Be careful out there, Santa!

Yet another Holly Jolly X-Mas moment to share with the Kids as we all wait for that magical day.



Run, Santy Claus, RUN!

MEGA-META FAIL!

I'll try to keep it short and sweet.

I think we've all heard, viewed and been able to process.....over and over and over again, the comedy that was the President Bush/Muntadhar al-Zeidi Show the other day in Baghdad (well, some things are always good for a laugh) and just about every pundit, pol and otherwise talking-head has chipped in their 2 cents so I thought I'd take this tardy opportunity to add to the grubby little pile.

First off- My Iraqi Friends (I know you're out there) in my country we deeply respect and try at all times to maintain the Right to Protest and the Freedom of the Press (sometimes we get it right, sometimes not so much) and I fully realize that you need a Homegrown Hero right now and further that you're starved for candidates but.............

PLEASE!

A grown Man who, in apparently righteous anger, throws his shoes in order to.......to............to...........well, what exactly?
Make his sworn enemy crack up laughing while supplying him with a nifty little cocktail story for his goofy frat boy cronies back at the Ranch?
Give a giggle to millions of YouTubers everywhere as he catches a pumpkinhead from the, I'm sure, reliably well trained and competently restrained Iraqi Security goons?
Make it perfectly clear to one and all that he's fed up, not going to take it anymore and if need be, Dammit, will purchase yet another pair of high-heels and lob them as well?
And miss?

I've read that the bitchpitching of one's kicks is considered a significant insult in Iraqi Culture, a culture that is thousands of years old, and indeed in many Buddhist, Muslim and Hindu countries the feet are considered unclean.....
but Fellas.........you're welcome to the 21st Century whenever you feel up to joining but, unfortunately, in this Era tossing your flip-flops at your foe just ain't gonna score you any points with the Big Kids, OK?
Or with the Ladies if you know what I mean. (winks suggestively)
If you wanna hurl something unclean try underwear, pre-used condoms or your Britney Spears' CD collection.

Take my entirely unsolicited but nevertheless sincere advice, if you want to be taken even somewhat seriously by anyone other than Airport Security or if you ever, ever want to get laid by a woman that doesn't happen to wear a veil (it's OK if you don't, whatever floats your boat, I'm just saying) then keep your Damn Hush Puppies on your feet where they belong.

And did I mention...

HE MISSED!

BUSH!!

TWICE!!!

This is Failure conceived in idiocy, nurtured by futility, sprinkled with jackass, polished with ineptitude, wrapped in infantile inadequacy, topped off with thoughtless, cross-eyed anger then lopsidedly aimed at perhaps the Largest, Lamest, Loser target in Presidential History.

META-FAIL!

And what do you have for an encore, Sir?

Gonna hold your breath? Stamp your feet? Take your ball and go home?

Well I for one say that a firm spanking may be in order or perhaps they should take away Mr. Zeidi's Wii privileges for a week or two. If they really want to get tough maybe an extended Time-out may be in order, oh.....I forgot....he's already facing that.
2-7 Years as a guest of the Progressive Iraqi Government (or whatever happens to pass for it these days) and we all remember how responsibly, solemnly and humanely they handled that Saddam execution so I'm sure you're in good hands LL- MaZ.

ATTABOY MUNTADHAR!

As for our Dearest Lame-Duck President Bush.

Mr. al-Zeidi may very well have provided you with your single most accomplished Highlight in those 8 long, long, long years in Office.
You alertly, nimbly and successfully dodged the pedal projectiles fired at you by a pudgy enemy reporter who definitely had his panties in a bunch and throws like one pissed-off girl.
What am I saying?

I know lots of girls who can throw better than that!

Way to go Bushie! You did a heckuva job!

The Holiday Hits just Keep on Comin'

This one is for that special little kid inside all of us....



Nice.

More Happy Holiday Thoughts- Straight from The HQ!

Sorry for the lack of posts lately, faithful readers, but the HollyDaze are here and I have to concentrate on my drinking, smoking and general misanthropy while simultaneously avoiding work or the hint of it and ignoring everything that is significant, real or meaningful..................you know...............with LOVE! And Santa Claus!
So
..ENJOY!

'Cuz it's Monday.....That's Why!

Ahhhhhh.................................the 80's.

Too much hair, too much spandex, too much 'tude, too much period.

Gotta love it!

Here's the Best of the Best jamming one of the Greatest.

The Holidays are Officially Here!

And this time of year always makes me feel so.....so.......warm inside.

(sighs audibly)

But today I thought I'd let Eddie Norton (and writer D. Benioff) sum up my feelings at this very, very........well, special time of the year.



I'd like to add more but I'm a little choked up right now.

Need a Jumpstart?

I have to apologize for my prolonged absence from these pages but the weather is winter cold, mobs of tourists have invaded the City like a Zombie Army, the soul-sapping Holiday season is bearing down and I'm fresh out of inspiration.
So I'd thought I'd let the Stones do the heavy lifting today.

"Love...it's a BITCH!" Brass Section!





Whenever you need to feel cool just run that guitar line through your head a few times, I guarantee it'll work!

One for Josie.....

And this one makes me feel damn good.



Sing it Lady!

'Cuz it's Karaoke Monday.....That's Why!

And I don't belong heeeere......

Odds and Ends-Fall (and I do mean fall) Edition

I've lived in Japan for over 3 years now. The last time I saw a fat chick was about 3 months ago, before that I can't remember. The fat broad was a white tourist decked out in giant blue jeans that you could sail a small boat with and she was surrounded by an equally obese herd of companions that blithely blocked the sidewalk and mostly blotted out the Sun as they waddled and gawked.
This is a fact.
And a good reason to live here.



I've got a modest proposal. You got $700,000,000,000 (I never get tired of looking at that number) to spend?
Pour it all into Iraq. Right now. Today.
Then get out of Afghanistan (read your history, fighting on 2 fronts) or quit pulling Bin Laden's dick, one or the other.
Give every Man in uniform everything they might need to achieve all out final victory. Give it 6 months to simmer before serving. Then give the Iraqi People the giant Green Zone multi-billion dollar complex we've erected in Baghdad as our generous gift to their fucked up future (and past) and get the fuck out. Forever.
The Big Money Men will just have to take a hit. The Economy will have to correct itself. The Great American Middle Class will have to suffer, again.
Remember this for the next time.
The Bush Doctrine started it. Let's finish it and move on.



Youth is beauty, beauty Youth. But why do they have to talk?



I like to read Hollywood gossip websites for 3 reasons.
1. It's very easy. I can finish the entire reading of most blogs in the approximate time required to take a good piss. (and yes, I do think this is an apt metaphor)
2.They all feature fresh photos of lovely, luscious celebutards graciously flashing their tits, asses and pussies.
3.Good for a laugh.
But you wanna know something? I'm old and I live in a strange Land. I really don't know who half these people are and I really don't care.
This is absolutely and undoubtedly a good thing.




Vice President Palin? You cannot be serious.
This is a hideous joke, right?




At this point I can't decide whether the Cubs are a comedy or a tragedy (although I firmly believe they're one or the other) but next year is 101 so the pressure is officially off, the excuses officially ended and all curses lifted forever.
So what's gonna be the reason next season?
Yea, I'm bitter. Shit, Tampa Bay is still playing.
TAMPA BAY!
Can I get a witness?

'Cuz it's Monday.....That's Why!

and sometimes simple is simply beautiful.....

perfect...

and we need that.




anyway I'm stuck on Oasis for right now.

Just because.....

It fits like a funeral suit. All hail the 80's!



His Royal Badness can sure write 'em.

That 1st line gets me every time.

