Commenter Memories Number 181 Sixty Grit shares his memories of Vietnam

The photos keep coming in. Sixty doesn't feel like commenting anymore but he sent this photo of his lie detector test when he was applying for the CIA in Vietnam in 1968.

They are much more careful nowadays.

Commenter Memories Number 180 Dust Bunny Queens Sixties Girl Group

Dust Bunny Queen was sharing some photos today over at Lem's Levity and she sent a few on to us.

Here she is with her old girl group from the sixties. The called themselves "Charlies Angels" but didn't copyright the name.

So that bastard Aaron Spelling stole it.

ee cummings on Abe Vigoda

"Gay" is the captivating cognomen of a Young Woman of cambridge,
mass.
to whom nobody seems to have mentioned ye olde freudian wish;
when i contemplate her uneyes safely ensconced in thick glass
you try if we are a gentleman not to think of(sh)

the world renowned investigator of paper sailors--argonauta argo
harmoniously being with his probably most brilliant pupil mated,
let us not deem it miraculous if their(so to speak)offspring has that largo
appearance of somebody who was hectocotyliferously propagated

when Miss G touched n.y. our skeleton stepped from his cupboard
gallantly offering to demonstrate the biggest best busiest city
and presently found himself rattling for that well known suburb
the bronx(enlivening an otherwise dead silence with harmless quips, out
of Briggs by Kitty)

arriving in an exhausted condition, i purchased two bags of lukewarm
peanuts
with the dime which her mama had generously provided(despite courte-
ous protestations)
and offering Miss Gay one(which she politely refused)set out gaily for
the hyenas
suppressing my frank qualms in deference to her not inobvious perturba-
tions

unhappily, the denizens of the zoo were that day inclined to be uncouthly
erotic
more particularly the primates--from which with dignity square feet
turned abruptly Miss Gay away:
"on the whole"(if you will permit a metaphor savouring slightly of the
demotic)
Miss Gay had nothing to say to the animals and the animals had nothing
to say to Miss Gay

during our return voyage, my pensive companion dimly remarlted some-
thing about "stuffed
fauna" being "very interesting" . . . we also discussed the possibility of
rain. . .
E distant proximity to a Y.W.c.a. she suddenly luffed
--thanking me; and(stating that she hoped we might "meet again
sometime")vanished, gunwale awash. I thereupon loosened my collar
and dove for the nearest l; surreptitiously cogitating
the dictum of a new england sculptor(well on in life)re the helen moller
dancers, whom he considered "elevating--that is, if dancing CAN be ele-
vating"

Miss(believe it or)Gay is a certain Young Woman unacquainted with the
libido
and pursuing a course of instruction at radcliffe college, cambridge, mass.
i try if you are a gentleman not to sense something un poco putrido
when we contemplate her uneyes safely ensconced in thick glass

So I decided to bang Charles Nelson Reilly
things on my bucket list.

Oy my little yiddisher pickel

"I miss you ricpic."
"You never come around anymore. You don't write me poems the way you used to when we were keeping company."
"Remember when we lived side by side in Brownstones in Crown Heights. With your friend the Crack Emcee."
"Those were the days."

Urban Poetry with Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Just not to go to work,
I get a check.

The Summer of Boo Boo

The atmosphere at the Berenstain house had become so sexually charged that strange things kept happening.

Brother Bear was lost to his obsession with dark haired campers that he would shoot at in the lover lanes in Jellystone. Papa Bear would drink and do drugs and carouse. Mama Bear was so sexually inappropriate with Brother Bear that he never had a chance to be normal.

Even Sister Bear was infected. She started reading romance novels.

And fingering herself.

It was Madness.

It was the Summer of Boo Boo.

(Stan and Jan Berenstain "Son of Boo Boo", The E True Hollywood Story of the Berenstain Bears)

Whose that author?

