"What Was I Thinking?"

It was time to make a move. I had graduated from Truck U. almost a year ago and had been living on the sleepy hamlet campus of my alma mater, but now it was time to gravitate to the big city and get a real job.

I had worked as a laborer [ of all things ] and was making a cool $2.25 an hour. I was "trying to find myself" and had endured a few rocky roads recently. My girl friend from high school, my true love, and I were experiencing some ups and downs before she dumped me for another guy. Also, I had had a bit too much peyote one night and my mind was fried. Break on through to the other side was more than I could handle. No apologies to Jim Morrison.

Even tho' in a funk, I loaded up old Betsy, my VW bug, and made my usual trek to the city which was an hour's drive, determined to find a career job. My car was a '69 which had replaced my '63 "hippie" bug, which had been our first family car. My mom wasn't trying to make a statement by driving one; we just didn't have any money. By purchasing number two, we had moved up in stature. Seems you could buy one back in the day for $1500. [ 63 model ] Laughable in today's world, but, then, houses cost only about $10,000. And gas was a quarter for ethyl; and candy bars/sodas were a nickel; blah blah blah.

I had enjoyed the freedom of living by myself since graduation. It was great. No curfews; no harping from the parents; and best of all, no studying. I had bypassed the big "V" { Vietnam ] by stumbling through higher education, and by garnering help from the honorouble Richard "Tricky" Nixon, who decided we'd had enough and raised the white flag in '74. The draft had become history, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I was classified "1-A," which meant your ass was ready to become a charter member of the Army.

I still have nightmares even today. Not about wading through rice paddies up to my waist in water or playing "Russian Roulette" with the Viet Cong, but having to take a final exam to pass a course. Normally the dream is in math or science, the latter being my worst subject. I had had Physical Geography, my sophomore year, and still don't have a clue what the fork it was about. Biology was another subject I was lost in. Duh, how do you adjust the microscope again, Teacher. And I admit flunking Math 100 as a freshman. Embarrassing cos I was good at it. I took it later and made an "A," taught by a Chinese Graduate Student who had no control over the class.

He would leave the room during the exams, and the dumb people [ like myself earlier ] would look on my paper for the answers. I didn't give a hoot-in hindsight it was wrong-but it made me feel good to be the smart guy in the class. The Math class I flunked, the star student was Miss Burnett, and I still recall Mr. Cliet asking her for the answers to the questions none of the rest of us could answer.

"Miss Burnett?"

"Pi r squared to the ninth power, Mr. Cliet"

"Nice job, as usual, Miss Burnett."

Still not sure how I flunked but I did. Shirley, it was the "conditioning exercises" required in P.E. that fall semester. And whoever named the class was "right on" with the terminology. It was grueling. My ass was forking tired after running around the gym; sweating through hundreds of jumping jacks; pushups; situps; and squat thrusts. After a quick shower, I had to attend the rest of my classes. My next class was a mile away. With wet hair and clothes I grabbed a bus or ran like hell so I wouldn't be late for my next session with higher education. My course load was a bit ambitious, too, for a youngster of 17. And I smoked. In hindsight, maybe I just didn't think things through. So what choice did a poor boy have? But to Party!

As freshmen, we were away from home for the first time. The drinking laws were relaxed in 1969 especially on campus. There was a place called "Bubbers" where you could look 14 and buy a twelve pack. Bubber didn't give a shit. He wanted all of us to feel at home in our new digs. Plus, he wanted to make money.

Once me and the gang, after guzzling a few brews one weekend, decided to visit Bubbers for an encore. There were 5 of us. Keith in the front seat. Harry, Steve, and Don in the back seat of my bug-the 63 version. I was new to driving under the influence, so after we made our purchases, I backed old Betsy up into a telephone pole. I jumped out of the car in the parking lot, when the boys in the back started laughing hysterically. They laughed even harder when they saw my bumper bent in half.

We headed back to our dorm rooms. I was enjoying the buzz from the alcohol but knew there would be hell to pay when explaining to my mom what had happened. She had little tolerance for mistakes. And especially expensive ones.

"What happened to your bumper, son?"

