mostly 500-word versions or social media conversations
———-
Denver, 1965~The “West Side Story” story
A “neighborhood improvement” organization got a government grant, and a community organizer with, clearly, no theatre experience directed. Through attrition and poor casting decisions I, the youngest student in Smiley Junior High, landed as Officer Krupke. The gang members were muscular and fifteen. Their supposed leader Tony was the second-youngest student in the school, another undersized, immature eleven-year-old. Tony and I both wore thick glasses and had high, squeaky voices. Tony’s girl Maria was a fully matured, top heavy black girl, with a much deeper voice.
For months we started rehearsals, and ran out of time halfway through the second act. A week or so before the premiere our director, realizing we didn’t have a full play, started the final scene. Another quick scene was improvised to tie it all together, then the search for props began. An A-frame ladder served as a balcony, a refrigerator box a building, a door laid on its side a fence. None of us had even tried to sing, so a tape of the Broadway production was cued up.
The end result was incomprehensible. Preadolescent, pasty-white, bespectacled gang leader Tony squeaked across the stage, falling in love with a much taller and older black girl, dressed like a cafeteria lady.
Tony professed his love in a high soprano, Maria responded in her contralto, and the tape crackled to life, at double speed. Chipmunks shrieked out the first few words of “Tonight, Tonight” at five times the proper volume, then stopped. Tony and Maria waited, blinking, arms limp by their sides. Five minutes. Ten. The tape fumbled and mumbled. Finally, “MMMuuuhh—-rrr—rr———rr–rrrria, I’ve just met a girl named Maria!” boomed forth in an operatic tenor, while the loving couple waved their hands and lip-synched badly, Maria perched like a house painter above.
Catcalls came from the audience; drinks flew from the balcony. The audience below screamed at the jokesters above. The curtains closed, the lights came on. The assistant principal strolled onstage and made several choice threats. When the curtain rose, there was a refrigerator crate next to the ladder, a door leaning sideways on its lower half. A gang member stepped from the crate and told another Jet what had happened offstage, explaining the missing scenes–the dance, the war council, the rumble, the two gang members stabbed–the Reader’s Digest version of the middle three-quarters of the play. I blew my whistle and, stepping onstage as Officer Krupke, shouted the two lines my role had been reduced to. About this time a fight broke out in the hallway, and the audience poured out to watch. We played the final scene, screeching from the hallway overwhelming the dialog, to about a dozen stragglers.
That was our only performance. The remaining three were cancelled.
Our months of rehearsals, were over.
————–
I was sick for about ten years. I’d catch the flu, wouldn’t get over it for months, get the flu shot, catch it again, wouldn’t get over it for months again. Rinse, repeat. Saw a lot of doctors, asked a lot of questions, took a lot of pills, felt like crap. All year every year. It took me a long time to lose faith. Don’t get me wrong; modern medicine is excellent at some things. Trauma, treatment of many acute diseases, top-notch. Chronic illness, no. It took me a long time to figure that out. I got a job managing a health food store. Talked to a lot of sick people. Almost everyone, including medical professionals, wanted a magic pill. They’d eat and drink what they wanted, as much as they wanted. Do what they felt like doing. They’d come in, ask questions, get answers, a new pill to try, and keep doing everything the same. Maybe one in ten would attempt a lifestyle change, and one in fifty would change. That’s normal, I was that way too. After years of talk and research, I came to feel the ancients had it right. Almost any condition can be cured by proper diet and the use of herbs, sunshine, vitamins, exercise, chiropractic, yoga and massage. The Chinese, in a nutshell, felt that illness was caused by an imbalance between four flavors~sweet, salt, sour and bitter. Each of these flavors~chemical compounds~does something when ingested by the body. Most people want lots of sweet, get enough salt and sour and nowhere near enough bitter. After ten years of dragging myself to work and coming home exhausted every day~even when work was nothing but sitting in a chair~I gave blood, and it was rejected. Their preliminary test for AIDS had come back POSITIVE. They sent a letter, which my PREGNANT wife opened! I had to get several more expensive tests to learn that I had a tick-borne immune deficiency, and was told, confidentially, as if it was a precious secret, that I should’ve never gotten the flu shots to start with, and that about ten percent of all people should NEVER be vaccinated! I quit taking all those pills, which had never worked anyway. Quit getting the flu shot. I took A LOT of bitters and quit refined sugars (the chemical signature for white sugar is C12 H22 O11, which is far more difficult for the body to process than fruit sugars which are C6 H12 O6), and slowly got better. That year, I didn’t catch the flu! The next spring, the next summer, I had a bit more energy. I wasn’t so tired, all the time! When I’d gotten out of the Navy, I’d been in the best shape of my life. I could do 60 pushups on one deep breath, stay in position, catch my breath, do 60 more and repeat ten times, for a total of 600. Once, I even did a thousand, just to see if I could. I hadn’t done that~hadn’t done any~in years. I started with a dozen, worked my way up to 60 again and maintained there. Kept with it until 2001, when both of my shoulders were injured in a car wreck (on April Fools’ Day!). I won’t tell anyone what to do. If you want my recommendations, you’re welcome to them, but your health is up to you. If you want to listen, to me or to anyone else, that’s your right. I, however, have precious little confidence in mainstream medical opinion, and have now told you why. Peace.
My parents had my chart done when I was born (by Laurel Keyes) and she instructed my mother to make sure the time was recorded in Standard Time, rather than the daylight savings time then in use locally. My birth certificate, handwritten, thus said “E.S.T.”, which I’ve spent an unbelievable amount of time explaining to know-it-alls is, indeed, correct. I rectified it on my own with certain info and the cherry on top was the arrival of a large, long-awaited check on the very day jupiter entered my second house. Rectification, in my opinión, is an essential step which should never be omitted or taken for granted.
Lulu.com
Createspace–Amazon
The third of June, 1953 was another sleepy, dusty Delta day. Billie Joe McAllister had just jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge, according to the song, the book, and later the movie. It was a number-one hit for a girl who, like my mother, was a dark-haired Southern singer named Roberta, born on the 208th day of the year. The newspapers of the day didn’t mention Billie Joe, instead celebrating a new Queen of England, and a beekeeper named Hillary who had just climbed a mountain.
I was born that day in a run-down hospital on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, which eighty-four years earlier had hosted the world’s first artificial insemination. It was standard in 1953 for a new mother and her infant to spend a week in a decrepit hospital with assorted sick people, but a day later our little family left for North Carolina in search of fame and fortune. My eight days in The City later fascinated all the Jewish girls I later met, who’d read a great deal about the Lower East Side (why it was capitalized I don’t know), but by the time I noticed girls, was no more. “Urban renewal” in the 1960s leveled the neighborhood, replacing it with the shining twin towers which themselves fell in 2001.
My first and most successful production, at the age of three weeks, was in the outdoor drama “Horn in the West”. It had begun in 1952, in response to the success of “The Lost Colony”, starring Andy Griffith. Andy was in the Outer Banks of the Tar Heel State portraying Sir Walter Raleigh while my father, Ned Austin, was in the Blue Ridge portraying Daniel Boone. He’d dated the lead actress until he was smitten with the music director, Bobbie Jones–not by her beauty, but by her willingness to tote off a huge prop anvil, carelessly left onstage. That weekend, on their first date, he proposed. She refused, until he sobered up.
Both were seasoned performers, and after the first season of “The Horn” had moved to New York, where they starred in such Broadway shows as “Kiss Me Kate”, “Pal Joey” and “The Crucible”–not on Broadway, though. The theatre troupe they belonged to, “The Pickwick Players”, operated out of a converted barn, upstate.
————————————————————
When winter came the cold wind blew hard and fierce off the Rocky Mountains, and I’d be well bundled up walking to kindergarten. One morning I was on the icy sidewalk leaning back into the wind. A sudden gust caught me, 49 pounds of kindergartner, and I was airborne. I flew through the air for a few yards, then was set lightly back on my feet. I didn’t even stumble.
Cars were works of art in the 50s. The two-tone, peach-and-white ’56 Mercury next door belonged to a couple who moved in shortly after we did. Elliott and Eleanor’s son, Seth, became my best friend. Elliott was Jewish, but Eleanor was Catholic, and neither was kosher. My mother was concerned with what Seth could eat, until one day he asked for “more ham”. Seth and I often watched TV together. Television had a well-defined schedule; kid shows on Saturday morning and after school, news at noon and 6, family shows afterwards. One Saturday he and I were watching cartoons and the signal, never very strong, was fading in and out. I discovered that if I moved a little to one side the reception would get better, or worse. For the next hour as we’d watch I’d move imperceptibly to the left, the signal would deteriorate and I’d wave my hands around, telling Seth I had “magic”. I’d stand, point, give a hand-clap or a stomp, move a little to the right and the reception would be fine. My mother got a call from Eleanor later that night asking just what I’d taught her son to do, because he was standing in front of the TV waving and stomping and clapping and practicing his “magic”.
We spent a lot of time doing kid stuff together. We’d chase birds with a salt shaker and try to pour salt on their tails. We wore towels around our shoulders and jumped off the sidewalk, practicing to leap tall buildings. We’d swing and slide with a girl my age named Becky and her little brother Bo, and ride tricycles up the hill to where a teenager named George had 1940s cars in his driveway–Oldsmobiles, Henry Js–then coast back. We all had cookie-cutter houses of three or four styles with postage-stamp front yards that seemed huge to a 4-or-5-year-old, but weren’t. The backyards were much bigger; ours had a cherry tree and a small garden, with a rhubarb bush in the corner that our dog regularly peed on. Rusty was a Great Dane/Boxer mix who looked like a huge Boxer. He was very protective of me and my little brother, and not much bothered by anything but Volkswagens. The Volkswagen was an unusual little car at the time, it looked and sounded different from anything else on the road. A Volkswagen would drive by, and Rusty would attack. The Volkswagen would run off with its tail between its legs, and Rusty would march home in triumph. ———————————————————
The Mayfair Barber Shop
I worked at my father’s barber shop from the time I was eleven years old, shining shoes and sweeping up at night. All the barbers had interesting stories. When my father bought the shop, he took over the first chair. The second had always belonged to a quiet fellow named Joe Maldonado. Joe was Hispanic, but mostly Indian, and emphatically not Mexican; his family had lived in the area before it was Colorado, before it was Texas, before it was Mexico, before the first Spaniard rode through on an odd animal he called a “caballo”. Joe and his six kids spoke Spanish at home, the same language their Colorado-born and bred ancestors had spoken for the previous three centuries. His father was a miner in Walsenburg, and there’d been some labor troubles. One day someone walked into the bar where Joe’s father was minding his own business, and shot him dead. Mistaken identity. Joe’s mother, brothers and sisters all moved to Denver. Joe got a barber’s license, and supported them all. For twenty years he was reliable and conscientious, driving to work daily, but one morning my father got a call. Joe was in jail. He’d been stopped by the cops, and didn’t have a driver’s license. He never had.
Joe wouldn’t bet against the Broncos. Denver’s football team was never good~for about fifteen years it held the worst team record in any major-league sport~but Joe always bet on them anyway. He’d take the point spread, but they’d usually lose by even more points. Due to Joe’s influence, I also didn’t bet against the Broncos~but I just didn’t bet on them, period. In 1978, they finally went to the Super Bowl, and for the first time, I bet a dollar~and lost. Nine years later, they went again. I bet again. They lost again, by more points. Twice more they lost, each time by even more points. In 1990 this was the worst loss in Super Bowl history~49ers 55, Denver 10. Four dollars, gone.
Eight years later, the Broncos again went to the Super Bowl. They took the field in their new navy-blue and bright-orange uniforms~technically they were the “visiting” team, but they’d never lost in their new “home” uniforms, so that’s what they wore. Green Bay was heavily favored; the NFC hadn’t lost in thirteen years. I wanted to bet a dollar again, but my friend wanted to bet five. I did. Martina Navratilova predicted a 31-24 win, and the Broncos came through. I won that five-dollar bet, and became the only guy in history, that I knew of, to win money betting on the Broncos. They won the Super Bowl the next year, too. For the first time in my life, I had trouble finding anyone to bet against the Broncos.
Joe didn’t see it. He’d had heart surgery a couple years before, and died on the operating table.
—————-notes etc.————————-
“I laughed! I cried! Then I read the book!”–some girl who thinks I’m cute
“The funniest thing I’ve seen since last night!”–Anony Moose
“Funnier than Ken Burns!”–DJ Austin, Google+
“Viagra-$0.70; Cialis-$1.10; Viagra (Brand)-$ 5.40; Cialis (Brand)-$ 5.50”–Yahoo inbox
Ted’s Tales
After his father’s death in 1902, all my grandfather’s older siblings moved back to see after Mama and help with the harvest. In the summer of 1903 a handsome young man, age 27, drove up to their house, with a horse and buggy rented from the livery stable.
No one recognized him, but he explained that he was King Callaway, who had left ten years previously and had been working in his uncle’s grocery store in Temple, Texas. He wanted the oldest sister, Lucy, to go for a ride. She did.
He lost no time in proposing marriage, and insisted that the marriage take place without delay, since he was on a two-week vacation.
Lucy, age 24, protested. “Why, King, I don’t really know you. I remember you only as ‘one of the big boys’ in Union School when I was in the fifth grade!” He told her he was desperately in love with her even then, but too bashful to say or do anything to let her know. He vowed back then that he was going to marry her, if possible, as soon as he was old enough and able to support her.
She asked why, in all those ten years, he’d never once written to her, and didn’t even write before making the long trip. He said he’d started many letters, but just couldn’t find words for how he felt. He had, however, written someone else to inquire whether Lucy was already married.
Well, the longer he stammered out his love for her and how all those ten years he’d worked and saved to that single purpose, the more Lucy realized she was also in love with him! Within hours she’d happily agreed to the marriage, but insisted it be a church wedding, which would require at least a week to make the preparations. “But I don’t want you to spend all your savings at the hotel and livery stable,” she said, “I’ll send Charlie to follow you to town. Turn in that horse and buggy, check out of the hotel and come back with Charlie. You are going to stay here. Mama and I will be busy and I can’t see you much, but Charlie will keep you busy and out of our way.”
The church wedding was held just as Lucy planned it, and off they went to Temple, Texas.
—————————————-
I had an account with a little local bank which my parents made for me when I was a month old. I had it all the way through until I was in my 40s; the bank was bought out about three times and I had no problem with any of them; they even gave me a safety deposit box because I’d been such a long-time customer. Bank of America took over and I never had more trouble in my life! All they were, were greedy bastards, to put it nicely. I quit them many years ago~
————————————–
if he loved me why did he never use any of the gifts I gave him? Never once wore the tie, put anything at all in the clamp hand, etc. I may not use the presents my kids give me a great deal but I make some semblance of a show about using them.
I wish it were so easy. There is a piece of land in the family where Perri and I had built a home. Our two years of work were dismissed, without comment or consideration, several years ago, in favor of a golf course which never happened. I’ve always felt an attachment to the property, far beyond anyone else in the family, because it was my dream. Now the property has come up for sale, and to be a good guy and to get along I haven’t said much. I was hoping to spend a day or so talking with my mother, and had planned an overnight stay. Rob and Sam understand the circumstances, but when our hoped-for overnight visit turned into twenty minutes, for the third or fourth or fifth time, based this time upon the theoretical emotional problems of a cat who may have faced a theoretical thunderstorm outside (let’s not get into the capabilities of a cat to hide from a thunderstorm), I felt I, and my family, had been punked, by the same sister who had proclaimed, gratuitously, to the rest of my brothers and sisters–and I can cite chapter and verse, to those who question it–that I should “never” have children, because, based on the fact that I wanted to live in the same unfinished home, which didn’t at the time have running water, though I did have a pump which I’d intended to install, that I would be a “terrible” parent. I’m tired of being the butt of this kind of ugliness. I have some legitimate things to discuss with my mother and I have the right to do so. To have my legitimate concerns and plans for a simple overnight visit, discussed beforehand, dismissed because a cat “may” have a problem “if” a thunderstorm happens feels to me not like a legitimate concern but a deliberate insult. I am sorry for tying up your Facebutt feed, Sam, but sometimes something needs to be said. I wish I didn’t feel the need to say it but when I feel like crap twenty minutes after my mother leaves with the sister who has said to the rest of my family that I would be a “terrible parent” and for that reason still have a bit of resentment towards, I won’t deny it because I’m not Jesus–I wish I could say “I forgive” and forget it–but forgiveness implies somehow the object of forgiveness will cut it out, not keep it up, and I see no evidence of that. The property was a dream, yes, but dreams can vanish when nobody gives a shit about a promise, which I have accepted. What I don’t want is for my kids to feel they are less important in the heart of their grandma than the theoretical emotional needs of a cat. All for now–
Where America came from
Daily Mail Online
The map that shows where America came from: Fascinating illustration shows the ancestry of EVERY county in the US
For decades, Lady Liberty, mother of exiles, stood watch as millions of immigrants arrived in the U.S. in hope of a better life.(…)19,911,467 Americans: The surprising number of people across the nation claiming to have American ancestry is due to them making a political statement, or because they are simply uncertain about their direct descendants. Indeed, this is a particularly common feature in the south of the nation, where political tensions between those who consider themselves original settlers and those who are more recent exist.
D J Austin
I find the conclusion that anyone who says they’re “American” is too ignorant to know their ancestry or has a political axe to grind is offensive. The areas where “American” is strongest are the ones where the people living there have been there for a couple hundred years, their ancestry, totally mixed, is a little bit English and a little bit French and a little bit Irish and a little bit German and a little bit Scottish and a little bit Russian and Swedish and Portuguese and a large chunk of American Indian and so on. To say one’s ancestry is one or the other of any of these would be a lie, and these “Americans” don’t have a strong (and blatantly false) ethnic identification with any of them either, but America is where their grandparents and great-grandparents and great-great-great-great-great grandparents grew up and American is what they are.
Torsten Adair
German-British. (Mother was a legal immigrant. Long distant ancestor was a British soldier who went AWOL after the Revolution. Otherwise, my father is “American”. Even the strain from New England would probably say the same.
ramilo holter
can I just say that America is now, just a mutt? sorry! Seriously…I think, the real Americans are the Native Americans? I don’t want to say, Indians…not that there’s anything wrong with that… Just a term in general?
Dana Blankenhorn
+D J Austin Regardless, the ethnic stream holding the largest share of the river dominates the culture, just as is the case with religion. It just is that way, and saying “American” is a cop-out. The fact that so many people choose to take that cop-out is interesting, and if most people in a place do then that will be its cultural identification.
My ancestors came here 4 generations ago from Germany, 6 generations ago from Ireland, and 5 generations ago from England (via Poland). It’s not how I identify myself now, but it does have an impact on how I look at culture, and denying that fact is silly, political correctness at its right-wing worst.
Jake Sharman
+D J Austin I agree wholeheartedly. I have always defined as American and American only, even though I have been told that I am of Irish and Native American blood. The reason is because I am adopted and don’t really feel connected to my ancestry other than a few faded memories of the “before” years. So, my reason for defining as American isn’t political and it isn’t born of ignorance.
D J Austin
+Dana Blankenhorn HOW is it a cop-out? After this rant, you still have NOT identified yourself as something OTHER than American. Why should you? And how many generations before those 6 or 4 or 5 did your ancestors from England (via Poland) come from Mongolia (via India)? In Mexico and most other Latin American countries these kinds of ethnic identity questions are illegal, as well they should be. A Mexican is a Mexican, a Guatemalan a Guatemalan, not Japano-Mexican or Turkmenisto-Salvadoran or Russo-Peruvian. I find the idea that I don’t “belong” to the country of my birth offensive, and I am most certainly not “right-wing”. Anyone born in America is American. Now let’s bicker about why the United States is called America when Canadians and Uruguayans and Argentinians are Americans too! 😉
D J Austin
+Jake Sharman yes I have some Native American blood on all the branches of my family tree as well as Scottish, German, French, Welsh, English, etc. and don’t “identify” with any of them. It’s not ignorance, it’s not political, it’s not ethnic, it’s not cultural. It comes from a deep sense of where my roots are, my soul. If we all go back far enough everyone’s lineage started in Africa too; that doesn’t make us African.
Dana Blankenhorn
Where most people come from, how most people were raised, creates local American cultures, which are distinguished from one another. Atlanta ain’t Minneapolis.
D J Austin
yes, indeed, local American cultures. London ain’t Yorkshire either 😉
Torsten Adair
It’s not a melting pot, it’s a tossed salad.
Each wave of immigrants brings something to the mix.
But you all do realize that immigration is a strong component of the American (U.S.) mythology, right? The Shining City on the Hill? The beacon for a better life? A chance to reinvent yourself? (And this still continues with each high school class that leaves to go to university, or move to the Big City.)
Furthermore, we are a labeled population. While my brothers are baby boomers, I’m at the beginning of Generation X. What can Nate Silver tell me about myself?
D J Austin
I grew up in Colorado, in a neighborhood where many of my friends’ ancestors were from right there, before it was a part of any country at all. They were labelled Mexicans, and it pissed them off. They weren’t from Mexico, had no allegiance or connection to Mexico and their ancestors had never lived there. They had every right to be pissed off. They were “Americans”, as much as that refers to the United States Of….., and nothing else. I am too. Why, if we’re a “labelled population”, is there something wrong, political, nit-picky, silly, right-wing or ignorant about the label “American”?
Jake Sharman
Maybe it is the fact that I am both adopted (severing me from my blood line) and barren (ensuring that the blood line will not continue through me), but I have never strongly defined as anything beyond my own culture: Texan American and now American British. I do give nod to my Native American and Irish blood, but I’ve only known about that for about 12 years, and I am not sure how much of the information I’ve been given can be trusted.
So, most of my life, my ancestry has been a guessing game. People have thought me to be French, Israeli, Mexican, Arab, Irish, and even part African American. The only thing I’ve ever been sure of was that I was born in Texas and that, at age 6, my birth family gave me away to strangers (to me) because those strangers asked if they could have me.
The bottom line of this is that while I will now say in a conversation that I am part Comanche, and I have taken great interest in the Comanche culture in the past 12 years, I would never put “American of Native American descent” on a census form; I would put “American” only, and I don’t see that as a cop-out.
Torsten Adair
My mother is German, so that culture permeated my upbringing. (Wine! Chocolate! Beer! Meat!) My mother’s grandparents lived in eastern Germany before the War, which is now western Poland. So I guess I’m “honorary Polish”, but only when my Polish-American friends are celebrating.
I am “Nisei”, to borrow the Japanese term. Many people in NYC are this, the offspring of immigrants. Lots of us in NYC, usually in the outer boroughs.
Simon Smith
Hhm I’ve never been happy with English as a race, as it has to be one of the most mongrel groups going. Celts Picts Romans Angles Saxons Jutes Romans Vikings Normans to name but a few in our geneagology
Jake Sharman
I’m the offspring of immigrants. My [adopted] parents were both from Oklahoma. They immigrated to Texas in the 1950s. ; ) Dad came in on a work visa, and he never left… Winning the hearts of the small town they hid finally settled in, they were offered amnesty and made naturalised Texans.I am actually the only one of us born in Texas. My oldest brother was born in Illinois when my dad was stationed there during his army days (they had a small trailer that they towed so that Mother could stay with him). My sister and brother (adopted, natural siblings) were born in Oklahoma. Their mother was Cherokee.
