Author: earlthepearl137

Last week there was a concert at Clipper Magazine Stadium.  Since the stadium is only 2 blocks from my house, I figured I might be able to hear it from my backyard.  When I heard them tuning up in the afternoon, I knew that I figured correctly.

I called Debbie to see if she was interested.  She was, so I set up the Scrabble board in the backyard and put some beers in a cooler.  I really should have grilled some “tailgate” food, but I settled for just snacks.

The opening act was Jack Broadbent.  I never heard of him.  I went on YouTube and listened to one of his songs.  I wasn’t crazy about it.  When he came on he played relatively quiet music and we couldn’t hear it too well.  I didn’t care.  Not only was I not interested in his set, but Debbie was beating me at Scrabble.  It was a chilly night, but I was breaking out in a sweat.  Debbie never beats me at Scrabble.  It’s not that I’m so good.  It’s because she is so bad.  She can’t spell worth a damn and would probably lose to a competitive eight-year old, but she was beating me.  I had all consonants, and I could only make short words where I could find a loose vowel.

Then Frampton came on and the volume increased.  We heard everything except that funky low-volume guitar stuff he does with that joystick in his mouth during “Do You Feel Like I Do.”  I grabbed my cell phone and went to YouTube for the “live” video.  We watched him play.

Debbie, super impressed, asked me if the signal was coming directly from the Stadium.

“Yeah,” I said.  “I went to the stadium earlier today and put a satellite dish on the roof.  How many beers have you had?”

It took her a few minutes to realize that I was joking.  I knew then that I didn’t have to sweat the outcome of the Scrabble game anymore.

You may be wondering why I was worried about a stupid game.  Let me give you some background.  Debbie usually loses by 100-200 points, and I am so confident that she will lose, that I once made her a standing bet.  If she ever beats me, I will do ANYTHING she asks me to do.  ANYTHING!!!  If she asks me to go to the ballgame wearing a tutu, I will do it.  Of course, I won’t do it, because I don’t plan to ever lose to her, but when Frampton came on she was still winning.  Fortunately, by the time he finished his set, I was way ahead and drawing away.  Waa Waa Waa Waa Waa Waaaaaaa.

Then the closers came out – Lynyrd Skynyrd, and by this time the Scrabble game was over, so we just sat back and enjoyed the music.  Well, I sat back and enjoyed the music.  Debbie got up to dance.  Well, maybe I should have placed the word dance inside quotes.  Her dancing is worse than her Scrabble playing, but better than her singing.  When she sang along on “What’s Your Name?” I wished that she would “Gimme Three Steps” towards the door.

They closed the show with Freebird.  I didn’t have any fireworks, but I lit a few tiki torches and we waved them in the air.  Then we polished off the beers.  The first backyard concert of 2016 was a big success.  Sweet home, Pennsylvania.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

On the first Saturday of May, while the rest of the country was tuned in to the Kentucky Derby, I was at the Overlook Golf Course Activities Room watching the Dutchland Rollers tackle the Mother Earth All-Stars in Women’s Flat Track Roller Derby.

What a spectacle.  First of all, the cheerleader for the Dutchland Rollers is dressed as an old Amish woman.  Needless to say, it is one of the few sports where the players are prettier than the cheerleaders.

I hadn’t been to a Roller Derby match since the days when Charlie O’Connell and his San Francisco Bay Bombers skated into New York to face and usually destroy the New York Chiefs.

Back in those days, the games were usually close, but you knew the Bombers would win it in the end.  Even if they were trailing by quite a few points with only enough time left for one more jam.  Dynamite Mike Gammon would put on the jammers helmet and Charlie O’Connell would just keep knocking skaters down until Mike lapped enough opponents to get the victory.

This game wasn’t even close.  Dynamite Mike wouldn’t have been able to win this one with his patented finish.  Even The Flash wouldn’t have been able to help the Dutchland Rollers who lost 248-73.

