I'll never forget seeing this movie! I was with a nice Catholic girl, named Mary-Jo. She went to Maria High School. She was a Sophomore. I was a Junior, at St. Rita. These were segregated high schools for girls, and boys, respectively. It was a good way for the Catholic Clergy to keep the good boys and girls, separated, moral, upstanding, and academically oriented...or so they thought! The year was 1966. We were at the Double Drive-In movie theatre, on Southwest Highway, near 77th St., on the Southwest side of Chicago.
The Wild Angels featured Peter Fonda and Nancy Sinatra. The movie was about wild bikers from San Bernadino, California. It was a rockin' movie to see in those days! It featured gang fights, sex, booze, marijuana, murder, a biker funeral and all kinds of altercations with "the man". By today's standard it is pretty lame, definitely laughable. But it is camp! The dialogue has me in in pain, but I think in spite of the bad script and acting, the movie is still pretty damned cool!
Me and Mary-Jo had a twelve-pack of Budweiser in cans, and our cigarettes. She had ratted hair, a tight skirt, black nylons and heels, and a blouse that showed a set of ample breasts a teenaged boy would die for! I went through the various stages boys have to go through to get at them! First I popped open a beer with my "church key"...(a can opener). I needed to loosen her up, and as they say, "candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker". We didn't have pop-tops back then in aluminum cans, but we didn't mind. The ritual was more manly, I think!...ha! I yawned, raising my arms, and placed my right arm around her shoulders. Then I softly started kissing her neck and ear. I then started stroking her knees and thighs. I could hear her breathing heavy and getting hot! Finally, the french kissing began, and VOILA!!!...I started "feeling her up!" Oh! It was wonderful!
Wild bikers, violence, sex, cigarettes, and making out in my 62' Ford Galaxie was heaven. You can catch the Wild Angels movie if you have Comcast, "On Demand". Check it out! I really got a kick out of it tonight! I feel sorry for teenagers today. The Drive-In movie theatres are all but non-existent. We always went there or to Marquette Park to "make-out", or "cop-a-feel".
I wanted Debbie, my wife, to sit next to me in the love seat in our den, to check out this movie. She rolled her eyes at me and said: "You are really juvenile!" I guess she didn't want to make out with me. Maybe she was afraid I'd try to "cop-a-feel"!
Friday, March 5, 2010
WHAT DO I ABSORB?
What do I absorb? Do I absorb cancer producing agents from my Splenda? I love Splenda! When I put it in my coffee every morning, I wince with fear till that first sip...Ahhhhhh! Then I put my fears aside, and cast my fate to the wind. It's worth the risk, that damn coffee tastes so good and sweet! Then I proceed to the gym, supposedly to get healthy. I smell the cleaning agents they use in the towels. Hmmmm....wonder if these cause Cancer? I pull the cap from my vitamin drink and wonder, "do I absorb noxious chemicals from the recycled plastic along with all those wonderful vitamins? Hmmmm.
I stopped showering at the gym...I read an article which claims that humid gym shower rooms are breeding grounds for strange fungi which cluster in the shower heads and on the floors. No one would want to absorb that stuff! I towel off, and throw on some clean sweats so I don't get my car seats wet. Once at home, I immediately throw all my wet gear into the washing machine. I make sure to use the "green" type laundry detergent without phosphates, which pollute our drinking water, and prevent eczema on my tender, old-man skin. I take a shower and apply a variety of things to safeguard myself. Antifungals, dry skin lotions, analgesics for my arthritic knees, under arm deodorant...(Old Spice, which every man's Dad used...its the stick type, which doesn't put dangerous hydrocarbons in the atmosphere), and after shave lotion. I absorb alot of stuff after my shower, see? When I microwave my veggies for lunch, I am afraid they might absorb the carcinogens from the plastic envelope which they are contained in...hmmm...Who cares!...They taste yummie! I try not to peer into the microwave oven's door, as my package goes 'round-and-'round. I read somewhere that microwaves can cause brain tumors. I sure don't want to absorb those microwaves! I sit at the computer screen and the television for about 5 hours a day. I wonder if I am absorbing dangerous things, through my eyeballs? Plus, there is always the risk of brain tumors from using my cell phone. Thank God, I rarely use that damned modern convenience.