Anthony McGowan
Apparently not one person of Scottish heritage in the whole of USA, I think the mail has been writing scots out of history again
Loraine Slessor
Australia was built on immigration, but you don’t hear them having these debates – I’m intrigued by why Americans cling to their ancestry so passionately, even several generations back?
My mother was French Canadian with a native American bloodline, my father English. I was born, educated, nurtured and grown in England.
I am English, end of.
Harriet Miller
I am a bit afraid to look at my county, because it is the the most backward county in Georgia, if not the entire United States! My country: In 1860, Dade County seceded from not only the state of Georgia, but also from the United States, however the secession was never recognized to have any legal effect. In 1945, the county symbolically rejoined Georgia and the United States.
D J Austin
+Anthony McGowan the one “ethnicity” I’m consistently identified as is Scottish, though I’m certainly no more than an eighth. I was discussing this same subject with a girl from England one time, and the first thing she said was “Oh, definitely Scottish! I can see you’re Scottish, absolutely!”
Kay Passa
I’m Italian American solely because I was raised in a very strong Catholic-Italian-oriented culture. As I grew up, I realized I was “different” in some way from all my WASP classmates. They had Turkey on Thanksgiving, we had Lasagna. They rarely saw their relatives, we had weekly dinners at my grandparents house with all of my aunts, uncles, and cousins. They talk with their mouths, I talk with my hands. My heritage simply gives me a reason why these differences exist.
My dad was full-blooded Italian, even though he was born in America. My great-grandparents spoke Italian better than they spoke English, even though they were born in America (my great-great-grandmother was actually pregnant with my great-grandma on the boat ride over). Both my grandfather and grandmother learned very little Italian because their parents instilled in them that, “you’re an American so you’ll speak English.” A few of my relatives even had to change their Italian last names during WWII to American derivations just so they could find jobs.
Ethnicity should be celebrated because it’s part of what makes us all unique, but at the same time, I’m very happy my ancestors left the Old World to come here to start a better life for their family, including me. The least I can do is be proud of their accomplishments and the hardships they overcame so I could be born “American.” 🙂
D J Austin
+Kay Passa I grew up a long ways from my father’s family (my mother’s family comes from all over the map!) and my heritage if anything is hillbilly, which we celebrate with big family reunions in the summertime, banjo playing and among certain cousins a bit of moonshine. It’s not considered “ethnic” but it’s most certainly American and most certainly not anything else either. If I ran around in a kilt I’d pass for Scottish, but I’d be faking it as much as if I put on a beret or a bowler or war paint. The only label I don’t wish to claim is Yankee (I was born in New York City, but left after eight days), though this is the label the rest of the world uses!
This is really the nut of the problem. What is acceptable to one group is rejected by another. I speak Spanish and have many times seen mystery in the faces of South Americans when I explain that folks in my part of the USA definitely aren’t “Yankees”, in Spanish a relatively innocuous description of anyone born north of Mexico and akin to the habit of Americans to refer to anyone born south of the same border as “Mexican”, though Argentinians will tell you different!
————————————————–
I think the Republicans are locked in a cannibalistic, downward spiral, which will destroy the party in the next couple of election cycles. I think a reasonable alternative to the next Republican extremist will emerge, perhaps with the Libertarians, maybe someone else, and a great number of reasonable people who are nevertheless not Democrats will jump ship. When it happens, it’ll happen quickly, as it did before. It happened to the Whigs. The Republicans didn’t exist before 1856, and four years later they won the presidency. People think they’ve always been here and always will be but they weren’t ordained by God, no matter what they may have said.~DJ
Interesting, Dave, and you may be right. Centrist (i.e., rational) Republicans are scared right now, knowing that the right-wing extremists are marginalizing themselves, and the mainstream party is faced with either splitting (and losing lots of elections at every level), or keeping the crazies and losing the Presidency for the foreseeable future. I’d like to see both parties split. I don’t feel my perspective is represented very well by the Democrats (though they’re a helluva lot better than the Republicans), and I think the mainstream press would be forced to present a more nuanced and detailed perspective on all the issues if there were four parties. We might actually get some new ideas put out there. And multiple parties would mean the only way to govern would be to form a coalition, and people would have to learn to compromise instead of making threats and stonewalling. Sometime back I read an article (I think in Yes! magazine) about the Vermont Democrats. There’s a separate leftist party (I forget what they call themselves) that caucuses with the Democrats at the state level, but retains its own identity. As a result they don’t get lost in the Democrats and aren’t taken for granted by them. They also are taken seriously by all the voters of the state, because their ideas get put out there at election time. That’s how Bernie Sanders got elected to the Senate.~carol
oh, I’d like to see that happen too, but I don’t think the Democrats are as stupid as the Republicans!~DJ
Could anyone be as stupid as the Republicans?~carol
ha! I was watching Ken Burns’ “Prohibition” on Netflix, and I can answer that. The Prohibitionists. They had what seemed a good idea at the time, but were so rigid and inflexible that in the end they blew it. If they would have said, well, maybe beer and wine are OK, let’s just cut out the liquor, we’d probably have had a very different country. It’s the same with the Republican party today, too much emotion, not enough thought.
Of course, that could have gone for a lot of others too, the British could’ve said, well, send over a few Colonials to represent y’all, then; the Confederates could’ve said, well maybe we could agree on a method to eventually free the slaves, etc. etc.~DJ
I didn’t know that about Prohibition. Inflexibility probably ruins a lot of good ideas. Isn’t it ironic that the right-winger extremists are always waving the flag, but the principles they insist on sticking to result in deadlocked government–in other words, their principles call a halt to the actual workings of the democracy they’re so eager to wave the flag for.~carol
it’s really interesting, the next time you can see it, do. The idea of prohibition really started in the 1820s, people in general drank a lot more then and it started as a women’s movement to close the men-only saloons (often downstairs from the brothel); it was a crusade launched by wives to keep their husbands at home and out of the gutter. A women’s movement was quite strange at the time, but by the 1840s women’s suffrage became intertwined with prohibition. Prohibition was tried in Maine and a few other states in the 1850s, but they were all repealed. This led to the Civil War (people sometimes think it was more complicated!) and over the next 50 years women won the right to vote in Wyoming and several other states. The idea of prohibition became strong in the rural areas but not the cities. The government was dominated by the rural states, an amendment was proposed and passed and was sent to the several states, whose state capitols would be surrounded by hordes of screaming, chanting, hymn-singing women from the Women’s Christian Temperance League. It was approved by 36 states, and it was law. Then a bunch of gangsters shot each other and it finally came down to a women’s group taking on the WCTU, Franklin Roosevelt was elected and the country was wet again!~DJ
I knew the Temperance League and the suffragists were linked, but I didn’t know how or why. Now it makes sense! Did you know that our great-uncle Henry Toombs (Aunt Adah’s husband) designed FDR’s house at Warm Springs, GA and believe it or not, ran moonshine runs for FDR with FDR’s chauffeur? Mama found a book at a PC library sale called The Squire of Warm Springs, and it’s there in black and white. I bet Uncle Henry got his share, too. Also, while we’re on them, Aunt Adah knew Miss Lillian Carter (I think through her political/social work, but maybe your mom knows for sure) in Atlanta. Knight family trivia. : ) ~carol
——————————————————————————
—–
The Underwear Elf, the Underwear Elf
‘Cuz Santa can’t do it all by himself.
Checking on your skivvies by stealth.
The Underwear Elf – The Underwear Elf,
Look in your drawer and see for yourself.
He sneaks in and hides on your shelf.
He knows if you’ve been wearing
Your underwear too long
He knows if you like boxers
or if you prefer a thong – whee!
—–
Base Twelve!
Edward 2008 almost caught in a stampede?
6-3-93 Older than Dirt cake. Randy had a boat and we’d all go together to Hyco Lake or Lake Cammack.
Sept 14th 1993–go all the way to Chapel Hill to get special first day covers for their UNC Bicentennial stamp, address them to myself and they are rubber-stamped and tossed into the regular mail.
May 93–Ruth comes to town, we drive to the beach for the day; then take a horsey carriage ride through Old Salem.
David Holt came to the elementary school 1990s, I’d clipped the tip off my ring finger when trimming trees and couldn’t play his banjo when offered.
Rob’s Port-A-Potty job!! Mid-70s
1994–Pepsi the bird
summer 94–hike up Grandfather Mountain & I bring back a beautiful white rock with crystals.
1995–Perri’s folks move to a trailer in Alabama. We visit the gravesites of Perri’s relatives around Athens, which go back almost 200 years. I replace the timing belt in the Hyundai the day McVeigh blows up the Federal building. I already know this is a local guy and not an Arab. On the way back visit Fran’s family in Montgomery.
Dec 95 snows a few inches and I go skiing in the side yard. Christmas Perri gets a 3-D puzzle (castle)
Spring of 96 the new house in Athens is built. July 4 1996 in Naples.
99 Edward comes home on Mother’s Day, I gave Perri diamond necklace. Edward’s first bath in a galvanized tub. He only cries when we take him OUT.
July 99 Edward to Myrtle Beach. We go to Boone end of month to family reunion and my mother’s family also has a family reunion that year.. Edward was feeding himself at 3 months.
Aug 99 Wes & Helen & family come to visit. They’ve recently moved to Wilkesboro
Fall ’99 in Sept Edward’s first word-”ball”. We’d hang out in the hammock & I’d play banjo while Edward had a coconut shell ukelele and would join right in.
letter published in Seventeen magazine concerning vegetarian diet, early 1970s. Letter in Playboy late 70s
In ’83 Kevin had a tree lot by the Food Lion in Boone, while I worked at the school.
In ’85 and ’86 I worked at the ski slopes and didn’t sell trees.
bought the Studebaker spring ’91
1990 Easter break put in grape arbor, Perri broke foot.
Laura worked at Tusculum 89-95 & met Tom, married in 93. Genny graduated 90?
in 1998 gave blood, Perri got the test results while she was pregnant, looked like AIDS. After several expensive tests it come up as babesiosis or something related, likely from a tick bite.
In the 70s the main road between Boone and Blowing Rock was the most heavily traveled in the county. Appalachian was developing from a small teacher’s college into a major university, and though Watauga County had outlawed beer and liquor sales in 1949, the local option law stated that a city could vote to allow sales within its borders, which Blowing Rock opted to do in 1965. The local opposition had made it difficult, scheduling the referendum in the middle of the winter when many of the residents of the resort town had escaped to Florida, but enough of them drove back up the mountain to pass the referendum in 1965 and Blowing Rock instantly became the place for everyone to go within a 20 or 30 mile radius, which included the students of ASU. The law allowed beer and wine sales to anyone over 18, which included all the students on campus, and a great many bars and music halls opened in Blowing Rock in short order. The standard reply to the question, “what is there to do at night in Boone?” became “Go to Blowing Rock’, and everyone did. Those who were too drunk to drive on the main highway at the end of the night had a number of back roads to choose from, mostly gravel, and one of the roads of choice not only went by my house but was a 3 mile shortcut for me. For the first couple of years after I returned from the Navy my Model A truck was on the road, and as it was considerably slower than most of the cars on the main highway I generally preferred to take the back roads anyway. I never received any actual traffic tickets when I was driving the truck, though there were a couple of occasions when, not being able to see the gas gauge at night because there was no light inside the cab, I ran out of gas. Since there were no gas stations open at that time of night in the area, I’d crash out on the back of the truck until morning. A couple times I was picked up for public drunkenness, but since the truck had no key–I knew how to start it, but nobody else did anyway–there was no key in the ignition and thus no charge for driving under the influence. Not that I was that drunk anyway–the standard at the time was 0.15%–but I spent the night once in the Wilkes County jail and once in the Watauga County jail, but when the cases came for trial they were dismissed. (STORY OF WILKESBORO & BOBBY). The Watauga County charges never came to trial as I’d recently helped the sheriff catch a criminal and it was dismissed more or less as a favor for that.
Rob went to barber school in Winston March-November 1990, stayed with us during the week. When Anne and the kids would come down Grant & Jordan spent LOTS of time on the computer playing games etc. Something new and different in 1990!
George Bush doesn’t know what a scanner is, which uses laser mirror, cost him the election in 1992.
replaced the carpet after Daphne died, Hitler’s 100th birthday
Wonder Years debuts in 1988 (?) and Kevin resembles my younger brother Sam. The show is set in a time and place and with a family very much like ours.
Perri meets my Aunt Daisy while early-morning lap-swimming at ASU 1984. They find out later she & I are an item.
Feb 87 we go to NYC stay in App loft 12 or 13 of us. Mia Miller is there too. We take the pix while there we’ll be looking at Sept. 11, 2001 early A.M.
May ’87 Go to se Laura in Asheville, she’s recruiting for Tusculum, we go to Biltmore & afterwards meet Robbie Schultz who’s recruiting for UNC. He invites us to a “Let’s Kick Dick Nixon Around Again” party on his resignation date.
early ’87 called scopes Kallistoscopes
fall’87 Victoria sleeps over
Beth comes to Boone Aug ’88, divorced from guitar player
Elmira St. washing machine hooked up to drainage pipes OVERHEAD and machine would fill up with waste water.
worked in Dan’s second hand shop ’82, Tom G ’85, Jay C ’86, Gary Barskey from Glitters started buying my stuff in ’87, my first retail customer, he was at Buckhorn lot at the time.
Ringo is born on Halloween that year (1990), lives exactly 11-1/2 years, dies Easter 2002 (March 31). Edward is just a little guy, I tell him the Easter bunny needed a helper and we agreed Ringo would go with him.
Wes & Helen married 9-86
sold first Kallistoscope to Doug Beckham 12-86 and later traded it back.
worked with Tom 84-85 he later married Gay K. Kay
Worked with Jay in 85-86, he left pickup gate open to save gas money but lost stuff off the back of the truck. summer 87 sold at Mystery Hill & Anna sold soap, was married to Jay,
1982–Rafael, rubbing alcohol & sassafras, crawling on the mountain, drill bits which later I suspect as having been burglarized from dentist, his plans to burglarize a store in Alaska
I’d been living in the tent spring 1981 but that was the summer the trees were cut (I think) and in the process my tent destroyed. I got another tent and stayed there again from the summer of 1982 on.
Greg Gaines married Terry’s younger sister Janice. Terry committed suicide in my driveway.
Rafael–crawling up the mtns looking close up at plants, eating mushrooms, sassafras in rubbing alcohol, his eventual talk about burglarizing a shop in Alaska & the drill bits he traded me which I later suspected were acquired in suspicious circumstances. Jeff (someone’s brother) who also traded me drill bits he’d probably lifted from the Navy for jewelry.
Greg(?) in Dayton(?) who picked me up, got me to drive all over town & dropped me off at the same point that night $40 richer.
before you can find your center you have to know who you are.
stained glass window for bathroom completed 1980?
Jesus had a golden porta-potty?
Ned Taylor hit by car & killed New Year’s Eve for 1980 (1979-80).
Tom had come by himself spring of ’81(?) with a duffel bag full of peyote, which he was legally entitled to do, being the first white guy who had fought the feds long enough and hard enough to gain the right to pick it and practice his religion in the Peyote Way Church of God.
Cholera shot leads to weakness, sleepiness which contributes to discharge & later infection w/babesiosis which leads to many years of flu shots etc. making me sick not better & finally AIDS diagnosis when Perri is pregnant for first time after we’ve been together 16 years. Vaccination “reactions” aren’t only a few bumps and itching, they can have serious, lifelong, consequences.
1976 or so–The story of Bob & I sleeping on the back of the truck after running out of gas, going to the Wilkesboro jail, Bob pays ticket but I fight it, case dismissed, deputy sees me & asks if I knew anything about the pot under the back seat.
In Laredo everyone in long sleeves but me, in shorts. “Let’s go inside, it’s chilly”. The temp is 77º.
Need more about Kathy Daunis, brotherly rivalry, renting of room, tripping journal, waltzing, before Summertown
What were my social faux pas at the party in Colorado, 1996? What indeed!
meeting Mark Brown & Bob Richardson on Mark’s 18th birthday
Steve McNichols & I played a volley that went on FOREVER, we remarked that we’d never, ever forget it, and forgot it for about 40 years.
Mark Brown’s 18th birthday meeting him & Bob Richardson. Marks father was mayor of Seven Devils until he got a DUI, resigned, died of bone cancer on my birthday six months later (1986?).
Check floor plan Montclair & Annex
how many apts etc. in Denver before Boulder?
name of Dalmatian? When was the CU put up & when taken off side of mtn? Where was Broomfield (where Elliott Goldstein got off so as to save 15¢ on the toll?)
Where exactly was the hospital in NY? Near the twin towers, but where?
Joined 2nd grade after Xmas break. Tooth fairy brought dimes not quarters(?)
The cop who ticketed me for turning left against a red light in Hollywood went to St. James as a kid, a block away from Montclair.
Maturity was less defined than 18 or under 18–in some states you could drive a car and hold a job at 14, could marry at 13 or 14 (or in California no age limit at all with permission), you could be a paperboy at about any age, etc. When you dropped out of school at 16 you could still do about anything. That this isn’t so now has a lot to do with these kind of changes and not so much an inability or immaturity in someone who was 14 or 16. Kids have no real chance to grow up now before they’re 18–or if in college not really until 22 or 23.
A pic of some Hollywood heartthrob in a fan magazine about 1961–a guy of 23 or so on a scooter with 3 or 4 girls of 11 or 12 or 13 stuffed on for the ride–on a public road and no helmets to be seen on any of them.
The 60s–or 70s–were all about not trusting authority etc. but really it was because nobody who grew up in the Cold War expected to live to be 21 or even 18. That anyone did was a bit of a shock to those of us raised on hiding under the desk waiting for the flash and nobody trusted the older generation to keep any of us alive. Nobody could be concerned about haircuts & such if they weren’t expecting to live to maturity anyway.. Those who were “over 30”–as in “never trust anyone over 30”–were old enough that by the time of the Cold War they’d already reached maturity and had no clue what it was like not to expect that no one–not you, not any of your classmates–who wasn’t yet 30 would live to see it.
Sylvester the snake when I was 10–my brother and I playing with our juvenile sidewinder rattlesnake pet, not realizing what type of snake he was but fascinated by the strange way he’d spin like a coil spring when locomoting.
Running around the neighborhood trying to put salt on the birds’ tails–Boulder
Grandpa & Grandma Jones came to Denver again, winter 1966 at Spruce St? 1968?
Bela & Mary Reiner–Bela engineer, Mary had been a teacher but worked in a factory?
Judy Wallace and Linus the dog, fall of 1970
Sooner or later I should mention that I was kidnapped, out of the parking lot, late one night. I don’t like to talk about it. It’s personal and, mostly, will remain so. I was eating my lunch in my car, a fellow came up to me and asked if he could have a ride, that he would pay me for it, and I said OK. When we got to where he said he needed to go he held a knife to my throat, took my wallet and tied me up, then drove around in my car until the cops pulled him. He threw me out of the car, the cop car screeched to a stop, almost hitting me, and the cop fired his pistol after the shadow running into the night.
The investigating detective I talked to a day or two later was an absolute prick. I never trusted the fuckers again, and still don’t. While I am immensely grateful to the patrolmen who assisted me that night, that particular son of a bitch deserves to die, and there are many like him. I have had the immense pleasure of pissing on the memorial bridge of another of this species of prick; they are unfortunately NOT few and far between, and I will not, cannot, support the Policemen’s Benevolent Association or anything else along those lines, ever. End of story.
There are a few things that I discovered from that experience. One, the cops are NOT necessarily your friends; they are often scum. Two, I could and certainly would kill someone if I needed to, no question about it. I haven’t needed to, and don’t plan to, but could I? Most certainly. Three, once you get to the point where you are absolutely, completely scared, to the furthest limit of your fears, you’ll never be scared again. When you compare how scared you are to how scared you were, you’ll find you’re only 90%, or 80%, or 50% or less, and when you RATE your fears like that, they disappear.
Boys’ Foods 1968
Yellowstone 1967?
Something I wrote awhile back, presented in remembrance of Richard Heit, now gone fifty years~
For Easter week, 1969, many of us from high school Spanish classes around Denver had taken a trip to Mexico. When we returned, the neighborhood was in a glum mood. A few days before, our friend Mark Leftwich’s younger brother Mike had gotten his driver’s license, and in celebration of his first day driving had taken several of his friends for a ride in the country, to a place called Picadilly Road. All the teenagers in our neighborhood used to go to Picadilly to drink beer and shoot off fireworks, for no good reason except that there was nothing and nobody there except, by legend, an old albino man who supposedly lived in a cabin and terrorized children. There were plenty of stories about the old albino man, but I never saw him. Picadilly Road was hard on cars, too, except for Wayne’s Rambler. Wayne would drive out there when we were all about sixteen, a half a dozen guys in his 1958 Rambler station wagon; we’d wipe out a six-pack or two and drive back. Anyone else would end up in the ditch or blow a tire or overheat or run out of gas, and walk home. Not Wayne. The Rambler made it every time.
So anyway Mike Leftwich skipped out of school on the last Friday before Easter break and went out to Picadilly Road with his brand-new license and a carload of friends. My friend Monk and a friend of his sister’s, Kathy, were supposed to go along too, but decided not to at the last minute. Mike took the Oldsmobile up to 90 on the old dirt road and didn’t slow down enough on a curve. The Oldsmobile flipped, rolled and Richard Heit went out the window, or had been hanging out the window, and the car rolled over him.
He left a dent in the roof. Everyone else was okay, and it looked at first as if he might survive–he’d been working out and was very strong–but three days later, he died.
The funeral for Richard was that Wednesday. It was the first funeral for a friend I’d ever been to, my first for anyone my age, and the first time I’d gone to a full Roman Catholic service. My mother and I went to the church, sat towards the back, listened to a lot of incomprehensible Latin and kneeled awkwardly when everyone else did–save one family in front of us, who remained seated for the whole thing. We left quietly when it was all over, without saying anything to his family. I’m not sure why, it seems to me my mother didn’t think we should bother them, though I wanted to say something. Richard came from a large family; like me he was the oldest and had a brother about my age, though because I was a year ahead of my schoolmates, Joe was a year or two behind me, and I didn’t have that much contact with him. I don’t think I ever said more than a dozen words to Joe, though I often saw him around the neighborhood.
There wasn’t much left of the school year after that, and it couldn’t come fast enough for me. I was tired of high school.
Bruce Bonner from high school went to barber shop, I was too shy to ask him for a shine (when he wasn’t wearing sneakers), he worked later at the hippie King Soopers, was drafted, years later found & called him on the phone.
Crash pad resident Dan Jones later worked for King Soopers
About 1979, my father quit smoking. My sister wrote him a letter, explaining that she was recently married and one day expected to have kids, and said that if he didn’t quit she didn’t think her kids would ever get to meet their granddad.
Well, he’d quit dozens of times before. It’d last a week, or a month; once he quit for several months and chewed tobacco instead, which he’d spit out the window while driving, leaving long brown streaks down the side of our pretty yellow 1965 Ford station wagon. Anyone riding in the back seat had to roll up the window, or sit on the other side. Eventually he’d get drunk and one of his friends would give him a cigarette, and it was all over, again. My sister came to me with the letter, and I read it before he saw it. I told her I understood what she was doing and how she felt, but that I saw very little chance anything would change; he’d smoke his Newports and drink a case or so of Old Milwaukee beer every night until he died, and I didn’t know when that would be; that I wished him well and hoped otherwise but that the way he was coughing and wheezing and stumbling around I figured five or ten more years and he’d probably be gone, and that giving him the letter was a nice thought but most likely pissing in the wind.
