I'm too skinny."

"Not at all."

"Skin and bones. Maybe you don’t like me this way, but I don’t either. Let’s get out of here. I’m cold.”

She stormed away to the shore.

Nick clapped me on the back.

“You certainly have a way with women”

Sookie sulked in the back seat of the Mini-Cooper on the ride to Manhattan. I half-expected her to drive home, but once she was with Marie at Eddie’s apartment, Sookie reverted to herself again. She was even a little affectionate as she changed into tight jeans and a white turtleneck sweater for our excursion to Central Park. I helped her put on the silver necklace, which hung slack on her flat chest.

“I do like the way you look.” I brushed a wandering strand of hair from her face.

“I’m sorry about this afternoon.” She nestled her head into my chest. Her half-nakedness answered most men’s dreams. “I’m scared of fat people. I fear that one day I will be one of them I know it’s not right, but I can’t help it. Later I’ll be a good girl.”

We went into the living room and smoked reefer from a bong. I opened the two bottles of wine. Jolee Wayne showed up in biker gear. Outlaw life ran in Wayne’s family. She opened a bottle of tequila. Everyone had shots. Eddie cut us lines.

Wayne ignored Jolee’s flirting with his girlfriend, as he played DJ with his new LPS. BITCHES BREW lasted one track. The Stooges FUN HOUSE two. Spirit’s 12 DREAMS OF DR. SARDONICUS was our favorite, but at the end of the B-side Marie asked, “When you playing a record we can dance to?”

“Right now.” Wayne cued up Isaac Hayes HOT BUTTERED SOUL. The girls danced go-go style. Nick and I trotted the standard male two-step. Wayne wiggled his legs, doing the ‘funky Chicken’. The Black Moses infected Eddie and he rose from his lounge chair with a groan.

“Damn, I haven’t been on my feet in days. Thank God for cocaine.”

Eddie jelloed in front of the fish tanks and the floor trampolined under his weight. He lifted his arms as far as his shoulders. His face was flushed with blood and he wheezed with every breath. We couldn’t tell if he was about to have a heart attack, until he broke into a smile and sang along with Isaac Hayes. His soprano voice was hilariously out of touch with his 10X body.

“What? No one ever see the hippos dance in FANTASIA.”

“I love FANTASIA.” Sookie pulled Eddie to the middle of the room.

“You’re killing me.” He broadened his stance to support his shifting weight.

The two danced a polka to the Kink’s LOLA. I laughed at the spectacle of a fat man and a skinny girl swirling around the living room. At the song’s end Eddie’s lungs were scorched by the exertion, but he didn’t sit down.

“No way can I walk like a woman, but I can speak like a man.” Eddie lifted his coat from a nail banged into the wall. “It’s 10:30. If we’re going, then we should go.”

Everyone threw on their jackets and climbed down the stairs. Jolee cut out to a dyke bar. The descent for Eddie was more exercise than his body could handle at one time. I bought four bottle of wine before he reached the street. Nick waited by his Mini-Cooper. The girls and Wayne were squashed into the back seat.

“No way I’m getting into that tin can.” Eddie regarded the small car with a claustrophobic horror.

“You’ll fit.” Nick already had the car in 2nd gear, since shifting would be impossible once Eddie was in the car.

“I might fit, but I’ll never get out.”

We pleaded for him to get in the car. Several passers-by watched our circus act. Eddie was not happy with an audience.

“We’re not leaving without you. Get in back.” Nick opened his door and I squiggled underneath Sookie who said to Eddie, “Hurry up or you’ll miss the fireworks.”

Her smile prodded Eddie into a decision against his better judgment. He shrugged his layers of fat and he heaved himself into the passenger seat. The over-loaded Mini-Cooper tilted under his mass like the car might capsize, then it stabilized slanting to the right. A hippie closed the door. We flashed him the peace sign.

“We’re all in.” Nick revved the engine. “Eddie, one favor. No fast moves.”