Shakespeare said that a rose by any name would still smell as sweet.  I now have a corollary to that.  A Roller Derby skater’s talents don’t improve with a tough name.  The Dutchland Rollers had skaters named Acute Toxicity, Ghengis Bon, Salt N Decker, and Mell Raiser.  They got clobbered by skaters using their real names, like Nikki Towner, Rachel Garris, Theresa Grosse, and Rachel Thomas.  I also noticed that you couldn’t guess how tough the skaters were by the number of tattoos a girl had.  While most of the girls had tattoos, some of the best skaters didn’t have any, or at least none that were in plain view.

When she noticed the “new guy” watching from rinkside, one of the Dutchland Roller’s grandmothers came over to say Hi.  We talked until the first game was over.  Then the fans all walked to the edge of the track and the skaters from both teams skated around the track high fiving everyone.

The second game consisted of local players who probably were aspiring to make it to the first string teams.  They called it Mayhem Madness.  Here, everyone had a tough nickname.  On the “Call me MAYbe” team, there were names like Russian Bayou, Bacon 4 Mercy, Slim Skatey, and Mya Psychosis.  The “Its Gonna Be MAY” team had ZipBlok, Rot-N-2 the Cor E, Wild Kat, and Sue E Side Hotline, whose number was 1-800.  I thought that was funny.

While they were warming up, I spotted #29, Vanitti.  She was very cute and petite, and I hoped her grandmother was in attendance.  I figured that Vanitti would be a jammer, one of the fast ones who try to earn points for their team by lapping opponents on the track.  She was, and she was a good one too, but, quite often, when she wasn’t jamming she was also a blocker, and she had to block quite a few corn-fed bruisers.  She did very well there, too.  She didn’t back down from anybody and she probably spent more time in the “Dutch Oven” penalty box than anyone else.  She led her team to a 300-56 victory.  I cheered loudly for both teams, hoping that their grandmothers were watching.  At the end of the game, the fans again circled the track and both teams skated around high fiving everyone.

Obviously, there is no “mercy rule” in this league, but there weren’t any fights either.  They played hard and fair all the way to the end, but you could see that they were all friends.  On one of the plays a skater got hit hard and went down on the track.  Both teams held their breath as the trainer attended to the player.  The biggest cheer of the night was when she got back up on her skates.  All in all, it was a fun night with a fun crowd.  The only bad news is that their next home game isn’t until September 10^th.  So, it’s back to the baseball park until September.  Go Stormers.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

I’m glad I went to the Barnstormer’s home opener, even though they lost 2-1, giving up the winning run as a result of a wild pitch with a man on 3^rd.  I did get to see Chubby Checker again.  I saw the very 1^st performance of the Lancaster Cheerleading team, and I got to meet the stars of the local women’s Roller Derby team, The Dutchland Rollers.  “There’s Women’s Roller Derby in Lancaster?” I asked them.  Hey, if I knew that last year, I might have skipped a few baseball games.  I’m a big fan of Roller Derby.  We used to play it in the streets in my old neighborhood.  Using an elbow to steer an opponent into a parked car was a fair play in my neighborhood.  Heck, pushing them into a moving car was only a 1-minute penalty.

So, I got to talk to the young ladies.  They didn’t really have a choice.  They were all gathered near the entrance giving out flyers to their next game.  They were all in uniform, complete with roller skates.  Most of them looked like kids.  Remember, many years ago, when we didn’t trust anyone over 30?  Now, anyone under 30 looks like a kid to me.  Some were quite pretty, especially for Roller Derby stars, and they all looked comfortable on their skates.  They weren’t just acting.  “Anyone related to Charlie O’Connell?” I asked.  I’m not sure they knew who Charlie O’Connell was.  He was a Roller Derby superstar back in the ‘50s.  “How about Dynamite Mike Gammon?”  He’s was Charlies son.  A real speedster on the track.

The San Francisco Bay Bombers were the best team in Roller Derby.  They travelled around the country beating up whoever dared to skate against them.  The New York Team was The New York Chiefs.  I can’t remember any of their names, because everyone rooted for the Bombers.  They were that good.

That was in the ‘50s.  Can you imagine anyone named Dynamite Mike in a “Bombers” jacket being allowed on an airplane today?