Well, she gave him the letter, and I was wrong. He decided he did, indeed, want to see his grandchildren, quit smoking, and never smoked again. For awhile he got some little tobacco lozenges and pouches to keep in his cheek, but after about 50 years of smoking heavily, unfiltered Camels and then filtered menthol Newports, he quit completely. He nearly quit drinking too. When I was a kid he’d drink three or four beers a night, more on weekends; when I was a teenager he’d polish off a six-pack before driving home from the barber shop–perfectly legal at a time when 0.15 was the permissible blood alcohol content–and he was a careful driver in any case. By the time I was 18 or 20 it’d be a 12-pack a night and by the end of the 70s the better part of a case. He went from 20 or so Old Milwaukees to a single Beck’s or St. Pauli Girl. He also decided one day to brew his own, and started drinking Grolsch in the resealable bottles. He bought the kit and made some excellent beer, which he’d leave in the barn to settle until it was ready. They had a real kick, too. A couple of those large Grolsch bottles full of homemade dark beer would match a six-pack of anything domestic. Once, several years later, I was cleaning up in the barn and under the straw found a single lonely brew, which had been sitting there in the cool and dark for over 10 years. I had a bit of trepidation when I popped the top, but its scent proved luscious and rich and a half-hour later it was nothing but a magnificent memory.
walking home from Smiley & the strip mall, peanuts, fudgie & drink for 25¢, looked at the sidewalk all the way home, knew the contractors for each section of sidewalk, didn’t know the houses trees etc. because I was always looking down. For vision improvement started looking up.
explain grading points? 4.0=A etc.?
Pearl Bailey show Jan.-May 1971 before moving to Hollywood my father starts correspondence with her–”your show is too damned good! I can’t keep my mind on my poker game and I keep losing!” & continues correspondence until moving to NC
check date on Heit’s car ride–Mar. 31st
Check if possible Barry Burns–OD in 80s?
grandpa & grandma Jones visit Denver winter 1966? He can’t walk around block because of change in air pressure, they don’t need slippers & can go outside in sweaters when it’s colder than anything in Fla or SC
the dirty look after the Troubadour success & my dropping out of the group
Sam was in Tiger Beat magazine (page 32) for Mtn Born summer of 71
visit brother in Telluride & snowshoes, drop thru snow, Rob saves Fran, who disappeared lost virginity when living at Garden Grove house in early Oct. 1971 after getting front teeth broken. VD? Uncertain, but was taking penicillin anyway, for broken teeth.
How did we get those unobstructed shots of the freeways of California on the way to the beach and back? How indeed!
Lane Moller sports car, ride to missile base, trespass, get stoned, watch the sunset
unicycle, juggling, drums w/4 sticks
Letters to Bhakti Mike–why sleep in shit?
Lane Moller sent a joint.
Pee in the whiskey bottle! (Cliff & Rob)
Chet showed up with $50 he’d borrowed years before, passed it through the kitchen window, then my father borrowed his car and wrecked it!
Fixed the Futura & had a free car for a year
Lowrider times–& camping at the Kern River. Passed on a blind curve I’d seen ahead had nobody on it & threw a bunch of cookies at the girls in the car, 1950 Oldsmobile I didn’t trade for & Danny, Allen, Frederick(?), John & his girlfriend, 4 valium passed out, firecracker under car ended it all.
Yappy Dog Corner story
Celebrities–in Pete’s:
Davy Jones–wallpaper steamer, driving Austin car
Darren McGavin, pickups, paint compressors, jack hammers, sanders etc.
Michael Constantine–stake truck
Dick Clark–paint compressor, etc.
Jack Cassidy–chain saw
Alejandro Rey–chain saw (told “Passion Play” story; some little town in South America, Jesus on the cross tells the dates & times of the next performances)
Stu Gilliam–vibrator sander, to work on Model A
Roger Davis–rake, shovel, etc. never returned
Allen Sues–car polisher
Elaine Giftos–stake truck
Meyer Lansky–bad check posted on wall
Jayne Mansfield’s account–Mickey & Edy Hargitay
Chris Crosby–chain saws, various
George Peppard–rug shampooer
In Austin: Stevie Ray Vaughn–jammed on front porch with him at Jean’s party, played harmonica while he played guitar. Knew him as Kevin’s friend when I was staying at the house across the street behind the tree lot
In Boone: Doc & Merle Watson, Sid Bartholomew, Jim McLendon, Monique St.Pierre (Playmate of the Year 1979). Rob “shared a bottle of champagne” with Kim Basinger, whose movie included Cindy Martin’s cabin.
Hillsborough: Penn Jillette, Playmate of (October?) 1980, worked for Adam & Eve, signed my foldout from that month in 2000. Various porno stars.
Texas — John’s dog — Kris wasn’t so sure about a couple guys showing up, one of whom knew John’s dog.
extra notes, etc.
————————–
if there were a couple other guys there I’d usually start the “hiking” phase of hitch-HIKING. There are times when I’ve walked 20 miles or so; there were also times when I hitch-hiked from Austin, Texas to my front door in Boone, NC in 28 hours–a trip I drove in 27! I once caught a ride in Denver as I was walking down the entrance ramp, stayed the night in a motel with the driver, stuck out my thumb while I was unloading my pack from his trunk the next morn and caught a ride to LA, where a friend picked me up. Total time hitching, on a 1500 mile trip, less than a minute!
My suggestions: Hitching, wear light clothes. Trains, dark clothes. The road is the people, the train is the country. You don’t need as much stuff as you think; when you carry it all on your back you find out what you don’t need! 2-3 pairs of socks and underwear, one long johns, one sturdy pair of shoes and one old pair of sneakers, a pair of shorts and some long pants, a couple t-shirts, a big metal cup, a P-38 can opener, a can of sterno, a lighter, a toothbrush, a fork, a spoon, a water bottle, some soap, a pocketknife with a few blades, a roll of good strong twine, a couple big sewing needles and a roll of strong thread, a floppy hat, a jacket with a hood, a long fabric raincoat (you can layer clothes if it’s cold), and I alway carried a foam pad, sleeping bag and 2 large lawn & leaf type bags, one with the bottom cut out and duct-taped to the top of the other so it was a bag like 6 feet long, to sleep in & stay out of the weather. It should all fit into a good medium-sized backpack (with frame) and a shoulder bag. Forget the guitar, take along a penny whistle or a harmonica. A small vise grips (with wire cutters) and some wire would also be good. I carried a bag of simple tools to make jewelry with, an astrology book to do charts and a deck of tarot cards. Also don’t forget a bottle of cologne! Deodorant is good, but not after the 3rd day! I also kept a film canister full of cayenne in my right jacket pocket ready to flip the top and throw it if I needed to; I didn’t, but it gave me confidence a time or two. If you’re out my way definitely drop by!
—–
I’m saying, be true to yourself, don’t fake it. Forgive if YOU feel it, not because anyone, any book, any religion, Dr. Phil or Oprah or Jesus or even your own idea of what is Divine and Loving and Merciful and Kind says you SHOULD feel. If you DON’T, YOU DON’T. Look within, and follow your heart. Be true to YOURSELF, above all else. Don’t pretend. Don’t say you forgive someone if you don’t feel it, and don’t feel guilty or bad or less than divine if you don’t. YOU’RE the one who decides if you forgive someone or not, according to whatever YOUR standards of comfort are. It’s not something that can or should or deserves to be decided by anyone else, be they saint or devil. It’s your soul, your divine soul, and forgiveness is not another’s choice or judgment or call to make, it’s yours. To make a judgment on another human soul, to tell them what they SHOULD do or feel, based on anything less than a deep and loving understanding of where they are and where they’re coming from is, in and of itself, completely, totally WRONG.
—–
depends on how many objects you stuff in there. Classic, visible planets, you’re a bowl. Ten thousand asteroids, nobody’s a bowl. A bowl cannot contain a grand trine, grand cross, grand sextile or anything else along those lines because all the planets are contained in half the chart. Your own chart comes very close to having the classic planets stuffed into 1/3 of the chart rather than 1/2, actually. If you go inside the cosmological map and look at your own position on the surface of the earth, there’s an additional couple points usually added to the mix, however–the ascendant and the midheaven (and by extension the descendant and what’s called the “nadir”, though technically it’s the anti-midheaven). These aren’t positions of planets but rather positions indicating our placement on a planet–earth–and are often figured into aspects in the same manner as planets.
HI DJ!
I happen to agree with all that you advised! I will follow these steps then. I am suppose to meet with him tomorrow and will act just as a friend and not be overly engaged with him. He seems almost like a commitment phobe…. I will wait for him to show and tell with his consistent actions, instead of just words alone.
Thanks again for your unfiltered honesty… it was definitely very helpful.
I will move on and start dating again…. not all gung-ho about it but it’s a step in the right direction.
Hope all is well with you.
Take care, Lisa
I wish I had a nice, quick, easy answer for you, but I know how crazy that crap can get. I’ve been there too.
I guess point by point,
1) Yes, he’s probably scared shitless by love. Most men are. I don’t think most women understand this very well. A woman sees security in love, but a man sees responsibility. I’m not sure what to recommend, though, except to get on with your life. Don’t expect that if he’s being a wussy–let’s speak frankly here–that he’s gonna get his courage up by you hanging around and being “supportive”. He needs a CHALLENGE, and by the way you do too.
2) If he cares deeply for you he’ll SHOW it, you won’t have to “sense” anything. Avoid him for awhile, not that you’re angry, just busy, and if he wants to do something, you have other plans, involving other men, and he’ll have to wait his turn. Don’t go for any crybaby crap either, you have a right to do whatever you want with YOUR life, including seeing who you want, when you want to.
3) a “fragile” heart is going to be broken anyway, by what you do, or by what you don’t do; unless you really WANT to be his nursemaid, in which case you’ll be treading on eggshells all your life in fear of smashing it, a task at which you will SURELY fail. Get on with YOUR life and don’t let it be ruled by his “vulnerability”.
4) and finally–yes, you deserve the whole pie. Do you feel good about this relationship? Do you think you ever will? I don’t think he’s capable, personally, but who knows, he may surprise you. Still, I wouldn’t hold my breath.
Anyway, that’s my 2¢. Don’t worry about his happiness, if you’re not happy he won’t be either, and if you two aren’t destined to be happy together, then after the inevitable crushing and shattering of hearts and screaming and crying is over you will both find someone else and there will be four happy people where there were two unhappy people.
I don’t know if I have the answers for you, maybe I’m wrong, I don’t know. I only know my own mind. If you think I’m way off base, tell me–
All the best, you deserve it–DJ
Hi DJ.
I forgot to look at the moon. What a shame. Glad it’s been good for you. Hope all is well on your end. DJ – I’d like to get an honest male’s opinion, if you don’t mind. What can a girl do when the guy is hot and cold a lot…. I can sense that he cares deeply for me…. yet, the hot and cold is not something that I like very much. I prefer stability and consistency. I can’t stand drama…. and that’s what I am getting. Is this something a girl should address with words or actions? What is best to do? I don’t want to nag and be annoying. DO you believe that there are men who are scared of a woman they have strong feelings for? Scared of feeling love? And what do you recommend for the girl in a case like this? I don’t want crumbs…. I deserve the whole pie…. yet I know how fragile this man’s heart is…. and don’t want to hurt him further or enable this behavior by accepting crumbs. I don’t want to desert him, yet I don’t want to be a “too easy, too accessible girl who’s forgettable and has no worth”. Any thoughts? Do you have male friends who are like this?
Thanks…
Lisa
Hi Lisa!
I don’t think it’s good or bad to have a lot of emotion, or lack it–what serves well in one phase of life serves poorly in another. Everyone also has a history; one person learns to express their emotions, another learns to rein them in. I have a fair amount of mutable too, 4 planets in gemini, lots of air and fire, not much earth and water. I don’t think most astrological writers do well describing gemini; I don’t feel like a butterfly, or a little kid. It took me a long time to figure out who I am and what I want, which is my particular spiritual journey. It doesn’t have so much to do with emotion; when I followed emotion it didn’t lead me to a good place. I don’t wish to overwhelm you with details but I had an old girlfriend who pestered me for 20 years (a scorpio), even when she was married, and later when I was married and she was divorced. When things got tough with my (cancer) wife I went to see the scorpio, and it turned out badly. I did a lot of screaming at my wife from 2000 miles away, but we eventually got back together. I didn’t need to empathize with my wife, I needed respect from her; she’d been treating me too long like a ten-year-old who couldn’t dress himself or manage money. It may be different for you but by your brief description it seems to me you’re being taken advantage of for your good nature and that you also need respect. It’s no good to empathize with someone if it makes you feel like crap. I’m sure if you talk to anyone who’s been married a long time you’ll hear similar stories. No relationship is free of discord, in marriage you keep your heart open and one eye closed. You accept that another person has good qualities, and overlook the bad. You can’t make them perfect, but you can appreciate them, be true to yourself, and respect yourself.
Take care ~DJ
Hey there Doovinator.
Your email made me laugh a bit… yeah… in touch with your feelings… airy faery… is me. I am pretty in tune with my inner child at this point in my life… so, “Twin Flame” type of verbiage resonates with me. Just wasn’t sure if you spoke the same language, now I know. You are correct of course…. when someone is mature all around… they can be anything or anyone… even a TwinFlame. You know… you mention that I also have a lot of mutable in my chart… yet, there are certain things I know I can’t and won’t tolerate or settle for or “dithering over”. This comes from my growing spiritually, emotionally and mentally these last 3 years. But you made a great point about him. He is right now not in a receptive or open mode. So, in his efforts to protect himself from hurt… he does tend to “dither” back and forth with me and also protects himself from love. Is it bad to have so much emotion, as you say? Cause I do notice within me, that as I develop spiritually, I am very empathic… hence very emotional… too emotional in fact. I am working on having more discipline with it. But I see that as a beautiful thing, emotions is where we gain true power. When we ignore our emotions… we are not being honest. So, why may I ask, do you speak of it in a not so positive way? BTW – he doesn’t show any emotion… he puts on a great poker face. And when a person is evolved enough to be truly balanced no matter which sign they are… will it ever reflect in their charts? Cause when I read up on my sign… I don’t sound like a gemini they portray me to be. I prefer truth, honesty, faith, loyalty, dedication, accountability, respect and a real family life. I don’t cheat, flirt or manipulate my way in life at all. So way off base, but that’s a gemini life it seems.
Thanks again for your insights.
Lisa
Subject: Re: Thank you for your wonderful advice….. sorry it took a while
Message: hey no need to be sorry for anything. You have a right to ask what you want, don’t apologize. I don’t know what is meant by “twinflame”; it sounds kind of touchy-feely new-agey to me but hey, everyone has their style. I figure I know what I know, but some people love clouds and smoke and if so, fine. It doesn’t make much sense to me, though, that someone with no planets in fire at all–your aquarian–can be anyone’s “twinflame”. I don’t think you’ll marry this guy, there’s just too much dithering. You need someone who knows what he wants, and he doesn’t. He’s sensitive
and lovable, but a puppy dog, he can’t clean up after himself. Eventually you’ll yell at him for peeing on the carpet, again, and you’ll get tired of pulling out the Lysol. I don’t have a complete chart
for him so I don’t know details; I’m sure he’s a sweet guy, great to talk to–but to live with? I don’t mind much that he has a lot of water; so much emotion can get tiresome but it’s not a deal breaker. What’s not so great is that you have an awful lot of mutable and he does too. A better choice for you would be someone with more cardinal and fixed in the chart. A leo or cancer, some years older, would probably be good. Sagittarius or capricorn might also work out well. As for “the one”, there’s no such thing. Everyone has good and bad. You value their courage, but put the cap back on the toothpaste. That’s life.
I suspect astrologers DO tend to have a wide life experience. I never thought mine was that unusual as a kid–actually, my job experience list started with selling lemonade and then shining shoes at my father’s barber shop, both of which I did before I was 16, but the rest took place after I was 16, and largely, I’ve come to see, because of the influence of my father, so recently dead, who never feared much of anything. He told a story about when he was 19 and quivering in a ditch, a mass of jelly, while Germans ambushed and killed his whole company around him (he was one of 18 left), and he pulled out his pocket Bible and read, at random, “fear not he who destroys the body, but rather who destroys the soul”. After that, he had no fear of much of anything. It took me
awhile to understand where he’d come from, but I did find out. Once you’ve been to your outer limit of fear, nothing will ever be quite as fearful to you again; fear becomes something you measure, and once you’re measuring, it disappears. For myself, I was kidnapped at 16, and after having a knife at my throat, over the next couple years came to realize that as my limit, that I’d never, ever be that afraid of anything else again, and I could rate my fear a “6” or an “8” or a “2”, and once I started doing that, it disappeared. I’ve never since had much fear of anything, certainly not losing a job, which probably accounts for my doing it so often!!
Four jobs I have had (in my life? Forget 4, I’ve had at least 5 in the past year):
1)teacher of English as a second language,
2)accounts manager for Rent-A-Center,
3)salesman of newspaper ads for a ragged little county weekly,
4)salesman of adult toys for a company I worked for before and now returned to
5)stained glass kaleidoscope craftsman/salesman.
I’ve also had jobs (or made money) in over 70 other professions (counted them up a year or so ago), many were seasonal or temporary (ticket salesman at a ski slope, tobacco cutter), though some lasted over 25 years (Christmas tree sales, jewelry crafting).
This aspect is one of my favorite subjects! This is one of the answers I wrote for Yahoo Answers, which I discovered about 2 days ago:
This aspect, five signs apart, is called a quincunx, and one sign is “feminine” (earth or water), the other “masculine” (fire or air). In my experience there’s a much stronger attraction from virgo, but aquarius not so much, instead intrigued by cancer. Cancer in turn is mooning over sagittarius, but sagittarius hardly knows cancer exists, and is trying to chat up a taurus, without much success. Taurus is baking cookies for libra, libra is sighing over pisces, pisces is writing poetry for leo, and leo is looking over the bulletin board hoping capricorn will pass by. Capricorn passes right by, intrigued instead by gemini, who is bewitched by scorpio, who is bedeviled by aries. Aries is in turn showing off for virgo, who is entranced by aquarius. A merry chase! Such is the way of romance. A more direct answer to your question is that as time goes on you’ll probably find your virgo plodding and dull, but utterly devoted. As long as you understand and appreciate this, things could work out well, but if you eventually decide that handsome cancer you work with is more appealing, beware!
(the answer was for aquarius/virgo)
In my own case I had a scorpio girlfriend who married a guitar player in a shiny suit. She always told me it was a business arrangement, that he would raise her son (who was 4 at the time) and she would have his children. I was simply incapable of believing anyone would actually make such an arrangement, which was my mistake! She continued to write and bother me for the next 17 years, and always her letters would tear my heart out, about how her “wings were clipped” and she felt like the “temple prostitute” and always, always signing her letters “with love” or “love and light” or such. I eventually went through a rough patch with my wife and left to go visit her, where she treated me not like a lover but an Al-Qaeda spy! After 3 months I went back to my wife (she’d been working with discipline-problem kids for 12 years and had eventually started treating me like one of her 9-year-old brats, but we worked it out when she quit that job and learned to respect that I was a husband, not a child), but I still heard from my scorpio occasionally (it’s hard to let go of over 20 years) until the scales fell from my eyes one day and I figured out I was an idiot for not believing her to start with–it was the only thing that made any sense. She and her ex-husband (they’d gotten divorced six months after I got married) hated, hated, HATED each other, even after 12 yrs. apart, and had no respect for each other–I told her it was because she hadn’t been a “temple prostitute” in a past life, but HIS ACTUAL prostitute in THIS life, because what is it when one makes a “business deal” involving sex with another, leaving a true love behind? I told her she was never, ever to bother me or my little family again (by this time we had a baby boy, after 16 years together, which was another reason I’d left, it had been my wife’s choice, very much NOT mine, not to have children), and to go, and sin no more. I haven’t heard from her again, and doubt very much whether I could ever manage to be decent and civil to her if I did. I was very hurt, and it went on for too long. That’s my scorpio story, what’s yours? 😉
Wow! That’s intense. I dated a French guy – October 29, 1954 Nimes – who was eight years older, when I was right out of college. He lied about his age. He was a control freak to the max. Nothing was enough. No matter how much I did for him, I could never prove my love. Finally, I got a nice promotion and that pushed him over the edge. Right away it was, “You don’t care about me anymore, you only care about your job.” He really damn near sabotaged me. Finally, right after I came back from my first business trip – a photo shoot to St Bart’s with Cindy Crawford and a famous French photographer (My boyfriend wanted to be a fashion photographer.), my boyfriend was acting strange (intentionally, it seemed.) The very next weekend I caught him in bed with a Brazilian girl. But it had been an awful relationship from the start. He refused to kiss me – probably because he knew I enjoyed it. I was not permitted to have any joy in the relationship. Why did I stick it out? Well, with Neptune on my descendant, I guess something seemed better than nothing. He had Saturn conjunct my descendant, surprise surprise.
– October 29th is my sister’s birthday! (1963). Man you got one of those super-scorpio types too, didn’t you? My girlfriend–if you could call her that–was Nov.17,1952, 16 aquarius rising. About 7 months older than me, but vastly different experiences. It was a really strange relationship right from the start–I was pretty new in town (Boone, NC) and out with some friends when we went to someone’s apartment I didn’t know, and she was there. I soon discovered she’d been out west (I’d grown up in Colorado, she’d just left a bad marriage in Arizona), the only person in town from out west; she’d been a vegetarian as long as I had (9 years at the time), the only person I knew who had been, and definitely the only person I could talk to about astrology and Eastern thought who understood enough to have a real conversation instead of asking questions and putting me into “teacher mode”. This was not just the only woman I’d ever met who understood where I was coming from, she was the only person, period, I knew who was on the same wavelength. Seeing as I was new in town and catching a ride with friends, I had no idea where we’d been that night and by the time I found out, she was gone. That was the only time I saw her for about six months. She would pop in and out after that, always off doing some secret mission; I didn’t really want to have that much to do with her for a long time, it was kind of scary, but neither of us could ignore the chemistry, & neither could anyone else–more than once people remarked that when we were in a room together it was electric. She’d go out with some of the other local guys but I really didn’t give a damn, I figured I could wait her out, but then the guitar player bought her off, and the last thing I wanted anything to do with at the time was a band, as me and my family had had a band in Hollywood a couple years earlier and had done reasonably well in showbiz but about went crazy. Anyway after she took off (both these marriages were to aquarians named Michael!) I was pretty well devastated and didn’t have a really decent relationship for the next six years, in fact I hung around town for a year or so and then thumbed around the country for the next five. I blame most of that on neptune, conjunct saturn, opposite my twelfth-house venus, also pluto opposite my moon. ~DJ
Yeah, I thought it amazingly short-sighted of Adam & Eve not to make a computer available to me, so I brought an old typewriter from home (I have quite a collection, probably 50 or so I’ve picked up through the years, mostly for $5 or less). I didn’t care to explain every item in the catalog to every Spanish-speaking caller sixteen times a day, so I made up a rudimentary catalog of my own. It would have probably been a better catalog if I’d been a native Spanish speaker, but I’m definitely fluent and it was good enough to save me 20 minutes or so on each and every Spanish call–instead of explaining all the vibrators, lubricants, nipple rings, etc. I’d say, “I’ll send you a catalog”, stuff an envelope and take the next call. I ended up getting for Adam & Eve over 5 times as much Spanish business as they had before, in 3 years. I was definitely the best salesman they had on a regular basis–I wasn’t always at the top of the list but was always in the top three. It was a very interesting and fun job which was completely spoiled by office politics. When I quit they tried to hire four different people to replace me in the next three months, and finally had to split up the work between 3 people.