Delicate as if walking on eggs, the riverboat Augustus Caesar eased in alongside the quay at New Orleans. Colored roustabouts, bare to the waist, caught lines from the boat and made her fast. The steam whistle blew several long, happy blasts, telling the world the sternwheeler had arrived. Then black smoke stopped belching from the stacks as the crew shut down the engines.
The deck stopped quivering beneath John Audubon’s feet. He breathed a silent sigh of relief; for all the time he’d spent aboard boats and ships, he was not a good sailor, and knew he never would be. Any motion, no matter how slight, could make his stomach betray him. He sighed—a long sea voyage still lay ahead of him.
Edward Harris came up and stood alongside him. “Well, my friend, we’re on our way,” he said.
“It’s true—we are. And we shall do that which has not been done, while it may yet be done.” As Audubon always did, he gathered enthusiasm when he thought about the goal and not the means by which he had to accomplish it. His English was fluent, but heavily flavored by the French that was his birthspeech. He was a good-sized man—about five feet ten—with shoulder- length gray hair combed straight back from his forehead and with bushy gray side whiskers that framed a long, strong-nosed face. Even without an accent, he would have spoken more mushily than he liked; he was nearer sixty than fifty, and had only a few teeth left. “Before long, Ed, either the great honkers will be gone from this world or I will.”
He waited impatiently till the gangplank thudded into place, then hurried off the Augustus Caesar onto dry land, or something as close to dry land as New Orleans offered.
Men and women of every color, wearing everything from rags to frock coats and great hoop skirts, thronged the muddy, puddled street. Chatter, jokes, and curses crackled in Spanish, French, and English, and in every possible mixture and corruption of those tongues. Audubon heard far more English than he had when he first came to New Orleans half a lifetime earlier. It was a French town then, with the Spanish dons hanging on where and as they could. Times changed, though. He knew that too well.
Not far from the Cabildo stood the brick building that housed the Bartlett Line. Edward Harris following in his wake, Audubon went inside. A clerk nodded to them. “Good day, gentlemen,” he said in English. A generation earlier, the greeting would surely have come in French. “How may I be of service to you today?”
“I wish to purchase passage to Atlantis for the two of us,” Audubon replied.
“Certainly, sir.” The clerk didn’t bat an eye. “The Maid of Orleans sails for New Marseille and Avalon on the west coast in . . . let me see . . . five days. If you would rather wait another week, you can book places on the Sea Queen for the east. She puts in at St. Augustine, St. Denis, and Hanover, then continues on to London.”
“We can reach the interior as easily from either coast,” Harris said.
“Just so.” Audubon nodded. “We would have to wait longer to leave for the east, the journey would be longer, and I would not care to set out from Hanover in any case. I have too many friends in the capital. With the kindest intentions in the world, they would sweep us up in their social whirl, and we should be weeks getting free of it. The Maid of Orleans it shall be.”
“You won’t be sorry, sir. She’s a fine ship.” The clerk spoke with professional enthusiasm. He took out a book of ticket forms and inked his pen. “In whose names shall I make these out?”
“I am John James Audubon,” Audubon replied. “With me travels my friend and colleague, Mr. Edward Harris.”
“Audubon?” The clerk started to write, then looked up, his face aglow. “The Audubon? The artist? The naturalist?”
Audubon exchanged a secret smile with Edward Harris. Being recognized never failed to gratify him: he loved himself well enough to crave reminding that others loved him, too. When he swung back toward the clerk, he tried to make the smile modest. “I have the honor to be he, yes.”

Whose that girl?

She was a famous actress in the 1960's when she was a hot young thing but she had a hit tv sitcom where she broke the law and the law lost?

However she was most famous because her brother was a big dummy.

Whose that girl?

