"Phase One In Which Doris Gets Her Oats"

I got termed from my last job after 30 years of service. I'm over it for the most part, but how do you devote thirty years of your life to something and then just forget about it. The powers that be had every right to fire me for policy violations, but I made an important contribution to the success of the organization by introducing carrot souffle to the mix. One of the most popular food items we served. And the most important point; it brought people in.

So you fire the old catfish and bid him adieu. And tell him we owe you two weeks vacation and later renege. I wasn't due the vacation time, so I wasn't surprised when I got my final check. The ignominy of being shown the front door-even tho' it was done at a motel- was humiliating. It took me a while to get over the shock of being torpedoed by a bunch of wannabe Gordon Gekko's.

I gave those forkers the best years of my life. Try getting a job in middle age. It ain't easy. And if it weren't for a friend of mine who once worked with me, I'm sure I would be packing groceries for every Tom, Dick and Harry at the local Piggly Wiggly.

I was actually relieved when my former boss told me I was getting the boot. Why? Cos I hated my job. Literally loathed it. [ love the alliteration ] In fact I never liked the job from the git-go.

"So, why did you stay so long, Cat?"

Logical question. Why? Because they kept throwing money at me, and I must admit to loving money.

But the guests were difficult and demanding, even tho' most were nice people. And the team members were good folks for the most part, but as with people who are under the Mendoza line when it comes to child care; health care, etc., they had a lot of problems which affected their work and attendance.

I told my team that if I had a heart attack and fell into the turnip greens, would they at least remove my head, so I could depart this world with a little dignity. Shirley, if I had stayed, this scenario was certainly in the [ tarot ] cards.

So things have worked out well in retrospect. I have a new job, and even tho' my boss is a raving passive-aggressive dickhead, I actually enjoy going to work. My new digs have opened up a new world to me. Damn, I would have hated to retire at Hell Whole [ affectionate nickname ] with only one gig on my resume.'

But fork those arrogant asswholes who termed me a little over a year ago. And don't give me that crap that it was only business and wasn't personal.

My only retort: BULL SHIT!

Bitter? I hardly ever dwell or even think about it. But every now and then it creeps into my psyche. And why not! I devoted 30 years of my life to a company. And gave them a recipe that comes along once in a lifetime.

Fork 'em. And as Forrest Gump once said: "And that's all I have to say about that!"

"North by Northwest"

 
 
 
  

One of my favorites. Circa 1959. And thanks to TCM for the original trailer.

"Anonymous Poster"

Before proceeding with tonite's foray, I must admit that the catfish [ yers truly ] wrote a piece the other nite which had nary an "I" in it. Not a single one. If you read other people's forays, you will notice the "I" word is mucho prevalent. If you think it's easy try giving it a whirl. I can't remember if it was my intention or just turned out that way.

As the words spew from this here keyboard, it's time to get down to brass tacks. What happened to the anonymous poster? After leaving 5 comments last nite, nary a one was left today. What's up with that? [ urban slang ]

The Pond would be remiss in not mentioning the disappearance of comments from Slippery, my old alum from "Rowdy High;" pictruandtru, an hombre from the PIC message board; hootsbuddy, my synchronistic bud whom I've known for thirty odd years; and rockhead, a recluse from the LUB board.

To borrow a phrase from the bard: Wherefore art thou?

We end tonite's foray as once again it's time for my nightly quota of z's. Man doth live by bread alone. Eh?

"Thank You Buy Owner, er, Thank You Corona!"

 

Thanks to the anonymous poster who was kind enough to leave 5 comments. Seems he had had too many brewskies as evidenced by his stumbling, bungling attempts at leaving a message. But because the comments have been minimal lately-at best-his thoughtful remarks were well received here on the Pond.

While imbibing makes it easier to write the forays, a steady diet is not in the [ tarot ] cards. Unfortunately, the catfish has to work for a living and needs his rest sans booze.

Struggling more than usual here, maybe a cold corona with an obligatory lime would help matters, but once again, it's beddy-bye time and this writer is ready for some z's.

P.S. Would the anonymous poster hail from Florida, perhaps?

