The Xmas Drunk

I had a great job over the holidays being invited to Xmas parties as the Xmas Drunk. $500 an appearance and all I could drink. Bad behavior was a must. Insulting the boss was a showstopper. Punching out the hated brother-in-law was most requested extra. $100/punch. Insulting a wife's obesity was a secret request by many husbands. I refused this boon. Punching a jerk is one thing. Hurting a fat woman's feelings is bad taste.

Big Dave from the diamond exchange was my back-up in case a situation spun out of hand. I knew the limits. Big Dave never had to save my ass.

None of my clients knew my real name. I was always James Steele.

"Who was that drunk guy?" Most guests asked at the end of a successful performance.

"The Xmas Drunk." The host would answered with pride. I made everyone feel good about getting drunk.

My popularity increased as the shopping days shrunk to single digits. I couldn't handle the demand. I boosted my rate to $200/hour. No one complained about my performance. By December 21st I was at the top of my game.

At a Hedge Fund soiree atop a skyscraper I ambushed the ruling CEO in the bathroom. I pointed a gun at him. Actually it was only a finger in my suit pocket. The capitalist fool was drunk enough to not question me.

Either that of very guilty.

I accused this czar of finance of impoverishing the world. He swore that he was simply doing his job.

"I'll give you a check for a million if you let me go."

"Money means nothing to the Xmas Drunk." I grabbed him by his tie and dragged him into the main office, where his fellow execs ridiculed his surrender to a besotted revolutionary. At most parties people were people. Here these investment bankers consider themselves better than anyone else. I left to applause and superglued shut the doors of the office. They didn't get out until 3am.

The next morning I received a complaint from the banker who had hired me.

"What do you expect from the Xmas Drunk? Emily Post manners. Fuck off." I had a wicked hang-over. I probably should have apologized, but he had paid me in cash. Everyone did, because there's only one person worst than the Xmas Drunk and that the guy trying to seek revenge by stiffing me, so I'm a strictly cash enterprise and the Xmas Drunk knows where these jerks live.

Being naughty and not nice all part of the Xmas Drunk's job.

His co-workers laughed at his surrender to the Xmas The only downside was that I had to be drunker than anyone else at the party so the family members and guests and co-workers could say the next morning, "At least I wasn't as drunk as the Xmas drunk."

I didn't have the heart to say that I was faking it.

Nothing says asshole better than the Xmas drunk.

You Bet I Would # 4

A little white trash with that lap dance?

She ain't no cheerleader.

Buddy Ryan - Quote of the Day

"If Plan B was so good why wasn't it Plan A?" Buddy Ryan NFL Football Coach

The Cost of Morality

In 1977 a Beacon Hill lawyer hired me to vanish his gas-guzzling Oldsmobile. $300 to never seen the Detroit pig again. It was grand-theft auto, but the risk was minimal. He'd report the car stolen the next day and collect on the insurance within a month.

I had disappeared three of his friend's lemons during the winter. My technique was to drive the car to New York and park them along the West Side Highway. I'd chuck the plates in the Hudson and leave the keys in the ignition. This was my last job, because I was leaving Boston to share my life with a starry-eyed painter in Brooklyn Heights.

There was no looking back. I had quit my teaching job at South Boston High School, emptied my basement apartment in Brookline, and called Ro to tell her that I was coming her way. My future as a poet married to an artist ended when her roommate told me that she had departed for Paris in the morning. He shut the door in my face and I didn't blame him. he was her ex-boyfriend.

My two options were to return to Boston in heart-broken defeat or stick it out in New York. My decision was settled by a phone call to James Spicer, who was the manager for the jazz pianist Cecil Taylor. I had $600 in my pocket and James had a spare bedroom in Park Slope.

I spent most of the rest of my life in New York, which wasn't easy for a Boston fan. I watched Bucky Dent's home run at the Empire Hotel and Bill Buckner's error at the Milk Bar on lower 7th Avenue. While these two games against the Yankees and Mets were bitter defeats, the late 70s, 80s, and 90s were not kind to Boston fans anywhere.