——
Good Heavens! What a story! I broke up with my wife several years ago, for 2-1/2 months, and went to see an old girlfriend (scorpio sun & moon, aquarius rising). I got along fine with her son and the older daughter, but the younger daughter definitely didn’t care to have me around, either. That wasn’t the only reason we didn’t stay together longer (have I already told you this story?) but it didn’t help.
——
You did tell me about breaking up with your wife and then realizing she was right for you. But not that there were 3 kids in the old girlfriend picture. This was a little different in that we went to Ohio (for strange and bizarre reasons) and the son (age 24) followed because he needed to dry out and get a job. He was a brat with us, so his grandmother paid for an apartment for him. He still didn’t get a job. He moved back to PA about when we did & went back to his mother’s (sleeping on the bottom bunk of his 12 yr old brother). Finally, my SO said “Get a job or I’m going to start driving around with you to help you find one. Apparently, that was a fate worse than having no money hence no car, or the “humiliation” of sleeping under his little brother, or potential homelessness. He got a job.
—–
I’ve got a bit of German too, also Scottish, Welsh, French, English and god knows what else. The picture is kind of scrambled with both my grandfathers’ and one of my grandmothers’ families (for one thing, the courthouse burned down in 1871, destroying all the records of the time), but one grandmother had a well drawn family tree going back to 17th century New England.
——
It’s too bad. Genealogy can be fun if you have time. My mother’s family goes back to the 17th c. too. It looks like a telephone book and it’s 40 years out of date. I bet there’s a lot of people can go back that far…
——
I wish women weren’t quite so concerned with that. I find something beautiful and enticing in almost every woman. It’s not who has the biggest boobs or the smallest belly, it’s the variety; every woman is a bit different, much more so than men. I’m sure that’s why men’s magazines feature nude women but women’s magazines don’t much bother with nude men–good-looking guys are pretty much muscular with few differences–hair & skin color, general hairiness and length of schlong–but women have an incredible variety of body shapes and sizes, and men like to look. Also, women in general will have little trouble enticing men out of their jeans if they so desire, but not so vice versa. As Billy Crystal put it, women want to have a soulmate for sex, men just want a place.
——
It’s a good point. I’ll try to keep it in mind.
——
Pretty much the other way around in my family, though I wouldn’t call her a clothes horse. My father had the annoying habit (to mother) of working on the car, etc. in whatever he had on, be it rags or his Sunday best.
——
Oh! That would be VERY annoying. I agree with your mom! haha
——
My brother and sister went to Yale. I didn’t go to college at all after high school–I graduated at 16, took “a year off”, and didn’t go back for about five years. I eventually went to Appalachian State University for a year and two different community colleges, one for 2 years and one (for Spanish) for 5 or 6 years. I teach sometimes as a sub at Alamance Community College here in town, I had a regular class for 3 years but it was cancelled last Christmas.
——
Oh, too bad. I hope you get another one.
Where is it that you live in NC? Is it anywhere near Gatlinburg, TN. (Or however you say it.)
Take care, Rows (oh, it was so confusing in database class. always talking about columns and Rows. If I were 1/2 asleep, I always thought the teacher was calling on me. “…columns and ROWS…” “what, what? What was the question?” Never before crossed my mind that my name was a homophone.)
—–
Hey that’s pretty funny – the movie part that is! I think I recall you saying something about popping a blood vessel one time. Was this before or After you quit messing with the weather…? I’m glad it turned out OK for you. I suppose I will be saying that in 12 year. Although I had this weird premonition that I would die at 42. I wouldn’t think anything of it except that it happened at same time I remembered a premonition I had at 20. Back then, I knew that at 40, my life would be exactly as it is. So that 20 year old premonition was coming true as I was having the second premonition. Nearly went out and got that “astrology of death” book. But its too creepy.
… it is kinda funny. There IS an old boyfriend I’ve know for 18 years. I STILL have a crush on him. And it’s funny too because he used to get mad at me over that stupid respect thing (sorry). But I couldn’t make any sense of it. The littlest things could be disrespect. Is that what was bugging you? He was an Aquarian too. like me I was so happy to go out with someone crazier than I was! Haha. But what a mess it would be to get involved with him again. Or anyone really. I want to be more OK with myself. Did I say that already? I also would like to figure out what these painful sensations I have around computers & other situations are…so I can figure out how to make a living. I’ve seen stuff about electromagnetic hypersensitivity. EMH. And YOU! 🙂 – cell phone people – are supposedly the big enemy. BTW – can you get me a better deal with Cingular,…. Ive been a customer for 6 years, blah, blah, blah… Is this having Sag on 2? I want special treatment! (anyway just kidding) Some say my sensations are totally psychological, others spiritual. I think nep in sco in 1st house is saying something, but what?
Hi Rose,
I don’t post much at aa mod anymore either; once in awhile at aa tropical but I haven’t had a lot of time lately for it. I’m working customer service for the AT&T Wireless side of Cingular–the two companies have merged, but not their computer systems, etc. and I’m on the “blue” side, not the “orange”. We’re not overpaid, but the work isn’t particularly hard. Still, I’m looking for somethng closer to home (I’m driving about 40 minutes each way), and where I can use my Spanish. I think it’s pretty common to be emotionally troubled around 40, though believe me it’s not the end of the world, I passed it up almost 12 years ago. My marriage was sheer hell for me too, about then. I got so damned mad one night I was throwing laundry around–I knew if I touched anything else I’d break it–and screaming at the top top TOP of my lungs that DAMMIT, you are going to to RESPECT me, etc. and went on and on and stormed out the door and walked about a mile in my socks on a cold night with no jacket on. I know I popped a blood vessel–the right side of my head pounded for days and for several weeks if I got the least little bit worked up about anything it would throb some more–and it was clear to me I’d lost some part of my sanity, I wasn’t rational and I knew it. I ended up going to see an old girlfriend who’d been writing me for 17 years–it
occurred to me one day I wasn’t happy, she wasn’t happy and I’d known her for twenty years. I spent the spring with her and occasionally called home to scream at my wife some more, from 2000 miles away. My wife and I did eventually patch it up about 3 months later but everything was different, sometimes more painful but mostly better. I wouldn’t have changed a thing, though, it was necessary. I don’t judge how anyone works out their life anymore, it’s ever so easy to SAY how I would have done it, and a whole ‘nuther ball o’ wax to LIVE it. Don’t be sorry, and don’t be bitter, and don’t be proud. I’d hold you and hug you and wipe away your tears if you were here, you know. As it is, get yourself a copy of Message in a Bottle (forget about the movie, it’s terrible) or Gone with the Wind and cry and carry on and remember, Tomorrow Is Another Day–
Much love,
~DJ
—–
Well, we’ve pretty much covered the life history thing. Just read a cool article on Robert Moss’ website about dreaming and the new work he’s doing with people…really cool and a really interesting guy.
Eileen
Hey Eileen–
I know how it is. My father was a tyrant too. I never thought of him as alcoholic at the time, but Denver was recently declared “the drunkest city in America”, and it was a relative thing. Many of his friends were hopeless, chronic drunks and he wasn’t quite like that. He wouldn’t drink until after work, but he’d finish off a six-pack before coming home, then drink several more beers before dinner while picking on me for whatever imaginary thing I hadn’t done that day. It was a ritual. He smoked about 3 packs a day too. I had the misfortune of being the smartest kid in the most paranoid state in the union; Colorado was where they made the atomic bombs and dug out the mountain to put the government in. My fate was sealed; I was to be a rocket scientist, everyone knew it and if I didn’t want to be one, the whole world would die. I was promoted in the first grade and spent the rest of my school years separated from my brothers and sisters, the youngest, smartest kid in class and the most socially maladjusted. I had precious few friends and no girlfriends at all. When I turned 16, I got a station wagon, and spent all my time in it or at my best friend’s house. I never came home except when I was certain my father wasn’t there. I graduated high school while I was still 16. Had I not graduated, I wouldn’t have gone back. I got a job working the night shift and stayed away from home. One night I had my first sexual experience, but it wasn’t nice, I had a knife at my throat and I don’t like to talk about it. The cops were absolutely no help; for years afterward I hated anything in blue with a blind fury.
My brother starred in a Disney movie, and wrote the title song–at 11 he was the youngest member of ASCAP ever–the first movie ever shot in Telluride, Colorado. Since my parents had been in show biz all along, we all formed a family band and moved to Hollywood. Two years in Hollywood and I was pretty near insane, but a month or so before leaving I actually met a girl. I moved back to Denver while the rest of my family moved to North Carolina. I wrote her several times a week and some months later she came through to see me–traveling with my younger brother, whom she decided on the train she loved as well. I didn’t hold it against her, but it wasn’t much of a confidence builder either, especially as my brother already had plenty. I was 21 before I had another girlfriend. I had several in the following few years,but never kept any for long.
I hate to sound like I have a clue what it’s like to lose a fiance. I don’t, but I do want to tell you about our friend Cindy, who lost her fiance a few months before we met her, and spent the next 15 years or so with totally wrong men–married, or just losers. She’d stay with them in these idiotic relationships for years. I finally took her aside about 7 years ago and had a heart-to-heart talk with her about it. She admitted she knew all these guys were wrong from the start, but it was easier to lose them that way. She then found a good fellow, and they have 2 kids. Finally I really want to tell you I totally disagree that you are selfish for raising a child. Nobody has all the answers. You do the best you can, and that’s the best anyone can do. You are not selfish. I wish I’d have had the choice. On three occasions, I’d have been happy to have a child, but she decided to abort–twice I didn’t even know about it til afterward, which pretty well wrecked the romance–and once it was Perri, after we’d been married a year or so. before we had kids we’d talked–or better to say she’d unilaterally decided–for 16 years. I made it clear when I came back to her if we didn’t have kids I’d have left for good. Everyone’s different. My sister’s kids would have been better off never having had their father in their lives. I told my sister-in-law (who keeps up with the gossip) that there was only one thing I wanted to hear about kevin–that he was dead. It would be better for everyone, including him. Well Eileen I don’t know where to go from here. You take care of yourself.
Goodnight,
~DJ
Hey David:
About the time you were hitching your way around, I was trying to figure out how I could have been so stupid and selfish as to bring a child into the world without a father. My father was an absolute tyrant and I was terrified and more than defensive about any man having control over me or my life. I left home when I was seventeen and didn’t write, call or go home again for five years, I was so mad at my old man. Just took off one night with my backpack, crashed at the house of a guy who was a friend of a friend and stayed there until I’d “gotten rid of” my virginity with him, which my father held up as the only thing men really wanted from a woman. Figured if I got rid of that, I might understand what the big hoopla was all about. Never did, maybe never will. Travelled where I wanted to, with whom I wanted to and lived my life like a woman who didn’t care what anyone thought about her…and that was the truth. Finished all but two college courses towards a teaching degree – paid for by waitressing and then, on a whim, took off to Colorado with friends. Fell in love there finally with a wonderful man – got engaged and then he got killed…I fell apart…quite a revelation for the woman who was always on the move, letting nothing get in her way.
Went back to Syracuse and met Jubal’s father…just back from Vietnam…has just left his wife and two children in Florida where she was cheatiing like crazy on him and, as he found out, had been all the time he’d been overseas. We were both hurtin’ cowboys…I liked him. He was and is a good man but I didn’t love him like I had the man I’d lost. I’ve never loved anyone that much again, except my son…don’t know that I ever will. Let Jubal’s father know that I wouldn’t marry him or have an abortion if I got pregnant so we’d better be careful, but if I did get pregnant, I’d never ask him for a
thing. Careful is as careful does and some things are just meant to be. I got pregnant, didn’t get married although he asked me to, kept Jubal, and the rest is history. What was I thinking? Not much and not well. My father had been such a disappointment it never occurred to me that kids needed a father, good or bad. Jubal has done O.K. better than most but that was the most singularly selfish act of my life. My son is the best thing that ever happened to me, I hope I live long enough to know he thinks the same of me. The longest I ever lived with a man was five years when Jubal was little. I tried but never could seem to figure out how to talk to a man about stuff that was important to me. Both my parents were alcoholics so communication wasn’t something I had any experience with. Also, I seemed to pick men who loved to smoke and/or drink like pros. Not a good combo with my background. I kept getting cleaner and straighter in my life but those bad boys, how they did love me. I finally hung up my spurs, pushed away from the table and said no more for me. I think based on half a lifetimes experience that in order to make it I’d have to be with a man who has a strong love of “god/goddess” or the force that organizes life in the universes. Someone who sees me as a mirror, a reflection of what he needs to work on in himself as I see him…a relationship that isn’t an I TRADE YOU. Guess as we get older lots of stuff that seemed so important just falls away. It’s still pretty confusing when you’ve got children in the mix. The buddhists say you grow faster with a partner in life because you can’t hide from your shit. Guess that means you’ll reach enlightenment before me. Don’t forget to save me a seat.
Eileen
—–
Pattern of Speech – Wiyum – I gaad-dymo- pu-te-nit-OK? William – I got it I’m gonna put ten in it OK?
Also a fellow who gave me a ride to Boulder when Monk had given me the pills, gave me a big chunk of hash and a hit of acid.
—–
Sam 8-21-09 Lovely to see you again. Well it appears Robin got the statistic backwards: it was actually an 85% FAILURE rate. After reading this I’m even less inclined to think “there’s something to” it; in fact it appears that little figure 8 I drew is the high water mark of remote viewing.–s
Doesn’t surprise me, I suspected the 86% was either way too high or the standard for a “hit” was way too low. I think I did better than average with my tree and peaked-roof house, but taking it SO seriously and especially, personally, is just plain silly. It’s difficult for me to see what kind of military or other advantage could be gained in such an exercise anyway; let’s say I “saw” Osama Bin Laden in a cave on a hillside with a big tree by the entrance. Even if I was 86% sure of it, I haven’t learned anything surprising. Unless I “saw” something very specific, what’s the point? Even then, it’s so incredibly open to “postdiction” or even outright fraud as to be useless.
I was really glad we had the time with mom today, the real “psychic impression” that I STRONGLY “received” about the whole visit was that Genny would find some way to request something exorbitant from her, over the phone, before we left. I didn’t bring it up beforehand, but I was even MORE than 86% sure it would happen! ~DJ
sam–LOL about the whole remote-viewing-Genny thing, as with most of Rob’s brain waves there are so many things wrong with his thinking that you can’t get to them all, especially not because it’s so DISRESPECTFUL. Barry said essentially the same thing when I told him about Genny’s call–“well OF COURSE she was going to call and try to cut the whole thing short because she wasn’t there and couldn’t stand it.”
Is Rob that big of a rage-filled asshole when I’m not around? I’m starting to think I should really just avoid him entirely (unless he’s with Luanne who seems to keep that obnoxiousness in check) because it’s not worth it. And I was rather offended when Mom launched into that thing about “I’m not seeing much respect coming from either of you.” What sort of respect did she have in mind for someone who can’t go ten minutes without another insane grandstanding pronouncement designed to throw a spotlight on his special relationship with the universe? Frankly next time he goes into that “you’re calling me a liar” thing I’m going to say “OK, you’re a liar, you’ve always been a liar, you’ll always be a liar, there I’ve said it, now you can’t blackmail me with the threat that I”m calling you a liar.”–s
Oh I just kind of skate on past all that psychic mumbo jumbo, I KNOW he takes it much too seriously and personally and it doesn’t mean that much to me one way or the other. That whole disrespect thing with him started with Anne, who may have been a good mother but was a nightmare as a wife. She was truly horrid to him for years, he finally stood up to her and was ready to leave when she got sick and at long, long last started treating him as human and not some particularly odious variety of pond scum. They once planned a family trip to the beach together; he hadn’t been to the beach in several years and on the day they were going to leave he came home from work and there was nobody there, she called him FROM THE BEACH, she had taken the kids and left him home alone.They got in a fight one time and she didn’t do any house cleaning AT ALL for 12 YEARS. They finally paid me & Perri to clean the place up, we threw out over 150 lawn-size garbage bags full of trash, and that didn’t include the basement or the barn. There was even over $50 in loose change under all that crap. She had her own trust fund, didn’t need to work and didn’t spend a dime of it on anyone but herself. She bought a new van for $25,000 while Rob went into bankruptcy. All she did around the house was sit on her ass, talk on the phone and drink Coca-Cola, it’s what killed her; she wouldn’t stop even when her kidneys were failing. One day she got a drink of what Rob was drinking and said it tasted pretty good, what was it? It was water. Before she died she was trying to get a transplant and was talking Grant into giving her one of his, I called him and told him not to do it, because she hadn’t made any effort whatsoever to get healthy, and I’m glad I did; living with one kidney ISN’T just like living with two, Grant would have lived with the effects all the rest of his life and even had the surgery been successful Anne would have gone through the new kidney in just a few years anyway. I don’t want to speak ill of the departed but I don’t believe in whitewashing the plain truth. I’m glad that Rob’s learned to speak up for himself once in awhile, even if he’s touchy over silly bullshit. Don’t let it get to you. He didn’t like it when I remarked about how many books he hasn’t finished either, which I’m sure is at least nine times as many as he has, it’s a personality quirk and doesn’t really harm anyone. He’s in a hell of a lot better frame of mind now than he was some years ago, and the same for Luanne, who had similar issues of her own, and between the two of them they’ve had a hell of a time of it, in the last ten years or so they’ve had to clear up estates of nine relatives between them. I’m glad I’m not there!
It really was a lovely time, I’m glad we were there just the three of us and mom, wish it could have lasted longer. Are you coming to the family reunion next weekend?
~DJ
Yeah I’ve heard the stories about Anne being horrible to him, and that is lamentable, but this behavior predates all that. I remember him back in the early ’80s bellowing “because I believe Lemuria actually EXISTED!!!” when we challenged it as an example of a country beginning with “L.” I thought he was going to throw something, and that was not an isolated example. Here we are some 25 years later, still getting tantrums because people don’t respect his beliefs, integrity, intellect, whatever, and what’s worse in a public setting! I wanted to say “where does it say in those thousands of books you read to throw a tantrum when people don’t respect your intellect?” But what I found more disturbing than the tantrums and the pointless grandstanding pronouncements was all this resentment he was keeping in, as evidenced by the way he characterized my demeanor in imitating me and also saying “you went on and on mocking dad’s voice” et cetera. Wherever all this rage is coming from, I don’t care to be exposed to it. I don’t find it harmless at all, I think it’s toxic. He also displayed a detestable and revealing bit of condescension when he bloviated at you “I suppose I should just discuss the weather like everyone else.” Oh I get it, you think talk of the real world is dull compared to your world of wonder where trees show you time-lapse movies and reveal that some things have been here longer than others. Gee, since we’re in the historic section of Charlotte I would imagine that the church has been here a long time, but thanks for confirming that with your cross-species communion. Anyway neither he nor Mom are going to get another opportunity to treat me that way. I was not planning to go to the family reunion, but I think this experience would’ve in any case changed that plan.
I’m glad you told Grant not to donate a kidney. She hit me up for one as well, and it never went anywhere but it did make me think under what circumstances I would donate an organ. I decided I had the right to expect that the recipient would treat the organ with at least as much respect as I had. Not more, necessarily, but not less. And her general disregard for her own health seemed reason enough not to endanger mine. –s
Everything you say is true, I was appalled as well with the vitriol. I can’t get pissed about it though, Rob is a wounded soul. Something you probably don’t know is he had a conversation with Luanne the evening before and she was breaking up with him, because he had insisted that she and Leah and Anna not eat the nut mix that Noelle bought with her own money at $7 per pound and offer Rice Krispies in return at $1 per pound. He loves Luanne, he’s known her for more than 40 years, they were sweethearts in 3rd grade, but he won’t let her trespass upon his feelings for justice with Noelle. Luanne is rough, raised in poverty and violence, doesn’t know social conventions. Rob is rough too, but at least understands that waiters should be tipped and Rice Krispies are no substitute for pecans and macadamias. I doubt they’ll break up, but I’m sure it was heavy on his mind. He needs some slack, yes his tantrums are juvenile, but in fact emotionally he’s far more fucked up than anyone else of us right now, Luanne is supporting him and fixing up HIS house on HER credit, she’s LOSING her house in Colorado in the meantime to foreclosure while they’re doing all this, including paying ME to fix HIS roof, and her son is bothering her because he’s living in the house where her husband of 28 years died in the driveway and he wants her to pay everything while he sits around in the basement playing computer games and smoking pot. He’s 31 or so and doesn’t have a job and hasn’t ever held one for more than a few months and she has nothing but bad feelings about the house she lived in for all those years for similar reasons that Rob feels about Anne, both of them were treated like scum and lied to, her husband hid about $100,000+ in assets from her while they were married etc. etc. etc. She’s very good to Rob, but he’s still loyal to his daughter. It’s commendable, I know he’s being an asshole but I admire him for what he has been putting up with anyway. If he wants to lose himself in the stories trees have to tell then what the hell, it doesn’t hurt anyone and he feels better connecting with The Universe as it hangs in Charlotte instead of the bitch I tried to sell scopes to. He escapes the unpleasant present, and we go on with our lives. Maybe someday he’ll see how full of crap that kind of touchy-feely shit is, in the meantime he’s my brother and my family and even if he and his fiancee and her daughter were in the way for the four days which me and Perri had originally planned to be a romantic getaway we still had a good time and the kids enjoyed themselves and everybody got sunburned on the beach and we all ate pizza and burritos and love each other anyway–
~DJ
Thanks for the context. They say “to understand all is to forgive all,” an aphorism he strains to its limit. I guess he will always be a needs case and his feelings will always take precedence over everyone else’s, and if I don’t find ways of avoiding his company I will have only myself to blame for the result (especially since I apparently have nothing better to do than plot his latest humiliation). I’m thinking if Luanne didn’t dump him when he told her (for her benefit, so she would not cling) that he never loved her and was ditching her to travel the world as a rich supermodel-dating artist’s representative, she will probably weather the Rice Krispies episode. But I can’t help wondering how long it will be before the burden of supporting him shifts from Luanne to Noelle (who, I couldn’t help but notice, only came up in conversation as a witness to his powers). Apologies if this exchange has grown tiresome, but to what attempted romantic getaway are you referring?–s
we all went to the beach Aug. 13-17, Rob & Luanne & her daughter & granddaughter Leah and Anna came along, they had their own motel room but were basically there the whole time. It was OK, it was a really nice vacation but not what we’d originally planned. I didn’t mind, life is much more fun when it doesn’t follow your plans anyway. I was probably closer to Luanne’s family than my own when I was in my teens. I’ve known her since she was like 8 yrs. old and have kept in touch for 44 yrs.; she & Rob didn’t see each other for 34 of those years so I was really the one she came to crying when she & Rob broke up the first time. She’s rough and redneck but honest and frank and truly and exceptionally loyal, and really cares for him, has since the 3rd grade. I think they’re good for each other. Yeah, I get annoyed at Rob’s psychic touchy-feely bullshit but it’s not a big deal to me. I really, truly, don’t care, so arguing about any of it is a waste of time. If Rob wants to believe the earth is hollow and aliens run the government, so what, it’s irrelevant. I think it’s too bad it’s causing a problem between yall, we had a good time at the family reunion, Luanne & Leah & Anna were there too as was Ray and nobody talked about remote viewing, you missed a lot of interesting & cheesy gossip. ~DJ
Oh I agree, I think Luanne is the best thing that’s happened to him in years. Apparently other people have a problem with her but I think she’s great. I’m sure she’s the reason he did not lapse into grandiose cosmic anecdotes. And other than the fact that they’re conversation killers I really don’t care either about his idiotic occultism. In fact if all I’ve done is rolled out of bed and plopped my ass in someone else’s car on someone else’s dime for a twenty minute drive, I don’t care if he wants to sit there seething at the notion that I’m plotting his ridicule or trashing Dad’s memory. I just don’t see why I should drive six hours and rent a motel room to subject myself to Rob’s character assassination and Mom’s condescending you-are-partially-responsible-for-a-grown-man-throwing-a-tantrum lectures about mutual respect. I can be anywhere else but in their presence, doing anything else with anyone else, and oddly enough no one feels the need to attack my character. I wasn’t planning to attend anyway because Barry had to work and we usually go out to dinner on Saturday nights, but going forward if Rob is there without Luanne you can count me OUT! Sorry however that I missed everyone else’s company and a lot of interesting and cheesy gossip. Maybe you’ll pass along the best nuggets.–s
well one thing was Doris totally pissed off Peggy, Doris told her she’d “come up in the world” marrying into the Austins. I suppose the Austins are marginally better off overall than the Arnettes but not so much I’d point out the difference! There’s a whole new feel to it lately, so many of the old faces are gone and so many of the others are getting married & such. It’s really interesting, the conversations are more real now instead of how we all come from a long line of saints etc. The only one of father’s generation there was Daisy, Ella is 98 now and didn’t show and that’s it, there’s no one else. Buddy is gone, Anne & Jordan are replaced by Luanne, Leah and Anna, Sarah is gone, Rob C. is replaced by Ray, June is gone but Clyde is coming around again, though Tammy isn’t, Patsy has a relatively new husband & a couple other relatives have new squeezes too, Edward is a sharp trader, he ended up trading a Susan B. Anthony dollar to Tristan for two cut topazes, James missed it by being too late but he has a family now, etc. etc. etc. Even the food was different. As for respect I really, truly, don’t give a damn about all that psychic stuff, it doesn’t bother me one way or the other what Rob believes or what my father believed, all that 12th planet crap and all the rest may or may not be true but what the hell does it matter? It’s like the Catholics eating Jesus, if transubstantiation is a miracle, it’s about the most worthless miracle I can think of and I wouldn’t want to eat the stupid cracker in any case, but if someone believes what’s it to me?