Nick drove slowly to Central Park, fearing that a single bump in a pothole might tear the suspension off the chassis, but no one ribbed Eddie. He was longer fat. He was only big.

For Sookie too.

She had Eddie under her thumb.

My position was no longer # 1.

I kissed her on the back of the neck and she trembled on my lap.

New Year’s revelers surged through the 5th Avenue entrance across from the Plaza Hotel. The cops had erected a barricade across the road. Nick showed them this father’s MD pass. They waved us into the park and we drove to the boathouse. It was quarter to 1971.

Eddie got out of the front seat, breathless after this epic effort. We helped him over to a park bench with a clear view of the lake. Strains of rock music faded and rose on the wind. People headed in its direction. One group of hippies ridiculed Eddie.

I glared at them to shut up.

Eddie motioned for me to let it go. He was used to the abuse. The air whooshed in and out of his lungs. It seemed like another ten steps might kill him and he stopped by a bench, saying “You go on without me.”

“No way.” Wayne helped Eddie sit down. Nick pulled some blankets out of Mini-Cooper. I opened the bottles of Boone Farm. Wayne lit up joints. Sookie cuddled closer to me for warmth. Her body was starved for heat. Nick draped us with a quilt.

“All we need is a fire and we could have a picnic.” Nick rubbed his hands together.

“Try some of this to get warm.” Sookie handed him a small bottle of tequila. We each had a nip. The alcohol boiled in our stomachs. Eddie was about to light another joint, when a cop appeared behind him.

He was about our age.

Young.

“That looks like marijuana.” His nightstick tapped the bench.

“It is.” Eddie craned his neck without being able to see the officer.

“The rest of you hippie scum holding?” The thin cop beamed a flashlight in our eyes and seized Eddie's coat.

Other longhairs gathered around us.

“No, just me.” Eddie admitted his guilt. “You can arrest me and I’ll resist the only way I know. By being heavy. But if you shine us on, we’ll wish you a Happy New Year.”

“Let the big man go free!” one longhair shouted and the crowd chanted for Eddie’s release. The cop surveyed the shadows for back up. He was outnumbered 50-1. His hand twitched on his holstered .38, then an older cop pushed through the hippies and assessed the scene with veteran eyes.

“Is that a joint in your hand?” His flashlight shined on the reefer.

“Yes, officer.” Eddie excelled at playing ‘good boy’.

“And my partner wants to arrest you for possession.” He flicked off the light.

“That’s correct, officer.”

“You put away the joint.” He lifted his open hands to show this problem wasn’t a problem. “My partner and I will leave you alone.”

“Thank you, officer.” Eddie put the joint inside his coat and nodded his gratitude. “And Happy New Year.”

“Same to you.” The older cop escorted his fellow officer from the bench and the mob parted for the policemen to leave the area. The hippies cheered Eddie and two seconds later the first rocket for the fireworks arced into the night sky.

It was 1971.

The pyrotechnic display lasted a good half-hour and Eddie cried at the finale.

“What’s wrong?” Wayne stood by his friend.

“I haven’t been out of the apartment in so long I forgot what it’s like to be around people. To be with friends.” Eddie struggled to his feet and dried his eyes. “I don’t want my eyelids to freeze shut.”

“Eddie, you don’t have to stay in the apartment all the time.” Wayne was half Eddie’s size. His problems with weight were manageable.

“I can barely walk to the Mini-Cooper.” His steps were tentative, as if he expected the earth to crumple beneath his feet. “You should have seen me at Woodstock. I reached the rim of the crowd and gave up getting any closer. Wayne stayed with me the entire time.”

“It was nothing.” Wayne had never mentioned this sacrifice. He always spoke about the festival, as if he had been in the front row.

“You had to stick with me instead of seeing all those bands.” Eddie pounded his chest with his fists.

