Thursday, January 10, 2008
Children's Books We Would Like To See
"Let your capital be simplicity and contentment." - Henry David Thoreau
Anonymousbuyer has had occasion to loiter in the children's sections of bookstores. Often the chairs are more comfortable and it's quieter. We look around at the hundreds of different book titles for kids and it strikes us that there are some titles missing. They have titles like "Everyone Poops". But, here are children's books that we would like to plagiar....er...write:
"Everyone Farts", by George Carlin.
"Mommy, What Happened To Our Dog", by Michael Vick.
"God Is Dead, and So Is Santa Clause", by Friedrich Nietzsche.
Anonymousbuyer has had occasion to loiter in the children's sections of bookstores. Often the chairs are more comfortable and it's quieter. We look around at the hundreds of different book titles for kids and it strikes us that there are some titles missing. They have titles like "Everyone Poops". But, here are children's books that we would like to plagiar....er...write:
"Everyone Farts", by George Carlin.
"Mommy, What Happened To Our Dog", by Michael Vick.
"God Is Dead, and So Is Santa Clause", by Friedrich Nietzsche.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Monthly Cleaning Out of Break Room Refrigerators
"Almost all our faults are more pardonable than the methods we resort to to hide them." - Francois de La Rochefoucauld
We loved to hit the breakrooms on different floors of the WMD and eat leftover food before it got thrown out by the janitors of Sunday. Just hated to see food wasted, even someone's homemade spaghetti with meat sauce that had been sitting around for a couple weeks. Or, a half sandwich left to rot. We never, ever got sick from that rotting buffet of sorts. It was all good, a genuine potluck! Our sister called yesterday. She said she had a line on an apartment for 400 a month. Her motel room is only paid through this Saturday morning. I wished her luck, but I had no money. Sorry. She wanted some of mother's check. I had explained to her previously that mother's money would no longer be available to either her or anonymousbuyer. It's would now going straight to the nursing home as mother's co-payment under Medicaid. Finally, mother was going to pay some of her expenses in these places. I'm delighted for my mother. She seems happy there. It appears to be a fairly decent nursing home on Monaco, just down the hill from good old George. They'll have to eat the money owed for the past six months before Medicaid kicked in. Good luck coming after us for any of that. We had set the process in motion many months ago. Pity it now affects sister. Guess we should have kept her in the other apartment. We had the money to do that last June. Oh, well. Wonder what sister will do with our kitty cat? It's in her possesion now. Hopefully, she'll deal with it, either keep it or called animal control. We tried to find a home for Old Lady (that's what Jerome called her; I just called her kitty) but nothing seemed available. Sister will do fine. She should have been out finding section 8 but she never counted on losing mother's money. Oh, well. She's right, we suppose. We do hate her. We shouldn't but we do. We should have cut her off to fend for herself years ago. It's unnatural to have to be involved so much with an adult sibling. Then again we got something from being needed as well. Might have done the Medicaid thing with mother and nursing home years ago. But, you know, mother enjoyed living on her own and I was loathe to force some solution against her wishes. We had taken her grocery shopping every two weeks for many years after dad died in 1995. Then, eventually, she couldn't get around much on her own. Then sister moved in mother's apartment. It all worked for another few more years, but then started to deteriorate. Paramedics and Fire and Police were called over to help mother or deal with complaints. Sister has a particularly obnoxious heroin addict daughter that was part of the mix. In and out of hospitals and nursing homes. Sister proved over and over that dealing with mother's infirmaties was too big a task. Too big a task for anyone. Then she forged mother's signature on some checks. She blew other money that we gave her. Maybe she felt entitled in exchange for the work she did helping mother in the apartment. She is off drugs now but was always getting pulled back in, sometime by her good for nothing daughter. Who were we to judge given our own proclivities? We finally paid ourselves a little as our own finances deteriorated. How much of our own money have we blown? Must approach 250K since fall of 2005. Over 150,000 pulled out of the house. Then the 100,000 from deferred comp. 5K here, 10K there. Adds up. A key turning point was a Sunday night at a local high stakes poker game. We lost an initial 10K buy-in, then a second. That twenty thousand dollar loss should have been the final wake up call. But it wasn't. We were on tilt and just going to gamble more to win it back. Like an on-kick attempt, the odds are way stacked against you. Still, though, we had 70K on our hip last June. So f*cking stupid. Stupidity endlessly layered upon stupidity. We just never had a proper respect for money. Or our job. Or our life. And so the end is near.....