Panda sex with Charles Bukowski

Is a pillow a disciplinary form of some metaphor?
Any way I'm the one who's quite dead now
so please shut up.
I have two to hide my head under?
Mumbling in her nasty girl some come calling sleep.
It was not long, after that, it became even longer.
Rolling over the moon and I found the arrow.
It rattled yet but still I found it broke.
And I hummed a song, from first to end,
I found it for the second time in the center of the friend.           

ee cumminngs on Abe Vigoda

my sweet old etcetera
aunt lucy during the recent
war could and what
is more did tell you just
what everybody was fighting
for,
my sister
isabel created hundreds
(and
hundreds) of socks not to
mention shirts fleaproof earwarmers
etcetera wristers etcetera, my
mother hoped that
i would die etcetera
when I heard
she had a three way
at ballet with Abe Vigoda,
bravely of course my father used
to become hoarse talking about how it was
a privilege and if only he
could meanwhile my
self etcetera lay quietly
in the deep mud et
cetera
(dreaming,
et
cetera, of
Your smile
eyes knees and of your Etcetera)

Urban poetry with Maya Angelou

Curtains forcing their will
against the wind,
children sleep,
exchanging dreams with
seraphim. Dreaming of
punching elderly Jews,
smiling.The city
drags itself awake on
subway straps; and
I, an alarm, awake as a
rumor of war, it's the man
time to go to work, no I
lie stretching into dawn,
unasked and unheeded.

Memorial Day is my Favorite Holiday

Hey we had to get out of town. My friends invited us to stay at their house in Easthampton. It was my favorite type of vacation. It didn't cost me anything.

Well except carfare to and fro.

They have a great pool in their backyard. It was just opened and ready for business. It was a little too cold for Sunday but Monday and Tuesday it was warm enough to go in for a little while.

He had just had his deck redone. In fact they were working on it. You see they rent it out for the summer. That is the only way you can pay the real estate taxes which are about $30,000 a year. He uses it in the off season. Which is before June and after September. So we were able to enjoy the weekend. The best part of it was that he didn't fix up his wifi and the service sucked so Lisa couldn't text or email or instagram or tweet or face book. Or blogging. It was heaven.

We always take off on Mondays and Tuesdays so we closed the store on Sunday and left Saturday morning and came back Tuesday night.

It was a great mini-vacation.

Marilyn's Diary

I miss my Uncle Herman. We used to hang out all the time. It was the early sixties so the family would all sit around together around the big TV in the wooden consul. We would all argue about what to watch. We had to agree because it is not like today where everyone has a TV in their room. There was just one so we all had to watch it together.

Now Grandpa always wanted to watch Lawrence Welk because he said he was the closest thing you could find to a vampire on TV. Aunt Lily loved variety shows. She was a succubus and most of those shows sucked big time. My pervert Cousin Eddie always wanted to watch Petticoat Junction and Hee Haw and any show with girls with big jugs and hay.

But Uncle Herman and I almost always carried the day. Because we both loved Westerns. So there was always one that somebody else would vote for and we could get to see. Aunt Lily loved Steve McQueen and Clint Eastwood so we always got to see "Wanted Dead of Alive" and "Rawhide." Grandpa loved "The Rifleman" because he was a big Chuck Conner's fan. He had a couple of private movies that Chuck starred in before he got famous. Cousin Eddie loved "Gunsmoke" because he sort of looked like Doc. But Uncle Herman loved them all.

He even dressed up in his cowboy outfit. He had the boots and the hat and kerchief. He would dress up in them while we watched the show. Then late at night he would sneak into my room.

He would ride me all night.

Dog photos Meade doesn't want you to see

He likes to dress them up and then dress them down if you know what I mean.

Why am I the go to guy for Sarah Jessica Parker jokes

I mean seriously? Is it that hard to come up with one? They write themselves.

Darcy is preparing for Memorial Day

She just couldn't figure out what to wear.

I know you will agree that we don't care as long as she is handling our meat.

Dust Bunny Queen is getting ready for Memorial Day

She drove 160 miles to stock up on franks and buns. So she is getting together with her best girlfriend for a sexy party.

Hot dog!

Palladian is gearing up for Memorial Day

Our good buddy Palladian is gearing up for a hot Memorial Day Weekend with lots of meat. So to speak.

He is preparing at his undisclosed underground bunker in the depths of Pennsylvania where he is working on his plan for world domination.

But right now he is concentrating on his meat.