I try to absorb knowledge by reading, networking, and exposing myself to new ideas. When I think about it, life is all about absorption and elimination. I enjoy a good "elimination" every morning, after I drink my tainted coffee! I hope that when my time is up on earth, and I am eliminated, that I can be absorbed into a heaven with 30-year-old, single malt Scotch, thousands of beautiful young women, and just me! Can you fella's out there absorb that mental picture? I sure can!
I stopped showering at the gym...I read an article which claims that humid gym shower rooms are breeding grounds for strange fungi which cluster in the shower heads and on the floors. No one would want to absorb that stuff! I towel off, and throw on some clean sweats so I don't get my car seats wet. Once at home, I immediately throw all my wet gear into the washing machine. I make sure to use the "green" type laundry detergent without phosphates, which pollute our drinking water, and prevent eczema on my tender, old-man skin. I take a shower and apply a variety of things to safeguard myself. Antifungals, dry skin lotions, analgesics for my arthritic knees, under arm deodorant...(Old Spice, which every man's Dad used...its the stick type, which doesn't put dangerous hydrocarbons in the atmosphere), and after shave lotion. I absorb alot of stuff after my shower, see? When I microwave my veggies for lunch, I am afraid they might absorb the carcinogens from the plastic envelope which they are contained in...hmmm...Who cares!...They taste yummie! I try not to peer into the microwave oven's door, as my package goes 'round-and-'round. I read somewhere that microwaves can cause brain tumors. I sure don't want to absorb those microwaves! I sit at the computer screen and the television for about 5 hours a day. I wonder if I am absorbing dangerous things, through my eyeballs? Plus, there is always the risk of brain tumors from using my cell phone. Thank God, I rarely use that damned modern convenience.
I try to absorb knowledge by reading, networking, and exposing myself to new ideas. When I think about it, life is all about absorption and elimination. I enjoy a good "elimination" every morning, after I drink my tainted coffee! I hope that when my time is up on earth, and I am eliminated, that I can be absorbed into a heaven with 30-year-old, single malt Scotch, thousands of beautiful young women, and just me! Can you fella's out there absorb that mental picture? I sure can!
Thursday, March 4, 2010
THE THREE DOLLAR MOVIE SHOW
For three bucks, a person can still see a current, full-length, feature-film on the big screen. There are reasons however, that the movie show comes so cheap! The seats in the theatre are dilapidated, and caved in from 300-lb. popcorn eaters who have been sitting in them for the last thirty-years. The floors in this type of movie theatre, are rarely mopped. Your shoes stick to the floor, like flies stick to fly-paper. Women bring their screaming brats to these cheapie shows. There are a lot of people with NASCAR t-shirts, and missing teeth, sitting right in front of you. They always talk during the movie, and usually smell like whiskey. The screen has a hole in it the size of a tennis ball, which distracts me every time I am there. Our feature film always seems to be shown in the #4 viewing room, where this holey screen exists. The movie reels are beat up, by the time they make it to these cheap shows. The kids at the concession stand, always burn the popcorn, and I have to fight for breath, due to the smoke from burning oil, which attacks my emphysemic lungs. The air-conditioning is set real high, so that the theatre owner saves money on his electric bill. Usually, I am hot, sweaty, and disgruntled, when I leave the "cheapie" movie house.
