From two weeks in Argentina.
I plan on writing a bit of a travelogue about the experience. Just not tonight.
But, I'll leave you with this...
There were no pictures of Eva Peron. I hear she's dead.
Madonna played her in a movie.
I suspect Eva Peron still looks better, though.
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| "Any Snickers?" |
The following is a true story.
Mostly.
The young wife pulled her sweater tight. Sure was starting to get cold.
Glancing down at the half empty candy jar, she was thankful she’d bought enough goodies for the hordes of trick-or-treaters which continued to rampage through her neighborhood.
With only an hour to go, she breathed a
sigh of relief, confident she wouldn’t have to break into last year’s stash of
petrified candy corn. Or, worse, ketchup
packets.
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| She doubted the kids would buy her story that they were nature's candy. |
So, her house was safe from ravages wrought by pint-sized wrecking crews denied their sugar fixes.
With a break in the action, she picked up a Fun-Size Snickers bar and popped it deftly into her mouth. Check that. TWO fun-size Snickers bars.
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| "More fun that way." |
No sooner had she sat down then four miniature
super heroes-Batman, Spiderman, and the unfortunately-named Captain Incontinence
and his sidekick, Wet Nap Boy, came trooping up her driveway.
Quickly stashing the empty candy wrappers
into the pocket of her jeans, she stood to greet her visitors. They looked harmless enough, although the
good captain kept jumping from one leg to another.
Greeted by a cheery chorus of “Trick or
Treats,” she smiled and extended the candy jar to the tiny defenders of truth,
justice, the American way,
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| and proper hygiene. |
Their needs sated, the junior crimefighters scampered excitedly across the lawn towards her neighbor’s house. Thankful her home continued to be spared, she spotted a solitary figure standing at the end of her driveway.
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| "I was wondering when I'd get into the action." |
Her visitor was fairly large. She figured he was one of those kids from the
middle school who refused to let go of their youth. Usually they just grabbed a pillowcase from
their beds and headed door-to-door, their menace masked only by a surly, “I’m
an egg-thrower” when asked what their costumes were.
This kid was dressed up, but he gave
her the willies. He was sporting blue
jeans and a brown flannel shirt, which were innocuous enough. But, what creeped her out was that hockey
mask he wore and...was that a knife
in his right hand?
He looked just like that...Freddy? Michael?
No, he looked like Jason from those Friday
the 13th movies. Yikes!
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| "Hey, I can be pretty scary too, ya know." |
No answer.
Hmm, not too crazy about this, she thought. Why doesn’t he just toss toilet paper in my
trees and be done with it?
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| Hey, one rainstorm...now you're talking a real horror story. |
She closed her door, desperately trying to figure out what to do.
At that moment, her husband’s car pulled
into the driveway.
“Oh, look,” he thought as he switched off
the ignition, “one of those Halloween trick-or-treaters. Hmmm...kinda big, though.”
He got out of his car and jauntily called
out to the kid, “Hey, howzit goin’?”
Nothing.
“That’s weird,” he thought.
Quickly running away, he stepped through the
side-door and saw his wife, who looked a little freaked-out. “Hey, you see that nut out there? What’s going on?”
Wide-eyed, she shrugged her shoulders and whispered, “You got me. He’s just been standing there for a few minutes. Uh...I think he’s holding a knife or something.”
His eyes went wide and he stepped to the door. Peering through the
blinds, he said, “Yeah, it sure looks like one. Man, I don’t like this. I’m turning off the light.”
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| "That will make Jason go away!" |
"No, it won't."
Casting the porch in darkness, the two
gathered at their curtains and peered at the motionless form bathed in the
light of the streetlamp.
“Maybe he’ll get the idea we’re done for
the night,” she hoped.
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| "No, I won't." |
“Yeah, I-hey! He’s starting to walk this
way!”
His wife shrieked and dropped to the kitchen floor. “Oh, my goodness! What’re we going to do!?”
For entertainment use only.
But, pretty close.
He joined her. “I don’t know. I’d better call the cops!”
They heard shuffling footsteps as
their visitor slowly scraped along the loose gravel of their driveway.
Starting to lose it, she begged, “No, don’t
leave me!” She clamped her hands to her
ears and tightly squeezed her eyes shut.
Her husband scrambled to the kitchen
island. Maybe he’d find a knife
or....ladle!!?? What the-that won’t
do! He frantically rifled through the
drawer. Cheese grater...turkey baster...
garlic press...ah, here’s something!
As he turned toward his almost-catatonic wife,
he heard the footsteps suddenly stop.
And the doorbell ring.
Quickly joining his wife on the floor, he
urged her to shuffle to the door on her knees.
Cautiously raising their heads, they peeked through the bottom window pane.
To see the hockey mask bouncing up and
down in laughter.