Only the Boston Celtics brought us to the promised land in the mid-80s. The Bruins languished as almsot-rans in the NHL. The Patriots came close on two occasions to be blown out in the Spuer Bowl two times against the Bears and the Packers. The Celtics descended into chaos under the coaching of Rick Pitino and ML Carr. Despite the lack of success I remained true to my home teams and was rewarded by the Red Sox's miraculous shucking of the Babe Ruth Curse in 2004 and the Celtics' winning the 2008 NBA championship.

The true glory belonged to the Patriots, winners on 3 Super Bowl. They would have won a 4th in 2008 if it weren't for Placido Burgess' incredible catch in the last minute of regulation. I had seen the game in Thailand. Early morning. The only Boston fan at the bar. The New Yorkers hooted with joy. They are poor losers and even worse winners. My business failed later that winter and I returned to New York with $100 in my pocket.

There was no thought of making a new start in Boston.

That city might be deep in my blood, but I don't like living in the past. My friend AP offered me a soft landing at his brownstone in Fort Greene. Richie Boy and Manny gave me my old job on 47th Street selling diamonds. Same salary as when I left in 2000, which was better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick. Everyone in the exchange was a Giants or Jets fan. As much as the Giants win rankled my pride, the Patriots' true NFL rival was the Jets. Their fans clutched onto Jim Namath's stunning upset over the Baltimore Colts in 1969 like the Holy Roman Emperor Otto IV. He had continued to sleep with his teenage bride for 13 years after her death. They seemed no threat to the Patriots' domination of the AFC East, even though their record improved from 4-12 in 2007 to 11-5 this season.

Our two teams met twice in the regular season. The Jets winning the first and the Patriots routing New York in the rematch. The Jets barely made the playoffs, but their road victory over the Colts forced a rubber match in the quarterfinals. The Jets were a brash team. Their coach a fat big mouth. Trash talking was the order of the week for the Jets. Almost no one of the Patriots bothered to respond to the attacks. Their coach Bill Belichik was the strong quiet dignified type. His squad did their talking on the field and the Jets were underdogs, even though both teams were even matched across the board.

That was the case until Old Bill announced the benching of his star receiver for his comments about the wife of the Jet's coach. She was into foot fetishism. His calling the Jet's Rex Ryan's foot soldiers was a cardinal sin in the playoffs.

"Never say anything that might piss off the opposing team."

Old Bill sat the wide receiver for the first series, which ended in an interception without his favorite target on the field. Tom Brady never looked sharp during the first half. Old Bill's punishing Welsey Welker had fucked with his head and the rest of the game Old Bill fucked up time and time again. The Jets won the game 28-21 and all because Old Bill took the high road.

Obviously he had not forgotten Vince Lombardi's old adage.

"Winning isn't everything. It's the only thing."

Football coaches are sometimes stupidly poetic.

Of course Old Bill apologized for nothing.

And now when I come back from this short family visit to Thailand, I will only be able to say, "Wait until next year."

Thanks Old Bill.

Halfway Around the World

The first recorded circumnavigation of the world was completed by Magellan's fleet in 1522. The Portugese explorer's trip ended in a bloody beach battle in the Philippines. Of the five ships and 237 men only 18 survived this epic journey thank to the captaincy of Juan Sebastián Elcano. His name is forgotten by the masses, who have mostly forgotten Magellan too, however the spices in the hold of the Navidad reaped a fortune for the investors and world-wide travel was established to conduct trade between the far-flung nations of the world.

Ships from New England crisscrossed the globe for centuries. My great-grand-aunt Bert sailed in her father's clipper ship to exotic ports in the Orient. Her house in Falmouth Foresides was crowded with mementos from China, India, Hawaii, and Japan. She lived to be 103. At her 100th birthday she told me with a voice dusted by time, "Siam was the most beautiful place I ever went, but the women there all had black teeth from chewing betel nut."

