To jealousy, nothing is more frightful than laughter.
Brilliant.
Monday, July 19, 2021
Sunday, July 18, 2021
Live Long And Prosper
Leonard Nimoy hailed from Boston’s West End shtel. His Russian father cut hair in Mattapan Square. Tired of giving us a buzz-cut my father drove my older brother and me to the Terminal Barber Shop next to the terminus of the trolley line. I can’t recall any other barber along Blue Hill Avenue.
A native of Maine m father believed in high and tight.
His instructions to the barber were the same.
Once my old man left the establishment on River Street the barber asked, “How you want it?”
“Like Bob Dylan.”
The singer had ended the 1950s with his hit BLOWIN’ IN THE WIND.
“Gotcha.”
The year was 1963.
The barber knew his clientele.
He never mentioned having a son in the theater.
In 1966 he starred in STAR TREK as the Vulcan science officer to James T Kirk.
Leonard Nimoy never had a Boston accent.
His Vulcan gesture for ‘live long and prosper’ was based on how the kohanim or Jewish priests holding their hand when giving blessings.
Dif Tor Heh Smusma
Spock was our hero.
Logic over emotion.
When he died, I broke into tears.
Like my mossaich had passed into the other world.
Trekkies loved Spock.
He transcended TV and made us believe in Space.
Steve Strange, A Friend To Strangers.
In 1983 I took time off from working the door of the Bains-Douches to visit friends in London. Haoui and friends from Dancetria. All of them on Holidayeyy ravved about the Camden Palace and the New Romantic scene. We were granted entry, but once inside I realized that at 30 I was the oldest person in the club. Leigh Bowery was on stage. I felt extremely out of place in my declasse New Wave grey suit and retreated to the bar.
After sipping my gin-tonic someone lisped to me, "You look like you could use a friend. Want to come to the bathroom and do some blow. My name is Steve. Steve Strange."
"But of course," I replied to the foppishly attired Romantic.
Passing through the crowd, everyone called his name.
"I'm no one, I just run this place.
Inside the toilet stall, he hauled out Bolivian flake and we huffed lines.
Someone banged on the door.
"Oh fuck off." Steve sounded like a wicked 007 and I laughed, as we exited to face a well-built square. He looked like a copper, but said, "I'm a Royal Marine. I know what you were doing. Cocaine. I should arrest you.
" "Wouldn't you rather do a bump with me?"
"Sure."
Steve waved me off saying, "See you at the bar in ten."
And I felt so at home.
I danced to Boy George and stayed till closing, after which Steve's entourage retired to his flat and finish off his blow.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to move on you. You're not my type."
Ah, the 80s.
Lovely man, Steve Strange, a friend to strangers. 1983 I'm at the Camden Palace . I'm working at the Bains-Douches. The post-teen clientele was profoundly New Romantic led by Leigh Bowery out in their pooftah splendor.. I was in South Shore punk attire. Leather coat black shirt dirty jeans. I felt so out of touch with the Now and even worse at 32 old. I'm contemplating cutting out. A gender-fluid male sidles up to the bar and whispers in my ear, "you look like you could use a line of Charley." His fey clothing was too elaborate to be a snitch and he led me by the hand to the Gents. In the stall we huff two huge lines each. Not Euro coke. Peru. Having worked the Jefferson I knew the difference. He started to kneel, saying, "You want a kiss?" Before I answered someone knocked on the door, shouting, "Open up. It's the Royal Marines." My host opens the door without any alarm to a drunken razor headed broad-shouldered Jarhead. "You're both under arrest " "Fuck off, ya cunt. This is my club." "You're Steve Strange???" His eyes widened with realized pleasure. "I love Visage." My host smiled, "Thank you. Would care for a line?" He winked at me and I said, "I'll see you at the bar." And like that I was In.
Sunday, July 11, 2021
The Utter Folly Of Wise Men
Every country has a pantheon of vaunted heroes and military leaders. Their names grace universities, libraries, towns, and cities. Children bear their names in remembrance of their contribution to country. In contrast few parents bestow any honor on the knaves of a nation. Adolf and Benito were banned by an unspoken edict during my childhood. Pol Pot is spoken as if he was a ghost to young Cambodian children. They have no other memory of the Khmer Rouge. The Year Zero ended over forty-four years ago. People forget history faster than sports records, but few fools are forgotten as fully as Mad Lopez of Paraguay.
Solano Lopez had been appointed Paraguay's vice-president by his father in 1855 and the Francophile supplied the national army with foreign arms with the express desire of confronting his more powerful neighbors. Egged on by his Parisian courtesan Eliza Lynch, Lopez satisfied his Napoleonic obsession by ordering his forces to aid Uruguay in their war against Brazil over a strip of Argentina separating Paraguay from its troubled ally. Their incursion incited Argentina to join Brazil and its puppet government in Uruguay to embark on the War of the Triple Alliance.
Three against one.
Enough to drive a man mad.
