The Blue Rockers

A story about a 60's garage band that didn't make the big time and some of the reasons why it didn't.

March,1965

We played our break song, put our instruments down and got off the stage. One more 30 minute set and we would be done for the night. Sylvia had just finished “Ruby Baby”. The kids liked to dance to it so we had played it three times in the last 90 minutes. Our gig was for 2 hours plus 2 twenty minute breaks. Good thing, too. Our song catalog only had 17 songs so we did a lot of repeats. I kept track of which songs got the kids dancing and which ones didn’t. We played “Ruby Baby” one more time.

As we headed out the door Jer asked me how many kids we had in the audience. I said the ticket guy told me 143. I thought Jer was figuring out our ‘take’ from the receipts but he was thinking about the heat in the club. Jer kept to himself a lot. It was hard to tell his mood just by looking. His quirky humor put some people off so maybe that’s why he was a quiet guy most of the time – once burned, twice shy.

 “Average body temperature is 98.5 x 143 means it's about 10,000 degrees Fahrenheit in there!”, he said. Well, it was not exactly the way to gauge the ambient temperature, but he had a point. It was hot under the lights all the time but we didn’t feel hot and sweaty until we put our instruments down between sets. The low ceiling, which was ok for the retail store it used to be, was too low for masses of sweaty, fast dancing teenagers giving off heat like animated kerosene heaters.

We were playing at a Teen Club in a strip shopping center that was going to seed because larger shopping centers were siphoning away the tenants. Tonight we were playing for a half fee but we had gotten another job out of it for next week. I went outside to cool down. Sylvia was there. She was the spark plug of our group. Her charisma and great smile made us and our audiences feel good. “We need new songs”, she said. 

Teen Club: You could dance, meet your friends, but no alcohol was served

That wasn’t all we needed. We were high school guys who knocked together a rock and roll band in an age when rock and roll was fairly simple. All we had to know was a handful of chords on our guitars and have enough musical sense to arrange them in the order required by the cookie cutter songs of the day. Or to put is as humanely as possible, we were a notch or two below an average garage band. 

Typical 60's garage bands. Note the "massive" guitar amplifiers. The one at the far right was probably about 50 watts, max.

Delicados Ovalados

I could see Alex across the parking lot chatting up a girl as usual. Our lead player, Vic, and our drummer, Jer, were smoking nearby. They were sharing one of Vic’s awful cigarettes. We never let him smoke those things in the car. They were called Delicados and Vic thought they were really cool. They were oval instead of round and the tip that touched the lips was lightly sugared. But, God, they stank. We could tolerate Jer’s Camels and Bobby’s Luckies but the Delicados? No.

Bobby was nowhere in sight but I knew he and his long time girlfriend were in his car making out. They had been dating for over a year and it looked as ‘serious’ as any relationship between any pair of 17 year olds – volatile then treacly by turns - depending on who knows what. I don’t remember how he became our bass player but he was better at bass playing than Alex, Jer, or I, were with our guitars and drums.

When the break was over we went in and finished our last set. Next week would be playing at the Army base for money.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

April, 1965

By the time I dropped everybody off at their houses it was 1:30 AM, Sunday morning. I stopped off at Tiko’s Tacos for a nightcap. It was nearly full. Well, it was a small walk-in diner across the street from a cemetery you wouldn’t know was there because of the tall evergreen hedge. The only thing missing now was the beer to go along with the tacos and the tasty salsa. You had to be 21 to buy beer unless you went across the border to the bars in Juarez where the legal age is nobody’s concern. I was wishing I had taken my girlfriend dancing at the Copa Banana just over the Mexican border instead of driving 18 miles past the city limits to play at the EM club on the Army base.

After paying for gas our split was $15 each for a 3 hour performance in front of 100 or so freshly recruited Army boots. After nine weeks of womanless basic training anything resembling a woman looked sexy to them. Sylvia could have commanded them to do 100 laps around the club if she wanted. With only 17 songs, we didn't have a "repertoire", just 17 songs, so we repeated a lot of them. As she sang “Ruby Baby” for the fourth time, she looked like she was ready to pull up a chair and sing it sitting down instead of rocking with the music. That was trouble. Sylvia could almost always be described in one word – upbeat. If she was down, that meant that tonight we were so stale even she can’t save us.

I decided to talk to Alex and Jer about adding new songs but that would have to wait till Monday at school. And the other problem was where can we practice? The last time we practiced at Bobby’s house his mom caught Vic and his girl making out in the kitchen. I don’t think they were doing anything really heavy or she would have made us all leave. She just made the girl leave. No problem for Vic. He’s the lead guitar. He has lots of groupies. Whoever that girl was, there’ll be another one to replace her. Vic and Alex were in a silent competition to see who could attract the most girls. By my calculations, Vic was up by about three since Alex had fallen in love with one of his victims and had been dating her steadily for a couple of months. Alex was a social climber but Vic was a collector. We all envied Vic.