P.S.S. We finally got some rain, which fell mainly on the plain.. 

"Watchin' The Wheels"

Here lately, I've only been inspired to write after drinking profusely. Profusely is a good word, eh? Most people don't use the word in a sentence, and when is the last time you've heard it used in a conversation. It ain’t happenin,’ if you know what I mean.

I always had a desire to write. In fact, when I was a young kid of nine, I would peck on my Aunt Mad's Royal typewriter keys and write a few stories. Seems my granddad owned or managed a daily newspaper in Philly back in the day. Who'd a thunk it as I didn't know anything about my dad's family. I did know my grandmother, his mother, whom we called Nana or Nanny. I reall her visiting us when I was a young kid. She had the prettiest and whitest teeth, imho, but I was shot out of the water when me mum told me they were false ones. Naivete, eh? And when do you hear that word in a normal conversation.

Probably when you're hobknobbing with intellectuals, eh? Cos most denizens of this world rarely "go there" when it comes to innocence. Me, I love words. Perhaps you must be a writer to appreciate them. To savor them. To enjoy them. But in the grand scheme of things, who gives a shit? Right?

Back to writing. It comes easy. Damn, I can pound out some bullshit with the best of 'em. Just throw some sentences together and voila: there it is. ( urban slang )

Slang is intriguing. To hear "I'm gonna get 'shed' of it" is priceless. "His'n." It don't get no better. Apologies to double negatives. Which are heard frequently in normal conversations. Split infinitives, the list goes on and on.

Well, "Silence of the Lambs" is playing on the tube; I'm hungry, and this is a good stopping place. My column has been written for tonite, and it's time to catch some z's.

Written under the influence, v.c.

P.S. I’m just sittin’ here watching the wheels….

P.S.S. Profusely. Love it.

"Congrats"

 

I hate to see the season end tonite. The playoffs were great. Seems as if they started 2 years ago, but it's finally over. Congrats to the Heat, Coach Pat Riley, Shaq, Dwayne Wade, and all of the others.  

"Happy Father's Day"

I tried writing this one for Father's Day. Actually had it ready for printing, proofread and every thing, when the Google Gods stepped in and wouldn't allow me to publish. Because I didn't bother to save it, my foray became kaput, fini.'

It began by saying "Happy Father's Day" to Slippery who sent me a nice F.D. card electronically. Thank you, Slip, it read. "And you have one, too."

And I went into how my dad left the Catfish team circa 1954. And how he came to my "Rowdy High Graduation," and how he stopped by Truck U. in the 70's, while I was pursuing higher education. And how I never saw him again until the 90's. And how he had had an auto accident in the 80's which curtailed his travelling-seems he was a salesman.

I only saw my dad a few times in my lifetime. He left the north forty and began a new family in a new town. Seems I have two half-brothers, whom I have never seen.

My dad died this year or maybe it was last year. Can't remember. We didn't find out until after the fact.

So Father's Day never meant much to me.

Maybe my foray into the past was not meant to see the light of day. But is rewritten here for no particular reason.

Gimme shelter, v.c.

P.S. And thanks also go out to the Hootster for giving me a plug on his site today.

P.S.S. From John Lennon:

(clock chiming)
Mother, you had me but I never had you,
I wanted you but you didn't want me,
So I got to tell you,
Goodbye, goodbye.
Farther, you left me but I never left you,
I needed you but you didn't need me,
So I got to tell you,
Goodbye, goodbye.
Children, don't do what I have done,
I couldn't walk and I tried to run,
So I got to tell you,
Goodbye, goodbye.
Mama don't go,
Daddy come home.
Mama don't go,
Daddy come home.
Mama don't go,
Daddy come home.
Mama don't go,
Daddy come home.
Mama don't go,
Daddy come home.
Mama don't go,
Daddy come home.
Mama don't go,
Daddy come home...

"When I'm 64"

 

One of my all time favorites>. And Paul turned 64 Sunday. Time flies when yer havin' fun! Eh? Btw, click anywhere on the text for the song.