“I heard the music.” Wayne seized Eddie’s wrists. His hands barely reached halfway around the thick joints. “Plus Woodstock was more than the music. It was about peace and love.”

“Horseshit. I’m trapped in this body, but I wasn’t this way always. Chubby, but not fat like this, and when I was 12, I ate a Devil’s Dog. It was so good I would do anything to get them. I started dealing drugs on Jerome Avenue to finance my eating habits. Within two years I weighed 200. By the time I was 18 I was over 300. I have no idea how much I weigh now.”

Eddie was on the verge of crying. Wayne slipped under Eddie’s arm to steady him and I held his other side. He tried to shake us off, except his sense of balance wandered with every step.

“I’m a big fat fuck and I’ll never be able to get into a glider.”

“Shut up, Eddie.” Sookie stood in front of us. “Sure when I first saw you, I thought you were a big fat fuck, but you have a good heart. Fly or not fly, it’s not the end of the world. You’ll still be our friend. Do you really want to fly?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll help you starve. It's my specialty.” Sookie caressed his face. “Starting tomorrow.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was already tomorrow and said, “You have to start someplace.”

“I guess so.”

We drove back to St. Mark’s Place. Nick returned to Staten Island. We stood on the sidewalk. Eddie’s eyes were fixed on the 24-hour diner down the street. He turned to his apartment instead. We had to speak about anything else other than his hunger. Marie helped us push Eddie up the stoop. Wayne was red in the face. He wasn’t in such good shape either.

The climb to the 4th floor exhausted Eddie and he collapsed into the lounge chair like it was a sarcophagus. Wayne headed into the back bedroom and fell asleep without saying a single word. I read Kerouac’s ON THE ROAD. The girls went into the kitchen and it was a good 30 minutes before Eddie noticed Sookie and Marie emptying the cabinets and refrigerator.

“What are you doing?” he asked without any real desire to hear the answer.

“Cleaning out the junk food.” Marie held up ten bags of potato chips.

“You have to eat less and eat good. No more shit.” Sookie dumped the cookies into the trash.

“What will I live on?”

“Vegetables, fruit, no bread.” Sookie held up a shriveled lemon.

“That’s been here since I moved in.”

“It’s mummified.” Sookie dropped the lemon on top of the cookies. “Eddie, you want to be the fat fuck you are today? Maybe even fatter? You want that?”

“No.”

“You said the magic number was 200 pounds.”

“Yes.” Eddie had become her faithful slave.

“In six months.”

“Yes.”

“If you’re really serious, because if you are, then I’ll help you. And you’re asking why. You know I was scared of you at first. Scared because you reminded me of a freak show fat man. I was so scared by that man that I told myself I never wanted to be fat and stopped eating normal. I don’t eat. Same as you always eat. Opposite, but the same too.” Sookie peered into his eyes, as if to touch his heart.

“How can you help me?” Eddie was eying the cookies in the garbage cam. “You live in Boston.”

“What if I lived in New York?”

“Live in New York?” I had seen us in a Commonwealth Avenue apartment.

“I hate my home town. New York is more me,” Sookie said to me, then turned to Eddie. “My parents will understand. I have all my stuff in the back of the car. I have money. I can pay you rent. I’ll get a job too.”

“Helping me lose weight will be enough of a job.” Eddie’s reservation was an act of preservation for his fat.

“It’ll be easy.” Sookie flipped her hair off her shoulder. “I know how to not eat, remember.”

“Just yesterday you were scared of Eddie.” This didn’t make any sense. She had been horrified by Eddie. I almost loved her.

“That was yesterday. Today is a brand new year.”

“What about your car?”

“It’ll stay here with me. It's a good size for Eddie.”

“Great.” My exit should have a slammed door, instead I pushed through the beaded curtains and flopped on the sofa bed.

A second later Sookie followed and shut out the light. I didn’t plan on saying a word. She was a free human being. Her shirt came off first. Her finger and index finger popped open the brass buttons of her pants. Each one made a small noise. She used both hands to slink from the leather. Her skimpy panties were white. Sookie sat on the bed next to me with bony arms across her chest.