We loved to hit the breakrooms on different floors of the WMD and eat leftover food before it got thrown out by the janitors of Sunday. Just hated to see food wasted, even someone's homemade spaghetti with meat sauce that had been sitting around for a couple weeks. Or, a half sandwich left to rot. We never, ever got sick from that rotting buffet of sorts. It was all good, a genuine potluck! Our sister called yesterday. She said she had a line on an apartment for 400 a month. Her motel room is only paid through this Saturday morning. I wished her luck, but I had no money. Sorry. She wanted some of mother's check. I had explained to her previously that mother's money would no longer be available to either her or anonymousbuyer. It's would now going straight to the nursing home as mother's co-payment under Medicaid. Finally, mother was going to pay some of her expenses in these places. I'm delighted for my mother. She seems happy there. It appears to be a fairly decent nursing home on Monaco, just down the hill from good old George. They'll have to eat the money owed for the past six months before Medicaid kicked in. Good luck coming after us for any of that. We had set the process in motion many months ago. Pity it now affects sister. Guess we should have kept her in the other apartment. We had the money to do that last June. Oh, well. Wonder what sister will do with our kitty cat? It's in her possesion now. Hopefully, she'll deal with it, either keep it or called animal control. We tried to find a home for Old Lady (that's what Jerome called her; I just called her kitty) but nothing seemed available. Sister will do fine. She should have been out finding section 8 but she never counted on losing mother's money. Oh, well. She's right, we suppose. We do hate her. We shouldn't but we do. We should have cut her off to fend for herself years ago. It's unnatural to have to be involved so much with an adult sibling. Then again we got something from being needed as well. Might have done the Medicaid thing with mother and nursing home years ago. But, you know, mother enjoyed living on her own and I was loathe to force some solution against her wishes. We had taken her grocery shopping every two weeks for many years after dad died in 1995. Then, eventually, she couldn't get around much on her own. Then sister moved in mother's apartment. It all worked for another few more years, but then started to deteriorate. Paramedics and Fire and Police were called over to help mother or deal with complaints. Sister has a particularly obnoxious heroin addict daughter that was part of the mix. In and out of hospitals and nursing homes. Sister proved over and over that dealing with mother's infirmaties was too big a task. Too big a task for anyone. Then she forged mother's signature on some checks. She blew other money that we gave her. Maybe she felt entitled in exchange for the work she did helping mother in the apartment. She is off drugs now but was always getting pulled back in, sometime by her good for nothing daughter. Who were we to judge given our own proclivities? We finally paid ourselves a little as our own finances deteriorated. How much of our own money have we blown? Must approach 250K since fall of 2005. Over 150,000 pulled out of the house. Then the 100,000 from deferred comp. 5K here, 10K there. Adds up. A key turning point was a Sunday night at a local high stakes poker game. We lost an initial 10K buy-in, then a second. That twenty thousand dollar loss should have been the final wake up call. But it wasn't. We were on tilt and just going to gamble more to win it back. Like an on-kick attempt, the odds are way stacked against you. Still, though, we had 70K on our hip last June. So f*cking stupid. Stupidity endlessly layered upon stupidity. We just never had a proper respect for money. Or our job. Or our life. And so the end is near.....
Monday, January 7, 2008
FINIS
Ah, do we face the final curtain? Like most things in life it's easier said than done. Viewed a Namath DVD tonight at the library. It was part of an NFL-issued autobiography of Namath. So bloody amazing to watch those old clips of Joe Willie. Sublime. Transcendent. John Madden, his old nemesis from the AFL is there: Namath had the best looking drop and threw the best looking ball he'd ever seen. And we agree. He would turn and glide back and drop ten yards. Effortless. Like a ballet dancer. Then whip the ball down field forty yards in an instant. Do quarterbacks even take ten yard drops anymore? One of the reasons for the low completion percentage and interceptions is that Namath threw to his wideouts, instead of continually dumping off to running backs. They show a classic pass play with Namath hitting Maynard or Sauer in stride 55 yards, throwing off his back foot falling away. That's Elway stuff. Favre is the closest thing today to Namath. Favre has a ton of interceptions as well. He's a cocksure gunslinger in the Namath style, except with better knees. When we played high school football we wore the same Puma white cleats that Joe wore. So cool. Pity we lost track of them. We also had a couple of those colorful Joe Namath sport shirts. Wish we still had those.