About 14,000 yesterdays have passed since Paul McCartney first mused about turning 64. Sunday, he can stop musing.

The Beatles' groundbreaking 1967 album "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" made room for the McCartney song "When I'm Sixty-Four," in which he wondered about ... well, his golden years. "When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now," he crooned. 

"More From FARK"

 
 
  

"From FARK.com"

 
 
 
  

"So You Like To Write? Eh????????"

You think it's easy writing these forays into the infantile? Well, let me assure you-it ain't. You have to be inspired plus you have to think of something clever to say! I ain't the most clever person in the world, in fact my elevator don't stop on every floor, so you can see why it's a tough gig.

There are plenty of subjects that are out there, just prime for the pickings. The war in Iraq is one. I just read where John Kerry recently stated that he had made a mistake in endorsing the middle east slugfest a few years back. Well ain't that big of him? What a total jerk-off! Where would we have been with that numb nut as the president?

And then Al Gore is parading his goofy ass around extolling the possibilities of global warming, and how the last days of Earth-as we know it-are just about kaput, fini.' Segue! I'm wondering if Gillette can bring back those aerosol deodorant sprays? The smell from those cannisters was akin to Nirvana. Ah, memories!

And for the sports fans out there-if any-Shaq and Dirk are heating things up in the NBA Finals. Everyone knows Shaq, but how many know of the 7 footer from Germany.

"Yah, I'm glad to be playing basketball in the United States. And I'd like to thank Mr. Al Gore for inventing the internet, and kudos to Mr Skerry who earned????? many purple hearts for bravery in the wilds of Vietnam. Yah!"

And then there's the Atlanta Braves who are experiencing one of their worst slides ( pun intended??? ) since 1990. After 15 years of winning their division, which is unprecedented in modern professional sports-it appears the bloom is off the rose.

Not sure how Brittney Spears is making out ( pun unintended ) nor do I know the perils that Jennifer Anniston may be enduring in this continuum of time and space, nor do I know if Siegfried-or was it Leroy, er, Roy-has made a full recovery from his vicious tiger attack, so we can't "go there." ( urban slang )

So this is what a writer, like myself?????, goes through when attempting to write-in my case-forays into the infantile. It ain't all it's cracked up ( another pun??????? ) to be. Back to the egg, eh?

You have just read another imbecilic foray by none other than v.c. Patent pending????

"Back To The Egg"

 

Click Here!

P.S. So it's a quick and ez column. The food biz has caused my creative spirit to become kaput, fini.' Will it return? .... 

"Good Point! Eh?"

  

"And Justice For All!"

 


In a criminal justice system where criminals go free, lawyers and judges make deals as a matter of routine and the innocent sometimes go unprotected, young lawyer Arthur Kirkland begins to wonder where the justice has gone. Arthur (Al Pacino, in a brilliant 1979 Best Actor Oscar-nominated role) is an honest, idealistic lawyer who is suddenly under pressure to defend a distinguished judge (John Forsythe) accused of raping and battering a young girl - and whom Arthur knows is guilty. Jack Warden co-stars as an eccentric, cheerfully suicidal judge who thinks Arthur should play the game. When it comes down to the trial, Arthur must choose between the security of his career and his personal integrity. The final, explosive courtroom scene is unforgettable!  

"Searing Indictment?"

Re: Just in Time for Father's Day...
by: vietnamcatfish (39/M/golden pond) 06/10/06 03:06 am
Msg: 7582 of 7582

The guests ( and I use that term loosely ) would get their rocks off by wanting one of those ties.

"Give me one," they'd whine.

They always wanted something for nothing.

It reminds of the nut who wanted to know why we charged for an Andes. [ trademark ]

This is what I wanted to say:

"You are as dumb as a screen door on a submarine. In fact, the authorities should lock your silly ass up and throw away the key. Let's do the math, moron. A small box of Andes cost $50.00. Try givin' 'em away! And the cost would be exorbitant, to say the least."

These idiots wouldn't know exorbitant if it jumped up and kicked them in the arse. Give the stuff away and Billy would be stuffing his pockets with candy out the ying-yang.