Standing bolt upright, the husband flung
open the door, and shouted, “You idiot!
You coulda given us both heart attacks!”
The Moral of the Story: It’s a good thing my brother has a sense of
humor. Otherwise, I mighta got stabbed with
a potato peeler that night.
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| "I'm not going to tell you again! If you don't sit down, I'm gonna turn this shit around!" |
October, my favorite month, gives us a chance to celebrate the exploits of a band of explorers who set sail from Barcelona in search of a western route to the fabulous wealth of the East (yeah, going west to get east doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me, either).
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| Indeed |
In other words, the tenth month gives us a chance to bemoan the rape and pillage of a pristine wilderness by evil, white, European males who wouldn’t know a bar of soap if it smacked them in the heads.
"I say we go say 'hi.' What's the worst that could happen?"
So, in recognition of their accomplishments, mailmen get the day off and stores trot out their very best Columbus Day displays of bed linen (“Just imagine how comfy the Santa Maria would have been if Chris and the boys only had these sheets!!”).
As a holiday, though, Columbus Day really
doesn’t rank up there with the Big Four of Hanukkah, Christmas, New Years, and Boxing
Day. It doesn’t draw in the romantics
like Valentines Day, the patriots like the 4th of July, or even the corned beef
and Guinness crowd like St. Patrick’s Day.
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| "Erin go bbuuuurrrrrpppppppp....!" |
More times than not, we hardly know it’s
happened until the evening news greets us with, “Happy Columbus Day! Too bad you hadda go to work! Ha, ha, ha!”
My family has for many years celebrated
each holiday, no matter how innocuous.
For example, on Presidents’ Day, we used to dress up as our favorite
Commanders in Chief until my brother spoiled it for everyone when, dressed as Joe Biden, he fell up the stairs and picked a fight with the laundry.
For some reason, though, we never did much
to celebrate the day in 1492 when Ferdinand and Isabella’s favorite Genoan set
foot in the New World and proclaimed, “What the frik you mean this isn’t China!?"
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| Everyone knows this is china |
In order to make it easier for everyone to
properly observe one of the most significant accomplishments in world history
(behind invention of “The Clapper”), might I offer the following ways to
celebrate Columbus Day:
10. Slash the tires of those obnoxious,
know-it-all “Vikings were here first!” punks at the
Although, to be fair, Northern Indians were
more badass than the Caribbean ones.
9. Try to convince anyone that parrots, monkeys,
and coconuts are just as valuable as jewels, gold, and silk.
8. Go to the local tribal casino, extend a
heartfelt apology, drop a bundle at the craps table.
7. Put on a wrinkled raincoat, chew on a cigar,
try to figure out who put the poison in Miss Van Dyver’s highball...oh, I’m
sorry, that’s how to celebrate COLUMBO Day.
6. Grab some library books, draw
moustaches on pictures of Amerigo Vespucci.
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| "That's right. America. What do you have? Some city in Ohio? Suck it." |
5. Bring Christianity to your neighbors at the
point of a gun before selling them into slavery, claim your street for your
family, pass out blankets riddled with smallpox to the homeless, and shake down
passers-by, insisting they tell you where their gold is.
4. Go to a Chinese restaurant dressed as
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| "Hey! Who let white people in kitchen?" |
3. Forward a petition to the city council
demanding equal time with Labor Day.
2. With your friends, build a scaled-down
replica of
1. Once more dressed as
There now, I hope this list inspires you to
do something other than complain when you can’t use the drive-up window at the
bank.
But, if it’ll make you feel better, go get
yourself a cannoli.
Chris would’ve wanted it that way.
To my
good friends north of the border: Happy Canadian Thanksgiving! May your harvest tables be blessed with
bountiful feasts and happily free of moose and Celine Dion lookalikes.
As Martin Frobisher would have said, "Sure, it makes more sense than eating outside in November in frikkin' Massachusetts, but that four day weekend for American Thanksgiving would be wicked sweet, eh?"
To those of the Jewish faith or those who live with someone of the Jewish faith or to those who just want any excuse to celebrate a holiday, Happy New Year as we bid farewell to the lunar year of 5785 and sashay (or mosey. I won't judge) our merry way into the year 5786.
I know, right? Seems like only yesterday it was 5756. My, how time flies!
Rosh Hashanah is a solemn way to remember the years past and hope to build upon them for a better tomorrow. Not for nothin', we could use all the good thoughts that come our way. Things have really sucked lately.
The new year involves prayer, apples, honey, and the blowing of the shofar.
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| And, frankly, is Herschel Shofar's favorite day of the year |
Much love and hope to you all.
Just remember to get back to work tomorrow.