"Mom, I was minding my own business driving along Campus Blvd. when a crazed lunatic with bulging muscles jumped out of the bushes brandishing a chain. I slammed on Betsy's breaks to avoid splattering the guy's brains all over the place. I put old Betsy in first gear while he was hog-tying the bumper. I'm lucky to have escaped with my life, mom."

The memories flowed as me and old Betsy headed for the big city. We were looking for a new home and a new job. Little did we know our destiny was soon to be realized. Unfortunately.

"Editor Takes The Nite Off"

 

No text tonite. Editor has no creative ideas. Kaput, fini'. 

"Gigi"

 

There appears to be a scourge of some sort inhabiting the planet as we speak, as humans every where are encountering runny noses and congestion. Yes, it's the dreaded afflictions known as hayfever or allergies. Most of the world will complain and whine incessantly for the next 6 months with suckulent tidbits like the following:

"I have allergies."

"You, too?"

"I feel like shit!"

"You, too."

"I'm taking allergy shots."

"Me, too!"

"Don't you hate the pollen. Wish it would rain!"

"I have the worst allergies ever recorded in human history."

"I'm taking monocyclate 69, which Dr. Dru prescribed."

"Is that good? I've heard of it but never tried it."

My response to all this jibber jabber is "Shut the fuck up, will you! Me and the rest of the human race could give a flying fuck if your nose falls off after repeated blowings. And you're the same ones who say, "It's not the heat; it's the humidity!" You know you do!

The Einstein who coined that phrase should be pistol whipped and made to suffer an intimate and interminable encounter with chinese water torture for the next 10 years.

And to those morons who tell me their kids are graduating from Duke, or going to Harvard Law School, or are receiving a football scholarship to Truck U. Puhleeze shut the fuck up.

I would rather you tell me the truth. That your Johnny is a nimwit and has no career plans. Or that your Daphne is a High School Republican who has been ostracized by the rest of the student body and faculty. And that your Billy is considering joining the Hare Krishna movement. Or that your Peggy wants to ride the back of a garbage truck so she can empathize with the poor. This would be more honest and appreciated.

Somewhere along the line I lost my place. Tonite's foray was supposed to be about the best picture of 1958, "Gigi." A movie I have never seen, and yet I think of myself as being well-versed in the celluloid arena.

If anyone in the viewing public has ever seen this flick, please let me know if it's worth two hours of my time. It appears that Leslie Caron is the star. Magnifique, eh? I saw her once in "Father Goose" with Cary Grant. A great movie! And as one wise sage once put it: "They don't make 'em like they used to."

In closing, please remember to shut the fuck up when it comes to your allergies this spring. And don't showboat about your kids. Because...nobody gives a shit. Your irreverent host feels like this is a good stopping place, so he will sign off with:

Gimme shelter, v.c.

P.S. Gigi has a ring to it, eh. I wonder if anyone with that moniker is viewing "The Pond."

P.S.S. Tonite's foray [ and maybe I'm tooting my horn ] was written with a quickness sans writer's block. It's a good feeling when you can get on a roll. Where's the beef, er, butter?

P.S.S.S. And your bird can sing! Shut the fuck up! 

"Basic Instinct Two"

 

One of my favourite flicks. Here comes two! 

"Donny and the DJ's or "Derek and the Dominos"

Not sure which band is singing this, but because it's late, here's Donny and the DJ's! Stay tuned for more assorted love songs.

"Band On The Run"

 

Thanks to all who responded to the "Rowdy High Reunion" piece. Because the editor of "The Pond" has been in mid-life crisis mode lately, he has found it difficult to write his forays into the infantile. Plus, where's the time?

Some moments I failed to mention in the last one:

1) Renee Rudin saying: "Who are all these old people?" She even limbered up her body with outstretched legs to show Alan an exercise for his back. Because she had had a few too many mai tais, she found herself in an awkward situation with a chair.

2) David Harper: My fav Beatles tune: "Here Comes the Sun!"

Alan Harper: My fav Beatles tune: "Hello, Goodbye!" which he thought was the quintessential Fab 4 tune. No disagreement here.

Sammy Whitehead: My fav Beatles tune: "In My Life!" [ this song appears in a recent episode-consult the archives! }

Yours truly: My fav Beatles tune is "I Am The Walrus!"

Sammy Whitehead: "You're joking?"