Sixty is boycotting us.

I think he is pissed at me. I would like to apologize because I miss him. But everybody has to do what they got to do.

Maybe if I get some overalls.

Whose that girl?

It's hard to be her in the city but she can make you hard anytime. Her last name sort of sums ups Meade's job. Or at least what he comes off as so to speak. Whose that Bond girl?

Whose that author

He waited.

Shivering, the boy huddled close to the dying embers of his meager fire, his pale blue eyes sunken and dark from lack of sleep. His mouth moved slowly as he repeated the chant he had learned from his father, his dry lips cracking painfully and his throat sore from intoning the holy words. His nearly black hair was matted with dust from sleeping in the dirt; despite his resolve to remain alert while awaiting his vision, exhaustion had overcome him on three occasions. His normally slender frame and high cheekbones were accentuated by his rapid weight loss, rendering him gaunt and pale. He wore only a vision seeker's loincloth. After the first night he had sorely missed his leather tunic and trousers, his sturdy boots and his dark green cloak.

Above, the night sky surrendered to a predawn grey and the stars began to fade from view. The very air seemed to pause, as if waiting for a first intake of breath, the first stirring of a new day. The stillness was uncommon, both unnerving and fascinating, and the boy held his breath for a moment in concert with the world around him. Then a tiny gust, the softest breath of night sighing, touched him, and he let his own breathing resume. As the sky to the east lightened, he reached over and picked up a gourd. He sipped at the water within, savoring it as much as possible, for it was all he was permitted until he experienced his vision and reached the creek which intersected with the trail a mile below as he made his way home.

Still working on it.

We are working on setting up the back store. They just took off the old gate and are getting ready to put on the new electric gate.

They won't be able to finish it all today but I will have a locked gate for tonight.  Otherwise I would have to sleep in the store.

More to come.

I got caught today

I had to stay in the Jim Dolan mode today as I was emailing back and forth for business and I didn't want to change out Google accounts to get in my emails. In between emails I was commenting over at Lem's and got into it with Lawnboy.

I don't know if everybody knows that Jim Dolan is me but I guess you can figure it out. I just don't care that much anymore so I will be going around basically interchangeably.

It is just that I don't really want to get into it with Meade. I know how far I would go and I don't want to go there. But sometimes when you are killing time you just fall into the mud with the pigs.

Waddayagonnado?

Back and forth we go

We have been running back and forth to the factory in Sunset Park. I am taking all of the fabric away from the Chinks and sending it to the Mexicans. I can't deal with the higher prices here. I can get everything made at half the price in California and they are starving for work.

This is the dress we made out of that fabric. I made about 100 of them and they are almost sold out. I am going to remake it in California. At half the cost. You can't beat that.

The Box is finished!

 

We had a lot to finalize the last few days. We finished the box in the basement. We had to install humidifiers because we had to protect the clothes. We put one outside for the whole basement and one inside for the actual clothing.

Then we put shelves outside for the paper goods.

The new gate comes in Thursday.

Commenter Memories Number 179 Shouting Thomas started young

Ever since his Dad took him to the Miss Philippines competition when they were stationed in Manila. Those formative experiences have shaped the rest of his life.

Those words that woman whispered to him have stayed with him all his life. "Little Boy stop staring at my tits."

Of course she said it in Tagalog and he had no idea what she said.

Commentor Memories Number 178 Palladian meets a celebrity

He has been hiding out in an undisclosed location in Pennsylvania and doesn't want to be disturbed. But he did want to share his recent encounter with a big celebrity at the local winery.

He never thought that he was going to meet Sarah Jessica Parker in person!

(He has been picking up a few gigs as an Elvis impersonator)

Whose that pouty girl?

She was a famous Star Trek lovely who got her Kirk on in a memorable episode. But she herred the day because nerdy trekkie guys made her day.

Whose that girl?

Commenter Memories Number 177 Garage Mahal loves rabbits

He remembers when he got his first Green Bay Packers jersey. It was angora wool.