Library is closing. Guess we'll go over to rec center and watch the finish of the BCS championship. Then, it may well be finis.
We've become a regular false-Kassandra of sorts, at least relative to our own fate. So hard to actually end our life. But even harder to live, to pull out of this mess we've created for ourself. We feel like paying the ultimate price. Settle all accounts with one pull. Thus is the thought process of a depressed and suicidal fat piece of garbage. All we really want to really do is drink and play poker, with an occasional break for TV. No more money though. We blew it all, and then some.
Well, Dan, guess we'll have to pass. We can't say with certainty that we are serious, and that was your stipulation. You would make a good homeless shelter counselor--get 'em well and move 'em out. The City would concur with that sort of thing. We can see the point. We used to preach to our own brother and sister along those lines. Hey, wasn't my pledge class something special? First Rob M and now perhaps yours truly. Was there something in the water or the air that semester? LOL. Morbidly funny stuff. We can't bring ourself to asking for a job from that contractor that we knew back with the City. What's the point? We would only disappoint. Too embarassing. Once you get off that treadmill, as we did back in April, it's dreadfully hard to get back on it. We knew that at the time but didn't care. Just had to get the hell out of Dodge regardless of the consequences, which have now come home to roost. Like the saying: "A friend in need is a pest!" We hate resorting to charity and so do those couple of folks we've asked lately. LOL. Charity only delays the inevitable end. Getting involved with messed-up folks only brings disappointment. Can't save the world, even one person at a time, unless that person wants to save themself. And, we don't seem or be able to do it. Let that momentum of a life just reach zero. Absolute inertia. We've had a good run, some chances to pull out of the abyss. Just didn't work out, that's all. Running a marathon in 4:04 is big. So was shaking Dean Martin's hand after his final show in Vegas at Ballys in 1991. Make those two things a tie for first. What would be the point of living beyond this day? Just more killing time. Too much stuff to sort out. Easier to just exit the picture and let others do it. We are a coward and we are lazy. And we have live a life with a certain freedom. We can't envision any other way. Our way worked for 47 years and a few days. Typing that age makes it seem like an awfully young age. We should have figured out a way to hold on with the City. Then, again, we got a kick out of throwing it all away. Set the final solution in motion. Oddly enough, we feel pretty good these days.
What a day this has been/ What a rare mood I'm in/ Why it's almost like falling ten floors......
Now eight days in the car. It's actually not that bad. The money is, finally, approaching zero. A single two-dollar bill. A single one-dollar bill. Seven or so SBA dollar coins. A couple bucks in both Kennedy halfs and silver quarters. Maybe we'll drift downtown today and just go ahead and jump once and for all.
Boy, Jim Rome is a funny guy on the radio. He played this tape of a 911 call. A woman is saying that her kids are out of control or something. Then the 911 guy says "what do you want me to do come over and kill them?" "What", she said. Hey I'm just kidding, he said. What's your name I'm calling you supervisor. No amount of apologizing could appease the woman. Funny stuff. Then Rome comes back and wonders what will prompt the next 911 call from that woman. Hey, my kids won't come back inside for dinner. Hey, they won't brush their teeth. On so on. I know--you had to be there.
Library is closing. Guess we'll go over to rec center and watch the finish of the BCS championship. Then, it may well be finis.
We've become a regular false-Kassandra of sorts, at least relative to our own fate. So hard to actually end our life. But even harder to live, to pull out of this mess we've created for ourself. We feel like paying the ultimate price. Settle all accounts with one pull. Thus is the thought process of a depressed and suicidal fat piece of garbage. All we really want to really do is drink and play poker, with an occasional break for TV. No more money though. We blew it all, and then some.