Yours Truly: "I am the eggman." [ "Man you should have seen 'em kicking Edgar Alan Poe" ]

3) Vicki Ludwig is a clutterer. I suggested "Clutterer's Anonymous" for her malady, and everyone thought I was joking, but my liberal sis, who resides in windy San Francisco, has been a charter member for years.

And Vicki's dog has his/her own apartment.

4) Chris Tackett's favorite teacher was Miss Spencer, who was affectionately known as "Turkey." Yes, she resembled one, because of the way she walked [ one leg turned inward [ pigeon toed ]] and that little wisp of hair above her forehead. Wonder what happened to her? She used to call me Chawls [ Charles ] when I decided to go by my middle name. She and I had a rowdy relationship, but I'd love to see her. And whatever happened to Miss Stephens?

5) I had a brief chat with Billy Evans, ex-proprietor of the Fulton Family Forum. He knew my liberal sister back inna day of 1963. And we talked about Shirley Black, another '63 alum, who I have engaged in e mail over the last year, even tho' she doesn't remember me, only that her friend, my sis, had a brother. She now lives in Hawaii and grows "fulofdandriffs." [ a type of flower ] Shirley told me that she and Billy were best buds at the beginning of the 60's decade.

Shirley, there were other memories from my perspective, but it's getting late, and my boss has been a prick lately, so I need my beauty sleep. I told him off the other day, and he is now treating the catfish with more respect.

Thanks again for the kind comments from those who responded. We had a ball-just like Bogie and Bacall, v.c.

P.S. Thanks to my buddy, Slippery, who happens to be an avid reader of my dysfunctional column. Too bad Keith Burke; Edward "All" [ Oil ] Morris; Keith Richardson; Rene Bowen; and all the good looking dames from back in the day decided NOT to attend. What were they thinking? Eh?

P.S.S. Maybe Kitty, my wife of umpteen years, will accompany me to the next "Rowdy High Reunion." 

"Rowdy High" Reunion

 

Once again it was time for another Rowdy High reunion. The boys and girls on the committee had been planning this thing for months. And the day of fruition came to pass March 25, 2006.

I got to see old friends. Steve Barton, now known to me as Steverino, who was gracious and hospitable as usual. At the end of the gala Steverino appeared to have had a few too many Long Island Iced Teas. He was sweating profusely and his hair was standing on end, like he had put his finger in an electric socket. [ don't try this at home ]

Slippery Nelson "made the scene" around eightish. He and I were in the "Band on the Run" back inna day at Rowdy High, and we talked about some old tunes-some we remembered but most we didn't. Brian Claxton joined in on the discussion as well. And we found out Brian has been ignoring his physical regimen lately.

And me and Slippery talked about the Pond. He was worried about my mid-life crisis, but I told him I was fine. He is agonizing over leaving his job after 29 years. Good luck, Slippery. It ain't easy finding a job these days when you're in yer 50's, so be careful. [ editor comment: It's a sad forking day when 50 year olds are shooed out to pasture and have to take demeaning jobs, because they are perceived as pieces of excrement scraped off one's shoes ]

I saw Bogus Bob, my friend from kindergarten. If you search the "Pond Archives" you will find a story about my childhood chum. He being 5 and I being 4. Bogie sang a few songs with "Donny and the DJ's" and hit all the high notes on "Can't You See?" ye olde tune from Marshall Tucker Band. [ editor's note: saw them in concert circa 1973 and it was the loudest concert I have ever been to, the decibels clearly outdistancing a jet airplane ]

Altho' Bogie has zero hairs on the top of his head, he seems to have resigned himself to his fate. We also talked about our children and when the next poker game would be. Nickel?

Fellow Rowdy High Alum, Donna Sosby left early, unbeknownst to the legion of Rowdians that she was suffering from a kydney stone. Get well soon, e mail buddy. Shirley, it will pass. [ editor note: pun is left to the discretion of the reader ]

The Harper twins were there, Alan and David, and they always play the "who is whom" game with each person they encounter. Me, I've never had a problem deciphering each's identity. Alan and David know everyone who ever went to Rowdy High including MILF Jackie Satterwhite's mom. [ editor's note: this scenario was true 40 years ago-may not apply today ]

David played guitar at the shindig and did a lovely job on "Here Comes the Sun," a fab tune from George Harrison. And Alan, allah Paul Mac, is strictly the bass player.
Good job fellas and good luck with your back, Alan. And apologies to Sam Whitehead and Howell Keown, the rest of the band.