“The team can board the plane, Mr. Smith, but we’re going to have to detain the one named Dynamite Mike for Security Reasons….”

So, The Dutchland Rollers play the Mothers State on May 7^th.  I intend to be there.  I love this town.  It’s so alive with culture.

Oh, back to the ballgame, they had actual cheerleaders.  Almost 20 young girls in short shorts and tiny t-shirts, did a few cheerleading routines on the sidelines.  The temperature was in the 40s and there was a constant cold mist falling.  They had to be freezing.  Plus, the routine called for them to roll on the floor.  The floor here being a field of wet grass.  I had to put on an extra jacket just to watch them.  They were really troopers, though, and I hope they show up for more games, and I hope that none of them caught Pneumonia.

Chubby Checker sang The National Anthem.

After the 3^rd inning Chubby came out again and twisted with the crowd for 5 minutes as we tried to get into the record book for most people in one place dancing to the Twist.  The current record was held by a town in Mississippi, that had over 3,100 people twisting for the required 5 minutes.  I don’t know if we broke their record.  The weather kept a lot of people away from the ballpark, but we did have the entire bullpen twisting away with us.   You don’t get that in the Majors.

The Barnstormers almost pulled it out in the bottom of the 9^th inning.  They were trailing by 1 run and had men on 1^st and 3^rd.  The Barnstormer Centerfielder came to the plate and struck out swinging.

The team also gave out free Slinkys to the first 1,000 patrons.  Tomorrow is $2 beer night.  Does it get any better than this?

I’m born again.  There’s new grass on the field.

Put me in coach.  I can be Centerfield.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

Earlier this week, the local police visited me for the fourth time.  Only a handful of locals have visited me more frequently than that.  So, on my list of people in the neighborhood who know me the best, I figure that the local cops are now in 8^th place, just behind, Crazy Debbie, Joe Becker (the second-hand furniture salesman, not the boy Hilary and Geralyn Becker adopted), my landlord, Janessa the barmaid, Brook the barmaid, Sarah the barmaid, and the Seth Roegen lookalike-soundalike who works, I kid you not, at the local Puff and Stuff.  I don’t know his name, and he doesn’t know my name, so maybe the local cops are really in 7^th place.  It’s close.

It wasn’t anything personal.  The cops were only checking to see if I was alive.  Routine check.  It seems that dropping my 516 cell phone number and dropping my 717 landline phone, led several of my out-of-town friends to think I might be dead (or dying).  Note to self.  Make sure all my friends know my 717 area-code cell number, or else the cops will be back for a 5^th visit.

The local cops look like they are all recruited straight out of Gold’s Gym, and they don’t look like small town cops at all.  Lancaster may have a rural background, but it certainly is not Mayberry.  There are quite a few mounted policemen, though, that add a certain charm to the place.

One time the cops (a mini swat team, actually) came looking for my upstairs neighbors, who had moved out a week previously, but usually when they knock on the door, they’re here for me, and they’re checking to see if I’m alive.

“Do you know anyone named Ellie in Texas?

“Yes.”

“She thought you might be dead.”

“The rumor of my death has been greatly exaggerated.”

“What?”

“Mark Twain.”

“Is that your name?  I’m looking for a guy named Paulson.”

“That’s me.  Harold Earl Paulson.”

“You should call Ellie.”

“Do you have her number?” I asked.

“Yes.  Do you have a pen?”

“One minute.”  I stepped back and tripped over an ashtray filled with roaches.  (not the bug kind.)  I hustled back to the door, before the cop could step in.  “Uh, could you just write it down for me?”

He did and left.

I called Ellie, who was my landlady in New Hyde Park.  Her son, Mark answered.  I explained the telephone SNAFU, and we bullshitted for a while.  The bell rang.  The cop was back.

“You don’t exist in our system.  Do you have ID?”

I showed my New York non-driver license to him, and it all made sense, why I wasn’t in the Pennsylvania system.

“I AM registered to vote in Pennsylvania,” I offered, hoping to mollify him.

He wasn’t one bit interested.  I, immediately, wondered who he was voting for.  This probably was not the time to discuss politics.