Well, Dan, guess we'll have to pass. We can't say with certainty that we are serious, and that was your stipulation. You would make a good homeless shelter counselor--get 'em well and move 'em out. The City would concur with that sort of thing. We can see the point. We used to preach to our own brother and sister along those lines. Hey, wasn't my pledge class something special? First Rob M and now perhaps yours truly. Was there something in the water or the air that semester? LOL. Morbidly funny stuff. We can't bring ourself to asking for a job from that contractor that we knew back with the City. What's the point? We would only disappoint. Too embarassing. Once you get off that treadmill, as we did back in April, it's dreadfully hard to get back on it. We knew that at the time but didn't care. Just had to get the hell out of Dodge regardless of the consequences, which have now come home to roost. Like the saying: "A friend in need is a pest!" We hate resorting to charity and so do those couple of folks we've asked lately. LOL. Charity only delays the inevitable end. Getting involved with messed-up folks only brings disappointment. Can't save the world, even one person at a time, unless that person wants to save themself. And, we don't seem or be able to do it. Let that momentum of a life just reach zero. Absolute inertia. We've had a good run, some chances to pull out of the abyss. Just didn't work out, that's all. Running a marathon in 4:04 is big. So was shaking Dean Martin's hand after his final show in Vegas at Ballys in 1991. Make those two things a tie for first. What would be the point of living beyond this day? Just more killing time. Too much stuff to sort out. Easier to just exit the picture and let others do it. We are a coward and we are lazy. And we have live a life with a certain freedom. We can't envision any other way. Our way worked for 47 years and a few days. Typing that age makes it seem like an awfully young age. We should have figured out a way to hold on with the City. Then, again, we got a kick out of throwing it all away. Set the final solution in motion. Oddly enough, we feel pretty good these days.
What a day this has been/ What a rare mood I'm in/ Why it's almost like falling ten floors......
Now eight days in the car. It's actually not that bad. The money is, finally, approaching zero. A single two-dollar bill. A single one-dollar bill. Seven or so SBA dollar coins. A couple bucks in both Kennedy halfs and silver quarters. Maybe we'll drift downtown today and just go ahead and jump once and for all.
Boy, Jim Rome is a funny guy on the radio. He played this tape of a 911 call. A woman is saying that her kids are out of control or something. Then the 911 guy says "what do you want me to do come over and kill them?" "What", she said. Hey I'm just kidding, he said. What's your name I'm calling you supervisor. No amount of apologizing could appease the woman. Funny stuff. Then Rome comes back and wonders what will prompt the next 911 call from that woman. Hey, my kids won't come back inside for dinner. Hey, they won't brush their teeth. On so on. I know--you had to be there.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Mirabile Scriptu
Anonymousbuyer was wrapping up a sixth consecutive night sleeping in the car. You may recall that the week before he had been invited to leave the house of a so-called friend. He had been staying at this house for the past couple months. Pity he couldn't have used those few months more productively. But then he's pretty much shot, spent, done, down for the count--probably going back many years. He may just as well shoot himself in that old rental car in the front yard of that friend where we parked day after day for the past couple months. Ugly sentence. Anyway, after getting a few hours sleep parked on a quiet sidestreet, anonymousbuyer decided to part with a few remaining SBAs in exchange for a couple gallons of gas. He drove a few blocks into what appeared a quiet motel parking lot. The idea was to get another hour or so of sleep before "Rosy-fingered dawn rose once again". Unfortunately, he parked facing a main thoroughfare and was also just inside of the boundaries of a little island hamlet called glendale, landlocked on all sides by the much larger C & C. He was sound asleep when a wakeup call came from a member of that hamlet's police department. This could be it, he thought. Times up. Finally ran out of luck. Don't outlive your money or your luck!
"May I please have you driver's license, sir. What are you doing here, sir?"
"I was just sleeping, officer. This is rental car. I had to leave the place I had been staying at." (Here, imagine Bill Murray in "Stripes": What are you doing soldier? Training, Sir. What kind of training? Aaarrmmyy training, sir.)
After presumably running the driver's license, the officer asked anonymousbuyer to please get out of the car. He said he smelled booze, a certain anonymous cheap vodka aroma. We had always thought vodka was odorless. Maybe just a lucky guess on the officer's part.
"Have you been drinking tonight, sir?"
"No, not for a while officer", anonymousbuyer courteously slurred.
"When WAS the last time you had something to drink?", the officer asked.
"Oh, maybe, eleven or twelve last night," he lied.