“This isn’t about you and me.” The hushed words couldn’t travel farther than the sofa. “This is about me. I want to live in New York. You probably do too, but you have to go to college.”

My draft number was 39. College kept me out of the army and I didn’t want to kill any Vietnamese.

“If you sell that pot fast, then you have all the more reason to visit me.” She undid the buttons of my shirt. Her fingernails grazed my skin. “And now I’ll show you one more.”

I lost my virginity that night.

Wayne wore a big grin in the morning.

“Everything cool"”

“I’m not sure.” I signaled Eddie and I had some talking to do.

“We have a problem?” Eddie was barely awake.

“No problem as long as you don’t give any cocaine to her.”

“I’ll try, but this is a free country.” He glanced at Sookie.

“I’m not into coke.” She sat on the sofa. It swallowed her whole. “It’s cool. Really.”

She was right. Everything was cool.

Two days later Sookie found a job at a used-clothing store. We made love again every morning and night.

On January 3rd Nick picked up Wayne, Marie, and me in his Mini-Cooper. I sold him a pound for $160. The second I sold to the other taxi drivers in Boston and the following week I returned to New York for two more pounds. Eddie was eating vegetables and fruit. Sookie ate bread.

“I could use the weight.” She had gained five pounds in a week.

“Nice.” She was more comfortable in bed with the extra flesh.

“What about me?" Eddie pulled on his loose shirt.

“You’re a shadow of your former self.”

That evening Sookie and I saw Buddy Miles and Big Brother at the Fillmore. We ate steamed vegetables with Eddie. In bed she was different from before. I didn’t ask why she closed her eyes. Some questions are better left unasked by those not wanting the answers and I certainly did not want to know any answers from a naked woman in 1971.

Description:Despite the threat of a mass transit strike that could leave them without transportation home at the stroke of midnight, New Yorkers gathered in droves at Central Park’s Bethesda Fountain on December 31, 1971.

The Comeback of the Rourke - 2008

Working at nightclubs I met a lot of people. The good, the bad, and in-between. Famous, infamous, and nobodies. Sometimes I had no idea who was who. I tried to stop Mick Jagger from entering Hurrah. A beard hid his face. His bodyguard Tony steered me right. I later refused Meryl Strep entry to the Mudd Club on orders from the owner, Steve Maas. It wasn't hard. I didn't like her in THE FRENCH LIEUTENANT'S WOMAN.

In Paris at Le Nouvelle Eve an old boxer arguing with the cashier about free admission to the dance club. SomEthing said he had been a champion years ago. I asked him why he and his two lady friends It was a cold night and the two women wore puffy should enter without paying, telling him I'd accept any and all explanations. I liked boxers. He responded by insulting the land of my birth.

"Putain Amerlot."

"You got that right, fucking Americans." I glanced back at the two women. The blonde looked familiar. The nightclub owner was standing by the bar. Serge, my friend. Watching.

"Te oncule."

Working the door in France and Germany I had heard 'fuck you' many times in both languages. The boxer's face had been battered by fists. Mine too. Even at fifty he was tougher than me and I respected him, offering him an out in my grammar school French. "All you have do is say you're a friend of Moses or Charlesmagne and I'll let you and your two ladies in for free. I'll even throw in free drinks."

"Putain Amerlot."

I had had enough and told him to leave,

"And take those two old doormats with you."

After the trio's departure Serge approached me.

"Explain to me why you threw out Brigitte Bardot."

"Brigitte Bardot." I loved her in AND GOD CREATED WOMEN. Even more so in CONTEMPT. I dreamed about her as a boy. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, I recognized the film goddess from behind. She was older, less blonde, and wearing a frumpy down coat.

"I had no idea who she was."

"Quais, putain Amerlot."