~DJ
Wow hard to believe Aunt Ella is 98. Did Lula die? Either I forgot that someone told me or no one did. I can’t imagine what context would be appropriate to tell Peggy she’d “come up in the world” but it seems she’s always been getting shade from one cousin or another, I think Collis’s offspring were more into that shit but it’s true we’re hardly the Astors. Glad to see Edward is a sharp trader, that will serve him well throughout his life.–s
Yeah, Lula died a couple years ago, she made it to 99 and 9 months or so. I hadn’t thought about it but I guess you’re right about Collis’ family being so socially conscious. What I’m really glad we all got away from was great-uncle George’s family and all that crying and disaster!
I was thinking about Muhammad Ali visiting Ireland and a generation or two ago people would have said, well that’s where he got his poetry, and wouldn’t have thought twice about it, I’m inclined to say Edward has my Scottish blood and that makes him thrifty but it’d probably kick up a fuss–
~DJ
1-30-13 was cleaning out my email and came across this little gem I thought you’d like to revisit. I really tore up my shoulder in October (I was pulling up a fencepost, it snapped, I fell, hit my shoulderblade on a rock, dislocated my shoulder, messed up my rotator cuff, tore a muscle and damaged the brachial nerve bundle to my left arm; now my left hand stays numb all the time but otherwise I’m pretty well recovered after some months of agony). It wasn’t comfortable to sit at the computer and I didn’t clean out my email since, until now. Last night I eliminated about 3000 messages!
How’s things up there? The weather missed us, lots of wind but very little rain and it’s a lovely day out, for the last of January. ~DJ
Rats, that sucks! Between that and stepping on the rake you’ve had some rough breaks in the yard. I blew out one leg on a rowing machine maybe ten years ago and can STILL get a twinge if I’m sprinting and step the wrong way, but fortunately that’s been the worst for awhile. I overdid it on the walking and gave myself a hairline fracture in my foot just before the holidays (self-diagnosed but I did the same thing to the other foot many years ago) but that seems to be gone now, it takes about 6-8 weeks of staying off it as much as possible.
Reading that exchange about Rob and Mom brought back a lot that I hadn’t entirely forgotten, and I’m glad I didn’t, but I think I have a bit more perspective about it. I think there is a useful degree of denial that makes life more livable, but everyone has to regulate their own dosage. Just the other day I was playing back a conversation I had with Mom while she was here and rewriting it: “Yes, Mom, you cope with reality by putting a better face on it, I cope by making fun of it. Each is a variation of the same thing, and each has its price.” I’m afraid that her visit here so soon after Rob LaRocco’s death exposed her to a particular zeal I was feeling to leave nothing unsaid.
The weather has been colder, wetter and windier than usual–these Roanoke winters are typically a hop skip and a jump, this is beginning to feel like a trudge! How is the family?–s
yeah, I wreck the motorcycle a couple times, twice go off the side of a mountain, total a couple of cars and get my worst injuries putzing around the yard! I talked with Rob for a long time last night; he’d sent an email a couple weeks ago that I just found, asking for the chord changes and lyrics for a little song “Popcorn”, which has proven far and away the most popular composition I’ve ever written. I was explaining to the kids one night how a lot of times composers will make up “working lyrics” off the top of their head and used “Yesterday” as an example, which was originally “Scrambled eggs”–and I pulled up a little chord progression I’d been messing with, sang “Popcorn, grape juice, rubber tires on my car”–and then they wouldn’t let me change it! I taught it to Clara Kate and Edward, and it’s their favorite song, all their little friends know it, all my friends and even strangers I met at parties and the train station!! It’s got one chord in it I can’t name, can’t even find on the chord identifier app site–it’s a variation on a B, I’m thinking maybe a Bm7—E-B-D-A-B-F#. Rob’s doing well, he’s lost EIGHT INCHES off his waist and he and Luanne are doing this “mostly vegan” diet with a little fish. She’s really been good for him. I think both of them were pretty well beat down from long marriages to difficult spouses. I see him fairly frequently (and with Daisy Anne just down the road expect to) and we make up drinking songs (“Drink Some More”, “I Don’t Wanna Lick The Puke Off The Floor No More”) and talk about touring Australia. Daisy is a gem, little bitty, sleepy and agreeable. Grant’s family now has the same days of the month for birthdays as mine; Joie shares June 26th with Perri, Grant and Clara were born on the 11th and Daisy and I on the 3rd. I expect their next baby will be born on the 7th like Edward!
The kids are fine and Perri’s getting a lot of work substituting, though she’s not happy being away. I can understand that she’s frustrated but I just can’t find that much work out there, and I don’t want another crappy job if I don’t REALLY have to take it. I signed up with all the agencies around town and Vocational Rehab–they took me because of my less-than-perfect left hand and detached retina–and I haven’t found anything yet but springtime’s coming and I still have about 3 more months of unemployment. I have had a couple of speaking engagements–my astrology talk did well in Raleigh and I got another in Tarboro, which was about twice as far but paid twice as much! I’ve also been putting together my book–after going to a class with Genny I decided to cut it up into 4 books and I’ve got pretty much everything but a cover for the first, which I’m calling “Bozo’s Boy”. I don’t have the programs or the knowledge to make up a cover on my computer and Perri has been dragging her feet but I talked to one of her friends this morning so maybe will have it in a day or two. I was furious with Genny for a while, but she’s been trying to be friendly for many months now and Tristan seems to be doing better too. Anyway that’s the Austin update from here; stay warm! ~DJ
—–
Look, everyone dies. Some with smiles on their faces, some with poop in their pants. It’s unfortunate that some die scared, or too young, or before they’ve finished what they wanted to, but everyone gets there one day, no matter what. Be gloomy if you like, but the percentage of people that live a good life is pretty high. Celebrate life!
~DJ
—–
I was involved in an imbroglio at work at the end of November. My supervisor, who had always been picky and totally a micro-manager, had begun to correct my Spanish. I didn’t mind so much when she’d correct other things about my work, because for the most part I’d ignore it and do what I did anyway, but her Spanish was nowhere near matching mine and she knew it. I’d originally felt that I’d been getting along fine with her but for years it had been going downhill a little at a time and I’d repeatedly requested to her boss that I get off her team. In late summer she “corrected” a Spanish word I’d used for years to state the credit card had been approved, though “aprovechado.” She said I’d been doing it wrong, that the “proper” word was “aprobado.” The very next customer I had asked me if his credit card had been “aprovechado,” however, and I went to her boss, Al, and said to him that I’d prefer if she didn’t “correct” my Spanish.
Well, she was totally furious about that, and tried for the next several weeks to get me fired. My monitors were flunked for petty and picayune reasons – part of answering the phones is that supervisors listen in or random calls to assure quality and I was threatened with termination when a customer called me a “dumb ass” and I told him we weren’t going to listen to that kind of language – a perfectly acceptable thing to do – but when she wrote it up she said that the customer said “ass,” not called me a “dumb ass,” and that I wouldn’t be getting my bonus that quarter. Not that I cared that much; sales commissions amount to far more than bonuses anyway – but suddenly she had problems with the way I was pronouncing my “Rs,” with certain pauses I’d use in my spiel to assure clarity – “can I have your Credit – card – number – please?” and the like. After a sort of double – teaming session in which she crudely insulted me (include letters) I stayed away for the rest of the week, and after Thanksgiving was presented with a large stack of supposedly flunking monitors and such, which I refused to sign. I gave letter #2 to HR, Jerry, and Phil and as of a month later heard nothing fore about it, though I was ready with witnesses and firepower if need be. All for the twisted politics of a little bitty part of a company I’d been doing a good job for, for years.
—————————-
Looking at the past century or so, most of the real social changes have come about not because they were instigated by men, but by women. Labor and safety laws? Initiated largely because the Triangle shirtwaist fire, almost all women died, but men and boys had been dying for years. Women’s voting rights were closely tied to the Temperance movement, and both Prohibition and women’s suffrage happened at roughly the same time. Some years later Prohibition was rejected, not because men were saying much about it but because of the opposition of women (see Ken Burns’ fascinating series). Social change away from feminism will come not because of the complaints of men (the wussies!) but because women see how it wrecks the lives of their sons (and daughters).
My 2¢~
—
Jenni James my problem is that I’m a perfectionist, and I tend to look closely at my flaws when painting.
D J Austin In stained glass there’s a thousand-year old tradition to always leave a flaw – because, it’s said, perfection belongs only to god! My advice for any artist, or really for anyone doing anything, is to know when something’s good enough, then leave it. If it takes an hour to get 90% perfection, 99% takes two hours. Double it again to reach 99.9%, but even after eight hours you’ll only have 99.99%, you’ll never reach 100%. Decide beforehand what’s good enough. For some things it may be 99.9%, but for most things 90% is excellent, and even 80% or 50% or even 20% may be good enough. Anything more is a waste of time, life, and happiness
Jenni James +D J Austin thank you so much for what you said. Very inspiring. I’m going to try and work on it
D J Austin +Jenni James personally I think that’s the hardest lesson to learn. Most people will look at your work and see something beautiful, but you’ll see some minor flaw, because the reason it’s beautiful (or functional, or whatever) is that you fixed a few other flaws. 90% of all people won’t notice, 99% won’t care, and 1% will never be satisfied no matter what you do. Be happy with the 99% and forget the rest!
Jenni James+D J Austin thank you so so much! You’ve been a great help!
—————
vaccinations aren’t for everyone, I personally got the flu vaccine, AND got the flu afterwards, for TEN YEARS, before I gave blood one year and found out – or actually not me but my PREGNANT wife found out – I was supposedly positive for AIDS. Several tests and several hundred dollars later – and much soul-searching over abortion or not over our FIRST child, at the age of forty+, I learned I had not AIDS but a “cousin to AIDS”, and all the money I’d spent over the previous decade on medicines and sick days I’d lost at work and feeling like crap ALL YEAR LONG and ALL THAT SHIT could have been avoided by NOT getting the “flu shot” to start with. Doctors don’t know everything, will NEVER know everything, and often don’t listen or give a shit about anyone outside of the “percentages”. I find it EXTREMELY irresponsible to call measles a “serious disease” and pointing out that “a thousand” children die of measles when more than that die of choking on Chicken McNuggets. Yes, measles causes dehydration. Drink water. Yes, measles depletes vitamins A and D. Take vitamins. Make your kids drink something besides Mountain Dew and eat something besides candy and TAKE CARE of your kids.
I don’t think vaccines are always wrong. My son is happy to get shots for rabies, tetanus and antibiotics, but I think assuming that everyone should be injected with all possible germs found in fecal matter and rotten dead carcasses, “killed” with toxic chemical baths, in a society where it’s NOT the standard for people to shit in a cup and toss it in the gutter in the morning, and never take a bath, and step in horse shit every day, and let rats run through the house, I think this needs to be re-thunk.
My 2¢
——————
Well the way to talk to people is by RESPECTING them. I am SICK of hearing “anti-vaxxers” as if it’s acceptable. I’ll tell you who believes in vaccines. Vaxx-‘Em-More-ons. Only Vaxxemorons, mindless dumb asses who don’t know how to think for themselves, would EVER believe that pumping babies full of countless varieties of diseased rotting flesh, bacteria and poisonous chemicals has NO side effects whatsoever. If you can’t RESPECT another point of view, whether you feel the same or not, then YOU’RE the dumbass, I say. Now show me how much bullshit you can stuff into a sentence, please.
—————-
There is nothing else like being in a tornado. I was in a little cinder block gas station building when a tornado passed over (it was nearly horizontal, or I probably wouldn’t be telling you this now). The front doors were sucked completely open, it went from sunny to nearly pitch black and all you could see outside looked like the static on a TV screen. The air pressure changed instantly and a loud roar passed by. Two giant trees were knocked over and there was no way to get out of the parking lot until several more drivers came by and helped us move the trees. My car was moved several feet and was a little marked up but was OK.
———————
I talk to far more women than I do men, and I’ve been married 30+ years. Practically the first thing I told my wife when I met her was that I was going to talk to whomever I pleased. I don’t care who her male friends are either. If you can’t trust someone it doesn’t help to share passwords and all that crap.
I think the real problem with most modern relationships is nobody wants to fulfill the female role. Women all want to be strong, strong, strong and when they screw it up men are too timid to tell them to get out of the way and let a man do it. As a result, he whimpers in the corner while she shows off how strong she is, and then bitches at him for not doing what she REALLY wants him to do – but can’t possibly say without compromising her “strength” – which is take over. A woman can’t be both a damsel in distress and a dragon slayer, and a man can’t save a woman from a dragon when she insists on carrying the sword.
————
it always helps to have a structure people can relate to, and I find geometry to be an excellent coat-rack. Ask a carpenter why rooms are square (it’s the most practical use of space) but why triangles reinforce the corners (they’re inherently strong and stable and squares aren’t) and relate that to the Lagrangian points in the orbits of planets (the apexes of a triangulation of the orbit), When talking to an astronomer work the other way; relate the Lagrangian points to the architecture of a house. When talking with a merchant ask why items are ordered by fours or sixes or dozens or by the gross (far more efficient to ship than by fives and tens and hundreds) and then remark on the geometry of the base-twelve system he or she uses in this very practical way vs. the totally impractical base-ten counting system which will never be used to ship merchandise (and which I think should be scrapped entirely, forget the metric system!). Relate that to the way atoms line up to form hexagonal crystals which are very strong (quartz) or squares which are totally crumbly (salt). Ask the pizza guy why pizzas aren’t cut in five slices instead of six, and ask the drunk in the bar why the little bubbles in beer line up in triangles. Everyone can relate to geometry, whether they know it or not.
I always start readings or discussions with flat-out scientific facts first–this planet has more mass than this one, thus greater gravity; this one moves faster than that one, when the sun is rising people (creatures, plants) are getting up and starting things, when it’s setting they’re shutting things down, there’s more things going on when the full moon is out because there’s more light, the weather in the middle month of a season is much more predictable than it is in the first or last months; even such things as the southern hemisphere has much more water and far fewer people than the northern (this covers why leo is different from aquarius, etc.), why mercury and venus are always close to the sun, what is a retrograde planet etc From there it’s much easier to say this sign is this way *because*, or mars in libra means so-and-so *because*, and so forth.
If you don’t start somewhere, you don’t start. If you read what I wrote, you’ll see I also give a good grounding to *what* and *why* the ascendant and midheaven are what they are and *how* they work. “Size or mass contributes nothing towards potency” may be partially true (the ascendant and midheaven are geometric foci of energy, which not only correlate to mass but are the entire basis of the natal chart) but is absolutely no place to start a discussion with anyone who doesn’t understand the most basic nuts-and-bolts of astrology, particularly if they’re of a scientific bent.
———————————-
Walter Williams column July 10, ’15:
Let’s list major problems affecting black Americans. Topping the list is the breakdown in the black family, where only a third of black children are raised in two-parent households. Actually, the term “breakdown” is incorrect. Families do not form in the first place. Nationally, there is a black illegitimacy rate of 72 percent. In some urban areas, the percentage is much greater. Blacks constitute more than 50 percent of murder victims, where roughly 7,000 blacks are murdered each year. Ninety-five percent of the time, the perpetrator is another black. If a black youngster does graduate from high school, it is highly likely that he can read, write and compute no better than a white seventh- or eighth-grader. These are the major problems that face black Americans.
Let’s look at some of the strategy since the beginning of the civil rights movement. The black power movement of the ‘60s and ‘70s held that black underrepresentation in the political arena was a major problem. It was argued that the election of more black officials as congressmen, mayors and city council members would mean economic power, better neighborhoods and better schools. Forty-three years ago, there were roughly 1,500 black elected officials nationwide. According to the Joint Center for Political and Economic Studies, by 2011 there were roughly 10,500 black elected officials, including a black president. But what were the fruits?
By most any measure, the problems are worse. There is the greatest black poverty, poorest education, highest crime and greatest family instability in cities such as: Detroit, St. Louis, Oakland, Calif., Memphis, Tenn., Birmingham, Ala., Atlanta, Baltimore, Cleveland, Philadelphia and Buffalo, N.Y. The most common characteristic of these predominantly black cities is that, for decades, all of them have been run by Democratic and presumably liberal administrations. What’s more is that in most of these cities, blacks have been mayors, chiefs of police, school superintendents and principals and have dominated city councils.
Political power has not lived up to its billing.
So what should black politicians and activists now be focused on to address some of the problems confronting black people? Let’s look at some of the fiddling by some black politicians, white liberals and some intimidated white conservatives. How about banning the Confederate flag from public places because it is alleged to be a symbol of slavery? What would that do for black problems? By the way, one could make the case for also banning the American flag. Slave ships sailed under the American flag.
What about Memphis Mayor A C Wharton’s proposal to “help” his black constituents? He has proposed to dig up the bodies of Confederate Gen. Nathan Bedford Forrest and his wife and remove them from a city park. One wonders whether he thinks marshaling resources to do that is more important than dealing with the city’s 145 murders, 320 rapes, 6,900 aggravated assault calls, and 3,000 robberies. All of the Memphis black homicide victims were murdered by other blacks.
What about a ban on the use of the “racist” term “thug” in reference to black criminals looting stores? How about a ban on “stop and frisk” and proactive policing as a measure to increase public safety in high-crime neighborhoods? What about more teaching, as New York City Mayor Bill de Blasio has done, that what blacks need to fear most are white policemen?
In the wake of the Charleston murders, some people promote the false narrative that it’s white racists who are the interracial murderers. That’s nonsense. FBI crime victimization surveys show that blacks commit 80 percent of all interracial violent crime.
The bottom line is that even if white people were to become angels tomorrow, it would do nothing for the problems plaguing a large segment of the black community. Illegitimacy, family breakdown, crime and fraudulent education are devastating problems, but they are not civil rights problems. There is little or nothing that government or white people can do to solve these problems. The solution lies with black people.
————————————————-
My sister-in-law was kind of of a pain–very intrusive; not that we didn’t love her but she had no concept of what was her business and what was others. When she’d visit she’d go through our underwear drawers. She’d ask questions about the personal lives of OUR friends whom she’d never met, call us up with every little detail of gossip; never failed to interrupt my wife at the ONE time on the ONE day she told her NOT to call–8 pm on Thursday when “Mystery” was on (this was before VCRs were widespread). She’d keep us particularly well informed about a junkie ex-husband of my sister, a former friend of mine, to the point I finally told her, “Anne, the only thing I want to hear about Kevin is that he’s dead”. It was good sometimes, she knew everyone’s birthday, what their relation was to us, who was a third cousin and who was a fifth cousin and how many kids they had and how many times the wife had been divorced or whether the husband had been to prison. The one thing she never failed to bring up was when mercury was going retro. Every time, she’d call and I’d answer questions–for twenty-five years. When she died I completely forgot to check the calendar and missed merc retro totally, wasn’t even aware until about 2-1/2 weeks had passed. Only then I went over all the crazy things that were happening and thought, OH MY GOD! Without even realizing it, I’d relied on her calls so much, it was such a part of the scenery, that I didn’t even check it for myself anymore!
————————————
Regarding the quincunx, it’s an aspect between two signs of different sex, element and quality. Crazy but unrequited sexual tension develops, towards the dexter or right-hand sign. Thus aries (fire, cardinal) is ardently attracted to virgo (earth, mutable), but virgo is fixing dinner for aquarius (air, fixed), who isn’t hungry. Aquarius is puzzling over cancer instead, cancer is mooning over sagittarius, sagittarius targets taurus while taurus waits on libra, libra sings to pisces and pisces writes poems for leo, who’s trying to impress capricorn. Capricorn wants to catch gemini but gemini is pulling hair over scorpio, who’s trying every possible trick to attract aries. I’ve never seen it fail. The yod is two quincunxes, one to the left and one to the right, but both from a male to two female or a female to two male signs, none of them of the same element or quality whatsoever. This is why the yod has so much nonsense written about it. It’s an intense and sexual attraction between signs which have nothing in common at all. Adapt this to your interpretation as you see fit!
—————————————
Some Erotica
You know, I have a hard time with names, but I never forget a pussy.
Betsy, or Susan, or whatever your name, don’t think I’ve forgotten you, because I never will. and what’s in a name anyway? I can see your face, your lovely lips, your soft and smooth and willing flesh, scented of roses and coconut, or citrus. Your pussy is sticky, stiff around the edge. It’s squishy inside, and feels flat when I lay my dick on it, even though it isn’t. I love to slip down into that warm strawbelly jam, to be coated, enveloped. When we move your nipples gyrate, and sometimes get twisted into my chest hair. I love you from the back side, too, Shari or Donna, when your smooth butt rubs my abdomen and my hands wrap around your peaches, or melons or cherries. I remember you, Brenda, and your hand around my shaft, when I think about leaving the woman who makes fun of me. I used to remember your phone number, but it’s been years and who uses phone numbers anymore? It’s been so many years up and down and in and out I don’t remember anything about you but your curves, your liquid, languid curves.