Lopez had his mother flogged for an unspoken offense. Her execution was forestalled by her confession that the leader had been born a bastard. He sought canonization from the Church. The depraved theocracy rejected his claim. He died with the cry "Muero con mi patria!" on his lips.
A madman to the end
Three against one.
Waging two wars at the same time proved disastrous for Hitler and Mad Loepz's idol Napoleon, but in 2011 President Obama went for the Trifecta with the launch of an allied air war against Libya's Muammar Muhammad al-Gaddafi, one of the 20th and 21st Centuries' most reviled dictator.
Active combat troops roamed Iraq and Afghanistan. Aviator aces attacked key strategy concentrations of power in Tripoli, which is mentioned in the Marine Hymn. Drone warriors cruised the skies over the Khyber Pass. Obama sat in the Oval Office with a IPad 2 on his lap directing firepower like a VDO killer in HOMEFRONT.
Three wars at once.
Barack Obama was a graduate from Columbia University and Harvard Law School. He was the president of the Harvard Law Review. My cousin Ty Spaulding attended the Bishop school with him in Hawaii. He swoare that the president wasn't a foreigner, although the religious right consider anyone of color not of this country.
Just a crazed black man with little discernible method to his madness.
Just the way I like my leaders.
Finally the endless war in Afghanistan is coming to and end.
All our troops will be out by August 31, 2021.
pps the foto is of Lopez's French woman, Eliza Lynch, who buried her husband and fallen son with her bare hands after the Battle of Cerro Cerro. The Irish emigre of the Great Famine was interred at the National Cemetery.
A heroine for a fool.
PPPS FUCK TRUMP
THE SURRENDER OF DESIRE by Peter Nolan Smith
Before 9/11 I was madly in enamoured with a blonde model from the UK. Judith was smart, funny, and liked her drink. We seemed doomed to be friends, then one wintry evening we drank ourselves past the portals of inhibition. Judith invited me back to her apartment. We made out on her sofa. This wasn’t only about sex. I fantasized more about her as someone to love than a one night stand. After ten minutes of passionate groping she suggested sharing a shower. We stripped naked and stepped under the hot water.
All systems go.
Except for one.
My penis was as flaccid as al dente spaghetti and failed to response to Judith's attempts to bring it back to hardness.
“Don’t worry, this happens to all men,” Judith told me later in bed.
I never got a second chance.
This was not a one-off occasion either and as someone once wrote, “Fear is the first time you can’t get it up for the second time, but terror is the second time you can’t get it up for the first time.”
I became a eunuch with women.
I confided to a security guard at the diamond exchange about my failing and Big Dave repeated the blonde’s statement. “It happens to everyone.”
The excuse sounded no better coming from his lips, except Big Dave added, “But never with this.”
A blue pill was pinched between his thumb and index finger.
“Viagra.”
“Viagra’s for old men.”
“You’re closer to 70 than twenty. Next time you get the green light for consensual sex, drop it 30 minutes before getting in the taxi. You won’t have softieitis. Trust me.”
I thanked Big Dave and stuck the pill in my wallet. It remained a useless bump for months.
Every woman in New York seemed privy to my mission unaccomplished with Judith. I had no takers, until I read THE HOLE OF HEAVEN at Joe’s Pub. An attractive Korean artist offered to buy me a drink. I thought her gesture was a compliment of my literary prowess, but an hour later we were in a taxi, heading to her Soho loft. Maria from Korea filled my ear with whispered desires. I liked oriental flesh. My libido responded au natural, however the doubt created by previous debacle was spreading southward to my loins.
As the taxi stopped before her loft building, I paid with a $20 and surreptitiously withdrew the linty Viagra pill. I swallowed it, as Maria fumbled with her keys. We had two glasses on wine on her sofa and she said, “I’m going to change into something more comfortable.”
“I can hardly wait.”
Other men had heard the same line. I didn’t care, because the Viagra had flooded my veins with a tsunami of lust.
“It’ll only be a minute.” She changed into a push-up bra, g-string panties, garters, silk stocking, boa feather high heels. Her smile widened lasciviously with a glance at my trousers. “You like what you see?”
“Yes.” I was no lie, except without warning blood pounded through my temples as if I was seconds away from transforming into the Hulk. Closing my eyes barely relieved the pain and this agony was joined by a variety of other unforeseen reactions. My body shivered with a strobe of hot flashes and my heart was bodychecking against my ribs.
“Are you all right?” My hostess was genuinely concerned for I could feel my face burning with blood.
“I don’t feel so good.” More like I was minutes away from a heart attack.
“Did you take a Viagra?” Her voice blew as cold as the first day of winter.
“Yes.” I was in no condition to lie.
“So I don’t turn you on enough?”
“Yes, but____” I never had a chance to explain about my problem with the blonde.
She shoved me out the door five seconds later.
Worst the headache would not go away and neither would the ungodly erection.
“There’s nothing wrong with you.” My friend Jamie Parker shook his head upon hearing my story. “You only need Viagra for women with whom you don’t want to have sex.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, but swore never to take another and have been faithful to that vow.