Serge didn't fire me. Like I said we were friends, however a week later Mickey Rourke showed up at the club with ten friends. Mostly young junkies from the Bains-Douches. We never let them in for free. I made an exception this time. Serge came up to me.

"No Brigitte Bardot, but hello Mssr. Rourke." He never let me forget this error in judgment and it remains a joke between us till this day. Serge laughed all the harder, as the American actor slipped down the ranks from his heyday, although we both agreed on his best line.

"Drinks for my friends." Mickey Rourke called out in Barbet Schroeder's BARFLY.

It seemed to be a line he must have said in real life too. Bad movies, a worse choice for a plastic surgeon. He was banned from Hollywood, except under a mask like for SIN CITY, however Mickey Rourke had resurrected his career by starring in the Golden Lion winner of the Venice Film Festival, Darren Aronofsky's "The Wrestler".

"A guy like me changes hard, I didn't want to change, but I had to change."

Same as the rest of us.

I still loved Brigitte Bardot for CONTEMPT, but less so for her conversion to Fascism. Sad she could have been a saint. And maybe she is for Le National Front. Je sais rien des eux.

Monday, December 29, 2025

Journal Entry December 29, 1977

1977 is almost finished. I sat with Georg at One-Fifth. His teen queen had just walked out on him. He raised his glass and said, "Here's to 1978."

We clinked glasses and he added, "We haven't fucked up a single of day of 1978."

"Not yet, and it won't take long."

After finishing our drinks we went to Veronica's party and once more Nina, the Nordic Valkyrie, flirted sexually by rubbing my thigh and even higher. I knew this was heading nowhere, but frustration, and she said, "You're so cold."

She opened her shirt and forced my head to her breasts.

"That's, because you're so cold to me."

"You call this cold." She stroked my penis under my jeans. I got hard.

Elvis came on the record player and someone tried to change the 45.

"Don't do that," I shouted and the person shrugged, as if it really didn't matter what was playing

Nina looked at me with surprise.

"I didn't know you were into Elvis."

"I wore black for three days after his death."

"I've changed my mind about you. You love Elvis same as me."

She stood up and straddled my groin, lifting her skirt. She wasn't wearing any panties. Her breasts rode my shoulders, as her pelvis rubbed against my belly. This was a complete mismatch and I bet she had a large cunt. She took me in the bathroom and proved I was wrong.

@ the St. Marks Cinema

During the showing of EASY RIDER Georg said, "I can get over Maria. I know we weren't meant forever, but you know she really hurt me. I didn't know that she could."

"Sorry, but both of you were seeing someone else or elses and that doesn't say you care for someone."

"Not in 1977."

Hurt me.
Make me pain
So I will remember our love
Our lives don't exist when we are together
Just the feel of you completes me
Hurt and pleasure
The two feel good
When you are strong
And even better weak___

I LOVE BRIGITTE: a collection of short stories by Peter Nolan Smith

The Cote d’Azur stretching along the Mediterranean from Ventimiglia to St. Tropez has been populated since before the Bronze Age, but the French actress Brigitte Bardot renewed interest in the Riviera with her debut appearance as a sultry teenager in the 1956 film ET DIEU…CREA LA FEMME.

That summer the blonde sensation adorned every magazine cover in the USA and her body screamed out French from movie posters.

I dreamed of Brigitte Bardot and St. Tropez for months.

I was four years old.

I still dream of her.

Sometimes in my sleep.

The White Wedding.

Some things never change.

To read I LOVE BRIGITTE: a collection of short stories by Peter Nolan Smith

Please go to the following URL https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01IL91UIM

La Belle France

Paris is an amazing city, but it has been renown for the beauty of women living there throughout time. Here is a collection of movie stars. They lit up our lives.

Catherine Deneuve

Brigitte Bardot

Sophie Marceau

Marie Trintignan

Carole Bouquet

Dominique Sanda

Isabelle Adjani

Of course there's no mention of Franciose Hardy.