Lazy Sunday- A Lovely Beast

I don't know what it is with me and Sundays but this one was strange indeed. Despite a debilitating hangover I managed to fulfill my earliest professional obligations before repairing to Starchunks just south of Shijo/Kurasama around about 5ish.
I grabbed my drink and, seeing as there was no seating available indoors, headed to the small patio that faces the street to wait for my meeting. The only open table was next to a fashionably young, hip, J-couple (She- Slender, lovely and stylish, He- Handsome, slim and yet more stylish) and I moved straight to it.
As I dropped my bag and planted my ass a sexy young girl wearing Capri pants and a cute, flimsy yellow blouse came running off the sidewalk, high heels clicking the beat, and made a very definite, malicious beeline for the fine filly cozying up to Mr. Playboy.

“DARE GA.......?” (Who the fuck is that?)
Was all she managed to say before said Playboy very wisely intercepted her, forcefully grabbing her by both arms, and pulled her away from the scene before she could inflict any damage.

And please trust me...this girl wasn't there to argue, she was there to FIGHT!

That little cutie had murder in her eyes and violence coursing through her slender body and any blind man could see it as plain as day. Somewhat amazingly, considering her reckless disposition, Playaplaya somehow managed to keep hold of her as he wrangled her down the sidewalk and away. Crisis and bloodshed gratefully averted!

I glanced over to the Other Woman and she greeted me to a warm, open, wonderful smile that said,

shrug, “Well....Shit Happens.”

Slightly confused, as I often am on those rare occasions when women smile in my direction, I did not instantly respond to her invitation as perhaps she was expecting and has expected all her adult life. But the smile was wonderful so I almost involuntarily glanced back and soaked it up again. She was about 5 feet away and burning a hole in me so I smiled back.
It was the cue she was waiting for.

She got up and moved to my table, sitting next to me, and we instantly began an easy, casual conversation as if we were long lost friends meeting by chance. We both tried Japanese at first before I, gratefully, abandoned it and stuck to English. She was fine with this. She had spent a year in the USA in High school and her English was delightfully fun. She had visited the City I was born in and liked it just fine. She had also worked in France and could speak passable French she informed me. She now lived and worked in Osaka. She expressed interest in my tattoos. She gave absolutely no impression that she was anything other than calm, cool and perfectly collected on this lovely Sunday afternoon.

Her name was Kana.

I have no idea why Kana-chan chose to sit and talk to me other than the fact that my face (perhaps entire persona) probably looks like good company if there's going to be trouble but we did not discuss either the incident or the possible repercussions until she asked me about my immediate plans.

I have a little business in about 20 minutes, I told her, and yourself?

“Oh.....I don't know.......I'll probably wait for him to come back and then just go home.”

I expressed my sympathy but gently mentioned that, given the passionate nature of the volatile Female done wrong, I doubted very seriously that Johnny Studwell would be showing his face in the vicinity....at least today.

We both laughed long and hard at that one.

Kana guessed my age (30, so I knew she was lying), I guessed CrazyGirl's relation(Wife) to Mr. Playboy and we both laughed some more before, lo and behold, Playplaya actually came slinking back up the sidewalk to retrieve his abandoned booty.
He looked like he just walked through a lions cage wearing a pork chop suit but Kana-chan did not hesitate as he grabbed her hand. She glanced back at me as he lead her away and treated me to her alarmingly sweet smile before they exited, stage right.

Ain't Love grand?

That's what I was thinking when the Drama kicked into the next level.

Only seconds after their hasty departure CrazyGirl in the Capri's came flying onto the scene, enter stage left.
She had obviously tracked Mr. Playboy from wherever they had parted and was now bound and determined to scratch Kana-chan's eyes out or, if not that, rip off a piece of her skinny ass. Luckily he was able to intercept her, once again, before she could complete her mission but this time it wasn't so easy. They went K1 on the sidewalk for some minutes (all credit to Mr. Playboy who somehow managed not to harm her although she was not at all interested in returning that particular favor) before he finally corralled her, hailed a taxi and, amazingly, wrestled her into it where she then proceeded to beat him like a wadaiko drum.
The cabbie, shocked and no doubt debating the sanity of his passengers, did not move for several minutes until CrazyGirl either ran out of steam or Playa managed to momentarily calm her as she finally ended her assault and the cab headed north on Kurasama.

Kana-chan, during the entire ordeal, calmly surveyed the scene from her safe distance as if something were stuck to the bottom of her shoe.
Then she snapped her phone open and began working the buttons.

I opened my newspaper and dug in.

Kana returned to Starfucks yet this time made no move to join me, only glancing shyly in my direction with an exceptionally cute oops-I-did-it-again expression on her lovely face, but she was working that keitai like an octopus that just knocked back a triple espresso shot.
I had plans to visit a Beer Garden later that evening and was seriously considering inviting her to join me. I figured that she could probably use a drink and that my company would do her a world of good.
I am very egotistical in this way.
But, offset to my ego, I have 4+ decades of experience and have been on both ends of these little comedies (which often turn tragic) so I keenly decided that any aggressive infiltration into this scene by yours truly was not strictly required. I held my cards and waited for the hand to play.

Now, and forever, Women can always afford to wait for their cards but for a Man this strategy often leaves you with empty pockets and a fistful of shit but wait, I did.
“Sometimes nuthin' is a real cool hand.”

10 mins. to go before my meeting.

At the 5 minute mark CrazyGirl came storming back up the sidewalk birddogging her prey, wild passion blinding her inflamed eyes, as Kana-chan alertly ducked behind some customers inside.
CrazyGirl entered wildly Stage Left, exited angrily Stage Right.
Gone Baby gone!

Kana-chan slid carefully into the lobby of the Hotel next door, working that ketai!

More minutes went past before Mr. Playboy, harassed, disheveled, beaten yet unbowed, crept carefully into the lobby to maintain his rendezvous.
They exited into a waiting taxi-

She looking like a Princess ready to receive her court,

He looking like a shellshocked warrior on the lookout for sniper fire and land mines.

But exit they finally did!

I sipped my coffee. Meeting late. Great.

The final tally?

They were both sweet little numbers, quite similar in terms of type- Slender, tall, medium length black hair, small breasts, flat ass, long legs, sharp like knives. So I guess that's the way he likes them but I can't really agree with his final choice for the evening.

Kana-chan was definitely dynamite but there was just something in CrazyGirls eyes.......

The fire...

The passion...

The insanity.....ahhhhhhhh.

But this is my problem, you see?

Well I hope, for the girls sake, that Mr. Incredible is either very, very rich or, at the very least, packing a powerful pistol and the willingness to use it.
And I observe that in some ways he is a lucky man but, right now, I don't really want to trade places with him.

Not tomorrow either.

Later that night I made it over to the Beer Garden next door to Kyoto Tower. The brew was ice cold, the grub decent and I thought about those wonderful girls every time I lit one up.

for my Brother.....

And I only got one of 'em.




The Gallagher boys got a new one coming out soon but I thought this one is good enough for now and always.

Just Because.....

It just doesn't get any better than these nice young boys playing the Living Hell out of this Happy Little Ditty.

And my 20-month old got a real kick out of it too so you know.....

My treat for your day.





BANG YOUR HEAD!

'Cuz it's Monday.....That's Why!

And the Irish Lads are visiting Harlem so give it a minute or two to build.

Surely the only place on Earth that this magic could happen.....




Think about it.

Blind Man's Bluff

I recently read a brief post by a blogger whose writing I very much admire (Dues Ex Malcontent- All Hail the Queen) but this particular effort really threw me.

The post and its resulting commentary unfortunately and painfully reminded me again of the aggressively idiotic, circle-jerking, log rolling, Oprahesqe attitudes we must all be enslaved to and parrot ceaselessly in this current American PC environment should we ever decide to pop our heads up out of our comfortable holes and say something we know to be true, fair, righteous or, perhaps most unforgivably, accurate.
Yes, I've separated Truth from Accuracy because my Truth (while true) may not jibe with your version but accuracy.....
Accuracy cannot be denied, it is empirical and unquestionable except to the deluded, delirious and/or willfully braindead.

Example?

My truth- President Bush is a blissfully ignorant, shamefully fog-headed, dangerously uninformed, criminally incompetent, pathetically provincial and woefully unqualified Leader of the Free World.