My wife, Debbie loves these theatres. i can't figure her out. I hate crowds and waiting in line. I'd rather rent two movies for two bucks, order a pizza, and stay in the comfort of my own home. I can always pause the movie, when I need to "tinkle" in my bathroom. Plus, I don't have to worry about anyone smashing into my new sedan in the parking lot. At home, I can fart and burp at will, and take my socks off. I can't scratch my balls and sit in my underwear at the movie show. For me, the best way to see a movie, is in total comfort. I'm trying to convince my wife to let me purchase a nice 60" flat screen TV with all the bells and whistles. I can add a nice surround sound system to it. I'd like the sounds to pulsate through my body with so much force, that if I had a pacemaker, it would never need a new battery! Now, that's what I call a total movie viewing experience! I can buy 3 remote controls, I don't understand, Tivo, 969 channels I don't use, all the extra movie options, pornography stations, games, and every single sporting event known to mankind, which shows and re-shows the events, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week!
As long as I can order carry-out food, I never have to leave my den, ever again... except to go to work out at the gym, or to the Funeral Home, if somebody I know happens to die and screw up my viewing schedule. Just think of the gas money I will save! When I ramble on like this, my wife looks at me incredulously and walks away, shaking her head in disgust. She doesn't get it. Women are certainly strange creatures. Oh well. Pass the popcorn.
from: "A Spider in the Corner of My Mind"....available on Amazon.com.
My wife, Debbie loves these theatres. i can't figure her out. I hate crowds and waiting in line. I'd rather rent two movies for two bucks, order a pizza, and stay in the comfort of my own home. I can always pause the movie, when I need to "tinkle" in my bathroom. Plus, I don't have to worry about anyone smashing into my new sedan in the parking lot. At home, I can fart and burp at will, and take my socks off. I can't scratch my balls and sit in my underwear at the movie show. For me, the best way to see a movie, is in total comfort. I'm trying to convince my wife to let me purchase a nice 60" flat screen TV with all the bells and whistles. I can add a nice surround sound system to it. I'd like the sounds to pulsate through my body with so much force, that if I had a pacemaker, it would never need a new battery! Now, that's what I call a total movie viewing experience! I can buy 3 remote controls, I don't understand, Tivo, 969 channels I don't use, all the extra movie options, pornography stations, games, and every single sporting event known to mankind, which shows and re-shows the events, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week!
As long as I can order carry-out food, I never have to leave my den, ever again... except to go to work out at the gym, or to the Funeral Home, if somebody I know happens to die and screw up my viewing schedule. Just think of the gas money I will save! When I ramble on like this, my wife looks at me incredulously and walks away, shaking her head in disgust. She doesn't get it. Women are certainly strange creatures. Oh well. Pass the popcorn.
from: "A Spider in the Corner of My Mind"....available on Amazon.com.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
LIVING WITH ADVERSITY
This year I decided that my new heros were all those blue-haired, little, old ladies I see in shopping malls. They shuffle along pushing walkers with those "funky-assed" green, day-glow tennis balls on the legs.
Once you reach a certain age, getting up in the morning becomes an Olympic event! If you are lucky enough to survive and claim your senior citizen status, it becomes probable that you will face more pain and adversity than an NFL quarterback! You won't care, because the mission now is to wake up vertically in the morning; rather than to be found by your wife in the horizontal position.
Your tongue will be hanging out, like that deer you shot in Vienna, Illinois, when you went on that hunting trip with your drunken buddies, years ago. Much of my day consists of reading the obituaries, watching the weather channel, and making countless numbers of phone calls to other geezers to discuss various diseases, hospitals, and locations of funeral homes. Older people visit endless numbers of departed friends and enemies in these funeral homes. We get fat, because we eat a lot of pastries and sandwiches there! Many of us finish our day by watching The Wheel of Fortune, while we eat a large bowl of Premium ice cream. This ice cream advances the clogging of our arteries. The closest we get to pornography is Vanna White. Some of us fall asleep in our chairs before 9 p.m., watching banal episodes of Murder She Wrote, on the Hallmark Channel.
(I've given up the control of the TV clicker to my wife). I will never see Rambo movies again! These are the so called "Golden Years", dudes! I think they suck!