Then the nice police officer had me do the-follow-the-tip of his-pen-with-my-eyes roadside sobriety thing. Luckily he didn't make me walk a white line. (Here, insert old Dean Martin joke: I ain't going to walk no white line until you put a net under it.) He volunteered that he was just tired, not intoxicated. That WAS in fact the truth. Anonymousbuyer even volunteered to do a breathalyzer test. No, that wouldn't be necessary. By this time I noticed the officer's sergeant had siddled up and joined the festivities. A charming, quiet lady sergeant. Now two patrol vehicles had anonymousbuyer cornered this crisp early Sunday Morning Coming Down. The officer finally concluded that I was probably only .02 or .03 drunk, not enough probable cause to arrest for DUI. He asked anonymousbuyer if he needed help. Anonymous lied and said no. (He wanted to add that he had enjoyed sleeping in the rental car the past five nights, but thought better of it. Earlier he had admitted to the officer that his house was in foreclosure and he still had access to it but couldn't stay there. Said he might have a friend to stay with tonight. Ya, sure. Good luck with that pally. So long story short anonymousbuyer was free to drive away. The officer reminded him that even though he is a fellow of Brobdingnagian proportions, it's still dangerous to sleep in a car like that. Funny the officer never pursued a line of questioning about the rental car and California plates. You've got enough money to have a rental car from California but not enough for a motel room? Curious, very curious. Guess there are no outstanding warrants on old anonymousbuyer at the moment. Or, the check was not comprehensive. Who knows? He HAD been curious about that but how does one go about asking the cops to run a warrant check? Aren't there still laws on the books against vagrancy? How much money do you have on you, sir? Anonymousbuyer benefitted, he imagined, from being fairly anglo and not excessively disheveled. Had he been of a darker skin tone there would no doubt of arrest and taking the car, etc. God, his heart was pounding as the police officer checked the license out and ran through the tip of the pen thing. His heart would similiarly pound calling a ten thousand dollar bet on a good drawing hand. He once hit an on-line pot limit hold 'em hand on the river for a $15K pot. Those were the days. Sitting in his robe in the morning sipping Glenlivit from the bottle and playing on-line poker. He also knew that parking a sleeping a little more within that hamlet of glendale was tempting fate. Maybe that's why he did it. One last thrill before checking out of the Hotel Still-living. How many more nights could this go one? There's only enough money for a handful of gallons of gasoline. Maybe he can finish that Wilt/Bill Russell book today. Just incredible the racism during those early days of the NBA. Remnants still remain. But there is no fighting today like there was back then. I mean Red Auerbach would rush into the stands and beat up a fan. Players regularly got into fist fights. Competing with hockey and wrestling. The shots that Namath and others took, late hits, cheap shots. Brutal. Football is still a violant game but they protect the QBs. For anyone who cares, there is also a new book by Micheal Strahan. Fairly candid look, it seems to us, at reality in the NFL.
There will be no more books started in this lifetime. Oh, we broke 1.4 million on Galaga at Dave and B's. Damn thing doesn't show the high score. Oh, well. A seventh night in the car beckons. We'll avoid that hamlet of glendale. But will our luck hold out on the "safe" streets? Why not just pack it it tonight. We are bone tired....yet oddly exhilarated....
"May I please have you driver's license, sir. What are you doing here, sir?"
"I was just sleeping, officer. This is rental car. I had to leave the place I had been staying at." (Here, imagine Bill Murray in "Stripes": What are you doing soldier? Training, Sir. What kind of training? Aaarrmmyy training, sir.)
After presumably running the driver's license, the officer asked anonymousbuyer to please get out of the car. He said he smelled booze, a certain anonymous cheap vodka aroma. We had always thought vodka was odorless. Maybe just a lucky guess on the officer's part.
"Have you been drinking tonight, sir?"
"No, not for a while officer", anonymousbuyer courteously slurred.
"When WAS the last time you had something to drink?", the officer asked.
"Oh, maybe, eleven or twelve last night," he lied.