Today is April 15, Tax Day, the day I usually set aside to do my taxes.  I’m a procrastinator, and I always wait until the last minute.  This year I vowed to break that bad habit and I succeeded by one day.  I sent in the tax forms yesterday.

Yesterday was a strange day.  I woke up a little before 9 a.m. (very strange), had breakfast (not so strange), and went to church (It doesn’t get stranger).  Yes, I went to church, but not for any religious reasons.  They were offering free tax preparation.  Usually, I use one of the online services and the Federal form is free but the state form is $25-30 dollars.  I figured that free was better than $25-30, so I went to Church, The First Methodist Church.  Within an hour I was all done.  So, afterwards, I went to the library to check my e-mail.

I noticed that the Barnstormers were playing a spring training game against the York Revolution at 1 p.m., so I left the library and headed for the ballpark.  The Barnstormers scored first, but the Revolution came back to win the game 5-4.  Nobody cared.  It was just a chance to get all the new guys in the game so manager Butch Hobson could get an idea of how they could help the team.

Today, there is another Spring Training game at 1 p.m.  The Barnstormers are playing the Lancaster Bible College team.  That should be a hoot.  As an Agnostic, I’m always amused when sports figures give God credit for their victories, like God was just spending the day watching a boxing match and hoping for his favorite guy to beat the crap out of the other guy.  I don’t think that any of the Barnstormers can go into this game feeling that God is on their side, but I think they can still be fairly confident of a victory.  I’m thinking about bringing a sign that says, “Smote Them.”

You’re obsolete my baby, my poor unfaithful Baby.

Baby, baby, baby, You’re out of time.

-The Rolling Stones

When we were kids we used to rank each other out with sayings like, “I’ll rank you so low, you’ll be able to play handball off the curb.”  “I’ll rank you so low that you could jump off a dime and freefall for three minutes.”  Then, when we were in the armed forces with only days remaining on our enlistment, we would proudly say things like, “I’m so short I could play handball off the curb.  I’m so short I could jump off a dime and freefall for three minutes.”  The power and the meanings stirred by words are constantly changing.

Enemy at 9 o’clock?  That used to be a way to warn somebody to look left, but in the world of digital watches it has no meaning anymore.

When you were really sure of something you’d say, I’ll bet you a dollar to a donut that such and such is true.  Back then a donut cost a nickel so that meant you were so sure you were right that you were willing to give 20-1 odds.  Nowadays with the cost of donuts, those aren’t such great odds anymore, and betting a dollar to a blueberry muffin, would really be bad odds for the person risking the muffin.

In the old days we used to pick up the telephone and dial a friend.  There’s no rotary dial on the phone anymore, unless your dad works for the telephone company.  They seem to be the last to want to let that rotor technology go.  Even the touchpad is already being replaced by voice commands, “Siri call home.”

Even Shakespeare had anachronisms in his plays.  Hamlet was set in the 13^th Century, and Hamlet supposedly went to The University of Halle-Wittenberg, which was not founded until 1502.  Shakespeare also put a clock in the play Julius Caesar.  I’m sure he knew full well that the Romans didn’t have clocks, but like many other writers he also knew that you just don’t mess up a good story with the facts.

Even Leonardo DaVinci, who told his story with paint instead of words, played fast and loose with the facts.  It was already pointed out in the DaVinci Code that he painted the scene of the Last Supper with no wine glasses on the table, but the unmentioned anachronism is the table itself.  In Jerusalem in Biblical times they did not have great big tables, especially not the kind that were so big that 13 people could sit on one side with everyone facing the painter.

The pen may still be mightier than the sword, but is it mightier than a phaser, a laser, or something even crazier, like a suitcase nuke.

Momma jokes were always popular.  There were jokes like Your Momma is so fat she has her own zip code.  Your Momma is so poor, she has to save old Brillo pads to knit a stove.  But even these come and go with style.  Your mother wears combat boots, used to be the biggest slam.  Now it could be high praise for her hard work and patriotism, especially if your momma was serving in the Armed Forces.