Your truth may be slightly different.

What is Accurate?

The Economy is in the shitter and heading for a depression, the War in Iraq/Afghanistan can best be described (very charitably) as a now 7 year and extremely expensive running stalemate, the City of New Orleans has never recovered (and most likely never will) from a F*****g Storm, gasoline is 5$ a gallon, Osama bin Laden and his minions are doing just fine and Bush 2.0 firmly believes that he has faithfully fulfilled his obligations and so we must all of us say goodbye to him, perhaps forever, come November.

See the fine but significant difference between the two? Now let's press on.

Because my message today deals not in politics of the Washington brand but in the Social and Personal varieties and to get straight to the point-

What is with this hideously moronic idea/belief/injunction espoused by so many (and constantly trumpeted by the both Liberals and Conservatives alike but mostly Liberals) that “Everyone” is “Beautiful”, “Everything” is “Art”, and, further, that everyone is qualified and thus has a “Right” to do anything they desire, lest we take it to the Courts and the lawyers, despite any reasonable and right-headed circumstances to the contrary?

Cases in Point-

Fat, ugly and elderly women, indeed all women, must be loudly and publicly declared Sexually Attractive lest we be accused of misogyny then endlessly browbeaten and summarily punished by the actually sexy of that most fair gender. It is now impossible to admit (even to ourselves) that we have specific tastes and preferences and that these preferences trump any societally driven rules laid down by the reigning PC cognoscenti. And by the way, lest we slip up, should you be a Male who possesses a genuine genetic or acquired predilection for the obese (Plus-sized), fugly (appearance challenged) or Older (Mature) woman please don't think for a moment that this mandate gives you free reign to act on your desires..no, no! If you do that then you are a sexist or just another sex-obsessed male seeking to objectify her personhood, deny her humanity and enslave her sexuality.....Freak! Heal Thyself!


All Babies must be described as Beautiful Miracles from God lest you be lashed to a Cross and burned at the stake for being a Baby hating Satanic Worshiper when realistically, I'm almost sorry to say.....OK, I'm not.....very, very few babies (and even fewer Adults) are Beautiful.
The vast majority of slimy newborns look just about the same- Fat blobs of gooey baby flesh that may or may not, most likely not, turn into an attractive adult one day. Yet to be fair, and sensible, lots of us Adults (especially the Males) are downright ugly in appearance and there isn't too much we can do about it. Maybe most of us are somewhere in the Middle (some good days, some bad days, nothing much to write home about) and only an extremely small percentage (I'm going to offer less than 10%) are truly Beautiful.
Now, does that really hurt so much? Really?
Because if it does then open up a newspaper and read the entire World News section paying particular attention to events in the 3rd World. Then reassess your situation. Then deal.



Everything is Art and Everyone an Artist. OK. I'll make this one real simple.
Norman Mailer was a writer. I'm a blogger.
Marlon Brando was an actor. I fake it to make it.
Jimi Hendrix was a musician. I can play 3 Blind Mice on the harmonica.
Diego Rivera was an Artist. I occasionally scribble drawings of Naked Chicks.
Get the Picture?



Every Citizen is entitled to do Everything and Anything his twisted little heart desires with Logic and Common Sense banished forever from our privileged lives lest it infringe on our more insanely goofy aspirations that Hollywood Movies have taught us are not only true, but also our inevitable and glorious destiny.
And so we have Blind Hunters in Texas (YES, BLIND! Not vision-impaired or sightless or any other softheaded bullshit...the Motherfuckers are walking around with loaded shotguns and they can't see their hands in front of their faces), Legally Blind Drivers in 34 of our United States (please tell me you're surprised), rampant Celebutards with legions of parasitic paparazzi who track their every meaningless movement, the WNBA and, of course and inevitably, no standards anywhere, plummeting grades everywhere but never fear because we've successfully abolished any losers in Youth athletic contests and all children must now receive the required “Achievement” awards instead.
And then we get G. W. Bush in the White House. For 8 years.
I Believe I Can Fly!


The mirror in front of us is not an apparition to be avoided at all costs, it is not a tax to be beaten, bested, broken or bought.
It's a test.
It's a Truth.
It's the most real of Laws and the Grim Reaper is gonna slap the cuffs on all of us sooner rather than later.

But, if we're living right, we can make that old bastard sweat.

'Cuz it's Monday.....That's Why!

And if Lemmy can't get your Motorhead started then...

Jack.....YOU DEAD!



Love the rhyme scheme-

"That's the way I like it,

I DON'T WANTA LIVE FOREVER!"

Could not have possibly said it better myself.

Just a Thought...

Anyone hear about the US "Hostages" released in Columbia last week? Yea...me neither.
I found what little details there were sketchy at best and I definately found the comprehensive and almost complete lack of news coverage very, very...........shall we say............curious?

Here we have one of those ''Made-for-TV-Feel-Good-All-The Way-USA'' stories that news outlets, especially Fox, love to snap up and then run with interminably until you' re forced to regurgitate the sloppy mess because it's been rammed down your throat every hour for 2 weeks running.


AMERICAN HOSTAGES FREED IN DARING RAID!


It practically ''screams ''All-American Patriotism yet somehow nary a peep was to be heard.


I smell rat.


These American hostages were captured in 2003 when they were "on an anti-drug mission" in Columbia. It has been mentioned in the Chicago Sun Times (although no other newspaper that I can find so they're either way ahead of everyone else or badly misinformed) that the hostages were "working" for US Army South.


US Army South?


We've got a corporate division attached to the United States Army suddenly? Stationed where? Doing what? To Whom?


Gentle Readers it appears that, YES, indeed there is a branch of the US Army called US Army South and its HQ is currently in Fort Sam Houston, Texas. Originally formed in 1904 to protect the Panama Canal and American interests (read Big Business) there the Division now is tasked with......well.....I don't know and I was unable to find their most recent Mission Statement anywhere. The closest I can figure is that they are there to protect us from dangerous Neighbors and rogue Nations South of the Border, well, south of Mexico anyway. No... No, they're not the Border Patrol, that's a different Team. They're more like.....um....sort of a private Government Army funded by your taxes and mandated with............ah..............who knows but the point is that they're obviously ANTI-DRUGS and have no time to be bothered with that pesky situation in the Middle East, that's a different Company. USS has got much more '' important'' work to do!


So..........Allow me to quickly review.


We've got 3 guys (sometimes described as'' Military Contracters''...sorry, but no news outlet has described them as soldiers or businessmen or diplomats or as anything clearly understood or identifiable) flying around the jungle in US Airplanes who are somehow captured by the Communist FARC Revolutionaries/Terrorists while on an "Anti-Drug Mission", held hostage for 5 years (longer than any other American anywhere), almost miraculously saved and returned to their Homeland and then...wait for it....No One has anything to say about anything nor wishes to speak to anyone in any detail concerning any circumstances?


No background, no press conference, no interviews, no features, no follow-ups???


I'm no conspiricy theorist (really, I'm not- Boothe shot Lincoln, there are no aliens in Area 51, the Saudi Terrorists knocked the Towers down and yes...Oswald was the Lone Gunman!) but this one is 2+ 2 = 5.


So let me straighten out the Math.


Us Army South = CIA


3 "Military Contracters" = CIA operatives/drug/gun runners


Anti-drug Mission = Drug Mission


Freed in Daring Raid = Ransomed, brokered or traded up before the shit finally hit the fan.


Ingrid Betencourt = Bonus irrelevant French Broad


And, last but certainly not least,

No significant News Coverage = Lap Dog News Agencies asleep at the wheel while licking the Dick that feeds them.


There. So much easier to calculate, isn't it?


Hang on a sec.........someone's pounding on my door.


Gotta Go!

28 Days Later

Nearly one month after No. 1 Roger Federer, the Crown Prince of Tennis, absorbed a brutal beatdown from the upstart No.2 Rafael Nadal on the red clay of the French Open, the pair went at it again yesterday on the sparse green grass of the All-England Club to decide this year's Wimbledon Champion.