I saw many other old friends. There was Sam Ahern, the CEO of a major hospital; David Englett, who laughed at all of my attempts at humour; Patsy King, a neighbor of mine two houses down in the old neighborhood; Charlene and Tim Peavy, who could be the poster boy for Rogaine. The boy has all his hair and then some.

Then there was Charlene Craig Nighswinder, Bogie's sister; David, the Wrightman, who was gracious and really enjoys himself at these things; Billy Evans; Renee Fowler; Landy Watkins; Chris Tackett; Ron Trimble; Danny McGriff; Gary Thomas; Vicki Ludwig Whitehead; Bobby White; Steve Watts; Eddie Murphy; the list goes on and on.

We had a ball just like Bogie and Bacall. Rowdy High forever, eh? And thanks and kudos go out to all who put in the work to make it happen. A splendid time was guaranteed for all; and they pulled it off.

P.S. I can't forget Renee Rudin, who was having a good time, and loaned me a coppola Virginia Slims. Just a silly millimeter longer, eh? And Cathy Magness, who is now a major star in church plays. Next stop: Hollywood?" 

"Dixie Chicks"

  

"Not Ready To Make Nice"

Well, we've got a new recording from the illustrious "Dixie Chicks." We all know of the problems the band has faced since Natalie Maines ran her mouth saying disparaging remarks about George Dubya.

"It's too late to make it right" she sings. Well, no shit, Sherlock. Ask anyone who has put their foot in their mouths. See Al Campanis and Jimmy the Greek for examples.
See Al Sharpton as well, but he gets a pass cos he's, er, African-American. And Harry Belafonte. And....

The tune is great. I'm listening to it while typing this particular foray. But because Natalie was haughty and living in a dream world [ see sports figures; movie stars; and the press ] her little snide remarks got she and the band into a career nosedive. Alienating her fan base. Country listeners aren't too keen on some [ chicks ] slamming the President of the U.S. What were they thinking, eh?

Great tune. Will people buy it? AOL says it reached the country charts at number 36.

If this ploy doesn't work, the next tune may be "Ready to Make Nice" cos spin numero uno didn't work.

It's all show biz, v.c. [ click here for the song ]

The words:

Forgive, sounds good
Forget, I’m not sure I could
They say time heals everything
But I’m still waiting

I’m through with doubt
There’s nothing left for me to figure out
I’ve paid a price
And I’ll keep paying

I’m not ready to make nice
I’m not ready to back down
I’m still mad as hell and
I don’t have time to go round and round and round
It’s too late to make it right
I probably wouldn’t if I could
‘Cause I’m mad as hell
Can’t bring myself to do what it is you think I should

I know you said
Can’t you just get over it
It turned my whole world around
And I kind of like it

I made my bed and I sleep like a baby
With no regrets and I don’t mind sayin’
It’s a sad sad story when a mother will teach her
Daughter that she ought to hate a perfect stranger
And how in the world can the words that I said
Send somebody so over the edge
That they’d write me a letter
Sayin’ that I better shut up and sing
Or my life will be over

I’m not ready to make nice
I’m not ready to back down
I’m still mad as hell and
I don’t have time to go round and round and round
It’s too late to make it right
I probably wouldn’t if I could
‘Cause I’m mad as hell
Can’t bring myself to do what it is you think I should

I’m not ready to make nice
I’m not ready to back down
I’m still mad as hell and
I don’t have time to go round and round and round
It’s too late to make it right
I probably wouldn’t if I could
‘Cause I’m mad as hell
Can’t bring myself to do what it is you think I should

Forgive, sounds good
Forget, I’m not sure I could
They say time heals everything
But I’m still waiting

"The Magic Keybored"

 

Camera: Pan across room; zoom in at person sitting at chair in front of a computer-who appears to be exasperated as he slowly pecks the keys on his keyboard. Stymied, he looks downcast wringing his head in his hands.