Back to the math: 4 cases a day ( and I'm being conservative- gotta love the synchronicity-times 30 days in a month or 28 days in a period-more synchronicity as we equate this phenomena to a woman's cycle-equals $6,000 a month.

Duh! er, dumb!

Thanks for the memory, pictru? As we used to say at Rowdy High:

"I had a tie like that til my daddy got a job!

If I don't get some shelter, I'm gonna fade away! v.c.

"Time Flies When Yer Havin' Fun, eh?"

 

Ahhh, seasons change with the scenery
Weaving time in a tapestry
Wont you stop and remember me
At any convenient time
Funny how my memory slips while looking over manuscripts
Of unpublished rhyme
Drinking my vodka and lime 

"Tooling Home, Circa June 4, 2006"

Me and ol' Betsy, my trustful companion and car, a Buick btw, merged onto the fast lane of the interstate tonite and headed home to the Pond.

Earlier this morning I attempted to arise at 8:00 but was unsuckcessful. Not sure what was wrong-maybe it was my achy legs from yesterday, or maybe it was dehydration ( sometimes I forget to consume my daily quotient of H2O ), or maybe I was just plain forkin' tired. The restaurant biz will do that to you, as each day on one's watch, one is subjected to tons of passive-aggressive mentalities.

It took me until 10 to manage the fortitude to drag myself into the shower. Kept hittin' the snooze alarm over and over. Even the array of phone calls-most from Kitty who was making sure yours truly had awakened from his golden slumbers, and the others were calls from p.a. types that work with me, couldn't stir me from my z's.

I was in la-la land as I lay, tossin' and turnin,' in the bed. I wanted out of my agony. "Someone, shoot me please and get me out of my misery." At least it was Sunny, er, Sunday and my type-A personality boss man would not be in attendance. Shirley, he was standing in line at the AYCE breakfast bar filling his rotund tummy, or he was still alsleep with his phone turned to messages only. Blackberry, smackberry.
I thought about calling in sick but because I hadn't done so in 14 years, and didn't really know how, and for some reason wanted to keep my streak alive, the thought quickly left my feeble brain.

The buzzer for the alarm was ringing in my spaced-out brain; somewhere the strength to fall onto the floor came from somewhere. How I made it to the shower is debatable-haven't got the foggiest clue. I turned on the water and made a pit stop to the toilet, doing my thing after a long, frenetic sleep-if you can call it that.

I sat not standing in the small cubicle known as the shower; the tub which looms to the right of the former, depending, of course, which direction one is facing, was ruled out as an option. My big arse ciovered the drain hole, so every now and then it behooved me to lift it to allow the water to escape. Man, I hadn't felt like this in years. Exhausted, tired, kaput, fini' was I. Even the water which was pounding my salt and pepper hair couldn't shake my zombie-like state.

I wanted to die. Well, not really. I just wanted to go back to sleep. I stayed in there until the water turned cold, a good 45 minutes or so later. I kept lifting my fanny and creating all kinds of different positions as my head continued to droop, much like another part of my body which requires a blue pill to stand at attention.

Stumbling out from behind the curtain, even an early morning cigarette failed to please. Then the obligatory chores to get ready. Shave, hair drying, teeth brushing, gargling, scratching, clothes put on, another cigarette, coffee, breakfast, more cigarettes, etc.

I turned the key in the ignition of ol' Betsy. Still hungover and my eyes glazed, we backed out of the driveway. I downed 4 ibuprofen and soon was feeling like my old self-well, maybe 80 %. We got to work, and me and Betsy bade adieu. For the next ten hours, it was deal with passive aggressive types until the shift ended.

Maybe it was a slight virus-who knows?-but the catfish was mired in a funk when he awoke this Sunny, er, Sunday morning. Thank God it ain't like this all the time. As me and ol' Betsy tooled home, we both relished the moment, cos we would soon be home.

"Summer is Here! Ergo, Time For Reruns"

  

"Ready to Crash and Burn-I Never Learn"

 

Continuing the Guns N' Roses theme, here is another song from the boys with an appetite for destruction. One of me personal favorites! Er, click here!