The only Yeh-Yeh girl of France.

I loved the 60s.

New Year's Eve 2007 Pattaya

On the afternoon of December 31, 2007 heavy lorries, pick-up trucks and 125cc motorcycles with sidecars exited from the distributor at the end of my soi with thousands of beers every minute. Thousands of Thai and farang tourists were flocking into the city for the year's final drunk in the beach resort's countless bars, go-gos, hotels, and brothels from Jomtien to Naklua.

"What are you doing tonight?" Sam Royalle asked on my porch in the shade of a Norfolk pine. He had been out the previous night with our friends and couldn't remember coming home. His skin exuded a sheen of excess alcohol.

"Nothing." I planned on avoiding the debauch in the Last Babylon and falling asleep before the TV during a Star Trek ENTERPRISE marathon. The mozzies from the swamp in the backyard will party with my feet during my unconscious state.

Nothing?"

"Sounds good to me." I had worked in nightclubs through the 70s, 80s, and 90s. My fellow workers referred to 12/31 as 'amateur's night' and the same stupid behavior of fights, accidents, and stupid conversations held as true for Pattaya as it did in New York, London, Paris, or LA. "I'm giving it a miss. My wife is going out with her friends though, so I get to care back of my daughter. We're going to watch the fireworks from my garden."

"Have a party." Sam was a family man and understood kids came first. He drove off my his scooter in the direction of home.

My wife left the house at 8:30 without any good-byes. Angie didn't care. She and I had KFC and played rodeo on the bed. We had a glass of Pepsi and watched some more Star Trek. It put both of us to sleep before 10. I was dead sober.

I heard the fireworks and tried to open my eyes.

Not a chance.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

What has happened to my wickedness?

Children. Tonught was Angie's birthday. I was gratefull for her in my life.

They tend to rescue a bad man's soul.

Better them than the devil.

Journal Entry - December 30, 1977

After waking up late Georg and I walked from our SRO hotel on West 11th Street to the East Village. The setting sun only lit the highest buildings like One-Fifth.

Shit,"he said, "I've lost another day."

"I know. We never see the sun."

"The only sun I see is only TV and my TV's Black-and-white."

"We're becoming vampires, living only a night. Lucky there's a lot of night this time of the year. All of us have trouble sleeping." "You do. I do. Freddie does. And I've never seen Tony sleep." Georg lifted his eyes to the fading sunlight. "Maybe it's living at that place." The SRO housed a collection of minimal achievers. Fwew of us had steady jobs and those that had nine-to-fives were earning a fortune.

"No, I've had trouble sleeping since I was young. My mother too. But we have to straighten this out. I'd like to get up at least by 12, so I see some of the day."

"My New Year's resolution is to rise by 8 and make the rounds of auditions and meet agents." Georg was a good actor, but no one saw his late-night comdy routine other than his friends from the SRO. None of us had any contacts in nightclubs.

"Yes, wake at 8 and go back to sleep until noon." I could write poetry any hour of the day, but it was also unsettling that the only daylight I saw was at dawn.

My skin was the color of parchment paper like blood avoided my veins. I spent my hours after work at Serendipity III with the other near-dead at an after-hour bar; drunkards, whores done their last tricks, queers prowling the Hudson docks, waitresses getting off work, punks, discoers, and the hospital staff. We all share the deepest night.

@Astor Place

Drinking free coffee and my nerves are shot. Only two days remain in 1977, the year of double 7s, an impossible crap roll, since the dice only have six sides.

Swaying thighs catch my eyes. I follow her up the blonde up the block to a bar She hasn't noticed my espionage, then she turns and her green eyes engage mine I politely say 'hello' even though I have intruded on her solitude. She says, "Let's go to my place." I can't believe she said that And she asks, "Do you follow women much?' "No, you're the first." At her place she is silent and beautiful Never saying a word After the act I dress Her body is relaxed. She yawns Her parted thighs moist from me I leave and resume my watch on the city Waiting for ships and women at night

I ask no favor from anyone. I'm a lowly busboy. I will quit in a week's time. To end my base servitude.