True to my word (no, seriously), the following is what I hope is a lighthearted post with, really, no redeeming social values. If you’re more inclined to topics of a much more sober (as opposed to drunk) nature, by all means visit Nobody Asked Me But... https://seriousal.blogspot.com. Not that you’ll find any redeeming social values there, you understand. It’s just a little more serious than this nonsense.
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| Thank you for your attention in this matter. |
********
I realize most of you in the audience are younger than I am. In fact, since I've reached my own personal "sell-by" date, I can't imagine there's many of you who are older. So, you may not remember the topic of this post.
I’ve recently taken to watching reruns of a television show on Tubi,
which is a channel on my Smart TV that I found while surfing for porn cat
videos. That show is Dark Shadows (you may have guessed it, you clever boots) and,
despite its horrible acting, laughable special effects, and numerous gaffes, I was entranced by it when I was eight years old.
I first starting watching this first-of-its-kind Gothic soap opera upon
the recommendation of my mother.
Personal Observation: Interesting
that my mom was only twenty-seven years old at the time. She obviously seemed like an old lady to me,
but, oh to be only 27 now! (Remember that “sell-by” crack? Yeah).
Anyway, I thought this show was the coolest thing on TV (apart from Batman) and was mesmerized by its cast of supernatural creatures from ghosts to vampires to werewolves.
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| And whatever TF this weird shit was. |
I rushed home immediately from school,
stopped in at the Thompson Food Market, bought myself a bag of pretzel nuggets
and a Coke, and plopped in front of our console TV to watch the goings-on in
Collinsport, Maine.
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| You'd think I would have spent more time chasing girls. Clearly, I was a hottie. |
Yet Another Personal Observation: The fact that it was set in Maine seemed
super-exotic to me, too. Little did I know
that the Navy would eventually transfer me there. Yeah, not so exotic. Lotta moose, though.
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| "Outta my way. Gotta catch Dark Shadows." |
Broadcast on ABC from 1966-1971, Dark Shadows became a cult classic, especially for the younger crowd. Sex symbols such as Jonathan Frid and David Selby as Barnabus and Quentin Collins titillated young girls. And probably my mom.
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| Hee...hee...hee...I said 'titillated.' |
Or Boys. I won’t judge.
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| Not that there's anything wrong with that. |
Oh, don’t worry. We boys, or girls (once again, I won’t judge) had Kathryn Leigh Scott and Lara Parker as Maggie and Angelique.
I mean, even with the dental work, hubba hubba
I was most distraught when it was cancelled and held its replacement,
Password, personally responsible.
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| Effin' Allen Ludden |
Oh sure, there were movies in 1970, House of Dark Shadows, and 1971, the dreadful Night of Dark Shadows, but they were...meh.
I remember how excited I was when the series came back in 1991 as a remake,
starring Ben Cross as Barnabus Collins. But, it was criminally short-lived. It was entertaining, but it really wasn’t the
same.
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| Ironically, I was living in Maine when this came out. Still a lotta moose. |
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| Ben Cross would go on to play another out-of-this-world character as the Vulcan, Sarek. And then he died. Coincidence? |
And don’t get me started on that Johnny Depp adaptation of Dark Shadows.
So, when I rediscovered the original Dark Shadows in all its cheesy glory, I felt
like I was transported back to my childhood.
Except I was no longer a chubby eight-year old munching on pretzels and
swilling soda.
I was a chubby sixty-seven year old.
Okay, this is a repost of a repost of a...let's put it this way: I've reprinted this a LOT since that terrible day. But, I feel compelled to do so lest we forget that nearly 3,000 people were murdered on a beautiful September day.
It was just before one o’clock in the
afternoon on September 11th (a sad commentary: we don’t even need to identify
the year anymore) when my maintenance supervisor stuck his head into my room to
wake me.
“Sir, someone just flew a plane into
the World Trade Center.”
Minutes later, I watched, horrified,
as a second plane struck the South tower.
And then, as both of the monstrously huge structures tumbled to the
ground as if kicked by a petulant child.
My unit and I were participating in
a multi-nation exercise at the Naval Air Station in Keflavik, Iceland (this
explains why it was the afternoon). A
round-the-clock operation, the Keflavik Tactical Exchange gave us a unique
chance to evaluate each other’s capabilities should we ever needed to flex our
respective militaries. Little did we
know that we were preparing for a type of war which belonged to the past.
Because the 21st Century came
roaring into each of our lives on that late summer day.
Naturally, the exercise was
immediately cancelled. Foreign aircrews
(funny that I call them “foreign’” since we were actually foreigners, too) beat
hasty returns to their home bases. We
were told that American airspace was closed indefinitely.
Station security forces went into
their highest readiness posture. Watch
teams at the main gate beefed up, rings of barbed wire cordoned off perceived
sensitive areas, and armed patrols roamed the perimeter.