God willing, I hope I make it to 61. A man has to hope for the best!
from: "The Journey...Memoirs of a South Side Chicago kind of guy"...available on Amazon.com
Once you reach a certain age, getting up in the morning becomes an Olympic event! If you are lucky enough to survive and claim your senior citizen status, it becomes probable that you will face more pain and adversity than an NFL quarterback! You won't care, because the mission now is to wake up vertically in the morning; rather than to be found by your wife in the horizontal position.
Your tongue will be hanging out, like that deer you shot in Vienna, Illinois, when you went on that hunting trip with your drunken buddies, years ago. Much of my day consists of reading the obituaries, watching the weather channel, and making countless numbers of phone calls to other geezers to discuss various diseases, hospitals, and locations of funeral homes. Older people visit endless numbers of departed friends and enemies in these funeral homes. We get fat, because we eat a lot of pastries and sandwiches there! Many of us finish our day by watching The Wheel of Fortune, while we eat a large bowl of Premium ice cream. This ice cream advances the clogging of our arteries. The closest we get to pornography is Vanna White. Some of us fall asleep in our chairs before 9 p.m., watching banal episodes of Murder She Wrote, on the Hallmark Channel.
(I've given up the control of the TV clicker to my wife). I will never see Rambo movies again! These are the so called "Golden Years", dudes! I think they suck!
God willing, I hope I make it to 61. A man has to hope for the best!
from: "The Journey...Memoirs of a South Side Chicago kind of guy"...available on Amazon.com
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
RELAX...GO SAILING
My buddy has a 30-ft. sailboat moored in Holland Michigan.
I was invited a couple of summers ago, to go with him for a relaxing week of sailing. Visions of beautiful skies and pristine horizons, filled my mind...I imagined smelling fresh air and frolicking on deck with young girls in thongs and band aids for bikini tops. "Yes, I want to go!", was my immediate response to his query.
We arrived at his slip after a relaxing drive from Chicago...We stopped at 4-Winds Casino in New Buffalo for a few hours...and we both won a couple hundred bucks playing Roulette. Not a bad start! The weather in Michigan was gorgeous...Mid 70's and low humidities. I marveled at the beautiful sailing vessels as we walked down the concrete pier to his station. I looked forward to seeing his sailboat...I pictured a fancy job, with state of the art radio, TV, fancy bar, kitchen, gold handled bathroom fixtures...you know?...the whole 9 yards! My jaw dropped when I saw this bucket of blood...What a bucket of scum! He said: "Welcome home!"...My heart sank down to my feet. Then he continues, "It ain't much, but it's seaworthy."...Like this is supposed to make me feel better. He continues..."I brought you up here Rich, so yah could help me with the diesel engine, my electrical system and the bilge pump. I spent 8 hours with a flashlight in my mouth and a crescent wrench in my grubby, greasy hands, changing fuel filters, lines, battery cables, and electrical wires and connections. Some of the time, my friend had to hold me by my ankles, so I wouldn't fall into the mucky bilge depths, as I repaired his stinking engine! I worked like a dog for 2 days. My legs felt like toothaches. His cabin stunk of diesel fumes, and I gasped for breath at night, sleeping intermittently because of my emphysema. Part of my nocturnal activity was slapping spiders away from my face...I think they liked my beard. The old boat was filled with spiders and egg sacs.
Before bed, we sat there telling old stories, while we watched an out-of-focus black and white TV set with a 12-inch screen. My buddy said, "Maybe you can help me hook it to the cable tommorow, Rich!" "Then we can work on sewing the holes in my sails, and fixing the emergency radio."
Some fun, eh? After this sailing adventure week, I heard Christopher Cross singing his famous song, "Sailing", while I was waxing my truck in our garage. My wife looked really strangely at me, when I grabbed my portable radio, and threw it as far as I could, into the cul-de-sac in front of our house. I know my maniacal laughter really frightened her, as I saw the damned thing explode into a million pieces...Fuck sailing.