Then the nice police officer had me do the-follow-the-tip of his-pen-with-my-eyes roadside sobriety thing. Luckily he didn't make me walk a white line. (Here, insert old Dean Martin joke: I ain't going to walk no white line until you put a net under it.) He volunteered that he was just tired, not intoxicated. That WAS in fact the truth. Anonymousbuyer even volunteered to do a breathalyzer test. No, that wouldn't be necessary. By this time I noticed the officer's sergeant had siddled up and joined the festivities. A charming, quiet lady sergeant. Now two patrol vehicles had anonymousbuyer cornered this crisp early Sunday Morning Coming Down. The officer finally concluded that I was probably only .02 or .03 drunk, not enough probable cause to arrest for DUI. He asked anonymousbuyer if he needed help. Anonymous lied and said no. (He wanted to add that he had enjoyed sleeping in the rental car the past five nights, but thought better of it. Earlier he had admitted to the officer that his house was in foreclosure and he still had access to it but couldn't stay there. Said he might have a friend to stay with tonight. Ya, sure. Good luck with that pally. So long story short anonymousbuyer was free to drive away. The officer reminded him that even though he is a fellow of Brobdingnagian proportions, it's still dangerous to sleep in a car like that. Funny the officer never pursued a line of questioning about the rental car and California plates. You've got enough money to have a rental car from California but not enough for a motel room? Curious, very curious. Guess there are no outstanding warrants on old anonymousbuyer at the moment. Or, the check was not comprehensive. Who knows? He HAD been curious about that but how does one go about asking the cops to run a warrant check? Aren't there still laws on the books against vagrancy? How much money do you have on you, sir? Anonymousbuyer benefitted, he imagined, from being fairly anglo and not excessively disheveled. Had he been of a darker skin tone there would no doubt of arrest and taking the car, etc. God, his heart was pounding as the police officer checked the license out and ran through the tip of the pen thing. His heart would similiarly pound calling a ten thousand dollar bet on a good drawing hand. He once hit an on-line pot limit hold 'em hand on the river for a $15K pot. Those were the days. Sitting in his robe in the morning sipping Glenlivit from the bottle and playing on-line poker. He also knew that parking a sleeping a little more within that hamlet of glendale was tempting fate. Maybe that's why he did it. One last thrill before checking out of the Hotel Still-living. How many more nights could this go one? There's only enough money for a handful of gallons of gasoline. Maybe he can finish that Wilt/Bill Russell book today. Just incredible the racism during those early days of the NBA. Remnants still remain. But there is no fighting today like there was back then. I mean Red Auerbach would rush into the stands and beat up a fan. Players regularly got into fist fights. Competing with hockey and wrestling. The shots that Namath and others took, late hits, cheap shots. Brutal. Football is still a violant game but they protect the QBs. For anyone who cares, there is also a new book by Micheal Strahan. Fairly candid look, it seems to us, at reality in the NFL.
There will be no more books started in this lifetime. Oh, we broke 1.4 million on Galaga at Dave and B's. Damn thing doesn't show the high score. Oh, well. A seventh night in the car beckons. We'll avoid that hamlet of glendale. But will our luck hold out on the "safe" streets? Why not just pack it it tonight. We are bone tired....yet oddly exhilarated....
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Don't Outlive Your Money
Isn't that what all those investion commercials say. Start planning now. A woman who looks ninety is tapping away at a nearby library computer. She seems to not have outlived her investments. Anonymousbuyer won't be outliving his now-meager bankroll. Perhaps he can time it down to the last half-dollar. He wanted to complain about all the noisy rug rats at the library. Wouldn't some employee remind parents to quiet their darlings down just a shade. But then he realized who was HE to complain. He had washed his hair sometime earlier in the library's men's room. It had one of those high surgical faucets, probably for the handicaped. It works for hair because you can get your head underneath to rinse off the anti-bacterial hand foam soap you used to wash your hair. Soap is soap. He also was shaking out his dusty old socks and scraping his feet a bit. So who was he to complain about a little noise? Five nights of fitful sleep in a car is making him punchy. But that is the idea. To experience living in a car and sleep deprivation and spending the last quarter. He must work himself into a frenzy in order to make that exit from this life stage left. No sadness, either. Rather it will end the sadness. He's altogether too emotional--you should have seem him crying uncontrollably anytime he stopped into the dumb friends league shelter. Hell, even Namath makes him cry. Wilt and Bill Russell. The list goes on and on. No guilt about sister anymore. She didn't answer the door at the motel when it was 9 degrees. Thanks, Grace, that makes us even. Take care, though, of Jerome's cat as long as you can. Give mother my best. I'll try and email her brothers and let them know where she is.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
"Mr. Booze", et al.--Toe Tapping Stuff
(sung to a Salvation Army revival meeting tempo)
Mr. Booze, Mr. Booze
Mr. B double Ohhh Zee EEE
That sure spells booze.
You will wind up wearing leaden shoes
If you mess with Mr. Booze.....
Don't mess with Mr. Booze, da da da
Don't mess with Mr. Booze,
If your head feel like it's ten foot wide
You'll feel better once you testify, testify, testify
-----
(slow tempo, sung by Dino while he runs the balls off a pool table)
Any man who loves his mother
Is man enough for me
Brightening her hour, sending her flowers
Though it's no anniversary
Many men love dogs and kittens
And pet them constantly
But show me a man who loves his mother
As much as she wants to be...