It was worth the wait.

Mother Nature herself seemed incapable, or perhaps unwilling, of doing little more than delaying the inevitibility of this Classic Showdown. And nothing could more clearly describe the differences between the two Athletes as when they took the court for the first time after the 1st of 3 rain delays.
Federer- Graceful, serene, elegant in his throwback cardigan as he reviewed his Kingdom yet conversely retaining the solidity of a Lunchbucket Joe just here to do his job, albeit do it better than anyone on the Planet.
Nadal- Bouncing, sprinting, strutting, stalking, a perpetual motion Man with all the manic energy and raging gusto of a tough kid who just can't wait to climb in the ring and punch it out.
Federer- The cool, powerful and precise Righty.
Nadal- The explosive, tricky and tough Lefty.
Federer- The older Veteran Champion.
Nadal- The younger hungry Challenger to the Crown.

The 1st game was out of the Champions playbook as he dominated with his serve and his powerful forehand, allowing Nadal only one single burp of a point, and cruised effortlessly to take the game.
But on this day the Kid had eaten his wheaties and it was all downhill for Roger in that initial set. Nadal continually displayed solid unshakeable service to match his fantastic all-around game and terrific timing as he mauled Federer time and again, stealing a crucial 3rd game service break from the Champ before eventually putting his foot to the floor and decisively taking the 1st set, 6-4.
If the crowd was somewhat suprised, and definately delighted, at the 1st set results the suprise ended for them in the 2nd as Nadal turned up the heat and hounded Federer all over the court.

By then it was Roger's turn to be suprised.

Tennis Heads (and I'm not one of them) can certainly say what they want but the Champ at times looked frustrated and stymied by Nadal's ferocious game and steely will. Nadal continually beat back service break points while never failing to capitalize on his enemies service lapses. In addition, Federer frequently, and at the worst moments, displayed a heretofore unknown penchant for the unforced error even as Nadal's game grew more confident and steady as the match wore on, handily snatching the 2nd set from the jaws of defeat (he was down 1-4 before he stormed back), to the outright joy of the crowd this time around, 6-4 (again) with Regal Roger quite suddenly down 2 sets to none and his back pressed firmly against the wall by the ravenous Spanish Wolf Nadal.

Let me just add my admiration for both players at this point.

Because this was one of those very rare Head-to-Head Matchups in Professional Sports where no other Player could've or would've given the other guy such spectatcular fits, one of those cases of the Gentleman facing you being the Only Man Alive who could stretch the other to such Superhuman limits. This was Ali/Frazier, McEnroe/Borg, Jabbar/Walton and both Men were more than equal to the challenge and more than ready to duel to the End.

Nadal pumped up the pressure in the 3rd but both combatants brilliantly and gallantly held service until 5-4 (Federer) and then the rain.....
and the waiting......

It was 2am by this time (over in J-land) and this Kid had a date with the Sandman so......

This morning I woke to the news of an incredible 4 hour plus 5th set Nadal victory in the twilight of Center Court.
How Federer got it that far I can't imagine but, after witnessing more than half the battle, I can easily believe.

So tonite I'm hunting replays and getting set to treat myself to the Greatest Wimbledon Finish since Borg/McEnroe way back in 1980. I was around for that one and stayed glued to the tube for every glorious moment of their fabulous 5th set tiebreaker and trust me, it was worth every second of it.

The Great News?

This one is too!

All Praise the Gods of Tennis...Our Prayers have finally been answered!

HAPPY 4TH of JULY WEEKEND!

And in keeping with that solemn occasion, I humbly offer this feel good little number from some clean-cut All-American Boys, deliciously mashed for your BBQing pleasure with a couple of the more light-hearted holiday Movies from the last 3 decades or so.

Here's "Search and Destroy".

Enjoy.



Tilt 'em back for the Good Ole U S of A!

American Brilliance- Taxi Driver (1976)

“You talkin’ to me...........you talkin’ to me?”

Of course by now these words are burned into our national consciousness and cinematic lexicon along with “I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse” and “Go ahead...Make my day” but the portrait Scorsese painted of a lonely cabbie trapped in ’76 New York was considerably more user-UNfriendly. Violent, dirty, depraved and desperate his adults only streets teemed with roving gangs, aggressive hookers, abusive pimps, drug addicts, drunks, madmen and those not yet so as we witnessed this degenerate world through the eyes (quite literally) of our hero and everyman, Travis Bickle.

The film, indeed, opens on a tight shot of Travis compulsively scanning his wild, wicked and dangerous landscape. He is seeking employment and during the course of his job interview we learn almost all of what anyone needs to know about him. He is a loner, he has trouble sleeping, he is willing to take grave risks, he is painfully class conscious.

The last may go unnoticed but it is central to any understanding of Travis’ character. During his brief interview we can recognize all the components of the dysfunctional outsider- He’s somewhat smug and superior while simultaneously nervous and uneasy, he’s arrogant yet compliant as the situation demands, he desperately needs help but hates himself for having to ask.
And then he is questioned about his education and for the first time unconsciously displays his painful social isolation.

“Some.......you know......here and there.”

He squirms as he reels in self-disgust. This isolation and self-hatred will become the driving forces of Travis’ urban daydreams/nightmares.

Scorsese’s camera work is simple, elegant and electric throughout and backed by the lushly romantic and foreboding Bernard Hermann score (the film could not be the same without it) shows us a vibrant tableau of his beloved NYC scanned through the lens of Travis’ mind as he trawls the streets in search of money, love, purpose and his everlasting soul. Alone in his room Travis writes letters to what must be parents and idly journals to himself and it is this running monologue, heard as a voice-over, that faithfully tracks the agonizing collapse of Travis’ character and eventually his mind as tumbles down his moral rabbit hole into a world more suitable to his fantasies and own self-image.

The inevitability of Travis’ journey is one of the films strongest points. Given the nature of his environment, the limits of his potential and the coiled trigger of his low tolerance there is little confusion for the viewer as regards the angry storms that swirl in Travis’ mind. He is surrounded by chaos, drowning in solitude, and struggles mightily to find meaning inside it all before finally succumbing and creating his own brand of order. This is truly a tale any stressed out urban dweller can identify with and easily understand.

It’s worth noting that Travis’ 1st contact with a women is in a porno theater and is a complete and humiliating disaster. We immediately begin to grasp his confusion and empathize with his inept advances into his frightening world, he is a loser, an outcast and has very little clue. He drinks, takes pills and subsists on coffee and a horrible diet of junk food.

Yet there is hope.

During his travels through the city he discovers the lovely Betsy, as played by a radiant Cybil Shepard in a deft bit of perfect casting, a bursting-with-Life All-American Blonde Goddess. He instantly conceives of her as his “Angel”, his Madonna, his salvation, the perfect vision of beauty and purity of which he seeks and just as instantly begins to track her every move. Betsy works in the campaign office of Senator Charles Palatine who is running for President and likely to win.
Almost miraculously Travis manages to ingratiate himself with Betsy and score a coffee date, she is intrigued by his directness, sincerity and honesty if somewhat wary of his intensity and out-of-sync methods. The time goes reasonably well and Travis asks her to the movies, she agrees. The plot is shifting in a direction we cannot imagine. Travis’ wishes seem to have a chance to come true, if only temporarily, and then the Big Date arrives. Betsy looks smashing, Travis has a thoughtful gift for her, all is going well until he decides on the movie.
Again demonstrating his complete lack of personal skill, he takes her to a sleazy porn theater. She is very unsure about it all but they press on, Travis assures her,

“No...No....I heard that a lot of couples go here.”

They grab their seats, surrounded by the all-male raincoat crowd, and Betsy is immediately repulsed and offended, she bolts and Travis chases after, there is a scene as Betsy rushes to grab a cab and escape from her now sordid misadventure. He has made an irrevocable error but of course is too emotionally stunted to properly comprehend his folly. Betsy is gone. His Sacred Madonna has abandoned him alone in the streets, clutching his now returned gift in confusion and sorrow.