I was invited a couple of summers ago, to go with him for a relaxing week of sailing. Visions of beautiful skies and pristine horizons, filled my mind...I imagined smelling fresh air and frolicking on deck with young girls in thongs and band aids for bikini tops. "Yes, I want to go!", was my immediate response to his query.
We arrived at his slip after a relaxing drive from Chicago...We stopped at 4-Winds Casino in New Buffalo for a few hours...and we both won a couple hundred bucks playing Roulette. Not a bad start! The weather in Michigan was gorgeous...Mid 70's and low humidities. I marveled at the beautiful sailing vessels as we walked down the concrete pier to his station. I looked forward to seeing his sailboat...I pictured a fancy job, with state of the art radio, TV, fancy bar, kitchen, gold handled bathroom fixtures...you know?...the whole 9 yards! My jaw dropped when I saw this bucket of blood...What a bucket of scum! He said: "Welcome home!"...My heart sank down to my feet. Then he continues, "It ain't much, but it's seaworthy."...Like this is supposed to make me feel better. He continues..."I brought you up here Rich, so yah could help me with the diesel engine, my electrical system and the bilge pump. I spent 8 hours with a flashlight in my mouth and a crescent wrench in my grubby, greasy hands, changing fuel filters, lines, battery cables, and electrical wires and connections. Some of the time, my friend had to hold me by my ankles, so I wouldn't fall into the mucky bilge depths, as I repaired his stinking engine! I worked like a dog for 2 days. My legs felt like toothaches. His cabin stunk of diesel fumes, and I gasped for breath at night, sleeping intermittently because of my emphysema. Part of my nocturnal activity was slapping spiders away from my face...I think they liked my beard. The old boat was filled with spiders and egg sacs.
Before bed, we sat there telling old stories, while we watched an out-of-focus black and white TV set with a 12-inch screen. My buddy said, "Maybe you can help me hook it to the cable tommorow, Rich!" "Then we can work on sewing the holes in my sails, and fixing the emergency radio."
Some fun, eh? After this sailing adventure week, I heard Christopher Cross singing his famous song, "Sailing", while I was waxing my truck in our garage. My wife looked really strangely at me, when I grabbed my portable radio, and threw it as far as I could, into the cul-de-sac in front of our house. I know my maniacal laughter really frightened her, as I saw the damned thing explode into a million pieces...Fuck sailing.
Monday, March 1, 2010
MY DAD
Dad was not a mean drunk most of the time.
Sometimes, he fell asleep with his head in the plate of bacon and eggs that my mom served him in the morning. As a child, I clinically observed him.
I noticed he was oblivious to the Chesterfield Regular cigarette burning his brown, nicotine stained, index finger. He continued to snore, with his head resting on the table. I often wondered if he realized all the pain he was causing himself, and others. He seemed oblivious to the realities of his situation.
He turned down an executive position that my grandpa had procured for him at Armour Company. My father opted for a lifetime of bartending. He bragged to all who would listen, that he was a professional mixologist. One time, I saw him mindlessly shit in his pants. It was a terrible thing for a little boy to see. He burned both matresses and hearts. Sometimes, when he was lucky at the racetrack or at poker games played in the back rooms of nefarious bar rooms, I could persuade Dad to take me to Comiskey Park. This is the old home of the Chicago White Sox. I took his big hand in mine and looked up to him. He rubbed my head the way that dads do with their little boys. We took a cab to the ballpark. He was always too drunk to drive.
He bought me hotdogs, pop, and peanuts. We took the bus back home. I endured the embarrassment of people looking at us. My father snored loudly, with his head hanging. He woke up with a start as the bus hit each stop. Diabetes and alcoholism finally had its say. He died with his head on the kitchen table, while the smoke from his "cig" traveled up like a little soul.
from: "The Journey...Memoirs of a South Side Chicago kind of guy"...available on Amazon.com
Sometimes, he fell asleep with his head in the plate of bacon and eggs that my mom served him in the morning. As a child, I clinically observed him.