I remember, Connie, how I met you at the club and when you told me your name was Cheryl I told you it wasn’t. When it was time for your dance you stood before me, naked, and I, against the rules and the law, let my fingers twirl through your pussy hair and felt your hot syrup drip. And Debbie, when I was dressed like a girl at the Halloween party, you in a toga came up and told me you’d never kissed another girl. I said I hadn’t either, and a silly kiss became a lightning strike. Suddenly your tongue was hot and your belly warm and your tits heaving against me filled my chest from bicep to bicep. I held you close and when I let go the shadows on your toga revealed a damp cunt. My girl didn’t like it at all, and I heard your boyfriend didn’t either.
And other Debbie, you were so full and sweaty and fat and sassy under that sundress that you looked pregnant, but when my boner pressed against your pussy it didn’t feel pregnant. I know what pregnant pussy feels like; hard and round but cool, sticky but not wet. It was a sin for the ex-nun Judy. I looked her full in the face, her belly big against mine, breasts engorged, husband god knows where. Cousin Mindy was in the next room, and it took a week for Mindy and I to get over the weirdness before we fucked, on a mattress out back, Mindy stiff and hairless down there, maybe a virgin though I didn’t ask and me almost technically a virgin as well. I told her she was great, though I really didn’t know We did it three more times and gloried in our fabulous grown-uppedness.
Mindy’s friend Joni’s let her boobs run wild and free under her blouse, milky white and pale like her eyes. I looked deep into your eyes, Joni, and when we kissed I felt you up. My fingers tasted salty and I dreamed of you naked, with your legs spread slightly and your cunt cracked open just a little. I kept my hand in your cleavage when we laid on the floor talking. I was happy for both of you when you left on a road trip with Derek, even though I’d never fitted my penis into your butt crack or got it salty except for the little bit of your creaminess I smeared on the slit of my dick head.
It was different with Sally. The solid stiff top curve of her very roomy cunt rode the bottom vein of my cock when I stuffed it in from behind. I came all over her cunt lips, which spread out like butterfly wings. It dripped down into her ass crack, and I creamed my own balls. We smeared the fluids around, grinding leg to cunt and dick to tit. Sally grabbed my joint. We kissed each other with salty tongues and fingers in motion, then licked it all off, skipped supper, did it in the shower and on a bed of fresh linen. The next day we wore swimwear, and I kept my hand on her ass cheek while hers fiddled with my cock. When crumbs fell in her belly button I reached over, one hand cupping a nipple and a thumb on her clit. She arched her back as I licked up the crumbs and sucked them out of her navel, breathing deeply the sweet sandy scent of day old bikini bottoms with pussy inside. We left the beach, and parted ways.
Georgia, you were tiny, but voluptuous, and when you lifted your leg I slipped it in. I couldn’t kiss you, only smell your hair and feel your huge titties against my stomach. I grabbed your ass cheeks and pushed hard as you licked and sucked and bit my nipples. When we came you grunted softly, and smiled.
It was easy to slip it to Jean. She had pock marks on her face and funny looking purple scars she called keloids, but her body was smooth and when she pulled off her panties I pulled her on top of me, pushing my cock into her rough-cut honey pot while she said oh, what the hell. Jean was occasionally dry, but a few drops of ice water from last night’s drinks would start the penetration, her pubis and my dick hairs icy but her pussy lips grabbing my shaft tight. We’d rub together and mix it up in her vaginal chamber like a cup of creamed corn. When I passed through Texas she was mine but when I left we fucked who we chose, for five years. Sometimes she had a boy friend or I had a girl back home. We’d go out for burritos, hug and maybe kiss but it went no further. If unattached, we spent every day together.
———-
it’s like riding a bike; you learn your balance point side-to-side on a bike and pretty soon can ride it with no hands. Once you’ve learned to mount a unicycle, and to land on your feet and send the unicycle flying instead of you (which is why unicycles have bumper rods on the front & back of the seat!) you’re simply finding an additional balance, a pivot point, front-to-back. It’s approximately an inch or so behind your belly button. Find it, feel it, and you’re a master!
———
I talk to far more women than I do men, and I’ve been married 30+ years. Practically the first thing I told my wife when I met her was that I was going to talk to whomever I pleased. I don’t care who her male friends are either. If you can’t trust someone it doesn’t help to share passwords and all that crap.
I think the real problem with most modern relationships is nobody wants to fulfill the female role. Women all want to be strong, strong, strong and when they screw it up men are too timid to tell them to get out of the way and let a man do it. As a result, he whimpers in the corner while she shows off how strong she is, and then bitches at him for not doing what she REALLY wants him to do – but can’t possibly say without compromising her “strength” – which is take over. A woman can’t be both a damsel in distress and a dragon slayer, and a man can’t save a woman from a dragon when she insists on carrying the sword.
—————————
I don’t know if “briefly” is possible! 😉 I started shining shoes in my father’s barber shop at age 11; worked in a grocery store from 16-18, then the family moved to Hollywood and we had a family band as well as a family business renting tools & equipment in West Hollywood, which I managed half the week. After 1-1/2 years of that I moved back to Colorado for a year where I worked for awhile cleaning up at the Air Force base and later on a landscaper crew, then sold Cutco knives briefly & moved back to NC where the rest of my family had inherited a dilapidated farm. I helped fix up the farmhouse etc. and at the end of December 1973 joined the Navy, was a machinist mate but got discharged after a year. I was a dishwasher, etc, for awhile and was going to school on the GI bill, took welding, machine shop, sales/marketing and then had an astrology/palmistry shop with a friend; it was under the same roof as a jewelry/crafts shop on the other side and I took to making puzzle rings. I ended up thumbing around the country pretty much continuously from 1978-82, selling rings & staying with friends or sleeping under bridges and coming back to NC a couple times a year to tend to the farm trimming Christmas trees, which I sold in Austin, Texas each Christmas. I met my wife in 1983 and went back to school for a year, took a lot of temporary jobs laying rock, roofing houses, carpentry, cleaning up etc. in the meantime and always making jewelry, toys & other crafts; I eventually ended up making more stained glass kaleidoscopes than anything else from about 1985 on, but I also was a carpenter making storage buildings for awhile and then managed a health food store for a year. About 1993 I volunteered as an English teacher to Spanish immigrants and took some more Spanish classes, then got a few jobs as a foreman over a Spanish-speaking crew in print shops, etc. until in 1998 I started selling sex toys, etc. for Adam & Eve and running the Spanish & foreign language department for them, such as it was (pretty much a one-man operation with a bunch of phrase books). I quit that in 2001 and briefly had a job estimating for a vinyl fencing company before getting 2 jobs on practically the same day, interpreting for Wrangler jeanswear, who’d moved all their production to the Caribbean (they’d let go 3000 people that year and hired one guy–me) and a part-time job with the college teaching English to Spanish speakers. Held both those jobs until late 2004, then worked briefly and VERY unhappily as customer service for Cingular cell phones. Got a job with Rent-A-Center in 2005, kept it until 2007, my father died in February, then worked as a salesman for the local paper for a few months before returning to Adam & Eve for another 4-1/2 years.Had surgery for a detached retina in 2010 or thereabouts. Wrote 1000 pages of my memoirs mostly on my lunch hour during this time. Left Adam & Eve quite furious at them on the 4th of January 2012, injured my left shoulder that summer, worked as an appliance salesman that Oct-Dec and was again out of work until spring 2013 when I worked cleaning up at the rest stop until I injured my RIGHT shoulder that summer! Got a part-time job with Michaels Arts & Crafts in July or August as a framer but in the middle of 2014 cut my left wrist severely and was on worker’s comp for several months. Currently I still work at Michaels but not framing; mostly stocking shelves and occasionally interpreting & running a cash register. All along I’ve made crafts; right now I’ve been making more bamboo flutes than anything else. I counted up all of them and in my life I’ve held about 75 jobs in 50 years!
—————————————
It can be boredom and immaturity, but there are all kinds of reasons people look outside of marriage, etc. When someone, male or female, feels like hell, furious and depressed, floundering, trying not to drown, and another person comes into their life who brings a smile to their face after a long dead while, sometimes this leads down a rabbit hole – and sometimes this person is simply a reminder of how life used to be, and there comes a desperation to recapture what is lost. This isn’t just playing around, this is a deadly serious attempt to breathe when a relationship has become suffocating. It’s easy to tell people what’s right, what they should do, but can be hell to do it. I think the main reason people cheat is their spouse thinks they own them. Nobody owns anyone, married or not. This makes the owned spouse subject to the judgments and whims of the owner, begging for crumbs, trying harder and harder and harder to please, and the marriage becomes not equal but beggar/boss or master/slave. At this point there’s no logic left and the slave, scared and intimidated, will do anything to break free, right or wrong or logical or smart or deceptive or stupid or crazy, because anything, anything is better than what they have and any action at all seems like the right one. I’m not saying it’s always like this but it certainly is sometimes. My 2¢, and 33 years of marriage.
—————————-
+Kitten Holiday I totally agree, pissing each other off is life, and an important part of a relationship.
I’m not in the market, gals, I’ve been married for over 30 years (just once, by the way) so what I’m saying isn’t anything but the advice I give to friends with crappy love lives, like mine was in the last millennium.
Some things never change, and never will. Women who are worth a man’s time don’t want a guy who’s always “nice”, they want a challenge. A guy who ignores a woman who’s being a pain (and she knows when she’s being a pain as well as he does) is a challenge; a guy who cries and pleads and begs at the first heated words is boring and a wimp.
And by the way romance is indeed a game. A wonderful, totally fun, fulfilling, flirtatious, lifelong game, and a game in which you trust, respect and appreciate the other person and their abilities, value their viewpoints and strengths and love them enough not to hurt them, because it’s a game where people who don’t follow the rules hurt the ones they should care about. It’s not a game to stumble blindly through, wrecking everything by not following rules. It’s the most fun game of all, but it’s also serious. It’s for real.
I’d rather speak my mind and have a woman be furious with me than have her ignore me because she’s bored to tears. You can’t make up if you never fight. If a woman wants to walk, that’s fine, too, because some women are my type and others ain’t worth my time. If she ain’t worth my time, I’d certainly rather lose her than waste my time.
I’m OK either way. 😉
————————————
2016–What bothers me the most about this campaign is the nastiness directed at Bernie Sanders and his supporters by Clinton and her supporters. Bernie has gone out of his way to be civil but I have been told literally dozens of times that because I prefer Bernie I’m “flushing my vote away”, I’m “letting Hitler win”, etc. to the point where a couple days ago I ended my affiliation with the Democratic party, and I’m the guy who wore a Kennedy pin in his first-grade school photo. I wasn’t inclined to bash “the other”–there’s no “others” anymore–and in fact until a few months ago I supported Hillary, with a few reservations. I now, without ANY reservations, DO NOT support her AT ALL, nor do I support a Democratic party which believes the way to victory is amassing the most money from the richest, bullying the rest into submission and force feeding them the choice of the corporate overlords. I am now proud to be an INDEPENDENT and will vote for whom I please, regardless of how it affects the soulless and corrupt remnants of what was formerly a proud and worthy Democratic party. Bernie or bust!
I’ve never really liked Hillary, though I voted for Bill twice. Ross Perot had interested me before he dropped out and back in, in 1992, but the second time I held my nose and voted for Clinton over yet another World War II guy running things, though I wasn’t happy with Bill in 1996. Hillary reminds me of an old girl friend I didn’t so much break up with as escaped from. She’d be a great grandma, telling stories to little ones, but in the car on the way home we’d have to tell the kids how grandma makes things up sometimes and gently but firmly refuse her offer to stay with us for more than a week. As a president she’d be a disaster pure and simple.
I liked her well enough last October. Her actions since then have thoroughly disgusted me.She plays the political game very well, but it’s a crooked game, and I’m sick of it.Sarah Silverman explains it very well–when everyone in baseball was “juiced”, you may not have liked it but that was the way it was, and you still had your favorites, etc., but when you see there’s a better way, you KNOW it’s better and you want it to be played THAT way. That’s what Bernie has done. He’s shown everyone that you DON”T need $100,000-a-plate dinners and it’s BETTER, and he’s BETTER, and I can’t support the other way any more, because I never liked that kind of way of playing the game to begin with, even though I knew everyone WAS doing it. I like Drumpf considerably less than Bernie, but he IS playing the game differently and he’s NOT a Bush or Clinton, both families multi-multi-millionaires who’ve been running the country like their personal club for the last 36 years and ready to make it 40 (there’s been a Bush or Clinton in one of the top three offices in the land for 32 of the last 36 years, and W. actually called Bill “my brother from another mother”). That’s enough. I’m not voting to keep the oligarchy in power no matter HOW much they spend to tell me it’s inevitable; Bernie or bust for me, and if not him then it’s gonna be Trump, because I can tell you for a fact that Hillary can’t win.
———————————————————-
The parallel when considering a void-of-course moon–
good question! Since declination is geometry on a different plane, I think it should also be considered, but I don’t think about it in quite the same way. I like to think of the geometry of aspects in two ways~visual and musical.
The declination determines if the moon is “parallel” or “contraparallel” to a planet, which is an astrological way of saying they’re lined up along the celestial equator (think of this as a circle drawn around the earth at an angle which crosses the equator at two points, on one side touches the tropic of cancer and the other the tropic of capricorn).
When the planets or the moon are in parallel it adds power to another aspect, since the geometry of the aspect is precise along two planes rather than one, but of itself the parallel doesn’t “activate” an aspect which isn’t there. It’s like running a pick down a guitar string vertically, rather than striking it horizontally. This sets up a harmonic on the string, but it’s more of a subterranean vibe and a background effect rather than the definite power of striking the string directly. So yeah, the parallel should be considered, but not as a call to action; it’s an aid to getting organized rather than striking out in a new direction. My 2¢, hope it helps.
To Tammy on father’s day–
Tammy, don’t ever feel that you “have to” forgive anybody, for any reason. It’s not an obligation. You may want to be a good Christian, and for that reason hear, or feel, forgiveness is “necessary”, or want it to be so, but as a good, honest, true, HUMAN SOUL, your forgiveness, or lack of it, comes from within YOUR heart, not anyone else’s, and not to please anyone else. Don’t listen to those who speak of “obligations”. They don’t have your life, your soul, and cannot tell you what is within, or should be within, your heart. Be true to yourself. Be true to your heart. Be true to your soul. Don’t pretend. Don’t make excuses for those who haven’t asked for and are not deserving of your forgiveness–on YOUR part, not anyone else’s, not the church, not “God”, for true forgiveness will never make you feel bad, or lessen your SELF-respect. If you cannot forgive, in your heart, or simply don’t wish to, that doesn’t diminish you, as a person or as a dignified and worthy soul, for it isn’t for others to read your heart. Be true to your heart. Much love, from your cousin, ~DJ
I think the laws against, essentially, being Jewish, were for all intents and purposes ex post facto laws. I don’t see an existential problem in this instance (the Nuremburg trials), which I’d characterize as using an ex post facto law to counterbalance the use of a previous ex post facto law which executed others. There is no compensation which can be given back to the dead. That said I don’t believe defending or denying the holocaust, questioning its extent, etc. is beyond the pale of free speech. There are legitimate reasons one could question the official narrative, the most obvious being that Stalin was infamous for suppressing and rewriting history to justify the execution of his enemies~by the millions, even tens of millions~and virtually all the death camps were found in territory overrun by the Soviets. Stalin would routinely execute not only the witnesses but the families of those whose testimony went against him as well. If those who testified at the Nuremberg trials had relatives in Russia they knew very well that anything they said which would cast a bad light Stalin’s way, rather than towards the greatest enemy of Stalin’s entire life~Hitler~then the lives of their wives, children, parents, sisters, cousins would be forfeit. That’s not an atmosphere in which the truth is likely to be revealed.
Remember what vaccines are actually made of–feces, dead rotting corpses, fermented animal dander and every disgusting thing on earth, bathed in toxic chemicals and injected into your child seventy times or more. No surprise that many children have bad reactions. The medical establishment plays percentages; if 90% of children are OK after the vaccines that’s the end of the story for them; the idea is that everyone is better off because only 10% have a problem. If your kid is one of that 10% you’ll see it differently!
—————-
Memorial Day 2009–I know memorial day is a day to hang around in your underwear and drink beer, and it’s sort of a downer to mention it, but I just saw the story of Eddie Hart on UNC-TV; he was killed in action in Germany on the same day Roosevelt died, and I didn’t realize until tonight that he was in the same battalion as my father–the 83rd, although it would be a big surprise if they ever met, as my father was in Company B and Eddie was in Company G, and my father was captured in November
of ’44 while most of the action covered in the story takes place some months later. In any case I visited Fredericksburg a month ago, and it was an almost surreal experience–you climb the hill where the fighting took place, and there are the graves of over 15,000 soldiers, over 12,000 unknown. The graves of the known have a round-top
tombstone, but the unknown have a little granite marker about 6″ square with a number on it–and often another number underneath. It looks as if about half the graves have a name on them, until you start looking at the little markers, and some of them have a number on top and no number underneath–one guy buried there. Go along the rows,
though, and you start seeing 2 and 3 underneath the number–2 guys, or 3, buried there. Go a little further to where the fighting got more intense and you see 4 and 5 and 7. Finally at the top of the hill the markers say 9 or 11 or 15, and you’re standing on a spot where fifteen guys are buried, nobody knows who, and likely none of them lived half
as long as I have now.
The next day we went to Washington DC; in the morning we saw the Bureau of Engraving and watched millions of dollars being printed right before our eyes, then went to see the memorials and waited to meet my sister, she works in DC. They have a wall at the WWII memorial with a star on it for every soldier lost in the war, and believe me
there are lots of little gold stars. After that we went to the Vietnam memorial; at first I thought I’d read through all the names until I came to Dave Tiffany–I’ve mentioned him before, he was my friend and was in the Memorial Day issue of Life magazine, 40 years ago today; he’d moved away to California the year before and I didn’t know he’d
joined the army (though I knew he’d planned to) and when I was thumbing through the magazine came across his picture–David Lewis Tiffany, 19, Riverside, California. He had just turned 19, not more than one or two weeks before, and now he was in Life magazine, in the One Week’s Toll of the Dead in Vietnam, Memorial Day issue. I had a
general idea of the sector in which I’d find him, but it soon became clear I’d spend the rest of the day looking if I did it that way so I went over to the registry and looked him up–he was on something like the 28th panel, 12th line from the top, and I had to jump to touch his name.
We had a really good vacation; I hadn’t had 2 weeks off in 5 years or more, and even though I was getting over the swine flu enjoyed myself thoroughly, swimming every day, playing my banjo on the porch–and I’m damned glad I’m here today and not some marker in a field somewhere with “USN” on it.
~DJ
——————–
Feb ’07
Hi Eileen–
> “Whenever God Closes One Door He Always Opens Another, Even Though Sometimes It’s Hell in the Hallway”I think I’m in the hallway!I’ll be changing jobs after next week, I busted up my elbow & shoulder when the lift gate collapsed on me & said to hell with this, I’ve busted my toe, my thumb & now this for the company, & I’m not ever gonna go anywhere in Rent-A-Center because I insist on my day off instead of working 60 hours when I’m scheduled for 48, & now I’m using up my dental benefits; my mouth hurts, my shoulder, my elbow, my back, my father’s dead, I’ll owe about $500 for the dental work on top of the insurance when it’s all done, which it’s not yet, I have another several fillings to go. But–it’ll be a better job, more pay with fewer broken bones, I’m excited about it and mercury’s retrograde now, which will last for about another week. I can deal with it!~DJ& moreOMG Eileen I am clueless what to say. I was going to tell you abt my cousin dying this past week. In the past 2 yrs. I’ve lost 9 kin or friends, but jeez nothing as dramatic as that. Plz send me your phone #. I got a new job 2 wks ago, selling ads for the local “gossip sheet”, the Alamance News. This week I got over $1000 in sales, which meant I got a $50 bonus on top of my reg. 10% commission. My boss had to pull out the contract & check it, nobody’d ever made a bonus before!! I made more this week working 32 hours than I’d made at my last job working 48 hrs., in fact it’s the best paycheck I’ve made in abt 5 yrs. Please call, I have the weekend off. Don’t know what to do with myself; I haven’t had a regular schedule for the past 3 yrs or so, much less a relaxed workweek. I went out to see a couple bands tonite, most of the guys were in my regular Boys’ Night group (we meet every 3rd Tuesday). I played cowbell and so got to sign the poster!!
Good luck,
Much love,~DJ— Eileen Malay <malaydi_3@hotmail.com> escribió: Life just does not get more exciting than this. I lived at 303 Gere Avenue in Syracuse up until St. Patrick’s day when my landlord and resident in the apartment next to mine decided to shoot his oldest son, his wife and eventually himself. The police were unaware that I was in the house and the story they are putting out about that leaves acres of wiggle room. They blew out the living room window where I was sitting, then the bedroom window, then two kitchen windows. My initial take on the situation was that someone with a shotgun was firing at the house and after I got done running around upstairs trying to find a “safe spot” I finally had the presence of mind to grab my cellphone from the top of the fridge where it was recharging and made a low crawl to the cellar. Heading down the cellar stairs, I finally realized I was having a coughing fit and was being gassed and thus under attack by the police. All part of the great mystery at that time but after I called 911 the swat team came and got me out of the house. The police did not have an EMT check me over after this or tell me that the clothing I had on was toxic. I know that I was bombed with 3 different types of CS gas, a veritable chemical cocktail. Now ten days later, the police say that they have to coordinate with the city police, state police and sheriff’s office to determine exactly what they used and what the concentration was. Ooooh they noses is so gonna grow. I had to call them a day later to find out when/if I could get stuff out of the apartment, since I had no clothing, and my automobile which was parked outside of the apartment. Had to call them back Tuesday and they let me take my car which had been contaminated from the fallout gas and residue from the house which made me have an even more serious chemical reaction than I was already having. The next day the had the car towed to a place that puts on protective gear to clean police vehicles and they gave me a ride to the emergency room -at my
request. Of course, my work insurance paid most of it but I have to pay the $100 deductible. The PA who checked me out never asked what dosage I inhaled or over what length of time I was exposed. She sent me home with the advice to drink lots of water and get fresh air. She told me she looked up tear gas on the internet before she spoke with me so she would know what to recommend. Six hours in the emergency room just to learn my lungs and blood work looked OK, my blood pressure was fine and I don’t have diabetes. AHHH gotta love the silver lining. Drove my supposedly clean car Friday and got sicker…yadda yadda got no car but my insurance will cover a rental until they can figure out how to determine whether it’s a total loss. So I have missed five unpaid workdays so far, my house is labeled a health hazard and my son and I have been told that we may never get much, if anything back…It’s a Hazmat, DEC nightmare in a residential area. What were they thinking? The never provided me with a place to stay. I have been sleeping on my sister’s couch trying to move from shock and tears to the angry part. As my friend Chris says, I have been behaving like the perfect victim. The police did give me $1,000 to pay for work clothes so I could go back to work and they say they can give me $4,000 more if I fill out an application and agree to never sue them. Ummm, I don’t think so. The lawyers I work for say I should take the deal, so I contacted another lawyer that a reporter with Channel 5 News referred me to and he immediately said, “Don’t sign anything.” Much more encouraging response since I still don’t know what the long term health effects could be according to the AMA. The internet says that I breathed enough in 5-7 minutes to kill the average human. Guess those that watch over me were working overtime that day. The hardest part is that my son, who you know is a veteran of the war in Iraq (2 tours with 9 years total in the Army) had all his military records, uniforms, commendations, awards, pictures and memorabilia-everything but his work clothes and hockey equipment in the apartment and still have not had the courtesy to call him about the status of their retrieval. He has called them several times requesting info to no avail. So we got a ways to go and no way of knowing whether we will ever be compensated for our loss. My son and his girlfriend have rented a two bedroom apartment in Fulton and, since I am sick and homeless, they have offered to let me stay with them until I get some of this resolved. I am seeing a doctor tomorrow and hope that I will be able to go back to work soon. I don’t have an address as yet but will have mail forwarded as soon as I have a car and can get to the post office. This e-mail address is good but I don’t have daily access to a computer. I would say call my cell but really guys my bill is $200 just from this week and going up so e-mail is best.
