St. Patrick's Day. My fave holiday. Beats the fuck outof New Year's,Halloween or any of the others for sheer gluttony and drunkenness.
It's a sunny Saturday morning, so I grab a book and a half pint at thecorner store to sip on the hour ride downtown on the bus. It's a traditionfor Saturday. I just sit in the back, read, and sip my vodka. Afterawhile, this old fucker gets on and shambles down the aisle, and sits inthe seat opposite me.
He looks over and sez, "Did you know that you aren't supposed to drinkon the bus?"
I said, "Do you know that the section for old farts and cripples isin the front of the bus?"
He replied, "It's against the law."
I asked him if he'd ever heard of the PinocchioTheory. Confused by thesegueway, he looked at me blankly, and I explained, "It's a simpletheory, based on the fact that if you fuck with me, I'll make your nosegrow."
Red with embarrassment, or apoplexy, he went to the front of the bus,and said to the driver, "That man is drinking alcohol on this bus. OUTOF THE BOTTLE."
Well excuse the fuck out of me, but I find carrying an ice bucket, amartini glass and a jar of olives a bit cumbersome.
The driver said, "Sir, could you please put your bottle away?"
I complied, Old Fuckface gets off three stops later, and my bottle reappears,as I calmly finish it as we reach downtown. The driver must've heard theentire conversation, cuz he grinned and wished me a happy St. Paddy's.I thanked him, and wished him the same, and headed toward the bar to watchsome March Madness with the boys, who cracked up at the story, and everybodysettled down for what turnedout to be a beautiful day.
Peeve: Old people, especially nosy ones.
Scene: Bus stop in downtown Sanna Crooz. A shambling homeless man walksup to me.
He: "I hate to ask...
Me: "Then don't.
He: "but could you spare a cigarette?
Me: Firmly, "No!"
Me: At a loss for an answer, "Because."
He: Because why?"
Me: "Get the FUCK away from me"
He shambles on to the next prospect, and gets a mere negative shakeof the head.
Peeve: Why didn't I think of that, rather than participating in thatjuvenile exchange?
Geoff was kind enough to invite me over to stay in his home over theweekend. A perfect host, stuck with an imperfect guest.
I'm merely writing this to let folks know that, if given the chance,it's a great place to hang. You look at Geoff and me, and there's a bigdisparity in our behavioral patterns. Soft spoken, well mannered and articulate,he's a sharp contrast to my cynical, boorish and rude personality. But,as it happens with most folks, if ya got an open mind, you're more likelyto see the similarities.
We have similar musical tastes, and we both consider books to be someof our best friends. We like just kinda hanging loose, and let the fuckin'chips fall where they may, and we know the difference between good foodand bad food, and good people from bad.
We spent the night rappin' about personal stuff, and I ain't sharing,cuz it was between us. Suffice it to say that our backgrounds are similar.
Sunday, we went to Capitola, where his parents took him when he wasa lad. We took the tram down to the Shadowbrook restaurant, and were surroundedby a wedding reception that neither of us were dressed for, so we hit thebricks. Geoff admonished me for snappin' a rose off of a rose bush to takehome to my ol' lady, cuz the guy happened to be working in his yard atthe time. I, of course, snatched it anyway, because I'm not big on conventiality.
We lunched on the wharf, Geoff snarfing down an ahi came with tatersalad, but I asked to substitute that for an order of fries, which weredisappointing because they were cold, as was the weather. By the time wehad finished eating, I was shivering from the cold. Ever the practicalmotherfucker, Geoff had prepared himself with a warm flannel shirt,prolly smirking at my inabilty to plan ahead.
Thanks, bro. We got to do it again sometime soon. For those of you whodidn't make it down, you missed a jolly good evening.
--- Kenneth Crudup <firstname.lastname@example.org> wrote:
> Ya know, although I think this kind of stuff should
> be *withheld* from courts
> except in cases of capital crime, I think der aughta
> be a law preventing
> such stupidity.
Stupidity is a commodity with an endless source. Just look around ya.
Yesterday, I went downtown to gets me hair cut, and run right into theannual Gay Pride Parade. I make a de- cision that I'm gonna fuck somebodyup should they try to interfere with somebody's right to be who they are.