I noticed he was oblivious to the Chesterfield Regular cigarette burning his brown, nicotine stained, index finger. He continued to snore, with his head resting on the table. I often wondered if he realized all the pain he was causing himself, and others. He seemed oblivious to the realities of his situation.
He turned down an executive position that my grandpa had procured for him at Armour Company. My father opted for a lifetime of bartending. He bragged to all who would listen, that he was a professional mixologist. One time, I saw him mindlessly shit in his pants. It was a terrible thing for a little boy to see. He burned both matresses and hearts. Sometimes, when he was lucky at the racetrack or at poker games played in the back rooms of nefarious bar rooms, I could persuade Dad to take me to Comiskey Park. This is the old home of the Chicago White Sox. I took his big hand in mine and looked up to him. He rubbed my head the way that dads do with their little boys. We took a cab to the ballpark. He was always too drunk to drive.
He bought me hotdogs, pop, and peanuts. We took the bus back home. I endured the embarrassment of people looking at us. My father snored loudly, with his head hanging. He woke up with a start as the bus hit each stop. Diabetes and alcoholism finally had its say. He died with his head on the kitchen table, while the smoke from his "cig" traveled up like a little soul.
from: "The Journey...Memoirs of a South Side Chicago kind of guy"...available on Amazon.com
THE PARENT-TEACHER CONFERENCE
It was a fearful time!
I feared the black-hooded nun who looked like the Grim Reaper.
I felt as if my balls were in a wine press.
My nun's sadistic smile broadens with each painful turn of the hideous crank!
I endure shame and tears.
It's just Mom, me, and the evil nun.
Dad was gone, tending bar.
He loomed dangerously, in my future.
My religion book had sideline notes, I had written...
blaspheming Jesus and all His Saints.
"Sinful" artwork depicted holy men and women as beatniks and prostitutes.
Cigarettes were dangling from their mouths, and their hands gripped whiskey bottles. "Didn't Jesus love the sinners?"
In my defense, my heart silently screamed this logic.
The sweet nun presented a showcase of confiscated items from inside my humble desk. We all looked at the pornography, rubber band guns, matches, cigarettes, condoms...all the things little boys love, but cannot share with the "big people". My mom coldly stared at me as she whisked me out of the office, roughly dragging me by my arm into the streets. I cried a stream of "alligator tears" to save my ass! All Mom said to me for the rest of that evening was, "Wait till your father gets home!" The verdict was in! The minutes were hours now. My execution was only hours away.
from: "The Journey...Memoirs of a South Side Chicago kind of guy."...available on Amazon.com
I feared the black-hooded nun who looked like the Grim Reaper.
I felt as if my balls were in a wine press.
My nun's sadistic smile broadens with each painful turn of the hideous crank!
I endure shame and tears.
It's just Mom, me, and the evil nun.
Dad was gone, tending bar.
He loomed dangerously, in my future.
My religion book had sideline notes, I had written...
blaspheming Jesus and all His Saints.
"Sinful" artwork depicted holy men and women as beatniks and prostitutes.
Cigarettes were dangling from their mouths, and their hands gripped whiskey bottles. "Didn't Jesus love the sinners?"
In my defense, my heart silently screamed this logic.
The sweet nun presented a showcase of confiscated items from inside my humble desk. We all looked at the pornography, rubber band guns, matches, cigarettes, condoms...all the things little boys love, but cannot share with the "big people". My mom coldly stared at me as she whisked me out of the office, roughly dragging me by my arm into the streets. I cried a stream of "alligator tears" to save my ass! All Mom said to me for the rest of that evening was, "Wait till your father gets home!" The verdict was in! The minutes were hours now. My execution was only hours away.
from: "The Journey...Memoirs of a South Side Chicago kind of guy."...available on Amazon.com
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