And I'll show you a man who's a lot like me....
----
Frank, Bing and Dino--A virtuoso performance
You've either got or you haven't got--Style
If you've got it you stand out a mile
A flower's not a flower if it's wilted
A hat's not a hat 'til it's tilted
You've either got or you haven't got--Class
How it draws the applause from the masses
When you wear lapels like the swellest of swells
You can pass any mirror and smile....
When you wear those duds
Duds with black tie and studs
Watch those dolls lining up single file.....
Some songs from "Robin and The Seven Hoods", the last so-called rat pack picture. In 1964. Lawford wasn't in it; he had been excommunicated by Sinatra after the flap about where JFK would stay in Palm Springs in 1962. Bobby didn't like Frank's mob friends so JFK stayed with Der Bingle.
God, watching the 1976 Telethon reunion of Dean and Jerry. Frank brought Dino on and the love was palpable. And other clips--Dean and the Mills Brothers, Dean and Bing, Dean and Frank, and on and on and on. Almost enough to keep on living. Almost but not quite. We hope the occasional person wondering onto this blog will click on a YouTube video of Dino. We have them on here mostly for our own amusement, but it's nice to imagine theyed might be shared once in a while.
...Once in a while will you give one little thought to me
Though someone else may be nearer you heart....
Fifth night sleeping in the car. One gets a little bit used to it. Best sleep so far, which isn't saying very much. Luckily temps are staying around 35 at night. We had the foresight a month ago when we still had some money to buy a synthetic down vest. Very comfy and warm. Feet get a little cold, what with loafers and thin ankle-high running socks. But one isn't likely to get frost bite from such limited over night cold. Can't run the car and heater indiscrimately any longer. Gas is becoming a luxury as money is, finally, running out. We still have a roll of 25 SBA dollars (Susan B. Anthony--not Students for a Better America!) and a few leftover two-dollar bills. The two-dollar bill is the prettiest currency we have. Jefferson on the front and the portrait of the singing of the Declaration of Independence on the back. Also, a few half dollars and pre-63 silver quarters, which will be parted with only at the very end. So, about forty dollars total. Oh, and we have a 25 dollar gift certficate to Chipotle that an ex-girl friend kindly gave me around X-mas. I get by eating for free--found a motel that has a nice morning breakfast that I can just slip in and out of without notice. And, of course, grocery store sampling, though I'm very careful to not overstep that priviledge. Sitting around reading a book called "The RIVALRY: Bill Russell, Wilt Chamberlain, and the Golden Age of Basketball." Title says it all. Fascinating descriptions of pro basketball in the fifties and sixties. Much more brutally physical that today's game. Less money at stake back then. I grew up as a fan of Wilt, remembering the championship with the Lakers in the early seventies.
Hillary--Didn't take voter questions campaigning in Iowa but now that she lost big is turning into a regular Oprah in New Hampshire. Too late. Hillary is done. No comeback this time. Go back home with Bill and that ugly duckling of a daughter. Little Chelsea told some junior high school journalist in Iowa to go f#ck herself. I mean, my God. You couldn't make that up. Country is, given a reasonable alternative in Obama, sick to death of Hillary and Bill. Couldn't have happened to a nicer cun....er broad. She is just not likable. The more you see of her, in those pant suits and that insincere smile, the more you dislike her. Who wants to listen to this woman for 4 or 8 years as president. Like some obnoxious older aunt (or wife or mother) that just makes your skin crawl. All politicians are piece-of-crap liers. Part of the job description. But you got to have some charm and a affable personality, at least in public. Huckabee has got that. McCain has got that. Obama is the champ in that department. I liked George Carlin's take on Bob Dole--he's full of sh&t but at least let's you know that he know and that he knows that you know. She also, to be fair, got "swift-boated" at bit. All that talk about whether the country wanted to watch Hillary grow old before our eyes. Insert here pictures of Eleanor Roosevelt and Madeline Albright. Ugh. Hillary's fall proves that there is justice after all.
Mr. Booze, Mr. Booze
Mr. B double Ohhh Zee EEE
That sure spells booze.
You will wind up wearing leaden shoes
If you mess with Mr. Booze.....