Nobody does, and the day ends peacefully.
The reason I'm tellin' you this is to erase the common conception thatI'm a homophobic, racist prick. Ya hear folks say, "Some of my bestfreinds are black", Or gay or whatever pigeonhole ya wanna stuff 'em in,but, in my case, it's an honest statement.
People , especially in Merka, gots the rights to do as they fuckin'feel like. If there's someone who tries to interfere with this process,I've been known to step in and make this interference cease.
They come in as groups, choreogarphed.
The Resource Center for Non-Violence against Women goes by, and I thinkabout joining them in the march, but I be too tired to pursue. The nextgroup is a band of Bisexuals. One is bearing the banner, saying that "We'rehere, we're queer. Deal with it."
I ponder the possibilities of fuckin' her ears off, decide against it,and wander off, as do all the others who came down to have a good time,without restraints, if you rule out the police presence. The men in blueweren't pushed into the precipitous situation of bein' hammered by rocksand sticks, simply by showin' good judgment.
All in all, it were a pretty good day.
"When you walked into the room
There was voodoo in the vibes."
*Atlanta Rhythm Section*
She strolled into the bar, carrying a shiny leather case containingher weapon, which was a custom made cue stick.
She stood out from the rest of the crowd, sleek and slinky in a blackbusiness outfit. She threw a coupla quarters on the table, awaiting herturn, and ordered something that looked like a rum 'n coke, and kept hereyes peeled on the table, checking out the moves of her potential opponents.I was in my standard pose of kinda looking straight ahead, focussed onnothing, but seein' evrything in my peripheral vision. Her appearance puta kink in that mode, and I caught myself stealing glances at her when shewasn't looking. I knew right then that I wanted to nail her.
More to the point, I had to.
Her turn came up, and she popped the break with real authority, thoughnothing dropped. The guy she was playing against sank two balls beforemissing a fairly easy bank shot. She hit the table like an animal, andstalked each shot like a cat, ready to pounce. Always playing two shotsahead, she caught the other players' attention, and she ran the table beforethe poor shmuck had another chance to shoot.
She went on and won four or five more games, before taking a break,and havin' another dwinkie. During this time, I'd been encouraging her,rooting for her, saying stuff like, "Nice touch, lady", "Smooooth", andafter a particularly difficult combo shot, I just said, "DAMN."
She was drinking her drink, and I caught her checkin' me out. I flashedher the ten dollar grin, and winked. She came over, and I asked her hername.
It was a pretty name, one that rolled off the tongue like a dewdropon an iceplant, and I told her so. I asked her where she had acquired hersolid pool game, and she said she had learned it from her dad. She wenton to say that she hated to lose at anything from the time she was a kid.Very slight, weighing in about 115 pounds on a 5' 4" frame, she said shewas too small to compete with the other kids in sports at school, and endedup becoming a pool shark. She also claimed to be quite the card player,winning more often than she lost when she went to the gaming casinos. I'dno reason to doubt her claims, judging by the strong game she'd shown tome, and anyone who was looking, so I took her at her word.
I asked her if I could take a look at her stick, and, true to the natureof a really good pool shooter, she said she wasn't in the habit of lettingpeople handle her stick. Feeling emboldened, I said I'd let her play withmy stick if she let me play with hers.
This gave her two alternatives; throw her drink in my face or laugh.She chose the latter, and we were in the process of hitting it off prettywell. I challenged her to a game, and when the carnage was over, I hadsix rocks left on the board. If I had any pride, I'd have been humiliated,but I don't, so I wasn't. I offered to buy her a drink, and she testedme by ordering the most expensive drink at the bar, and, without flinchingI complimented her on her taste, and ordered the same fer meself. We satat a table, and sipped on Hennesey's out of snifters, talking about whatwe do to make up our lives. She is a bartender at Malone's in Scotts Valley,and I'm thinking things couldn't get much better than this. But it did,when she invited me to come up and 'have one on me.' A drink not beingthe only thing I wanted to have on her, I accepted, and will be meetingup with her tonight.
Wish me luck...