I saw a blooper scene in the movie Troy about the Trojan War, where Brad Pitt could be seen wearing a wristwatch, something that wasn’t quite invented at the time of the Trojan War, especially not Rolexes.  Movies set in early times often have to make sure there are no planes flying in the area, before they yell, “Action,” but it still happens.  Off in the corner of some cave man movie I’ve seen a vapor trail from a plane that was recently in the area of the set.

Movie makers have to insure that they don’t add inventions to the set that didn’t exist at the time of the story.  You can’t have a washer/dryer in the laundry room of the Little House on the Prairie.

To avoid anachronisms in stories about the past it just takes some research, but writing about the future is trickier.  Did anyone writing in the 1990’s picture a New York skyline without The Twin Towers?  What items will be anachronisms sooner than we think?  Books and newspapers will be replaced by smart phones and tablets, but how quickly.  Probably more quickly than we think.  If I write a story set in the year 2020 and say that the subway traveler turned the page of his newspaper, it is quite possible that readers will wonder why he wasn’t using an e-reader or a tablet, and, if you want to take it a step further, how long will it be before smart phones and tablets disappear, too?

Sometimes ancient inventions make great comebacks.  The windmill, originally invented around 650 BC is making a big comeback today.  Wind power.  Who’d a thunk it, in this Hi-tech age?

Sulphur matches used to be given free with every pack of cigarettes.  Bic lighters made them obsolete.  Now, both the matches and the smokes are becoming out of date, and that’s a very good thing.

Toilet paper was invented around 589 AD, but I can’t see that going out of date anytime soon.  Shit still happens.  Firearms were invented in the 10^th Century.  Over the centuries, a whole lot of people have tried to put them out of business, but the firearm business is still booming, literally.

Soap was invented in the 13^th century in Babylonia.  That’s still going strong, but washing somebody’s mouth out with soap is now only mentioned in old movies.  The slide rule was invented way back in 1630.  Yet, I used one in grammar school, and maybe even in high school, but they didn’t make it to the next generation.  I’ll bet you a dollar to a donut that slide rules aren’t being used in any schools anywhere, anymore.  There were still some ice boxes in use when I was a kid, but not many, but we still called the Refrigerator the Ice Box for many, many years.  Even today, I’ll say, “I’m heading towards the ice box.  Would you like a beer while I’m up?”

In 1836 Samuel Morse invented Morse Code.  The Boy Scouts are probably the only ones who still know the Morse Code, but I doubt if they use it for anything.  Pop Quiz – how do you send an SOS message in Morse Code?  Answer: dit dit dit, dah dah dah, dit dit dit.  (S – Three shorts, O – three longs, and S – three shorts.)  If you ever have to use that, and if a Boy Scout someday saves your life, you’re welcome.

The first solar cell was invented by Edmond Becquerel in 1839.  We’re still hoping that idea will eventually become fashionable.  1852 was the first manned flight in a dirigible.  The Hindenburg knocked that right out of style in a hurry.  In 1877 Thomas Edison produced the first working phonograph.  The recording industry has been active for a century and a half making sure that any recording media you ever purchased was obsolete long before you tired of listening to the thousands of songs you had in that media.  My friend John is the only one I know who still listens faithfully to his stacks of wax.  The rest of us have been coaxed and cajoled into purchasing constant “upgrades” from vinyl, to reel-to-reel, 8-tracks, cassettes, CD and MP3 players, all of which became obsolete soon after we had invested in them.

Remember rabbit ears for your television?  Remember free TV?  Oh, I guess I’m giving away my age on that one.

In 1986 Fujifilm invented the first disposable camera.  Not long after that, smart phones made almost all cameras disposable.

There is an expression that “Fashion wears out more apparel than the man.”  I know that I have wasted money over the years on things like Nehru jackets, panchos, and Ben Casey Shirts.  The Davy Crockett hat, however, was a good investment, though.  I just wish I could find it.

There are even many recent inventions that have already gone the way of the dinosaur.  Most of them end in “dot com.”  The technology itself is not safe from itself.  When’s the last time you used a floppy disk?