His life, like many a lonely man before him, has taken a grim turn.

He begins stalking Betsy in a misguided attempt to win her over that is doomed from its start. Eventually he shows up at her workplace, the Palatine Campaign HQ, and his pent-up anger and frustration erupts for the first time causing some minor ugliness and a call to the police before Travis escapes through the crowded sidewalks, more bitter and alone than ever before.

Due to the nature of any great Big City (especially NYC) and the quirks of his profession Travis has numerous, disconnected encounters that nevertheless seem, to him, to be guiding him in some important direction.

Senator Palintine himself, dashing, handsome, intelligent, articulate and wildly popular (everything Travis is not) hops in his cab and engages him in a brief conversation before Travis once again reveals his inability to correctly gauge the moment or at least rein in his anti-social tendencies before his handlers rush the Senator safely away.

A very young hooker leaps into the back seat in a panic and before he can drive away her pimp viciously rips her out of the cab,
“Be cool, Bitch!”,
throws a crumpled $20 at Travis and advises him to,
“Forget about this.”

A deranged cuckold husband (played absolutely brilliantly by Scorsese himself) orders Travis to park at a curb and observe a certain apartment then proceeds to treat Travis to a bone chilling monologue on his plans to murder his whore wife.

Travis’ eyes hyperactively take it all in.

He accidently runs into (almost literally) the young hooker again and this time tracks her down. He purchases her “services” from her pimp, Sport/Matthew (be cool, Bitch), and they repair to the room. But Travis doesn’t want what he’s paid for and what she is so very willing to give him, instead he wants to talk, he wants answers, he wants to save her.
They agree to meet the next day for breakfast. Iris (street name, Easy) is also moved and somewhat curious about this straightforward, serious, sincere, man.

At breakfast she asks if he is a narc. He replies that he is indeed and later allows that he is,

“...doing some special work for the Government right now.”

We begin to understand the choices of this painfully insignificant figure in his uncaring and mystifying world. A lowly hack sarcastically referred to by one of his fellow cabbies as “Killer”, the whipping boy of Female indifference and the silent, non-entity whose job is to transport those more important than himself to their nightly destinies however sordid those destinies may be. Travis roams the streets, searching, searching, searching for the meaning in his existence.

“And then one day there is a turning point.”

Travis is forming his own design in his head and starting to see the connections, beginning to grasp his purpose, moving toward his own destiny needing only the agent for change and that agent is his purchase of handguns.
An arsenal.

The shift in his universe is manifest and absolutely total. Before the purchase of his weapons he was nothing, now he holds the power to change the World within his hands.

And change it he does.

The 60 minute drop down to the end of Scorsese’ epic ride will have your heart in your throat all the way to the final explosive collision of Travis’ worlds and his retribution against his hated enemies, real and imagined- The Father Figure who has symbolically stolen his woman and the “scum” who degrade his existence and insult his sense of righteousness. A finale that is still shattering to this day.

Movie violence has come a long way since ’76 (and many might say a wrong way) and given the Mack Truck-going downhill-out-of-control-with-no-brakes that is screenwriter Paul Schraders’ script it is all the more incredible that Scorsese manages to pack so much tension, paranoia, uncertainty, fear and horror into the last third of his film.

Great scenes- Sport’s initial sales spiel to Travis-
“Man.. this girl.....you can cum in her face, fuck her in her mouth, fuck her in her ass....man this chick get you so hot she’ll make your dick EXPLODE!”

Travis’ gun purchase- Steven Prince as the very best salesman ever captured on film, ever!
“Now the magnum...they use that for killing elephants in Africa.”

The Bodega scene- “Hey...” BOOM!
“You get him?”

And too many more.

It is impossible to imagine this film being made today.
Indeed, it was difficult to believe it was made back then, and released into theaters Nationwide but it was and we were grateful for and properly stunned by its timely arrival. A small story written and filmed large about one man’s urban isolation, social disintegration, violent tendencies, descent into madness and eventually, in a final twist, his provident redemption.

And it’s got Albert Brooks....so there’s that too.

It’s safe to say that Scorsese broke the modern mold of cinematic Urban tales with this one and changed the direction of modern filmmaking.

A final note on the final shot.
I’ve heard numerous different theories as to its meaning and I won’t argue any of them but I prefer to take it very literally.

The World has absolutely changed, but some Men remain the same.

Thank you Sir!

George Carlin (1937- 2008)

For this one and so much more.....

American Brilliance- Taxi Driver (1976)

In 1976 I turned 13 yrs old and was obsessed with exactly 2 things in life- playing Baseball and watching Movies.
It would be difficult for any non-MTGers to even imagine the landscape of cinematic opportunities, or lack thereof, from that era but let me make it very simple. If you wanted to see a film in 1976 you had exactly 2 choices-
1). Haul your ass to the theater, buy a ticket at the box office and grab a seat or…
2). Late night television programming.
That’s it.

Please remember, however unfathomable it may seem, that this was not only pre-Netflix, this was pre-internet, not only pre-DVD but pre-VCR (remember those?). Sitting in a darkened, cavernous (by today’s standards) theater with your popcorn in one hand and your soda pop in the other while waiting for that curtain to pull and the vast screen to jump to brilliant life as it thundered sound, coming attractions and sometimes even a cartoon into your mind was your one and only chance to witness a 1st run film. Well…..wait a sec……there was the Drive-in but, you know, nobody (except overexcited 13 yr. old boys driven by their weary parents) went to the Drive-in to watch the Movie.

My childhood was a lucky one for many reasons. Chief among those was that my Father paid little attention to it. I was a privileged baby who was desperately spoiled and smothered in Moms protective Lioness Love and, perhaps because of this, was largely ignored by Pops and so was essentially free to go, do and be basically anything I wanted- Mother too wonderfully loving to punish me and Father too bored and busy to pay any real attention.
It was a sweet deal.

On occasion, however, Mom would hound Pops into taking an interest in me (perhaps assuming I wanted or needed a masculine Father Figure lest I turn sissy or something) and He would grudgingly acquiesce in, what I thought, was a decidedly clever fashion.

Now it wouldn’t take long to list His strong points but it would be unfair of me to state that he didn’t have more than a few. One of his most admirable was his savvy and unerringly accurate taste in Movies. And so on certain magical occasions after our dinner, and after much prodding from my Mother, he’d glance at me and say,
“Go get in the car.”

It was our Boys Night Out. He’d take me to see the latest and greatest flick that he himself was at least as psyched to see as I was knowing full well that I would be perfectly hypnotized by the story unfolding in front of my eyes and that he could safely and easily go back to ignoring me and otherwise enjoying himself. He could then, after 3 diligently parented hours, drop me back at home and disappear for the evening with no worries about maternal repercussions secure in the knowledge that he had faithfully fulfilled his Fatherly duty or at least that Mom could not reasonably complain.
Talk about Win-Win.

At that time, and amid the politically unstable period (post-Watergate), most social institutions were surprisingly reactionary and conservative (did I just write-at that time?) even if the Arts were not and so, unfortunately for most filmmakers and certainly viewers, the dreaded “R” rating really held some weight. It strictly meant No One Under 17 Admitted Without a Parent or Guardian.

As we breezed through the turnstiles eager and smiling.

And thus when I was 6 years young I was stunned to witness “Bonnie and Clyde” (1969) go down in a brutal hail of extended machine gun fire (weren’t the beautiful people supposed to win in the end?) and cheered at 7 as “Dirty Harry” (1971) blew the psycho killer into the lagoon then whipped his badge into the same murky water as a grand finale and shocking spit in Authority's eye.
I cringed as Sonny Corleone got much the same “B & C” treatment in “The Godfather” (1972) and then celebrated Fanucci getting His in the head in” The Godfather II” (1974).