BRIGITTE NEVER GETS OLD

Ten years ago I returned to New York after a long time in Thailand. Culture shock had been minimalized by staying at my friend's $3 million Fort Greene brownstone, however after a week I had acclimatized to fat people with loud voices, young people walking with cellphones in their hands, and the lack of serious conversation. My biographer called and asked me to recount the circumstances of my exile from the Land of Smiles.

"Come meet me at Lucien’s on 1st Avenue. I'm interviewing Taylor Meade.” Dannett was a man about town. He had been a child star as a child. As a man he was still a boy and so was I.

I showed up late. The beat poet had drunk a bottle of whiskey. Dannett was conversing with a young Russian boy, Chad, who was clearly smitten with the respected obituarist’s infectious joi du mots. The magic of Dannett's perpetual youth had that effect on some people and the bon vivant introduced me with an ornate flourish, "Meet my new protege. He likes older women."

"Why doesn't he like older men?" Taylor Meade was upset with the inattention.

"Older women are more intellectual than older men."

"How's that?" I asked in search of finding an answer to why I had divorced my feeling for a married woman madly in love with me.

"Because older men are only interested in younger cock." Chad was street smart which Taylor and I both admired.

"Older men are rarely interested in anything older than themselves." My Thai wife was 24. She was pregnant with my son. I had come back to America to make another fortune. The last had been blown overseas.

"But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter," the angelic boy quoted Rimbaud and purported himself like a gentleman.

"I prefer 'I have stretched ropes from steeple to steeple; garlands from window to window; golden chains from star to star, and I dance' It's a little more cheerful." Dannett had a repertoire of quotes memorized as a child actor.

Taylor and I contested their quotes by emptying our glasses, but I was jealous of Dannett's protege. He was 23 and looked 12. His life was life ahead of him. I was almost three times his age and no one had called me young in decades.

"An older women like cut cock," I interjected from behind a glass of wine. We laughed, as Chad assessed the intent of the statement. None of us expected him to say, "That's anti-Semitic."

"Anti-Semitic?" I was having none of this. "Chad, what does a cut cock have to do with anti-Semitism."

"Jews have their penises cut." His cheeks burned with indignation of the supposed slight.

"I was just joking."

"Jokes like that are meant for the Twentieth Century." Americans and especially young ones had lost their sense of humor after the indoctrination of political correctness.

"Lighten up, unless the mohel schobbed off too much prepuce at your Bris. You know that the mohel was buried with all the foreskin he had ever cut off?"

"Prepuce." Chad had never heard the term.

"Yes, the foreskin of Jesus." The Holy Bris of Jesus was reputed to have been preserved in a jar of spikenard and this relic has passed hands throughout the royalty of Europe. "They rubbed it for good luck and it turned into a suitcase without any wheels."

After this quip Chad excused himself from the table. Taylor followed him to the bathroom, looking to get lucky wiht the younger man, while Dannett admonished me for riding him a little hard, however I do believe in the Freedom of Speech unlike France, whose courts had been seeking a $23,500 fine against the withered beauty, Brigitte Bardot, for inciting anti-Muslim hatred in her letter to the then Interior Minister Nicholas Sarkosy accusing the nation’s #1 minority of destroying French Culture by not listening to Johnny Hallyday or eating crepes.

I shut off Dannett's lighthearted harangue and drank my wine, thinking that maybe Chad could help her with this problem. After all he has a thing for older women, as do I, especially blue-haired heiresses dipped in Botox, then again I’m no gentleman and Brigitte Bardot never gets old in AND GOD CREATED WOMEN, except in CONTEMPT in which she was only 29 and I was eleven. Way to young to be with her, but never to young to dream.