And his first anal probe. Also angora wool.

He loves him some rabbit.

Betty Rubble is a dirty girl

Prehistoric times were much tougher than the sedate lives we lead today.

It was eat or be eaten.

Of course Betty didn't care. She could go either way.

Because Betty Rubble is a dirty girl.

Commenter Memories 176 Why Dust Bunny Queen hates Rabbits.

She won't even have Nestlé's Quick in her refrigerator.

An evil bunny is a terrible thing.

Absent friends

We haven't seen a few people lately. I just guess that life is keeping them busy. Plus I have not been posting a lot because I have been very busy and kind of tired lately. I just hope that all is well and that everyone is enjoying life.

Drop us a comment guys so we know you are ok.

Somebody has to do it

Work is continuing on the back lingerie store. I was busy sorting through bras and panties today and getting them ready to go in the back store. Plus selling. It was a busy day. I am bushed.

I mean that rhetorically of course.

I am not gay.... I just play one on TV

"Seriously girls. I like pussy. Not just the Catwoman's pussy. All pussy."
"So are you girls really twins. Maybe you to meet me later. I am having some drinks with my pal Don Draper. It will be fun."
"I will let you slide down the Bat Pole."

At least I get to eat something good when I go to the Doctors

I was able to stop by my Iranian friend's joint after the Doctor's on Friday morning. We got to have brunch.

Lisa had a great veggie sandwich with arugula, brie, goat cheese, and apples. I had an spinach omelet in a crepe.

I had the best cup of coffee I had in a while and Lisa had a cappuccino with almond milk.

We really enjoyed it.

A funny thing happened. We always talk about what it means to be a small businessman. Now this woman comes in with a plate and asks for a cup of coffee. She tells him she doesn't have any money and he goes that's all right. It turns out she owns the shop on the corner and he is friends with her husband. He had brought over an omelet earlier in the day and she was bringing back the dish. But she had a sense of entitlement that she thought she could get it for free. He was pissed. But he didn't say anything until after she left. He complained and complained but I told him he had to tell her then and there. Don't hold it in.

Small businessmen are all brothers. Even if he is a crazy Iranian.

I have been pretty tired

We have been burning the candle at both ends lately. Running around to the fabric stores. Dealing with the contractors. Searching out furniture and fixtures. And with all of the wife decides to rearrange the bedroom.

We put the bed against the window to get the breeze and she decorated the room and made it all nice and stuff.

I just like to sack out but if she enjoys fixing it up whatyagonnado?

Dirty Hippies are actually good for something

So we have to decorate the back store that is going to fixed up in a French boudoir style and we need to find some furniture and accruements that will not break the bank. You heard about the $4800 mirror fiasco from last week.

Now they had this furniture joint on 9th Street across form Loews. We pass it all the time and say we have to check it out. So we finally did. It was very freaking expensive.

Everything in the freaking place was over $1000. I mean the tiny chairs were about $400 but the little piece of furniture was $1200. Who the fuck is going to pay that. I mean they are all beautiful and shined up and all that good shit but who the hell is going to pay that price? No way Jose.

So we wander outside and see the sign for the Dirty Hippie place. It is called the "Green Collective" with "Repurposed Furniture." Lisa asked me what that means. I said it was probably transgendered ottomans or something.

Anyhoo we walk and welcomed by the person who called themselves Adam. I don't know if he was a girl who identified as boy or a gay guy or who the fuck knows what the fuck his deal was. He/she was a snippy little cunt. The deal with the place is they get a lot of donations. When grandma kicks and the relatives come to clean out her brownstone they take what they want and let them pick up the rest. Especially the older heavy pieces. Exactly what we are looking for.

We root around and buried in the pile is this little number:

It is sort of French Provincal or some shit that Lisa recognized and said would be perfect. And guess how much.

 $350. God Bless you dirty fucking hippies.

Even after I clean it up and paint it I am going to save a shit pot full of dough. Now the dealio is that they don't deliver. In fact you have seven days to pick it up or they throw it out or sell it again. So I had to get on the Minion phone and call my Paki minions to come and bring it to the store.