Narrative: Meet v.c., author of Golden Pond. A tall, handsome man of lineage who is attempting to write the first words to his new book, "What Was I Thinking?" a searing expose of the food biz.

He has pounded away on that keyboard for years, gaining little notoriety. But tonite it changes. Because the new keybored he finds at a garage sale will transform his life forever. For little does v.c. know, he will soon compose a magnificent, critically acclaimed NY Times best seller in the Twilight Zone. On the "Magic Keybored," tonite's episode. Submitted for your approval! 

"I'm So Tired"

It's not so much that I'm experiencing a mid-life crisis per se but I am looking at the world and my part in it with a new pair of glasses if you will.

My new quest is to have fun and not work my life away, especially for a bunch of ass wipes, who consider you just another brick in the stalls.

This weekend I worked hard and tonite I am pooped. P-o-o-p-e-d. Basically in the foot region where my dogs are beat. After a good nite's sleep, I will shirley recuperate. And be ready to tackle the world again.

Mid-life crisis smisis. v.c.

"Thanks"

Thanks go out to my two friends, who replied to my last post, the one about writing about the restaurant biz. Those two have always inspired me to greater heights whenever they commented on my forays into the infantile.

Then there's my old buddy, CajunBalls au Vin, who is one of the funniest people I have ever met. Our personalities meshed, and we used to create shtick when and while we both worked at Hell Whole, my ex employment venue, so's we wouldn't go insane with all the drama we used to encounter from guests and team members alike. If he and I could spend some quality time together, we could write the funniest screenplay ever. By drawing on our experiences at H.W.

Because the hour is late and working tomorrow is yours truly-plus I need my beauty sleep-the editor of the Pond will sign off. For now.

Gimme shelter, v.c.

"Write About What You Know...."

Is the general consensus of advice to fledgling writers. I'm not so sure this writer fits into this category, because he has been writing daily for 5 years. Damn, time flies when your havin' fun.

So after considerable thought, the author of G.P. has decided to write an expose on the wonderful world of the food biz. Coming soon to this web site.

Stay tuned!

P.S. We, who have savored the food biz experience, know that it ain't what it's cracked up to be.

"Quickie Foray From The Mothers of Invention"or "We're Only In It For the Money!"

 

Thanks to the departed Frank Zappa.

P.S. I'm lost amidst a sea of wheat; where people speak but seldom meet.
The mid-life crisis continues! 

"4000 Holes in Blackburn, Lancashire" or "I'd Love to Turn You On"

 

"And tho' the holes were rather small.... 

"Words On a Pop Album?"

 

Just another coup by the boys from Liverpool. As one sage once put it, "Who'd a thunk it?" 

"Johnny Mattress, er, Mathis"

Well. from what I've heard, that's what they called him back in the day!

P.S. From "Same Time Next Year"

"Collage This!"

  

"Just Push Create"

A nice song from the 70's. Just a young lad was I.

"Just Like A Young Girl Should!"

 

When last we left the enigmatic v.c., the poor boy was mired in the depths of a mid-life crisis. Seems as if nothing has changed. His continuing saga is spiraling downward, if all reports are true, for in search of the mystical verve is he.

The ed. recommends scrolling down to find "Brown Sugar!" Words reprinted here with no one's consent. Sorry!

Gold coast slave ship bound for cotton fields,
Sold in a market down in new orleans.
Scarred old slaver know he’s doin’ alright.
Hear him whip the women just around midnight.
Ah brown sugar how come you taste so good
(a-ha) brown sugar, just like a young girl should
A-huh.

Drums beating, cold english blood runs hot,
Lady of the house wond’rin where it’s gonna stop.
House boy knows that he’s doin’ alright.
You should a heard him just around midnight.
Ah brown sugar how come you taste so good
(a-ha) brown sugar, just like a black girl should
A-huh.

I bet your mama was a tent show queen, and all her boy
Friends were sweet sixteen.
I’m no schoolboy but I know what I like,
You should have heard me just around midnight.

Ah brown sugar how come you taste so good
(a-ha) brown sugar, just like a young girl should.

I said yeah, I said yeah, I said yeah, I said
Oh just like a, just like a black girl should.

I said yeah, I said yeah, I said yeah, I said
Oh just like, just like a black girl should.