Say a prayer for us. If we create our own reality, I need to go back to school. Ah well, hindsight may tell me I did a great job on this scenario. As my son used to say, “how bad can it be mom, they aren’t shooting at us, are they?” Wanna bet?
Love and blessing to you all.
Eileen& 2010
jeez! glad you’re OK!
A couple yrs ago I was driving back from work in a little ratty old Honda I had at the time and was actually CHARGED by a big stupid buck! I tried to get over but took a pretty good chunk out of his neck, he ran off and I don’t know if he made it or not. The Honda already had damage to that fender from a wreck about a week before, so I went to the junkyard and got another fender but couldn’t say how much damage from the deer and how much from the other car (which they never paid–expired insurance–but it was only $50 or so anyway and didn’t really hurt the value of the car, it was a rust bucket to start with).
Also last yr I hit a deer in the Cadillac, it was foggy and I came around the curve, slowed down and wasn’t going more than 15 or 20, didn’t do any damage except broke the little plastic adjuster for one of the headlights, which I replaced for about $2. The deer didn’t like it but ran off and was probably sore but OK.
Perri and the kids are coming back this week, been away for 6 weeks. Change of routine again!
12/06
OMG that “teamwork” one reminds me of some cats my parents had twenty or 30 years ago–one or two of them would push on the front door, while one climbed up the
screen door, then dropped down and grabbed and turned the front door knob. The door would swing open a bit and all would get in the house!!
Hope your Xmas is going well. We put up our tree yesterday–the little ones are definitely in the spirit!
~DJ
Possible duplicate: Well, we’ve pretty much covered the life history thing. Just read a cool article on Robert Moss’ website about dreaming and the new work he’s doing
with people…really cool and a really interesting guy.
Eileen
Bicycles
Thu, 7 Oct 2004
Hey Eileen–
I know how it is. My father was a tyrant too. I never thought of him as alcoholic at the time, but Denver was recently declared “the drunkest city in America”,
and it was a relative thing. Many of his friends were hopeless, chronic drunks and he wasn’t quite like that. He wouldn’t drink until after work, but he’d finish off a six-pack before coming home, then drink several more beers before dinner while picking on me for whatever imaginary thing I hadn’t done that day. It was a ritual. He smoked about 3 packs a day too. I had the misfortune of being the smartest kid in the most paranoid state in the union; Colorado was where they made the atomic bombs and dug out the mountain to put the government in. My fate was sealed; I was to be a rocket scientist, everyone knew it and if I didn’t want to be one, the whole world would die. I was promoted in the first grade and spent the rest of my school years separated from my brothers and sisters, the youngest, smartest kid in class and the most socially maladjusted. I had precious few friends and no girlfriends at all.
When I turned 16, I got a station wagon, and spent all my time in it or at my best friend’s house. I never came home except when I was certain my father wasn’t there.
I graduated high school while I was still 16. Had I not graduated, I wouldn’t have gone back. I got a job working the night shift and stayed away from home. One mnight I had my first sexual experience, but it wasn’t nice, I had a knife at my throat and I don’t like to talk about it. The cops were absolutely no help; for years afterward I hated anything in blue with a blind fury.
My brother starred in a Disney movie, and wrote the title song–at 11 he was the youngest member of ASCAP ever–the first movie ever shot in Telluride, Colorado. Since my parents had been in show biz all along, we formed a family band and moved to Hollywood. Two years in Hollywood and I was pretty near insane, but a month or so before leaving I actually met a girl. I moved back to Denver while the rest of my family moved to North Carolina. I wrote her several times a week and some months later she came through to see me–traveling with my younger brother, whom she decided on the train she loved as well. I didn’t hold it against her, but it wasn’t much of a confidence builder either, especially as my brother already had plenty of female attention. I was 21 before I had another girlfriend. I had several in my twenties, but never kept any for long. I hate to sound like I have a clue what it’s like to lose a fiance. I don’t, but I do want to tell you about our friend Cindy, who lost her fiance a few months before we met her, and spent the next 15 years or so with totally wrong men–married, or just losers. She’d stay with them in these idiotic relationships for years. I finally took her aside about 7 years ago and had a heart-to-heart talk with her about it. She admitted she knew all these guys were wrong from the start, but it was easier to lose them that way. She then found a good fellow, and they have 2 kids.
Finally I really want to tell you I totally disagree that you are selfish for raising a child. Nobody has all the answers. You do the best you can, and that’s the best anyone can do. You are not selfish. I wish I’d have had the choice. On three occasions, I’d have been happy to have a child, but she decided to abort–twice I didn’t even know about it til afterward, which pretty well wrecked the romance–and once it was Perri, after we’d been married a year or so. Before we had kids we’d talked–or better to say she’d unilaterally decided–for 16 years. I made it clear when I came back to her if we didn’t have kids in the plan I’d have left for good.Everyone’s different. My sister’s kids would have been better off never having had their father in their lives. I told my sister-in-law (who keeps up with the gossip) that there was only one thing I wanted to hear about kevin–that he was dead. It would be better for everyone, including him.
Well Eileen I don’t know where to go from here. You take care of yourself.
Goodnight,
~DJ
Eileen wrote:
Hey David:
About the time you were hitching your way around, I was trying to figure out how I could have been so stupid and selfish as to bring a child into the world without a father. My father was an absolute tyrant and I was terrified and more than defensive about any man having control over me or my life. I left home when I was seventeen and didn’t write, call or go home again for five years, I was so mad at my old man. Just took off one night with my backpack, crashed at the house of a guy who was a friend of a friend and stayed there until I’d “gotten rid of” my virginity with him which my father held up as the only thing men really wanted from a woman. Figured if I got rid of that, I might understand what the big hoopla was all about. Never did, maybe never will. Traveled where I wanted to, with whom I wanted to and lived my life like a woman who didn’t care what anyone thought about her…and that was the truth. Finished all but two college courses towards a teaching degree – paid for by waitressing and then, on a whim, took off to Colorado with friends. Fell in love there finally with a wonderful man – got engaged and then he got killed…I fell apart…quite a revelation for the woman who was always on the move, letting nothing get in her way. Went back to Syracuse and met Jubal’s father…just back from Vietnam…had just left his wife and two children in Florida where she was cheating like crazy on him and, as he found out, had been all the time he’d been overseas. We were both hurtin’ cowboys…I liked him. He was and is a good man but I didn’t love him like I had the man I’d lost. I’ve never loved anyone that much again, except my son…don’t know that I ever will. Let Jubal’s father know that I wouldn’t marry him or have an abortion if I got pregnant so we’d better be careful, but if I did get pregnant, I’d never ask him for a thing. Careful is as careful does and some things are just meant to be. I got pregnant, didn’t get married although he asked me to, kept Jubal, and the rest is history.
What was I thinking? Not much and not well. My father had been such a disappointment it never occurred to me that kids needed a father, good or bad. Jubal has done O.K., better than most, but that was the most singularly selfish act of my life. My son is the best thing that ever happened to me, I hope I live long enough to know he thinks the same of me.
The longest I ever lived with a man was five years when Jubal was little. I tried but never could seem to figure out how to talk to a man about stuff that was important to me. Both my parents were alcoholics so communication wasn’t something I had any experience with. Also, I seemed to pick men who loved to smoke and/or drink like pros. Not a good combo with my background. I kept getting cleaner and straighter in my life but those bad boys, how they did love me. I finally hung up my spurs, pushed away from the table and said no more for me.
I think based on half a lifetimes experience that in order to make it I’d have to be with a man who has a strong love of “god/goddess” or the force that organizes life in the universes. Someone who sees me as a mirror, a reflection of what he needs to work on in himself as I see him…a relationship that isn’t an I TRADE YOU. Guess as we get older lots of stuff that seemed so important just falls away. It’s still pretty confusing when you’ve got children in the mix. The buddhists say you grow faster with a partner in life because you can’t hide from your shit. Guess that means you’ll reach enlightenment before me. Don’t forget to save me a seat.
Eileen
I’ve been reasonably happy at Rent-A-Center, clearing a little better pay, once I’ve factored in what I was spending on gas money & drive time–I get about 8 hours overtime every week & only drive 4 miles to work instead of 40, so the actual time away from home including drive time is about the same, the paycheck is about the same ($1 less per hour, but always overtime) and the gas & wear and tear on the car is WAY less. I also don’t sit on my butt all day and have lost about 25 pounds, I’m hovering around 200 now for the first time in about 5 years. The store I’ve been at has had some problems, but I haven’t aspired to management, so none of the crap has fallen on my head,
& we’re moving to new and much more spacious quarters in a week or so and things should be looking up. It’s kind of a funny story–when I’d been there a month or
so, my co-worker who’d been hired at the same time got into an argument with the manager, who was a wet-behind-the-ears 21-year-old, about “who his boss was”, since he’d been told 3 different things by the other 3 guys who worked there, and the manager told him that he, and me, were “peons”, and everyone was our boss. I’d been minding my own business and had nothing to do with the argument, but once I heard that I was a peon I informed the manager that if that was the way he wanted it, I didn’t have any responsibility at all for anything, and for the next several months I did nothing but drive the truck, load the furniture, etc. and didn’t touch any of the accounts, inventory etc. while everyone else caught hell for the store’s performance, which was dismal. Now seven or eight months later there have been five managers, but I’m the senior member of the team, everyone else having been replaced including the guy who hired the original manager! I think things have settled down now though
and by the process of elimination everyone has to pay attention to me, since I’m the only one who knows all the customers, a position I’d never have been in had I
not insisted on being a peon all along!
Take care, hope you have a great summer!
———————————————————-
This guy has had thrice a number of jobs in one year than I’ve had my entire life! ( I’d say close to 30) I’ve never seen anyone so lucky finding jobs and so ridiculous in quitting them, getting fired etc. I’m trying to see what’s going on as well as asking; When is he finally going to settle down into steady work? I’ve also noticed the appearance of a grand trine which I would like some insight into. My attempt at analyzing this is in the comments.
Comments
David A Jones I see he has Saturn in the 6th house. So do I. I’ve always seemed to have trouble with the management of the companies I’ve worked for, usually involving something ethical which I have no intention of doing, and as a result have rarely worked more than 3 years at any job. I’ve always had something crafty on the side, and never felt I HAD to put up with the office politics, but added up I’ve had over 50 jobs in my life (approximately one a year for as long as I was working). Marie Angela He’s got you beat David A Jones Oh I don’t doubt it; I’m only pointing out the first thing I saw. Marie Angela Well, thanks for your input. It’s interesting his grand trine falls on all the money making houses, the 2nd, 6th, and 10th. I’m thinking that’s probably why jobs come so easily to him. Marie Angela I see career, money-making houses to be the 2nd, 6th, and 10th. All these are ruled by water signs in his chart which to me shows that he has to be strongly emotionally attached to what he’s doing. Cancer ruling the 10th house which is ruled by the moon, being the planet that rules emotions, cycles, and often fluctuates …his moon in Gemini which can mean changing of ideas and perhaps conflicting thoughts, and ideas ( gemini’s dual nature) Saturn is passing through Sag and Sag is notorious for it’s commitment issues, plus uranus and chiron passing through the 6th house bringing up emotional issues ( possibly) and an unconventional, rebellious streak mixed with mars which can heighten tension and anger issues. Yes, he does have issues with authority and some temperament problems dealing with difficult people. David A Jones I agree. Good analysis. I see the 2nd house as money earned by personal possessions, things that one owns. The 10th is money earned through what one presents to the public, skills which lead to a career. The 6th house is service to another in exchange for money; employment. As you say, they’re all water signs. and particularly, his 6th is pisces, The mutable water sign, the “most watery” of the water signs. Marie Angela So Pisces in 6th being wishy-washy. His passion is music but has yet to profit from it . Uranus should be sparking some creative ideas here but he’s young yet so….(23) David A Jones What I see is a 10th house ruled by the moon, and the moon in the tenth house, in gemini. A strong indication of a tenth-house rather than a sixth-house source of funds; gemini is a classic salesman. This is where he’d do well, in my opinion. David A Jones Music is also good, but not as an employee. A proprietor? Especially with that aries sun~ Marie AngelaDavid A Jones Funny you should say that because he does love sales…He did well out in another state but iis struggling to find anything in this one. The 2nd house Scorpio/ pluto with north node is what strikes me as very interesting and concerning. I’m not exactly sure what to make of it just yet. Marie Angela Thank you so much for all your input . Sometimes the more I stare at a chart, the more perplexed I become. It’s like doing complex math to me 
🙂 David A Jones One of the first things I like to evaluate is the relative strengths of the 2nd, 6th and 10th (and in a related, resonance-type way, the 8th, 12th and 4th). Which house is strong and well-aspected is the one the native should choose. The second house is strong, and jupiter is there, but not, in my opinion, well-placed in the sign of scorpio, and there’s that pesky pluto too. Lots of skullduggery in the second house; better to pursue the tenth. The sixth, mars and saturn? Please~ David A Jones Complex math is EXACTLY what it is! Applied geometry, the search for patterns and resonances. Astrology follows the same resonances as music, or architecture. It’s all geometry! Marie Angela Math was always infuriating to me lol. Marie AngelaDavid A Jones You’ve given me quite alot to analyze and dissect here, thanks so much for that !! Pluto, scorpio in the second house …maybe he should be a male escort haha. He does have a bit of a checkered past that he’s trying to fly straight and get his life together now. Not selling sexual things but other scorpian like things that I hope stays in the past for him. David A Jones It was to me too, but I discovered the most infuriating part was that the math we learn is base-ten, while the math of the universe is base-twelve. I figured out how to do the base-twelve stuff on the knuckles of my fingers, and the math of astrology made much more sense. David A Jones Yeah, Scorpio. I don’t have any in my chart, but most people born in the last half of the 20th century have lots of it. I try not to get caught up in all that! 
😉 ———————————— Some people seem nice, but aren’t worth the effort it would take to piss on them. ——————————————– Well, I had a tree lot on Airport Boulevard just north of I-35; there’s a shopping plaza there now, and on Harmon Ave. behind it, I rented a spare room from a guy to sleep, shower etc. One morning I was eating breakfast and Stevie dropped by; we all talked about various places in town; he had a gig at a place downtown, I don’t remember the name, then Stevie left and the guy I was renting a room from said that he was a crazy good guitar player, that I should see him sometime. That year didn’t work out, but a girl I was seeing when I passed through Austin also knew him; he was just a local hippie at the time. The next year, or maybe the year after that, she lived in a big house at the edge of town and she and her housemates threw a big Christmas party, at which Stevie showed up. There was a group of folks jamming on the porch and I had my harmonica; Stevie picked up an old acoustic and we all played blues for a long time. I talked with him a bit; what bands we’d been in and such and kinda-maybe-sorta getting together sometime again, but I lived in North Carolina and had to leave town a couple days later and it never happened. ——————— revised Joe story The Mayfair Barber Shop I worked at my father’s barber shop from the time I was eleven years old, shining shoes and sweeping up at night. All the barbers had interesting stories. When my father bought the shop, he took over the first chair. The second had always belonged to a quiet fellow named Joe Maldonado. Joe was Hispanic, but mostly Indian, and emphatically not Mexican; his family had lived in the area before it was Colorado, before it was Texas, before it was Mexico, before the first Spaniard rode through on an odd animal he called a “caballo”. Joe and his six kids spoke Spanish at home, the same language their Colorado-born and bred ancestors had spoken for the previous three centuries. His father was a miner in Walsenburg, and there’d been some labor troubles. One day someone walked into the bar where Joe’s father was minding his own business, and shot him dead. Mistaken identity. Joe’s mother, brothers and sisters all moved to Denver. Joe got a barber’s license, and supported them all. For twenty years he was reliable and conscientious, driving to work daily, but one morning my father got a call. Joe was in jail. He’d been stopped by the cops, and didn’t have a driver’s license. He never had. Joe wouldn’t bet against the Broncos. Denver’s football team was never good~for about fifteen years it held the worst team record in any major-league sport~but Joe always bet on them anyway. He’d take the point spread, but they’d usually lose by even more points. Due to Joe’s influence, I also didn’t bet against the Broncos~but I just didn’t bet on them, period. In 1978, they finally went to the Super Bowl, and for the first time, I bet a dollar~and lost. Nine years later, they went again. I bet again. They lost again, by more points. Twice more they lost, each time by even more points. In 1990 this was the worst loss in Super Bowl history~49ers 55, Denver 10. Four dollars, gone. Eight years later, the Broncos again went to the Super Bowl. They took the field in their new navy-blue and bright-orange uniforms~technically they were the “visiting” team, but they’d never lost in their new “home” uniforms, so that’s what they wore. Green Bay was heavily favored; the NFC hadn’t lost in thirteen years. I wanted to bet a dollar again, but my friend wanted to bet five. I did. Martina Navratilova predicted a 31-24 win, and the Broncos came through. I won that five-dollar bet, and became the only guy in history, that I knew of, to win money betting on the Broncos. They won the Super Bowl the next year, too. For the first time in my life, I had trouble finding anyone to bet against the Broncos. Joe didn’t see it. He’d had heart surgery a couple years before, and died on the operating table. ————————- I love romantic comedies, I’m vegetarian, have far more female than male friends, love to sew, cook, etc. and for several years not only found myself to be a gay magnet but also in the odd position of having a great many bisexual or even lesbian girlfriends. Does this make me transgendered? Hell no. I also like football, fixing cars, military history, and have never had a problem attracting straight ladies. I’m a confident, heterosexual man, married for over 30 years, have never had an interest in a gay lifestyle and have no problem with who I am whatsoever. ————————– Why don’t guys approach women they’re interested in anymore? Is it our (girls’) fault
—–
It’s absolutely the fault of forty years of feminist bullshit. The old myths and archetypes are powerful for a reason–because they’re true. Deep down inside, men want to rescue the damsel from the dragon, and women want to be rescued. Feminism has been trying to turn this on its head with a modern myth that a strong, powerful woman can do it all, but that won’t replace the older, deeper, truer myth, it only frustrates the not so powerful, not so strong average woman, who then lashes out at the average guy for not being whatever the hell kind of guy she’s supposed to want, which not even she knows for sure. The average guy, after dealing with several of these women, doesn’t want to hear it again and keeps his distance. There’s no stronger and happier woman than one who acknowledges her own femininity to the full, including her weaknesses and her desire for a man with a man’s strengths to help her with the things she can’t do, and no happier man than one who can help a woman and be appreciated for it, but for the equation to work women have to be true to their natural feminine soul, not true believers in the artificial feminist construct. My 2 cents.
Something to remember about AOC is that the House of Reps is a strange beast; some members represent an entire state, some just a corner of one. AOC doesn’t even represent a city, she represents a neighborhood, literally less than 1/4 of 1% of Americans, and hers is the most bombed-out moonscape of a neighborhood in New York City. She’s getting a lot of publicity because that’s what the media does, but she’s not gonna run riot over the 99¾% who don’t ride the subway to hell twice a day.
Alternate West Side Story~
Denver, 1965~
Bonfils Theatre had produced “Gideon” the winter before, my first professional production since I’d portrayed “Three-Week-Old-Baby” in an outdoor drama called “Horn in the West”, at the age of three weeks.
I was Jether, the shepherd boy. Although it took a lot of my time, the role didn’t engage much of my brain, as I had no lines. Jether did, however, have black hair, which was sprayed in each night and later washed out as rivulets of black muck, coursing down my face and shoulders and remaining in the bathwater during my now-obligatory nightly bath, settling into every wrinkle of my body, giving me a weird, old-man Goth freak appearance the following day. My hair was always nasty, and more of the black goo would wash out in the showers in gym class, where it would pool in my eyebrows, under my eyes and around my nose. After that play everyone in the family decided that henceforth they would DYE their hair when necessary, with the result that everyone had red hair for Life With Father the following year–except me, because I wasn’t in it, having survived that spring an absolutely traumatic school play, the worst-ever production in the history of the world of “West Side Story”.
A neighborhood improvement organization with a government grant put it on, and the director was a community organizer who obviously had no theatre experience whatsoever. I was encouraged to audition, and got a small part. Within a week, several of the major characters had quit. Through attrition and poor casting, I, the youngest student in Smiley Junior High, landed as Officer Krupke. Other portrayals were worse; the gang members were muscular and fifteen, but their supposed leader Tony was the second-youngest student in the school, an undersized, immature eleven-year-old like me. Tony and I both wore thick glasses and had high, squeaky voices. Tony’s girl Maria was a fully matured, top heavy black girl, several inches taller than him, with a much deeper voice.
For months we rehearsed the play from the beginning, running out of time halfway through the second act. A week or so before the premiere, our director realized we didn’t yet have a full play, and started rehearsing the final scene. A quick scene was improvised a day or two before the performance to tie everything together, and then the search for props began. An A-frame ladder was quickly put into service as a balcony, a refrigerator box became a building and a door laid on its side was a fence. Since none of us had even tried to sing, a tape of the Broadway production was cued up in an old reel-to-reel tape player, with a microphone backstage hooked to the public address speakers in the auditorium–a system which had not yet been tested when the doors opened for our first matinee.
The end result was incomprehensible. The first few minutes went all right, but then everything fell apart. Preadolescent, pasty-white, bespectacled gang leader Tony squeaked across the stage, falling in love with a much taller and older black girl. She appeared to be one of the cafeteria ladies, perched on a ladder for no discernible reason.
Once Tony had professed his love, in his high soprano, and Maria had responded, in her contralto, the singing began. The tape crackled to life, set at double speed, and chipmunks shrieked out the first few words of “Tonight, Tonight” at five times the volume of the dialog on stage. Tony and Maria then waited, blinking, arms limp by their sides. Ten minutes, twenty, while the sound crew fumbled and mumbled, the speakers popping and rumbling, mangled tape sounds squawking occasionally from the superannuated tape player. It tediously, fitfully groaned to life–halfway through the wrong song. Another ten minutes went by while Tony and Maria fidgeted. “MMMuuuhh——–rrr—rr————rr———rrrria, I’ve just met a girl named Maria!” finally boomed forth in an operatic tenor several dozen decibels louder and lower than Tony had seemed capable of, while the loving couple waved their hands and lip-synched badly, Maria perched like a house painter above.