No one else the next two generation accomplish this feat, although my Uncle Russ invaded Japan, Uncle Dave fought in the naval battles off Biak, and my Uncle Jack fought his way out of Korea's Chosin reservoir. Two Christmases ago he told my cousin and me about shooting hundreds of Chinese and losing dozens of friends.

"I never had any interest in ever going back to that continent." The 80 year-old ex-Marine Lieutenant wiped away several tears from his eyes and lifted a glass of whiskey. Jamison. We toasted his bravery and he put down his drink. "Took our ship almost a month to reach Japan. How long is the flight now?"

"About 22 to 25 hours." I have tried every variant of the trip.

Over the pole. East to West. West to East. There's nothing short about the flights.

"Although Thai Airway used to have a 17 hour non-stop ticket from JFK to Bangkok." My legs were swollen from the high-altitude pressure and I hobbled from the 747 like a broken-down horse.

"I can stand being on a plane for a minute." Uncle Jack's wife, my aunt, hated flying. They were very well-off, but during their 70s they only traveled by bus.

"I have no choice." My children live over in Thailand. A sea voyage would take months and Manny, my boss on the diamond exchange on 47th Street, doesn't permit me the luxury of long vacation. At 83 he needs as much help as possible, but understands the call of family having raised four children of his own.

Upon his return from a two-week holiday in the holy city of Miami Beach, Manny looked at the calendar and said, "Go see your kids. Leave on the next flight and come back before the show in Florida."

His son Richie Boy was traveling south for a trade show. I usually organized the packing of the jewelry. There was no way of asking for a few extra days, so I planned an early departure and called PanExpress Travel to book a flight. Every flight on the better airlines were sold-out, leaving only China Air and Korean Air.

The first had the worst in-flight food on ancient 747s. My last trip with Korean Air wasn't much better. A horror show 747 out of the 60s, however Sonny, the travel agent, said, "Kprean Air much better now. Fly new 777s and have new airport. Only $1205 and the flight leaves tomorrow."

"Make it a green light." I thought Sonny might be lying. I had no choice. "Korean Air."

I called Mem with the news. We hadn't seen each other in 6 weeks. She was unhappy with her living situation. Her aunt was calling Fenway, my son, a bad boy and my wishes for him to be a superstar would be shattered by such negativism.

"We're moving house as soon as I land."

These words made Mem happy. Nothing she loves more than her three kids. I rank a good #4.

That night I drank beer at Franks and in the morning headed out to JFK on the A train. I passed through the TSA security without a problem and walked to the gate fearing the worst. Something was wrong with the plane. It wasn't a hump=backed 747. Our sky-cruiser was a new Super 777. Decent food. Good seats. Pretty stewardesses. Scads of entertainment.

Even better was Inchoen Airport.

Brand new.

A 2 hour lay-over.

Then another 777 to Bangkok.

28 hours door to door. Fenway was asleep on the bed. Mem kissed me once. I joined them in dreamland. I beat Magellan by three years and congratulated myself on finding a new route to the Orient. My name won't be in any history books, then again no one remembers Juan Sebastián Elcano. At least no one I know.

Obama's Speech

Sometimes the best things to do in a moment of chaos is shut up and listen. - James Steele

To hear Obama's Speech please go to the following URL on BBC News

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-12179336

Squares

At one time I thought that the world would consist of long-hairs driving GTOs with skinny blondes at their side. The music on the radio was Grand Funk Railroad. Once I graduated from college my delusion of grandeur narrowed to an aspiration of driving a motorcycle around the Lower East Side high on heroin with a raven-haired temptress. Paris with a movie starlet. Blonde thin and a good cook. Our car was a Fiat. Thailand. A go-go girl. Yamaha 400 cc. Beach sun beer. Forever cool.

Sadly my friends along the way have become square.

They worry about their position. They think they are important. Some of them really are VIP. Some of them could call a number. The next hour I would be dead.

If I was someone other than who I am that might be true.

But I have remained faithful to my code of ethics.

"No commercial value. No sellout."

Those are the words of James Steele and he knows the truth.

He ain't no square.