Global warming could really change a few things, in the next hundred years, like the Florida coastline, for example.  Maybe future generations will wonder what you’re writing about if your book is set on the Florida coastline.  Maybe they will even wonder, “What’s Florida?”  All right, that’s not such a bad thing, but it’s not such a good thing either.

In the future, cowboys may still ride off into the sunset, but they’ll probably be doing it on motorcycles, or some sort of hovercraft.

I sign off each of my stories offering peace and love, and hoping that they never go out of style.  Some things are worth keeping and have no expiration date.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

I was back from NY about 3 days, when I realized what hit me, the NY Subway system.  No, not the trains, the handrails.  I thought about how many I had touched, and now their germs were all touching me back.  Note to self.  Next time I’m going to ride the NY subway, bring Purell.  I just spent the last three days going back and forth from bed to the recliner chair, not having the strength to do much else.  I count my blessings though, it could have been far worse.  I wasn’t nauseous or throwing up.  I was just incredibly tired.

When I get sick, I treat myself with my Mom’s secret cold formula, Blackberry Brandy.  Over the course of the first two days, I took about 7 shots of the magic elixir.  At least, that’s how many shots I think I had.  I was pretty out of it during the height of this cold, and I started hallucinating.

I’ve been having some pretty wild dreams lately, but Saturday my dreams crept into my waking moments.  When I closed my eyes, my apartment expanded in size and filled with people.  Because of the conservative way they were dressed, I got the idea that they were Amish.  I didn’t know any of them, and they didn’t talk to me, but it seemed that they were all there to comfort me.  They also brought food, which I remember tasting.  One thing tasted like a dry egg biscuit, and another biscuit tasted of dried blueberries.  As I opened my eyes, the people and food instantly disappeared and my apartment shrunk back to its original size.  When I closed my eyes again they all reappeared.  This seemed to go on back and forth for about two hours.  They stayed with me until I fell asleep.

Yesterday was Easter Sunday, and I think the crisis has passed.  I woke up feeling much better.  Happy Easter.  Just to be on the safe side, I rested most of the day.

So, now it’s Monday and time for me to get out of the house and move around.  Plus, I better pick up some Purell and hit the liquor store to restock my medicine cabinet.  My Amish visitors seem to have polished off the last bottle of Blackberry Brandy I had.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

My high school showed a total lack of consideration by scheduling their 50^th Anniversary Reunion on my friend Marianne’s birthday.  Her party is always one of the best of the year, and I never miss it.  Both events were scheduled to begin at 7 p.m.  I decided to try and do both.

My plan was to arrive at the Reunion at 7 p.m. on the dot.  Then I would hit the bar, drink champagne, eat jumbo shrimp, and scan nametags to see if I could find anyone I knew.  I could only remember the names of 4 of my classmates, so mainly I was going to eat and drink and attempt to perform the set I had never been allowed to perform in the classroom.  If you wanted to be a stand-up comedian, Catholic school was the worst place to practice.  You could only tell one joke before you found yourself out in the hall nursing the bruises from the pointer they used to beat you black and blue.  I had 8 minutes of jokes.  A tight 8-minute set would be enough to get you booked in 100 comedy clubs across the country.  Since they were all Catholic jokes, it might also get me bounced from my own High School Reunion, but I was only planning on staying for a half hour anyway.

My back up plan, if I didn’t find anyone to tell my jokes to, was to drink and eat for a half hour and then head to Marianne’s party.  I figured if I made all the train connections okay, I could be there by 9:45, fashionably late.

I thought that getting to my old High School would be easy.  Amtrak took me to Penn Station without any problem.  Then I had to walk to Herald Square to catch the M train and take it to the last stop, Metropolitan Avenue.  The school was right there.  Easy, peasy.

What’s that Robert Burns said about “the best of plans?”  They often gang a glee, with gang a glee being Scottish slang for getting completely fouled up.

My arthritic hip doesn’t bother me too much when I walk, but it hurts like hell going up or down stairs.  So, getting from train level to street level at Penn Station, carrying an overstuffed knapsack was where my plan started to gang a glee.  Then I had to walk a few blocks to find the entrance for the M train.  Once I found it I had to go down flight after flight of stairs to get to the train platform, which seemed to be just a little bit from the center of the earth.  When I got there, I saw the notice that said the M train did not stop there on weekends.  I had to take the F train to Delancey Street and transfer there.