Catcalls came from the audience and a couple cold drinks flew from the balcony. The audience below screamed at the jokesters above, the curtains closed, the lights came on and the assistant principal strolled onstage to make several choice threats before the play continued. When the curtain rose, there was a refrigerator crate next to the ladder, with a door leaning sideways on its lower half. A gang member stepped from the crate and told another Jet what had happened offstage, explaining all the missing scenes–the dance, the war council, the rumble, the two gang members stabbed–the Reader’s Digest version of the middle three-quarters of the play. I blew my whistle and, stepping onstage as Officer Krupke, shouted the two lines my role had been reduced to. About this time a fight broke out in the hallway and the audience poured out to watch. We played the final scene, screeching from the hallway overwhelming the dialog, to about a dozen stragglers.
That was our only performance. The remaining three were cancelled.
Our months of rehearsals were over.
——————————-
Thoughts on abortion~ There was a time that way too many babies ended up in orphanages, unwanted and unloved. I knew some of these kids, always in trouble and with no one to turn to. I also used to see their mothers, who would show up in my checkout line with full bellies and a crisp new driver’s license, then disappear after a month or two. I knew high school girls who had abortions, and the pictures of some of them in the high school yearbook had black borders. One of the worst of crimes a hundred years ago was “baby farming”, where rural women would promise to find a home for babies, but kill and bury them instead. I used to feel abortion was a better alternative; a necessary evil, in a world where even worse things were happening.
None of these things exist anymore; they’re as foreign as the horse and buggy, and that’s good. Babies who are unwanted now are almost always adopted by eager and loving parents, and the problem for infertile couples isn’t which baby to adopt, it’s finding a baby to adopt at all. There are innumerable safe and expedient methods of birth control, and I now feel abortion is a totally unnecessary evil. I do indeed believe that babies have a consciousness, and a soul, before they’re born, and can feel the same pain when they are torn apart in the womb as they would if they were torn apart afterwards. This isn’t just about the rights of a woman, it’s also about the rights of a child, the right to live. I do feel this is holy. It doesn’t make me more holy than anyone else, but I’m entitled to express my sincere, respectful, honest beliefs.
———————————–
Edited bike story~
When I was about 14, I took a frame from an old 26” bicycle, removed the pedals and sprocket, put the front wheel from a 20” bike in the back, turned the front fork backwards and attached a tricycle wheel with pedals on the front. I took the bicycle seat apart, flipped the seat support around and reattached the seat so that it rested on the frame a foot in front of its regular position and used an old piece of pipe for handlebars. It was rideable, just barely. It was good that the pipe was a foot wider than standard handlebars, because furiously pedaling the tiny front wheel from a much more horizontal angle, rather than from the nearly vertical position of a tricycle, produced huge torque, which was only compensated by holding to the pipe for dear life and pulling it one way, then the other. Since the pedals were directly connected to the front wheel, one also had to pedal full-time when underway. It was possible to coast downhill by resting one’s feet on the front fork, but that wasn’t easy to manage either, as the pedals flapped furiously and made it difficult to steer. As there were no brakes, the only way to slow down was to either plant one’s feet on the pavement to the sides or drag toes behind, which was also a problem–the bike sat lower to the ground because of the smaller wheels, so the foot-to pavement angle to avoid the flailing front pedals was out of whack. Neither could one stand up to get the angle right without the bike flipping out from underneath. The braking was ineffective, but fortunately it was nearly impossible to build up speed anyway. It was fun as all get-out, but wildly impractical. It would’ve worked well in a circus act.
_______________
Mahonchak
When I was in high school there was a teacher named Mahonchak, a petty dictator who severely enforced every possible infraction.
There was a patio where we’d eat lunch, and patio duties revolved weekly among the teachers. It was Mahonchak’s week. Ten minutes before lunch was over, whichever students were in detention picked up trash. This was usually pretty relaxed, but nothing was ever relaxed about Mahonchak. He was a field officer; a warden barking out orders for the patio patrol.
Steve and I hid behind a bush towards the end of lunch period; Steve had an M-80, and I had a cigarette. We punched a hole close to the filter, stuck the fuse through, lit the cigarette and put it in a paper bag. I threw it in the trash eleven or twelve minutes before the end of lunch period. We were expecting a 7-minute delay.
In the next several minutes everyone threw their trash on top of our time bomb, filling up the 60-gallon trashcan. Mahonchak gathered his convicts, and the patio was soon spotless. Steve and I were sure we had a dud. The bell rang, but just as the last peal faded away, KA-POW!!! Our fuse FINALLY found its mark, and the top three-quarters of the trash flew ten feet in the air! Mahonchak turned purple and completely lost it, screaming, grabbing the collars of random students to try to force them into lunch duty, but the bell had rung, lunch was over, we needed to get to class, end of story!
What Steve and I hadn’t calculated was that our cigarette was of the new, 100 millimeter size, which lasted over ten minutes. The result was far better than we’d anticipated; we totally got away with it, and Mahonchak’s purple, incoherent rage was an awesome, wonderful bonus!
————————–
David A Jones (LOWER EAST SIDE PICTURE) I was in that neighborhood for about a day when I was first born. My mother stayed a week in the hospital because that was how it was done, then they brought me home, packed up the car and left the next day. 😊
Pierre Yorke
Pierre Yorke Thanks for sharing. I immediately thought “And then what?” Your comment reads like the first sentence at the beginning of an autobiography. Regards Pierre
David A Jones
David A Jones Pierre Yorke Hah! Thanks! I actually have been writing my memoirs; maybe I’ll start with that! 😁
From there, my parents drove to Boone, North Carolina, where they’d met the year before. Both had been cast in an outdoor drama, “Horn in the West”, my father as Daniel Boone and my mother as a singer and music director. I was in the cast at the age of three weeks! The show is still running, 67 years later!
—————————————–
We Move to Hollywood
My parents met in an outdoor drama produced in Boone, North Carolina, called “Horn in the West”. My father, as Daniel Boone, was the star of the show. When my mother, a singer, carried off a prop anvil carelessly left onstage after a scene change, he knew she was the girl for him! They were married in October.
They moved from North Carolina to New York that fall, to star in several hit Broadway shows, including “The Mikado”, “Kiss Me Kate”, “The Seven Year Itch”, and “Oklahoma!”. They didn’t star in any of them, though, and in June returned to “the Horn”, where the part of Three Week Old Baby was written in to take advantage of my talent. After the success of my inaugural season, we all moved to Colorado, where my father starred in several kiddie shows on TV until, as part of a negotiating strategy, he told the management to shove a plaster giraffe up their ass. They elected not to, and my father instead took a lucrative offer as Third Chair in Harold’s Barber Shop. He moved up quickly, nine years and five more kids later buying the shop and renaming it The Mayfair.
My youngest brother Sam, age eleven, made a movie for Disney, and when my father visited Disneyland, he found a Magic Kingdom. He decided the family should move, and we bought an equipment rental yard at 8770 Santa Monica Boulevard in West Hollywood. My father, my brother Rob and I drove out in June, then my father drove back to Denver. The rest of the family followed at summer’s end.
The eight of us all crammed into a little house in Garden Grove which my father rented from an actor friend, Burt Douglas, who had a regular gig on the soap opera All My Children. In January we moved into a much bigger house in Granada Hills, which we bought from the performer Bo Diddley. It had a huge swimming pool, five bedrooms, wrap-around driveway, a fountain, a guest house (which became mine) and a couple utility buildings which my brother claimed, but the cherry on top was a recording studio in the backyard, a cement block building with egg crates glued to the walls. We formed a family band which did rather well; there was a battle of the bands hosted by The Troubadour in West Hollywood at which we appeared and were one of the three bands chosen (out of fifteen or twenty) to appear at the end of the month. Of those twelve bands, we were chosen to appear at the end of December as one of the best twelve bands of the year!
———————————————-
When a guy is popular or powerful, women throw themselves at him; this is why guys play in bands. It’s what Trump was referring to when he said, “you can do whatever you want”. A woman with a plan will entice a man, but then refuse him, then entice and refuse some more, because she wants him exclusively, and doesn’t wish to be one of the “groupies”. If she then feels uncomfortable, thinks he’s insincere, or HE refuses HER, she decides he’s a “pig”, who gave her red wine instead of white (for example Aziz Ansari). If she wanted him, threw herself on him, but he got tired of her or didn’t want her, then accusations start. That’s the way it is and how it’s always been. Always will be.
“““““““““““““““““““““““`
Donald Trump has money, but he grew up in Queens. For those familiar with New York City’s social structure, Queens is several rungs down the ladder. No matter how much money one has, if they’re from Queens they don’t have “status”. It’s the overriding reason he started buying and building in Manhattan, because his father never “made the grade”. I used to do phone sales, and anywhere else in the country I’d mention that I had a cousin who lived in a town or neighborhood close to whoever was on the line, and get a very friendly, positive response. In New York the first question I’d get would be, “What neighborhood?’, and if they lived five blocks the wrong way they didn’t give a shit about my cousin, it was either too snooty of a neighborhood or not snooty enough.
…………………………………………………….
Pete’s Rental
In the summer of 1971, my father, my brother and I moved to Garden Grove, California, to a house my father rented from an actor friend of his. My father stayed a couple weeks and then left to tie up a few details in Colorado. I’d just turned 18, my brother was 16, and we were alone in California, for the next few months.
I worked 69 hours a week at the rental yard my family had bought in West Hollywood, with an additional 14 hours or so of travel time. We were open for ten hours every Monday through Saturday, and nine on Sunday. My brother stayed home occasionally, and met some of the neighbors, but I arrived home late, got up early and did all the driving. I left at 6:30 am and returned around 7 pm, unless I stopped for groceries.
For the first month or so, Pete’s son Hans showed us the ropes, and after that we hired a fellow who’d previously worked there, Les, who showed up from 9 to 5 on most weekdays. I put in ten hours every day. I couldn’t take a day off, because my brother had no driver’s license. It mystified me why he never wanted to get his license, but it didn’t bother him.
This caused some real trouble later. Because he didn’t have a driver’s license, if anything needed doing, I left him home. Once or twice a week he’d wash the clothes, chlorinate the pool, take out the trash, mow the lawn. One day I came home and HE WASN’T THERE!
He wasn’t at any of the neighbors’ homes. I drove the nearby streets and alleys, asking around, finally calling my parents in Colorado. They hadn’t heard from him. He was MISSING!
As it turned out, this was one of those idiotic and deplorable stunts which gave the Orange County cops of the time a bad name.
My brother had walked less than a mile to the pool supply store that July day but, foolishly, without shoes. He got the chemicals and started home, but stopped in the shade of a tree. A couple cops saw the long-haired hippie kid and decided to hassle him, making the ridiculous, lying, illegitimate and illegal assertion that “someone had reported him drunk”, at eleven in the morning.
My brother was fond of cramming his pockets full of stuff. He was wearing a cargo jacket and a special pocket vest, both with numerous items in every pocket. They had him pull out all his stuff, and one thing he pulled out was a small canister of tear gas. Totally legal in Colorado, and in every other state of the union. Except California. In California, it was a felony.
Our father had originally bought it for him after he’d been robbed by a gang of delinquents in junior high school. The cops were sympathetic by now, but they’d drawn a crowd, and had to do something. After an hour piddling around, they took him in.
That was just the start. He was at the juvenile facility, and was allowed to make a phone call, but I was in West Hollywood, which was a long-distance call~as was a call home, half-a-mile away. The juvenile hall he was being held in was served by AT&T, but our neighborhood was covered by a little company called General Telephone, which operated in small pockets here and there~and any call from one system to the other was long-distance.
Because whatever call he would have made from a half-a-mile away, to anyone he knew, would’ve been long-distance, it was not allowed. Seven hours later, when I came home at 6 pm, nobody knew where he was.
Not even the cops. They didn’t have any record of an arrest. My parents called, from Colorado. They were told the same. They frantically called every police department, hospital etc. in the area, but heard nothing. At three or four in the morning, a cop knocked on my door, woke me up and told me what had happened~but since I was 18, not 21, and this was 1971 and not 1972, I couldn’t pick him up. My parents had to call a friend they knew from Colorado, who now lived about fifty miles from us. He pretended he was an uncle, and signed my brother out.
And that was that. None of us heard back from anyone. Perhaps the case was mis-filed, perhaps thrown away. Probably, the cops decided to forget all about it. My parents were ready to sue, but didn’t.
—————————–
I was on Guam in 1974. It was fascinating; Agaña was rebuilt after the second world war, but it was so torn up they simply flattened everything with bulldozers and set up a street grid. The old property lines didn’t match, so there ended up being lots of odd-shaped buildings and funky parking lots. If you walked off into the jungle you’d still find twisted metal parts, burned out cement, old scraps of fabric in strange places. A friend and I were exploring and came across a skinny, bombed-out airstrip completely covered in forest canopy, an open space through the trees on either end. There was a little island about a mile offshore you could walk to, ankle-deep water washing over smooth, white coral the whole way. We knew a couple guys that lived in a house outside of town that was basically built out of all kinds of trash, completely open to the air over the side walls. Come twilight they’d light a bug coil to keep away mosquitoes. They had like a 2-acre back yard that had storage sheds made out of old refrigerators, etc. When something made it to the island it basically never left.
——————-
I haven’t seen the Vietnam veterans mewmorial on Guam; it undoubtedly wasn’t there 45 years ago. It’s such a long time to say it that way, while “1974” sounds like not long at all! 😁 I’m technically a Vietnam-era veteran, as I signed up on December 28, 1973 and the Vietnam “era” ended three days later, though the war had ended for the USA several months before. We were supposed to tour the Pacific after our ship was overhauled, but since the commander of the base at Guam had previously been the captain of the Ponchatoula, the overhaul was assigned to Guam even though the ship was really too big. When I came to the ship the overhaul was already behind its schedule, which was supposed to be five months. Half the crew was pissed off about it, because for a six months stretch the wives and kids would come over but they weren’t gonna for five. It actually lasted close to eight months, so the tour of Australia, the Philippines, Japan was cancelled, pissing off the other half of the crew! We headed back to Pearl and got an extra month to slack off though, so it wasn’t bad. Since most of the overhaul of the engines was already done by the time I’d arrived, I’d had like three months’ of pretty much a vacation!
—————————–
(neptune +democrats?) There’s certainly reasons to look to other planets as significators, the “hopey-changey” stuff is certainly neptune, but I’m pretty much a traditional pragmatist. I go with the closer planets whenever I can, for multiple reasons. I believe in patterns; the traditional planetary rulerships formed a mirror image, and each planet ruled one masculine and one feminine sign, one “by day” and the other “by night”. I’m not happy with disrupting the pattern; there’s a harmony to the planets as real and significant as musical harmony. I have a background in music, and see the whole of the cosmos as vibrating to the same geometry as musical notes. Introducing new notes to a chord will never eliminate the harmonies which were there before, they only add to it, sometimes in doric or ionian or phrygian mode, but the harmonies can be found. Mercury harmonizes with uranus, venus with neptune, mars with pluto, so they are called the “octaves”, not only for esoteric reasons but very real geometric ones, which is a whole ‘nuther discussion. Venus is exalted in pisces, and therefore resonates with jupiter as well, but consistent with the rabbit hole of music theory saturn is exalted in venus’ sign and so forms a relationship with jupiter and neptune through its resonance with venus. You can look to the root key through any of the harmonies, but I prefer to use saturn for the democrats, since democrats, the “donkeys”, generally have fewer resources and are living a bit more ascetically (saturn) than republicans, the “elephants”, who have more resources (jupiter). Saturn-ruled people have less and want more, while jupiter-ruled people have more and wish to keep it. This is the very basic outline of something that’s far more complex than it first appears, just as a barbershop quartet can sing a simple melody in continuous four-part harmony. To name how a specific candidate fits into the picture you need to consider vastly more than “jupiter vs. saturn”; and as an example both Trump and Reagan were democrats for a long time before they were republicans. I also don’t believe the parties are static, they have a birth, life and death just like people, and at various phases they respond to different vibrations. I think it very significant that the White House magnolia, planted by the first democratic president, was cut down in 2017, rotten to the core. I think that to the extent the democrats don’t disappoint their saturn-ruled core they’ve got the advantage, but betray the saturnine principles dear to the hearts of the base (and they’ve certainly been doing a lot of that lately) and they’ll lose. My personal opinion is that the democrats are as rotten as the magnolia, and will soon be superseded by another party, as the whigs were replaced by the republicans in 1856, one neptune year ago.
————————————-
In 1973, I was 19 and leaving LA for Denver, where I’d lived before. My truck was a ’31 Ford, and I had a motor scooter on the back, which didn’t run. I’d had starter trouble, and had been hand-cranking the truck for many miles. I’d had an unexpected expense, stopped and sold my TV to get gas money. Where I’d stopped, I met a guy who looked a lot like me, was also 19 and was driving the opposite way, by the same route, in a ’49 truck. I noticed 4+9=13 was the year of my truck in reverse, and we were going opposite directions! That was ONLY the beginning. He’d been living in a city about 50 miles north of my destination, moving to a smaller one about 50 miles north of my point of origin. We’d started on the same day, were both leaving our families for the first time, headed from the city we’d been living in for two years and going back to where we’d grown up, both planning to live with a friend. His truck, like mine, had had starter trouble, and he also had a scooter on the back, which didn’t run. I took him into town to borrow a few dollars from a friend, as he’d also had an unexpected expense! His first name started with D, as did mine, and both of us had brothers named Rob. When I dropped him off, I got confused by the squirrelly signs for the highway going through Santa Fe and went in a circle, where I saw him and his friend going in a coffee shop. They gave me directions, but when I was leaving a part fell off my truck, so I circled around the block and met him a third time! I felt like I’d spent the afternoon with my own reflection!😁
——————————–
When I was fourteen, my father bought a shotgun and sat in his barber chair all night while I sat in my shoe-shine stand. We stayed up, vigilant, while riots were going on a mile away. They didn’t reach us, but it’s personal when your family’s livelihood is on the line. It’s not a literary discussion, or a chapter in a book. I don’t need “research”. The riots MUST stop. Like him or not, Trump is the president, and he’s taking action, not twiddling his thumbs.
In elementary school I thought the cutest girl, EVER, was Sambhavi V. (I never learned how to spell her last name and neither did anyone else) She was from India, wore colorful clothes, had a developing figure at eleven or twelve and didn’t mind that I noticed, in my shy nerdy way. I didn’t know how to talk to girls but was thrilled when we teamed up together on some little project. She had a fun personality and an exotic beauty. I don’t recall anyone teasing her, the only “brown” girl in school, in fact she was quite popular. I don’t know what Nimrata’s problem was but I can assure you that I found everything about Sambhavi lovely, and incredibly exciting.
The illiterate or pre-literate tribes of Africa, societies who until the 20th century had no written language, had a lack of empathy which literate peoples found astonishing. This was the true reason behind the establishment of apartheid; these tribes couldn’t be be trusted to act civilized, or even to understand what “civilized” meant. When translators compiled dictionaries of these previously unwritten languages they found no words expressing long-term consequences for immediate actions; the best they could do for a “promise” was “I’ll try”, for example, with no understanding that a “promise” involved continuous, repeated trying until an action was fulfilled. This created terrible problems in business and politics, because a “contract” meant nothing, a “treaty” meant nothing; the only transactions which were recognized were between one individual and another, face-to-face, in the moment. There was also almost no understanding of “morals”, of the “right” or “decent” thing to do, of the feelings and emotions of others. This continues to be a problem to this day, as the only concept of “authority” in these languages is “what the boss-man says”. In the Rwandan genocide, for example, it was very easy to persuade the Hutu to slaughter the Tutsi. The boss-man got on the radio, and told them to do it. Listen as this white guy tries to explain to these modern-day immigrants why they shouldn’t rape women:
https://media.gab.com/system/media_attachments/files/157/075/454/playable/e96d479f52d545c5.mp42
reply~Ran into a YT of a linguist(?) who studied African languages and the differences were really striking. No word for half or other fractions. There is literally “up the tree” or “at the base” nothing between. He gave many other really basic examples.
Folks spotted his large dictionary and asked him why he had it. He explained that he didn’t know the full language – they laughed. He said “well you don’t know the full language, right?” No, they replied, they knew everything.
With a simple language, you CAN know it all. But there are thousands of concepts that cannot be put into that language!
Ethics, forward periods in time, any time beyond the span of one’s lifetime in the past, there are a LOT of examples that simply cannot be translated and therefore entire cultures cannot – literally cannot think about them. And after a few millennia, nobody needs to as the IQ is so low that there cannot be real progress. Culture, invention, all of it beyond them. I don’t like the reality of it, but it cannot be escaped. And now we are importing literally thousands into our technically advanced cities.
No second floor structures. Buildings that any European of 6th grade age and education could build (but nothing more complex), etc. And these fall apart or collapse when bad weather hits, killing or injuring those inside.
There is a reason that for well over 100 years Europeans have been going to various places and building wells, irrigation, transportation infrastructure. As soon as they leave, the entire thing falls into disrepair. Many cultures cannot understand that work today ensures water tomorrow. They don’t use and didn’t develop sanitary facilities. Telling them that a manure pile next to the well will poison them isn’t going to stop them. As soon as you leave, that well will become fouled. (It would be interesting to see how many times USAID and the Peace Corps have sent teams to the exact same villages to re-dig the wells and re-establish sanitary facilities in many nations!)
As with the current slide in South Africa, all of that will be wiped away or inoperable in another decade or two. With the upcoming famines (as well as the ever-present Communist revival because nothing sounds better to low IQ populations than Communist propaganda) that I expect will sweep through Africa, the Chinese will own most, if not the entire continent.
Lord Doovinator, part-time wiz@Doovinator
that’s been THE problem with the African continent for centuries, if not millennia. These societies have no understanding of the long-term or how to improve. No lessons from the past. No building for the future. Do you have that guy’s video links?
reply
I really didn’t expect to find it!
I hope you enjoy. I remember it as quite a wide ranging talk.
I would bet that it’s similar in some parts of S. America and certainly the Aztec fondness for their death deities has not died out, as bumper stickers, flags, tattoos, hats and vehicle decals will show – there’s a lot of skull and death motifs in those communities that apparently Christianity never was able to remove and now they have come back in force.Read more
African Language and the African MindYouTubeLink FeedSalutedReplyUnrepost···1
I’d be curious to hear your thoughts – been a few years since I watched it.
Lord Doovinator, part-time wiz@Doovinator·
@DunnoNuffinCovid well it just makes SO MUCH sense — people don’t realize how much of civilization is learned behavior, one step at a time, built on the foundations of what has come before, and the more literate people in a society, the better.
Something he doesn’t touch on in this video is also how the promiscuity and lack of “morals”, for want of a better term, undermines the society. Most tribal societies are matrilineal, meaning that property passes through the mother’s line, not the father’s, as the mother is obviously the mother but the father somewhat speculative. The mother takes care of her kids and “her man”, but if she dies the property goes to her family, not his. This means the men have no real desire to make improvements, etc. since the house and land they work on isn’t theirs, nor necessarily their kids’. The island of Santo Domingo illustrates what happens with this dynamic. Colonized by Europeans, it was some of the richest territory on the planet. The western half was taken over by Africans and organized as if it was an African society; the eastern half retaining European standards. Haiti, to the west, is now a completely hopeless basket case while the Dominican Republic, to the east, is still and has remained relatively prosperous.
reply: Great points! I concur entirely but your post brings up a few things I’ve not heard. Good food for thought.
In a much earlier post I took a look at the IQ study done in Haiti – really scarry numbers! What a low IQ population does with a dysfunctional culture is really something else.
And it will be interesting to see how it plays out in the big cities over the next couple of years.
doovinator 