Don't mess with Mr. Booze, da da da
Don't mess with Mr. Booze,
If your head feel like it's ten foot wide
You'll feel better once you testify, testify, testify
-----
(slow tempo, sung by Dino while he runs the balls off a pool table)
Any man who loves his mother
Is man enough for me
Brightening her hour, sending her flowers
Though it's no anniversary
Many men love dogs and kittens
And pet them constantly
But show me a man who loves his mother
As much as she wants to be...
And I'll show you a man who's a lot like me....
----
Frank, Bing and Dino--A virtuoso performance
You've either got or you haven't got--Style
If you've got it you stand out a mile
A flower's not a flower if it's wilted
A hat's not a hat 'til it's tilted
You've either got or you haven't got--Class
How it draws the applause from the masses
When you wear lapels like the swellest of swells
You can pass any mirror and smile....
When you wear those duds
Duds with black tie and studs
Watch those dolls lining up single file.....
Some songs from "Robin and The Seven Hoods", the last so-called rat pack picture. In 1964. Lawford wasn't in it; he had been excommunicated by Sinatra after the flap about where JFK would stay in Palm Springs in 1962. Bobby didn't like Frank's mob friends so JFK stayed with Der Bingle.
God, watching the 1976 Telethon reunion of Dean and Jerry. Frank brought Dino on and the love was palpable. And other clips--Dean and the Mills Brothers, Dean and Bing, Dean and Frank, and on and on and on. Almost enough to keep on living. Almost but not quite. We hope the occasional person wondering onto this blog will click on a YouTube video of Dino. We have them on here mostly for our own amusement, but it's nice to imagine theyed might be shared once in a while.
...Once in a while will you give one little thought to me
Though someone else may be nearer you heart....
Fifth night sleeping in the car. One gets a little bit used to it. Best sleep so far, which isn't saying very much. Luckily temps are staying around 35 at night. We had the foresight a month ago when we still had some money to buy a synthetic down vest. Very comfy and warm. Feet get a little cold, what with loafers and thin ankle-high running socks. But one isn't likely to get frost bite from such limited over night cold. Can't run the car and heater indiscrimately any longer. Gas is becoming a luxury as money is, finally, running out. We still have a roll of 25 SBA dollars (Susan B. Anthony--not Students for a Better America!) and a few leftover two-dollar bills. The two-dollar bill is the prettiest currency we have. Jefferson on the front and the portrait of the singing of the Declaration of Independence on the back. Also, a few half dollars and pre-63 silver quarters, which will be parted with only at the very end. So, about forty dollars total. Oh, and we have a 25 dollar gift certficate to Chipotle that an ex-girl friend kindly gave me around X-mas. I get by eating for free--found a motel that has a nice morning breakfast that I can just slip in and out of without notice. And, of course, grocery store sampling, though I'm very careful to not overstep that priviledge. Sitting around reading a book called "The RIVALRY: Bill Russell, Wilt Chamberlain, and the Golden Age of Basketball." Title says it all. Fascinating descriptions of pro basketball in the fifties and sixties. Much more brutally physical that today's game. Less money at stake back then. I grew up as a fan of Wilt, remembering the championship with the Lakers in the early seventies.
Hillary--Didn't take voter questions campaigning in Iowa but now that she lost big is turning into a regular Oprah in New Hampshire. Too late. Hillary is done. No comeback this time. Go back home with Bill and that ugly duckling of a daughter. Little Chelsea told some junior high school journalist in Iowa to go f#ck herself. I mean, my God. You couldn't make that up. Country is, given a reasonable alternative in Obama, sick to death of Hillary and Bill. Couldn't have happened to a nicer cun....er broad. She is just not likable. The more you see of her, in those pant suits and that insincere smile, the more you dislike her. Who wants to listen to this woman for 4 or 8 years as president. Like some obnoxious older aunt (or wife or mother) that just makes your skin crawl. All politicians are piece-of-crap liers. Part of the job description. But you got to have some charm and a affable personality, at least in public. Huckabee has got that. McCain has got that. Obama is the champ in that department. I liked George Carlin's take on Bob Dole--he's full of sh&t but at least let's you know that he know and that he knows that you know. She also, to be fair, got "swift-boated" at bit. All that talk about whether the country wanted to watch Hillary grow old before our eyes. Insert here pictures of Eleanor Roosevelt and Madeline Albright. Ugh. Hillary's fall proves that there is justice after all.
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