It was rush hour and the F train was packed, but I squeezed in and took it to Delancey Street.  Now I had to go from the subway to the elevated line, so I had to climb flight after flight of steps to get to the M platform.

That train was also packed, but it got me to Metropolitan Avenue a couple minutes before 7 p.m.  The school is at the bottom of a 4-story hill.  I limped down the hill and finally marched triumphantly through the door and straight to the reception desk.  There were still some name tags spread out on the table and I found mine and asked the lady behind the table where the bar was set-up.

She informed me that before the bar opened up, there would be a prayer service on the 3^rd floor.  By this time my hip was really hurting.  Still, I would have climbed the two flights of stairs for champagne and jumbo shrimp, but I’m a card-carrying Agnostic, and I certainly wasn’t going to climb 2 flights up and then 2 flights back down for a prayer service.  It didn’t matter to me if all they were praying for was my bad hip, I activated Plan B.

I spun around and like Jack and Jill, I went back up the hill and proceeded to the train station.  Once on the train, I texted Marianne to let her know what happened and to tell her I was on my way.  I got to the party around 8:45 and it was already in full swing.  As soon as Marianne saw me, she threw up her hands and announced to the room, “Earl is here.  It’s time for our prayer service.”

Fortunately, the altar was a 6 ft. ski with 4 shot glasses permanently glued to one side of it.  I willingly lined up behind a full shot glass with Marianne and two other people, and participated in the service.  Immediately, my spirits were lifted.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

It was Monday, Pizza Night at the Alley Kat.  Debbie and I were sitting in my backyard having a few pre-pizza beers.  She got up and started brushing her hand against some stuff that was sprouting in my yard.  To me it looked like little tufts of grass.

She pulled out one of the blades of the grass and put the root in her mouth and chewed.  “Not really a scallion,” she said, “but similar.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to figure out what it is.”

“By tasting it!  Who do you think you are, Ayla the Medicine Woman of the clan?”

“How can I tell what it is if I don’t taste it?”

“What if it turns out to be poisonous?”

“It’s not poisonous.”

“How do you know that if you don’t know what it is?”

“I know it’s not poisonous.”

“Well it could be.  Come on, let’s go get some pizza.”

“What’s your hurry?”

“I figure that if you croak from food poisoning while we’re in the restaurant, I might be able to guilt them into paying for your funeral.  That would save your mother the burden.”

“You’re a lousy boyfriend.”

“That’s good,” I replied, “because I’m not your boyfriend.  I’m just a friend.  Period.”

“No,” she corrected.  “You’re my friend with benefits.”

“What benefits?  The only benefit you’re getting from me is that I’m willing to pay for the pizza when we go out to eat.”

“Well, if you wanted more, I’m ready.”

“I’m not.”

“Why not?”

“I would feel like I was taking advantage of you and only using you for sex.”

“But I’m okay with that.”

“But I’m not.”

“Why not?”

“Because I think you’re a wacko!”

“So?”

“I don’t really want to get into a sexual relationship with a wacko.”

“Why not?”

“Been there.  Done that, and I’ve got the t-shirt, actually a few t-shirts.  Did you ever see Fatal Attraction?  I’ve dated a lot of crazy women in my life, and I’ve learned one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“They always turn out to be even crazier than I first suspected.”

“Do you think that I would turn out to be crazier than you suspected?”

“Well, not really, because I already suspect that you’re nuttier than a fruit cake.”

“So what’s your problem?”

“Right now I don’t have any problems, and I’d like to keep it that way.  If I slept with you, then you would be my problem.”

“You’re a lousy boyfriend.”

“I know.  Are you ready to go get some pizza?”