All these and many more I watched in ravenous awe and, of course, reported faithfully back to my grade-school friends on the following Monday. Needless to say they gawked at me in slack-jawed wonder and naked envy, it would be years, and maybe decades, before they’d be able to see these same films that we’d all been dreaming of but they’d been summarily denied.
It was like I was auditing classes in cinematic Harvard while they were stuck with their noses glued to the TV Guide (do they have those anymore?) hoping that they might eventually, if they waited long enough, catch a Hitchcock or a John Ford Western if their parents let ‘em stay up late enough.

And so it was with delicious anticipation and no small amount of excitement that we prepared to view Scorsese's latest Urban Epic. Of course my Father and I had both read and heard about the controversy swirling around the film- Vile Language, Gratuitous Sex Scenes, Horrifying Violence and Irredeemable Characters trapped in a Depraved World of Sin.....

And of course we were 1st in line.

(Retrospective to follow)

Lazy Sunday- Kyoto Version

Eyes open, 12:45.

Apparently not dead yet.

Eyes still open, body failing to respond, 1:00 pm.

Coffee is in the air and the wonderful scent of bacon/eggs fills the room. I rise, fall, stumble then crawl to the dining area.

Breakfast is served. Announcements are made.

It would appear as if the In-Laws will be making a somewhat impromptu visit this day and, in fact, are due any moment. The Wife requests that I partake in a long solo shower, utililizing all available cleaning products, so that the place doesn't reek like a herd of alcoholic goats when the Parents arrive.

I open up my newspaper, stick my nose in, sip my 3rd cup of hot Joe. Request denied.

Phone rings, doorbell shortly follows. Mom is here, He's parking the car, gifts are exchanged as I abandon my paper, my peace, any sense of solitude and retreat to the shower.

Floss, brush, shower, shave, splash on some smell-well, glance intently in the mirror. Is it possible that I'm actually getting better looking as I age? I have to allow that this is a distinct possibility.

Dress quickly while the day's schedule is being discussed and coordinated in the other room. Decisions are made as I load my bag for the day and check the sky. Sunny, lovely, no complaints or threatening clouds. They are making early evening reservations for a delicious dinner in Gion (World Famous Entertainment District), I will be going to work. Sometimes it breaks that way.

3:00pm. Time to make the doughnuts.

Goodbyes are expressed and I hit the streets. It is very simply a perfectly beautiful day. I head down the River to the station for my 1st meeting, the breeze off the water is sublime. Couples are holding hands, Old folks basking in the warmth, children frolicking in the water, dogs romping on the banks. If you wanted to think about a ideal World it would have to be something close to this.

But I'm peddling fast, No Time.

Near Sanjo a giant group of rubberneckers are blocking the path. I hit my bell and treat them to my best scowl, they all smile in return and shuffle, mostly , out of my way. It seems that they are taping one of J-Lands ubiquitous TV Location specials and the cameras are rolling as I zip by. 2 of J-TV's "Talent" are miked and the crowd is gawking in awe. Neither one of them is the slightest bit talented in any redeemable manner and I detect nothing "Special" occuring so I keep pedalling.
Fast.

From Shijo to Gojo the river is full of Anglers fishing for Aiyu, a local delicacy. This sight always pleases me enormously. I've personally never seen anybody take anything out of this River but then again, I don't stick around to watch so maybe they do. I guess I just like the fact that all these Old geezers are wading knee-deep into the water, geared out like they're in Montana or at least Spain, all the while being about a 3 minute walk to any Major Train Station and a 30 minute ride home to their TV's and cold beers. Good Luck Fellas!

Nearing Kyoto Station a small single engine plane buzzes down from nowhere. I have no idea what this pilot is thinking but he is flying LOW. So low that I feel like if I stood on the roof of a 5 story building and got a good running start I just might be able to hit him with a rock, maybe. He buzzes Kyoto Tower and flies off due south. I can figure no reasonable explanation for this.

Make it to my meeting at the SBC. The girl serving me is young and beautiful and speaks flawless English. Tits like ripe grapefruit and a smile like sunshine. If there's a better combination I've been waiting 45 years to see it.

Meeting productive. 5:00pm.

Phone rings. Next meeting is calling to cancel, stuck in Tokyo and can't make it.

YES!

Dinner, here I come.

Taxi to the resturaunt, 6:00pm. The ride is, like all Kyoto taxis, smooth, clean, quiet and quick. I may never get tired of this service.

1st time in Gion, humming with anticipation. The disappointment begins.

Our waiter (Did they run out of beautiful Girls or something?) appears to be a teenage Boy and about as sharp as a bowling ball.

Food is served and the 1st dish is fantastic, best daikon salad I have ever had, bar none.

We wait for the next dishes.

And wait.

Wait.

This will prove to be a theme for the evening.

Minor emergency during dinner and I have to leave the place for 10 minutes or so. As I exit I am offered wooden clog type shoes which I slip on and head into Gion. I turn a few corners and have entered a blissfully silent part of the District, I can hear absolutely nothing but the soft "klok, klok, klok" of my chanklas off the cobblestones. It is a lovely, lonely sound. I peer up and notice very old burn marks on some of the wooden buildings, maybe there for decades or hundreds of years.
Klok, Klok back to the food.

The check arrives, 9ish. Father-in-Law is at last pleased. If not entirely salvaged the evening cannot be described as a total loss. The food, when it managed to arrive, was delicious. The Service? Less said the better. As we take our leave we notice a family of 4 at an adjoining table also making a break. They seem even less pleased than we. I will not mention the name of the eatery.

9:30pm, time for the Boys and Girls to split up. We will be repairing to a local Drinking Hole, they will be returning home.

Oto-San makes the Call and picks, of all things, an English Style Pub we've visited previously, run by 2 young Japanese guys.
The bar is suprisingly crowded as we sit, order. Directly behind us is a group (5) of Japanese and one American girl and she is doing much of the talking, in English.
She's talking a lot! The artsy type who talks about Big Cultural themes and Intellectual Ideas and Artistic Projects and so I conceive an instant dislike for her. Oh well. I bend to my beer as Oto-San engages the couple next to him on the barstool in conversation.
I smoke, drink, aggresively ignore.

The American Girl gets up to use the Jane, I turn to regard her for the 1st time as she walks away. Whoa!
Tight jeans, long lean legs, swinging hips, sweet ass, tattoos or in other words-My Type. As she returns to her table I add fresh face and great smile to her resume and immediately reevaluate my opinion. Our eyes meet, as they say, and we don't waste any time with introductions. We jump into conversational intercourse but I am wary. The closer I look (and we're at kissing distance so I'm looking awful damn close) the more she reminds me of the Ex and I can't determine whether I love her or hate her so, realizing the unfairness of it all, decide to do neither.
Great smile though.

Her group leaves and Oto-San intoduces me to his new friends. They are Larry and his Wife, Naoko. Naoko used to teach H.S. at the same place Oto-san attended, guite unbelievable considering that she is in great shape and doesn't seem a minute over 40. This makes him ecstatically happy. There is much drink before He invites L§N back to my home for further festivities.
We all walk.
Larry has any number of interesting stories about the West Coast Music Scene of the 80's and 90's of which he took part. We arrive home and he shows us some cool computer stuff.

After Midnight. L&N head for their home followed by the In-Laws, likewise. The Wife repairs to Bed.

Alone at last.

I pop in a DVD and relax. Sometime after 1 in the am.

I remember absolutely nothing of my movie or of turning off the TV but somehow make it safely next to her.

When I have a tankful of beer, shochu, whiskey and cigarettes I very rarely have dreams of any kind, this time is no exception.

10:45, Monday morning, eyes open.

It's time to make the doughnuts.

We are currently experiencing Technical Difficulties

Many apologies, Patient Readers, but recently we suffered a minor setback here at Analogblog HQ.

The problem evolved according to the following formula-

3 Moms chatting divided by 3 16-20 month old toddlers running wild + 2 sippy cups full of tea + 1 unattended Laptop computer =

Well.....you do the math.

But our crack squad of experts is on the job and with any luck I should have a decent (or hopefully indecent) post in the next day or three.

Thanks for your patience.