My watch teams and I, on the other
hand, remained at our billeting. Only in
Iceland for the exercise, we were considered non-essential personnel who’d only
get in the way.
And so we spent the next few days.
I received a worried phone call from
my wife during this time. She fretted
over my safety. I assured her that I was
fine but omitted the fact that I was more concerned for her and the kids.
You see, my family lived only a
couple hours from New York and only a few from Washington.
The ensuing days involved frantic
searches for whatever updates we could glean from the news and how in the world
we’d get ourselves and thousands of pounds of equipment back home.
Most importantly, we desperately
wanted to know how we could get into the fight.
Whatever the fight was.
Four days later, U.S. airspace was
opened to military traffic. As I glanced
through the window of the Navy patrol plane which took us home, I was struck at
how empty the sky was-with the exception of the one plane which approached us
as we crossed into the United States. It
came no closer than a few miles before it disappeared.
I think it was a fighter aircraft.
What’s more, the radio circuits,
normally full of the cacophony of countless air traffic controllers, were
eerily silent. The only ones “on the
air” were the handful which guided us home.
All else were hushed into silence.
Our route of flight took us just
south of Manhattan, well out of sight of land.
At that distance, even at the altitude at which we were flying, it was
impossible to see any of the city skyline.
But, we did see a huge pall of gray-brown smoke lingering in the air like
the death shroud that it was.
As we touched ground at the Willow
Grove naval air station, there was nobody to greet us. There really wasn't much of anything by way
of an acknowledgment that we were back.
Somehow, it seemed fitting.
After all, we all had something much
more important to do.
Go home to our families.
In
memory of:
Commander
Bill Donovan, USN
AW2
(NAC/AW) Joseph Pycior, USN
and
the thousands whose only crime was going to work that day.
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| Brush With Death |
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| Planted some Autumn Bulbs |
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| Elizabeth Warren Holds a Town Hall With Her Peeps |
“When I Left My Home and My Family
I Was No More Than a Boy.
In the Company of Strangers
In the Quiet of a
Railway Station.
Running Scared.”
-The Boxer
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| "You better not claim you made that up!" |
This is one of my
favorite Simon and Gar, the Funkel Brothers, songs. Not because of boxing, you understand. But, they do mention whores on Seventh
Avenue. So there is that.
 |
| "Which is nice." |
No, I like it because it neatly sums up when I left my home so many years ago.
You see, today is
the 49th anniversary of the day I left Connecticut for Navy boot
camp. And, with the exception of August
to December, 1985, I’ve never looked back.
For those of you who
say that I should wait until next year because the FIFTIETH anniversary would
be so much more significant, I will agree with you. It would be.
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| But, after all, I am 67. |
Meaning, there’s no guarantee I’ll see Labor Day. So, forty-nine it shall be.
As the song says,
I did leave my home and my family. In
fact, I’ll never forget the sight of my brothers and sister saluting me as my
parents backed out of the driveway.
Before they went back in to watch cartoons. After all, they had almost a week before school
started. It was still summer, dammit!
I was originally
supposed to leave on the 31st, but the recruiter called me and said
I would be bumped up a day earlier. I
was distraught. You see, I was having
the time of my life in the summer after I left high school. More importantly, I didn’t want to leave the
girl I had just started dating in June.
NOTE: That girl would break my heart two years
later. But, another story for another
day.
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| If you're curious, or a glutton for punishment, this goes into the whole process. In excruciating detail. |
NOTE: That day wouldn’t happen for more than thirty
years, not in 1980. Once again, another
story. For another time.
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| It truly was. |
 |
| But wait! There's more! |
“In the quiet of a railway station.” Despite the invention of air travel, we did take a train to Illinois. I wondered why. Until I realized that the end of August is also close to the end of the fiscal year. So, taking the train was cheaper, I suppose.
“Running scared.” I wasn’t scared, really. Depressed, sure, especially since I would be
leaving home. Perhaps I was nervous
about a future which held a great many unknowns. I guess we can call that “scared.”
In any event,
after all this time, I’ve never regretted that I did what I did. I traveled the world, saw a lot of wonderful
things, and never did the same thing twice (some people would call that “not making
up my mind.”).
Was there a LOT of
nonsense? Sure, there was. To be honest, today’s Sailors probably have
to endure more. So, yeah, I don’t miss
that. But, do I miss the adventures with
a group of friends who will remain so until the day I die?
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| Absolutely |
I would so do it all over again. And not just because I'd have my brown hair back
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| And everything still worked. Everything. |
So, happy anniversary to me. I wouldn't have done anything differently.
Except fall asleep in my pillowcase the night I discovered ouzo.
I heard a great expression a little while back which totally sums up my time in the Navy:
I don’t miss the circus, but I sure miss the clowns.
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| And that's better than any song. |