Strangely the Pentagon experimented with dosing US mountain troops in Afghanistan with Viagra to help them deal with chasing the Taliban around the Afghan peaks. The test was canceled after the Religious Right heard about the oxidation program.
Soldiers with erections is not Christian.
And I agree.
They would have been better off with coca leaves.
Yum Good.
Sunday, July 4, 2021
Oh Little Necks
$22.
I was thoroughly disappointed by their offering. Even the extinct HoJo clam strips were better than these measly clams, which had no bellies and were mostly Batter and fries.
Yesterday I purchased little neck clams from Bobby at the Fort Greene Farmer's Market.
$10
I steamed the plump mollusks in water, cider, garlic, and butter.
Delicious.
And I drank the broth.
Thinking OH NEW ENGLAND and dreaming of authentic Ispswich Fried Clams Tony's on Wollaston Beach.
Billboard's Top 30 Summer Songs
Most American radio stations run down the Top 1000 songs of all time during the July 4th Weekend. The playlist pleasantly passes the time on the beach. Sunbathers never notice the burn until their skin is the color of an Easter Ham. Once back in the SUV they inevitably crank up the AC and turn on the radio.
#1 will be either HEY JUDE or STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN, which have nothing to do with the summer, so Billboard came out with its Top 30 Summer Songs of All-time.
They all good.
30 Surfin' Safari / The Beach Boys 1962
29 Summertime / Billy Stewart 1966
28 Wipeout / Fat Boys and the Beach Boys 1987
27 Cruel Summer / Bananarama 1983
26 Summertime Blues / Eddie Cochran 1958
25 A Summer Song / Chad & Jeremy 1964
24 Suddenly Last Summer / The Motels 1983
23 Surfer Girl / The Beach Boys 1963
22 Summer Breeze / Seals & Crofts 1972
21 School's Out / Alice Cooper 1972
20 Those Lazy-Hazy-Crazy Days Of Summer / Nat King Cole 1963
19 Summer Love Justin Timberlake 2007
18 California Gurls / Katy Perry feat. Snoop Dogg 2010
17 Saturday In The Park / Chicago 1972
16 Summer Girls / LFO 1999
15 California Girls / The Beach Boys 1965
14 Summer / War 1976
13 Under The Boardwalk / The Drifters 1964
12 Summer Of '69 / Bryan Adams 1985
11 In The Summertime / Mungo Jerry 1970
10 The Boys Of Summer / Don Henley 1984
9 Summer Nights / John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John 1978
8 Surfin' U.S.A. / The Beach Boys 1963
7 Hot Fun In The Summertime / Sly & The Family Stone 1969
6 Summertime / DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince
5 Endless Summer Nights / Richard Marx 1988
4 Surf City / Jan & Dean 1963
3 Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polkadot Bikini - Bryan Hyland 1960
2 Wipe Out - The Surfaris 1962
1 Summer In The City / The Lovin' Spoonful 1966
My top ten ain't the same
1 Summertime / Billy Stewart 1966
2 Summertime Blues / Eddie Cochran 1958
3 That Summer Feeling / Jonathan Richman
4 In The Summertime / Mungo Jerry
5 Hot Fun in the Summertime / Sly and the Family Stone 1969
6 School's Out For Summer / Alice Cooper 1972
7 Hot Pants / James Brown
8 August / Arthur Lee and Love
9 California Sun / the Rivieras
10 Motor City Burning / MC5
The list is not written in stone.
Two July 4ths ago I had bicycled to the Rockaways for a swim.
On the way back I stopped for BBQ at Frank's Bar on Fulton.
No Hamptons for me. T was cooking smoked ribs from a steel can and cold Stellas were served by the lovely Rosa. No Nantucket for me either. Paco was admiralling the tunes. The 72 year-old public worker has a hankering for Stevie Wonder. I rivaled with Billy Stewart's SUMMERTIME.
I love the big man's stutter.
"S-s-s-s-ss-s-s-s-s-ummertime."
Homer dropped a dollar on LONG SUMMER NIGHT. Hendrix remained god for the father of a 10-strong crew from the Delta. Rosa snatched a dollar from my tip pile and modernized the music with Chic's A WARM SUMMER NIGHT. We were on a roll.
Shaggy's IN THE SUMMERTIME. Rayvon buried the rap.
Homer surprised everyone with the Pogues SUMMER IN SIAM.
I cued up the Ramones ROCKAWAY BEACH.
"I was expecting that," Homer mumbled as he had been taught in Philadelphia, Miss .some far away time in the last century.
"Love that song. Makes me feel back in my 20s." I saw the Ramones at CBGBs in 1976 and they covered a song by the Rivieras. Homer nodded upon hearing CALIFORNIA SUN. "Ain't really summer in LA. They always have summer there. But this song's a a good-un."
And the Man from the Delta knows good-uns.
To hear Billy Stewart's Summertime (1966), please go to the following URL
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dRGeHRDBPYw
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