Memories.....

Dreaming of the Ex (and maybe all the Exes) so this one is for you.



Great God how I want you...

What a Gal!

In a previous post (5-10-08, Lie, Steal, Cheat, Kill...or Beg)) astute readers may recall that I doubted the sociopathic Senator Clintons' intentions to scrape for a brand new low in this 08' campaign.

The Lady has forever put my doubts to rest.

In what has got to be the quintessential Hillary Moment the Senator from the Great State of New York actually, truly, seriously invoked the memory of what is certainly one of the most horrible tragedies to befall the Democratic Party, the entire Nation or even the World-at-Large, not to mention the Kennedy Family themselves, as a sound reason for continuing her desperate, and now despicable, run at the Democratic nomination for President of these United States.





So.....let me get this straight Senator.

You're hanging on by your claws, as a grand favor to the American People, just in case your opponent happens to be killed?

You are one Class act M'am!

The Nation salutes you!

In the event that anyone is unclear about the Senator's meaning she hammered her message home with her subsequent non-apology the following day.
She began with "If..."
As in-
"If the Kennedy Family or the voters were offended....blahblahblah.....Then I apologize"

Gee....Ya Think?

What a Gal!

Mr. & Mrs. Emotional Whack-A-Mole, Welcome to the Oprah Winfrey Show

Well, it’s happened. On Thursday a Federal Grand Jury and the L.A. District Attorney Thomas O’Brien indicted the woman behind the alleged MySpace scam that may or may not have led to the suicide of 14 yr. old Megan Meier back in 2006.
I’ve already amply covered the repulsive, redundant and universal idiocy of this malignant affair so I’ll try not to rehash the moronic particulars.

http//everybodylikespizza.blogspot.com/2008/01/thinning-herd.html

Suffice to say that, Yes, I did indeed write Federal Grand Jury!
And I guess good Ole Tommy O’Brien is gonna get to the bottom of this one and make the world safe and secure for hyper-emotional teenage beanbags everywhere by prosecuting everyone who ever sends unkind messages to anyone on the Internets, EVER!
After that he’s gonna cure Cancer then solve that pesky AIDS problem.
All brought to you taxpayers, of course, by the same Office that handled that OJ deal so expertly.
I may be whistling Dixie here but I’m going to guess that there just might, possibly, maybe, could be one or two other tiny little cases that require the District Attorney’s priority attention in Los Angeles before he tackles the scourge of Cyber-Meanness and thus puts an end to Teen Suicide in Missouri forever but, apparently, this circus of circle-jerking grief will continue nonetheless.
If you have the time and really enjoy peering through the Legal Lookingglass take a few minutes and read the “Overt Acts” section of the Federal Indictment. I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.

http://i.cdn.turner.com/cnn/2008/images/05/15/my.space.drew.indictment.pdf

In another astounding bit of hysterical lunacy over 85% of those polled believed prosecution was in order and appropriate. I 100% hope that I never meet that 85%.

Should the Prosecution win, however, I believe I have the ideal punishment to fit the crime.

Chain her to her PC and force her to log on to MySpace, Facebook, Friendster, etc. etc. etc. for 12 hours a day responding to each and every single “friend” request she receives for an entire year.
If she ever comes near a computer again after that she’s a better man than me!

Our Own "Born" Identity (continued)

So the deal was struck.

We set the date (my only official day off) and the time then hammered out the plan. We would take the train together, she helping me with directions/language etc., then I would ride my junker back solo. It all seemed quite sensible. Logical, even.

It may shock no one but on the evening previous to the date (my only Holiday I would like to remind one and all) I imbibed a mythic amount of sophisticated Adult beverages before repairing to my slumber. Needless to say, I was in something akin to less-than-perfect condition the following morning…..well……..actually…………early afternoon.

The plain fact is that I was paralyzed, almost comatose, just barely capable of basic motor function and absolutely stripped of any ability to operate at a recognizably Human level. Eat, drink, piss, shit, this was about all I could manage. If the building were to catch fire I would have never made it out alive.

The Wife was eerily calm.

Breakfast was served, coffee followed and I accomplished these tasks heroically, I thought. I was becoming quite proud of myself. She, however, did not appear to be impressed by my agonizing recovery from wanton self-destruction. After my second cup she spoke.

“So let’s leave in an hour and that should give us plenty of time…….OK?”

I regarded her as a novice climber might regard Mt. Everest looking up from the bottom.

“Yea………….you know………………fuck that.”

Let it not be said that at crucial moments I lack eloquence.

The Storm began to build. At first she gently urged then softly requested then sincerely implored then desperately demanded and finally furiously commanded me to live up to our deal and make good on my promise as I sat there and vegetated over my caffeine. I needed to crawl back under the covers and hide from all that Life might offer, she was working herself into a frenzy of energy and determination. That bike would be hers and no Man or God would stop her. I was harnessing all the power and mobility of a stone dead battery so, suffice to say, we were somewhat at odds.

Names were called, epithets exchanged, curses shared.

Finally she called the play.

“FUCK YOU……If you don’t get up right now then I’m going to get that bike by myself and you can GO TO HELL!”

She grabbed her keys and made for the door.

She was holding a Full House- Aces over Kings. I had a handful of garbage. I folded.

I have a minor skill of which I am inordinately proud. It is my standing boast that I can get showered, flossed, brushed and dressed, making myself presentable to the World-at-Large and ready for photo opportunities, under any conditions in 5 minutes or less.
As she stormed towards the door I put that skill to good use.

My point is this.

Had any Man called my bluff I would’ve certainly laughed in his face as he hit the door. Were Force used I would’ve been happy, if not quite able, to answer with equal or greater Force.
There was nothing I wanted, nowhere I wanted to go and nobody who could’ve made me anyway.

But when She called me out………

“Then figure it out then.”

Women have a strength that calls us to action as no other can. Politicians, Presidents, Bosses, Bullies, enemies, friends or neighbors, they can all spit into the wind but her words show me where to place my feet and raise my fists.

Her words say.

Get in the Game, Man……’cuz we need you!

And, of course, as is so often the case in these matters, it turned out to be a beautiful day.

'Cuz it's Monday.....That's why!

And this week I'm taking No Prisoners.



I humbly urge you to do the same.

Lie, Steal, Cheat and Kill.......or Beg

I doubt if this represents a new low in the game we call Politics but, I'll be Damned, Hillary and her Camp did indeed stun me with this one! Astute readers have doubtless already heard but the Wicked Witch of the West just yesterday fired off a personal letter to Senator Obama asking him to join her in righting what she perceives to be a grievous wrong.
It may be shocking to some but this aid she seeks (from the opponent that she's been viciously clipping for weeks now) may be to her benefit and hers alone.

Check out a glimpse into the mind of a privileged liberal sociopath who may just believe that the World(or at least the USA) owes her something.

www.huffingtonpost.com
(The Huffington Post: Hillary's Hastily Penned Open Letter to Obama)

I'll bypass the cheap shots at her spelling errors and the greasily desperate tone of her language and leave it at this- Men often complain that Women not only don't play by the Rules but that they live their lives completely absent of any acknowledgement of said Rules and with almost no restrictions on their Public or Private behavior.

I wonder why.

There is one thing, however, I have to admit after reading Senator Clinton's letter.

She's got some pretty big balls.

Our Own "Born" Identity

One of the many reasons I love to huddle in the darkness and watch movies is for that tiny revelatory moment when your/our humanity shines like a brilliant beacon from someplace on high illuminating even our most mundane moments and allowing us all to remember what we are, once were or might someday become.
And of course sometimes I just like to watch shit blow up real good but…..

I recently, for the 2nd time, re-viewed “The Bourne Identity” and was struck anew by that thrilling bolt of lightening from the blue. A small exchange at a very complicated moment in the story, a very simple conversation between Bourne and his-not-yet-GF Marie, reminded me very clearly of one of the more important reasons I love Women and the many things they do.