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

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I have two big events coming up this Saturday night, my 50^th anniversary Reunion at Christ the King H.S., and Marianne’s Birthday/St. Patty’s Party.  They’re both on the same night and I’ve been trying to figure out what I’m going to do.  My most recent plan is to get to the Reunion early, talk to a few people and then split.  I hate to leave a party early, but I will make an exception when I’m going to a better party.  Besides, if there was anyone I really wanted to see at the reunion, I wouldn’t have waited 50 years to see them.  I think I spent more time in the hallway than I did in the class, anyway.

Catholic School was not a good place to practice for a career in stand-up comedy.  You cracked one joke and they hit you with a pointer and threw you out in the hall.  You never even got time for a follow-up joke.  You didn’t even know if the class liked the joke.  Were they laughing at what I said or were they laughing at the beating I was taking as Brother Bruno escorted me to the hallway?  No wonder that most of the great stand-up comedians are Jewish.  If George Carlin hadn’t been expelled from Cardinal Hayes H.S. he probably never would have made it as a comedian.

So, the reunion has been on my mind, lately.  I’ve also been thinking about the ongoing Presidential campaign.  I’m a Democrat, but most of my friends are Republicans.  The most Republican one of all is Marianne’s brother-in-law, Hilary.  (He must hate the fact that when he says his name, people automatically think of the other Hillary, the one who’s running for President as a Democrat.)  His father was the mayor of Lynbrook for years.  His brothers run for Congress all the time.  If you live on Long Island, I’m sure you’ve seen a “Becker for Congress” bumper sticker or two.  I figure we’ll spend some time at the party talking about the Hair apparent to the Republican nomination, Donald Trump.

Another thing on my mind is that I no longer have TV service.  I cancelled my contract with Comcast last week and tried using rabbit ears to pick up a signal.  Either I’m doing something wrong, or there aren’t any broadcast signals in Lancaster.  I guess the Amish market wouldn’t be a demographic that any of the networks were trying to court, even if the Amish had televisions.

So, I’ve been doing a lot of writing and reading, and walking around the neighborhood.  Reading a book of short stories late at night is just not as stimulating as, say, a Rocky marathon on TV, though.  So, I’ve been going to bed earlier and waking up earlier.  For the past year or so, I’ve been going to bed at around 3 or 4 a.m. and sleeping until noon.  Now, I’m going to bed around midnight and waking up around 8:30.  It’s amazing how quickly my cable-free body is getting back into circadian rhythms inspired by the sun instead of my favorite TV shows.

All these factors contributed to my “attending” a gala Republican function and watching the returns come in.  I knew almost immediately that I was dreaming, but I didn’t even try to wake myself.  I wanted to see where it would go.  Since, I don’t have any TV, I take my entertainment where I can get it.  Besides, it was a pretty decent party.  It was in a beautifully furnished multiplex apartment of some rich couple.  They appeared once on the spiral staircase, but I didn’t recognize them.  Hilary Becker was there, and there were lots of other people there.  They had all sorts of food, free booze, and they even had pot.  This was another clue that it was just a dream, but I just took a few tokes and kept right on snoozing.

I was introduced to George W. Bush, who was a lot older in the dream than he really is, but then again I haven’t seen much of him in the last eight years, so maybe he wasn’t too much older.  We walked into a different room and he had to hold my arm for balance.  He spoke to me, but his voice was so weak, I couldn’t hear what he was saying.  Just as well, it probably would have set me off, and my cover would have been blown if I started arguing with him.  I think we were wandering around looking for Laura Bush, but we never found her.

I went off by myself, and I wound up walking into my High School Biology Lab.  There were some people from my graduating class there, but I didn’t remember any of their names.  They were hunched over the tables like they might be dissecting frogs, but they weren’t.  They were performing vasectomies on little plastic babies.  I decided to try.  I hooked up some kind of rig that looked like a guillotine and WHOOOMP, the little plastic baby had a vasectomy, a circumcision, and could now pee 10 times faster than any of the other plastic babies.  I got beaten with a pointer and thrown out of the class.  That was the first normal thing that happened in my dream, and it woke me up.

Nature abhors a vacuum.  If you don’t feed it television, it will produce its own mini-series while you are sleeping.  I’m cool with that, though.  I actually enjoyed the show last night, and, best of all, there weren’t any commercials.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl