FALL FOR YOU LONG TIME

Thais have an excuse for everything as seen in this tale from the Old Roue of Bangkok.

Here’s a classic for the ages. My little pole dancer, Oy, was supposed to come see me tonite. But…

“Cannot come tonight.”

“Why not?”

“I have accident.”

“Bad?”

“Very bad.”

“What did you do?”

“Hurt my leg.”

“Motorbike?”

“Fell off the stage.”

If it's not one thing then it's another.

How Hot Was It?

"How hot was it?" Ed McMahon.

"It was so hot, the musicians were snorting ice cubes." Johnny Carson

The master.

Mr. Beller's Neighborhood Reading Series at Happy Ending!

Mr. Beller's Neighborhood Reading Series at Happy Ending!

Located at 302 Broome St. in the Lower East Side.

This Friday - July 22, 8 PM - 10 PM

Readers include Peter Nolan Smith, Robin Kilmer and Royal Young and JB McGeever

Hosted by Mr. Beller's Neighborhood's managing editor, Connor Gaudet .

Come out. Hear stories. Have fun.

I'll be reading my tale of the NYC blackout of 1978.

TRASH FIORUCCI

The Attack of Hotzillah

The swelling belly of the heat wave straddling the Bible Belt has been predicted to hit New York City this weekend. Local weathermen are warning the citizens of the Tri-State region that temperatures could top 100 on Friday and maybe even higher on Saturday and Sunday without any release from the torrid hot on Monday.

Dust clouds blanketed Phoenix.

Chicago closed its beaches due to the dense fog covering Lake Michigan.

Iowa recorded a heat index of 125 F.

And Hotzillah is coming our way and there are numerous precautions that the citizens should take to protect family and friends.

The high heat is particularly dangerous to the very young and very old as well as the sick and obese.

Protect your loved ones with an AC.

Close the doors of unused rooms.

Lower your curtains and shades to block the sunlight.

Fans are a plus.

Drink water. Lots of water. No soda. No sugar drinks.

Put bottles of water in the refrigerator and put the chilled containers between your legs to chill your blood.

Avoid the sun like a vampire. Walk in the shade. Wear a hat and lightly colored loose clothing.

Eat watermelon and avoid any unnecessary exertion.

Another aids is ice in beer. It's good for you.

As a last resort head north.

The temperature in St. John Newfoundland is 65 and rainy.

Another One Bites The Dust.

Once the Mudd Club closed at 4am, most of the post-punk clientele scurried home to the East Village, Tribeca, or Soho. Those with money in their pockets prolonged the evening with a stop at Dave’s Luncheonette on Broadway. Tuxedo Moon had performed on the small stage that night. My girlfriend and I had invited the singer to join us at Dave's.

The three of us entered the crowded greasy spoon and sat at the counter. All the tables were filled by our friends. The waitress knew our orders. Mine was a greasy cheeseburger on toast. The guy from Tuxedo Moon wanted a grilled cheese sandwich. My hillbilly girlfriend went for a chocolate shake. Alice was a vegetarian. She looked like a very young Shirley MacLaine. I loved THE APARTMENT. Alice could have been cast as the elevator girl in the remake. I was no Jack Lemmon. She wanted her name in bright lights and conversed with the musician about their attempts to hit the big time. NO TEARS FOR CREATURES OF THE NIGHT was a hit for us. It got no play on the radio.

The musician spoke to Alice, as if I was a stranger at the counter. Alice ignored me in a starstruck trance. The musician was big time in our crowd. I ate my cheeseburger and blinked in the harsh light of the luncheonette. The musician seemed to expect me to leave the two of them alone.

Alice was my girlfriend.

She was coming home with me.

Their conversation meandered from music to acting to her school to her home in West Virgina.

"I've been to West Virginia." The musician signaled the waitress for another glass of water.

"You have?" Alice's interest revved up, because no one on the East Coast was familiar with her home state. I had spent the summer painting her father's house in Charleston. The paint had splattered over his plants. Her old man thought I was sloppy.

"Yes, we were driving from a gig in Nashville to Pittsburgh. It was wintertime. The highway was really foggy."

"The hollows get thick with mist that time of year." Alice loved her state.

"None of us wanted to pay for a hotel so we drove through the night and around dawn we came over hill. I didn’t see the crash until it was too late.”

“You drive into the cars?” Alice was enthralled by mayhem. Hillbilly loved Nascar.

“No, but there were two cars smashed on the highway. Bodies were on the pavement. I ran over one of them. Thump. It was either that or go off the road. I almost did a hit-n-run, except a truck stop was at the bottom of the hill. I ran into the diner, telling the waitress, “There’s an accident up on the hill.”

“We get them all the time.in the fog. She listlessly wandered over to the jukebox and put in a quarter. Her choice was ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST by Queen."

I laughed like a man who had heard a new joke.

"What's so funny?" Alice wasn't so amused.

"Nothing." I couldn't explain to her the humor and the musician from Tuxedo Moon wasn't about to help me. He wanted Alice to leave with him. I said to say something to make her stay. We were still in love at that point.

"I've had a few accidents in my day. The worst was in the spring of 1970 when a drunk lady driving a Buick Riviera smashed head-on into my VW Beetle. I was thrown out of the car. Time went slow-motion. I saw wheels and dust going by my head. I shut my eyes waiting for that same thump you heard when you ran over that guy on the highway. The wheels missed me and I stood up with the driving wheel in my hands and shook off the dust. Not a scratch on me." The accident had occurred at Nantasket Beach. Many times I've thought that in another world I died that night, but in this world I was alive. "I got to the hospital and no one played anything on the radio, but if they did, it would have been BRIDGE OVER TROUBLED WATER, since that was # 1. I like ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST better."

Alice and I said good-night. We took a taxi home to our apartment on East 10th Street. We fell asleep in the bedroom. The mattress was on the floor. We were young. She never mentioned Tuxedo Moon again, but anytime ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST plays on the radio I think of the thump of tires over a body.

I'm glad it wasn't mine.

The Duel of Backseat Drivers

My father passed on his extraordinary driving skills to his sons and daughters. His primary tenet was that of defensive driving. This strategy was promoted by the AAA to save lives and time by anticipating other drivers' error before they endanger you and your car. Accidents happen. My father preached that they happened to other people.

My first time behind the wheel was in my next door neighbor's Dodge Valiant. The car had push-button gears to the left of the steering wheel. Addy Manzi wanted to meet her boyfriend. She needed a driver. I was 12 and unable to refuse any request by my ex-babysitter. We made the one-mile trip to Chickawabut Tower in the Blue Hills without incident.

The next time I sat in the driver seat was the day the State of Massachusetts granted me a driver's learning permit. Our VW Beetle was in the garage. My father sat in the passenger seat and instructed me how to shift through the gears on a stick as well as the mystery of transitioning the pressure of my feet on the gas and clutch. I stepped on the clutch and shifted into reverse.

"Now let out the clutch and give it some gas."

I obeyed his order. Nothing was happening, so I gave the engine a little more gas. The VW shot out of the garage and rear-ended our neighbor's wooden fence. My father pulled up on the emergency brake and cursed under his breath at my error.

We were not on good terms on our neighbors.

My father's face turned red with anger.

It was first experience with what would later be labeled 'road rage' by TV newscasters at LA's KTLA, after a spat of shooting incidents on the 405, 110 and 10 freeways in the late 80s. Bigger cars such as SUVs empowered drivers' sense of worth. They drove as if they were king of the road and everyone else was their slave. While drivers are most susceptible to road rage, the uncontrolled fury can spread to the wronged occupants of a vehicle faster than arson in a foreclosed suburban development.

Last month I was crossing Lafayette at South Portland. A $20 bag of grocery in my hand. Two cars were stuck in the intersection and the backseat passengers were gesticulating and swearing with murder in their eyes. The people in front of Ralph's bodega watched in anticipation of the words escalating to fists. I walked between the two cars and said to both parties, "Damn, that is some of the best backseat driving I've seen in years."

The passengers glared at me for a second and then laughed together.

"Well done, keep up the good work."

The finger was replaced by the peace sign and Ralph asked what I had said to them. I told him and he shook his head.

"I hadn't seen a good street fight in ages. Nice job."

"Glad to be a service." I don't drive much.

No one curses more than me, because no one drives better than me.

I never make a mistake.

According to a 2009 survey the most road raged cities in America are Miami, Phoenix, New York, Los Angeles, and Boston.

I've driven in 4 of the 5.

In my estimation Florida drivers are the worst.

Too many straight lines and no hills drive them crazy in the heat.

Driving 101 ala the Vatican

I was brought up a Catholic in the 60s. The nuns of Our Lady of the Foothills taught their young charges that the Pope was infallible ie incapable of mistakes. My friends and I used to conjecture that God’s rep on earth didn’t fart, need an eraser, or pick his nose. The parish priests heard about this talk and condemned us as heretics.

“God speaks through the Pope.” The pastor’s words rang harsh in the Sunday sermon.

Several years ago the Almighty chose to enlighten the world with a new set of 10 Commandments. This time governing the rules of the road, as the Vatican finally reacted to the automobile replacing the horse. His Most Esteemed Cardinals have issued an edict addressing the morality of driving, since the Pope rides in the Popemobile as a passenger.

A 36-pages of ”The Holy Guidelines for the Pastoral Care of the Road” covers road rage, respecting pedestrians, keeping a car in good shape and avoiding rude gestures.

sacred bird signs from behind the wheel?

“Cars tend to bring out the ‘primitive’ side of human beings, thereby producing rather unpleasant results even as far as the occasion of carnal sin,” stated Cardinal Renato Martino at a Rome press conference. “People should pray while driving. Bless yourself before starting the car and say the rosary while driving. Think of your car as a mini-church.”

Most Ferrari drivers would agree with this sentiment.

The Vatican claims moral authority on this issue since the speed limit within its walls is only 30 KPH and the last accident occurred almost two years ago.

Italian media ridiculed the announcement, which was not signed by Pope Benedict.

“Is Overtaking is a sin? Well, then I’m a murderer, I’ll turn myself in immediately,” quipped movie director Dino Risi, whose classic film “The Easy Life” — “Il Sorpasso,” or “The Overtaking” — ends with a car crash.

I took a quick look at the Commandments. I seemed to be okay.

1. You shall not kill.

(haven’t had an accident in years other than running over the food of a lottery ticket salesperson. Gave her 1000 baht and drove her to a clinic.)
2. The road shall be for you a means of communion between people and not of mortal harm.

(My father said a car was not a toy. He drives his new Mercedes as if it were a Tonka truck. Old age breeds new youth.)

3. Courtesy, uprightness and prudence will help you deal with unforeseen events.

(I give the right of way to children and women. I cut off SUVs, because they are an offense to the guardian angels of the planet.)

4. Be charitable and help your neighbor in need, especially victims of accidents.

(If someone breaks down, som nom nah. Should have fixed the car before you left home.)

5. Cars shall not be for you an expression of power and domination, and an occasion of sin.

(I ride a bicycle. I have no car. I have no pretensions of power other than driving a rented car at 160KPH and I have never thought about having sex in my car other than with James Dean. Getting head while losing his.)

6. Charitably convince the young and not so young not to drive when they are not in a fitting condition to do so.

(I don’t know any younger people. only younger idiots than me.)

7. Support the families of accident victims.

(Most of the girls working in pattaya have had their husbands or boyfriends die in motorcycle accidents. Amazing stat if true.)

8. Bring guilty motorists and their victims together, at the appropriate time, so that they can undergo the liberating experience of forgiveness.

(Best time for that is right on the road so they can express their feelings without any reservations. remember no guns, please.)

9. On the road, protect the more vulnerable party.

(Slower cars out of the way.)

10. Feel responsible toward others.

(Okay I’ll not run the red lights on Sukhumvit.)

So I’m not so much of a sinner, since I’ve been to hell on the roads of Bangkok, New York, and Boston.

Once more mea culpa.

To crash is human, to avoid an accident divine.