But first some personal background.
It would be more than fair to state that during my 3 Adult decades on the planet I’ve been accused, almost exclusively by wonderful, intelligent woman, of being either sexist or sex-obsessed.
In response I would like to plead Nolo contendere.

Sexist?
Of course I am! I am, after all is said and done and through no conscience decision and very little fault of my own, a man. This means that a major portion of my arsenal in this Jungle we live in is my ability to instantly identify and assess people based on their gender but, please understand, because there are only two (you know, strictly speaking) I can’t and won’t claim any great pride in this skill although it does come in awfully handy during Mating Season. I don’t, however, judge based on gender because that might get in the way of getting the job done.
If you can play, welcome to the team.
If you can’t, adios.

Sex-obsessed?
Seriously? Ladies, the filing of these types of charges is exactly what has us all chasing our collective, horny tails while adding to the garbage heap of frustration that is Adulthood instead of fulfilling our, at last, obtainable fantasies while simultaneously spreading love, joy and peaceful satisfaction on our one-way rocket ride to the end of this too short journey.
Sex is spiritual food, a cosmic life affirmation, a physical recharge of the old batteries and a cleansing flush of our muddy oil if you’re doing it right and, if you’re doing it wrong, it’s just wild damn fun and a nice workout before you hit the sack, at least for Us.
And
That
Is
Why
All Men are obsessed with sex!

And the lack of sex? Probably behind every bad decision ever made in the History of Mankind and I do mean Mankind! Every High Crime, low misdemeanor, embarrassing indiscretion and case of just plain poor judgment can most likely be traced to the fact that He was bitterly flogging his dolphin last night (or for the last 60 nights) instead of tucking his starving body into the warm, inviting feast that is You.
The Male equation is simple-

More love= Sound Thinking, Good Intentions and Righteous Actions
Less Love= Bad Judgment, Poor Decisions and Malignant Results.

If women are sexual camels (a bare minimum can be stored and used for a long time with no ill effect to the owner) then men are certainly sexual sharks (we have to constantly keep swimming forward or we die)! I feel no need to belabor a point I think I’ve reviewed in the past and this is strictly Adult Relations 101 but Girls-
Accusing a man of being obsessed with sex is like accusing him of being tall or short or hungry. Our/My response?
“yea…..And?”

But today I’m working a level quite separate from S-E-X (I remain capable of these occasionally Superhuman feats of concentration) as I try to examine my other compulsions, my other than puerile admiration of the Fairer Sex being chief among these.
And so…
back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Bourne and Marie have barely survived a harrowing, violent car chase and very narrowly escaped the Lawdogs who are doubtless still in pursuit and more feverish than ever for their capture. Bourne has amnesia and has no idea who he is or why people are chasing him. The couple have spent only a short time together, perhaps 36 hrs, but Marie has been giving him the Look while he isn’t looking. They’re in an underground parking lot, momentarily safe, when Bourne calls the play. It’s time they split up.
He’s given her the money and firmly believes she will be safer alone.
Marie has other thoughts.

Bourne, adrenalin pumping, deeply confused, almost hysterical, back-to-the-wall and desperate for a way out yells at her,
“Marie, I don’t know who I am, I don’t know why they’re chasing me, I don’t know what to do………….I’VE GOT TO FIGURE THIS OUT!”

Marie, calm and quite suddenly very collected regards him. She coolly measures him and comes to her own decision as she softly tells him the only thing he needs to hear but is too afraid to even think.

“Then figure it out.”

Her implication is hard, fast and crystal clear. Figure it out you idiot because I’m dying to make love to you and be Your Woman and I’m not gonna have anything get in the way of that so don’t you dare turn into some kind of Candyass on me now!

Bourne, sensing her resolve and feeling her feeling, calms down, catches his breath, regroups his cool and immediately jumps back into Asskicking mode.
Later that night she makes good on her promise and throws the Love all over him so maybe he could’ve done it without her but why would you want to anyway?

And it’s exactly that feeling of Feminine Strength and calm in that Masculine storm of anger and confusion….
That taste of cold steel inside that sweet soft package…..
That faithful promise that everything, or maybe nothing, will be alright if you just ACT LIKE A MAN!

This is what makes me love them now and always.

In moments of stress I can easily, frighteningly easily, devolve into a violent, panicky, senseless, stupid animal futilely banging his head against his own cage unless or until……..

Those hard words come from that loving, generous gift of beauty and all things good.

“Come back with your shield…or on it.”

Recently around these parts we had our own mini-crisis. My bike (as in bicycle, YES, I'm a grown man and I ride a bcycle, OK? it ain't easy being Green) got jacked by the Kyoto City Parking Pirates, not a terribly uncommon occurrence among residents here unfortunately but, because I ride damn near everyday for Business not Pleasure and as my wheels were neither expensive nor of any great sentimental value, I had a somewhat sticky decision to make.

1.) Spend the day taking the train to another train to a long lonely walk to the pound where I would fork over my fine money, retrieve my beat wheels then start the looooooong trek back home. Or…..
2.) Fuck that shit and Kyoto City, let ‘em keep my low-rent junk and go buy a brand new set of shiny pedals.

Needless to say I opted for No. 2.

Then came the curveball.
Purchase shiny new pedals we did but for reasons inexplicable to me, the Wife decided to buy one of those Eco/Urban/Mountain/Assault Bikes that cost more than anything without a motor has any right to cost. I was unable to stop or, in lieu of that, talk good sense to her.

The SuperBike was all mine.

I was immediately uncomfortable. I neither enjoyed riding this gleaming gold mine of unreasonable expense nor could I properly relax whenever and wherever I parked it. I deeply resented having to keep a weather eye on this ostentatious albatross yet couldn’t stop myself from neurotically doing so. I’d gotten used to parking my beat-up old scooter almost anywhere and walking away without a second thought but now it was like I was mentally chained to this gaudy symbol of materialism.
The situation rapidly became untenable.
Luckily, She had a solution.
We, meaning Me, could retrieve my Old bike from the pound then switch wheels, she taking the new set and selling her old, me going back to my safe, cheap, friendly and familiar mode of transport.
I could not argue, and did not even want to, the utter and unassailable logic of this plan.
Our deal was struck.

to be continued.....

Everybody's got one of 'em

Overrated- Wine
Underrated- Whiskey

Overrated- "I Love Lucy"
Underrated- "The Honeymooners"

Overrated- Metallica
Underrated- Black Sabbath

Overrated- Jessica Simpson's tits
Underrated- Jessica Biel's ass

Overrated(by the entire world excluding the USA)- Soccer
Underrated(by the entire world excluding the USA)- American Football

Overrated- Deepthroat
Underrated- Kissing

Overrated- Marriage
Underrated- Partnership

Overrated- The Tonight Show with Jay Leno
Underrated- The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson

Overrated- Obama
Underrated- Gen. Wesley Clark

Overrated- Bluejeans
Underrated- Khakis

Overrated- "Citizen Kane"
Underrated- "Groundhog Day"

Overrated- friends
Underrated- solitude

Overrated- E-mail
Underrated- letters

Overrated (sometimes)- Dylan, Lennon, Hendrix
Underrated (sometimes)- Dylan, Lennon, Hendrix

Overrated- the Yankees
Underrated- the Cubs

Overrated- Lohan
Underrated- Selma Blair ( great good god how I love her and if you're reading this S please call)

Overrated- cocaine
Underrated- marijuana

Overrated- offspring
Underrated- A life alone

Overrated- University
Underrated- Hard Knocks

Overrated- Tea
Underrated- Coffee

Overrated- The Ex
Underrated- The Ex

The only thing that can't be overrated- Life
The only thing that can't be underrated- Death

A Little Lick of Japan

I've been waiting half of forever to turn my Western Friends (who may have missed the News) onto the Yoshida Brothers and I finally managed (after much searching) to find the Whopper most proper. The Brothers play the very traditional Japanese 3-stringed instrument known as the Shamisen but they work 'em with, what I think, is a very unique vibe.

Enjoy.




Hope you liked my vocals.