So Omar and his cousin Lincoln take his cab and pick it up and bring it to the store. We put it behind the wall in the front until the back store is ready.

Oh yeah the wall in the front. That's another story.

The Return of the Red Headed Stepchild

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The Return of the Red Headed Step Child

Dennis Franz: Hey Jim is that David Caruso hanging around the set?
James McDaniel: Yeah I think that is him hiding behind that plant and muttering to himself. Let's go over and say hello.
(the two actors walk over to the side of the set where a disheveled David Caruso is hiding behind a plant. He seems dirty. Like he had been working on his lawn)
Jim McDaniel: Dave brother whaz up? Why do you keep hanging around the set. You got fired buddy. You ain't part of the show anymore.
David Caruso: Oh I know Jim. I am doing really great. I have a lot of offers. They want me to take Sam Malone's place on "Cheers" and I am up for this role as a secret agent who saves the world in a day. Or something. I am doing really really great.
Dennis Franz: Then why the fuck are you always hanging around here. If everything is so great in your new life why aren't over there enjoying it and leaving us alone. We have a new star. This Puerto Rican guy is doing a great job. He is much more generous actor. He doesn't mock his fellow actors or think his shit doesn't stink. Nobody misses you loser. Go get a life.
Jim McDaniel: That's a little harsh Dennis. Cut the poor guy a break. He is in a bad situation. I hear his wife is a nasty bitter hag who tortures him because he messed up his career.
David Caruso: Hey I don't need you guys. I am doing great. I have this new move. Look I take off my sunglasses and look intently at the camera. It's gold I tell you.
Jim McDaniel: Yeah that's great. Look I think you should leave the set and go find a job buddy. Okey Dokey?
(the two actors walk back to the camera)
Jim McDaniel: That's some sad shit right there. Didn't he ever hear of Adam Cartwright?
Dennis Franz: Of course he didn't. That's the point. Fuck him. Let's start the show.
(Red Storm Rising, The David Caruso Story, E True Hollywood Stories)

Mirror, mirror on the wall..........

How much do you fucking cost after all?

After the Doctor we went for a walk down Atlantic Avenue as we always do. It is our only short break during a very busy week. So we go into this joint and we start chatting with the owner. She was in the same position as a lot of store owners in Brownstone Brooklyn. She had been in the same spot for thirty years. Last year her lease was up and her landlord doubled her rent. She stuck it out for a year but is going to leave after a year. So she is trying to sell off as much as she can and will sell the rest on the internet.

Anyway we are looking for stuff to decorate the back store. It will be French Boudoir style and there were several pieces that Lisa fell in love with. In particular the seven foot tall mirror you see in this shot. It is very impressive and dates from the 1800's supposedly. So I want you to guess how much?

No really guess? More than that. Seriously.

Happy Mothers Day in Heaven Grandma!

I also want to recognize all the Grand Ma's on Mother's Day. Your mothers mother is usually somebody you are really close to. The person you can run to when your Mom was pissed and will protect you.

We all miss our Grandma's. On this day more than most others.

Everybody say Motherf......

So I went back to the cardiologist this Friday for a pretty important checkup. My insurance would finally pay for an echo cardiogram. So I had a bunch of tests. Electro cardiogram. Echo cardiogram. Every fucking gram except a Candygram. They all turned out pretty good. My percentage went up to 40% which is up ten points from last time. Normal is about 50-55 so I still have a ways to go.

Now we like the Doctor because he is a great doctor but also a regular knucklehead and we have a good laugh all the time. The wife insisted on taking a photo as she always does. But the Doctor was so serious and professional. So we had to get him to laugh. Now he loves to curse almost as much as me. He knows that we are cool with it and it is hilarious to hear him curse in his thick Italian accent. So after he took this serious photo we had to get a good one with a smile. So when Lisa got ready to shoot the next one I said "Everybody say Motherfucker!"

 

We got the shot.