Alex could sound as though he actually played tennis.

Alex’s criteria for girlfriends were simple but fairly high for a guy from a lower class background. The girls had to be good looking and they had to be two or three steps higher than he in the social ladder. He was a charming guy, able to affect a sort of sophistication that fooled a lot of girls and some adults. He never found out that for three months last Fall his girlfriend and I had been busy learning about each others bodies in her parents’ bedroom. For all his charm, pseudo-sophistication and numerous girlfriends, Alex’s explorations with sex were very timid and his girl was really curious about the carnality she was feeling. She confided her frustration to me and to use a time worn cliché, one thing led to another and we managed to satisfy each others curiosity. They continued dating for a few more months then broke up when Alex found what he thought was a better looking girl.

We got together at Bobby’s to practice but Bobby couldn’t get the bass runs and that threw Jer’s drumming off which threw Alex off so we gave up on two new songs after two and a half hours of trying. Bobby’s mother looked in and counted heads. Satisfied that everybody’s feet and hands were where they were supposed to be she went back to her gardening in the back yard.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

May, 1965

The next show was in a little farming town about 30 miles south. We had to go with the same 17 songs again but we figured we’d be ok. The kids there were starved for live entertainment even if it meant hearing the same songs several times. It was a school dance in a good sized auditorium called El Rancho Grande. It was on a Friday night so we had to hustle out of school, pack our stuff and race to make it in time. The problems started right away. Bobby wanted to bring his girl and Sylvia’s cousin visiting from Colorado wanted to come too. So we were eight people, guitars, amplifiers and a full set of drums stuffed into a smallish station wagon and a 4 door sedan. It was summer. It was hot. We were packed in so tight we could barely breathe. Ten miles out of town Sylvia’s cousin announced that she had to pee. There were no bathrooms for miles around this farm country so I told her she’d have to hold on for the next 20 miles or get out of the car and pee by the roadside. Five miles later she said I gotta go now. So we stopped. We all laughed when Jer said, “I wonder if she’ll be pissed off when she comes back”. 

The Blue Rocker's Tour Bus

 

If I meet him I'll ask him to forgive us

I guess there were about 150 kids at the Rancho Grande waiting for us to arrive. The stage was about 4 feet above the dance floor, much higher than at the other places where we played. The kids had to look up at us at steep angle which made them look like hungry puppies waiting for us to give them treats. The chaperones assigned to guard the virtue of the girls were stationed at the entrance, the three exits and at various points along the walls. We started the show as usual with Vic playing a credible version of “Memphis”. Vic was good and the rest of us were just adequate for this number. It didn’t matter to the kids. They jumped and danced, working off weeks worth pent up energy. Then we did “Johnny Be Good” with me and Alex singing a duet followed by an extended version of “Twist and Shout”. The dancing kids were exhausted and some of them looked to us hopefully, as though asking us to give them a slow dance so they could rest a little and to have an excuse to rub their bodies against each other. It was time for Sylvia to show her stuff. That girl had a mellow voice that belonged in a bikini, and her body was a perfect 34-34-34. She sang “Sixteen Candles”, another slow song then ripped into “Kansas City”. We took our first break.

Vic had already singled out a nice looking girl who was alone at the dance. He’d given her several looks as he played so when we took our break he moved fast to cut her out of the herd. Alex watched from the stage, biting his lip as he mentally added one more win in Vic’s column. Jer and Bobby went outside to get some air. I went to get Sylvia a coke while she talked with several guys who had gathered around her.

We were about to begin the second set when we noticed that Vic wasn’t there. Jer hustled out to look for him but came back a couple of minutes later shaking his head  --- no Vic. We had to go without him. Alex said let’s play “Green Onions”. Good choice. It was simple to play and he knew that I had been practicing the lead portion of the song. But there were two problems. I would have to use Vic’s guitar because his amp had more power than mine and he played with the guitar high up on his chest so the strap was too short for me. To solve this I sat on a chair off stage and we played it through. Towards end of the song we saw Vic out in the crowd stretching his neck up, standing on his toes trying to see who was playing the lead. He was angry about us playing without him but got over it when he saw that I was the usurper.

It was over at 11:30. Our audience was tired but excited. A few of them told us they liked our band and when were we doing another show. I helped Jer with his drums while Bobby and his girl were cooing at each other against a wall. Alex was trying to score some points with the girl Vic had captured but she only had eyes for Vic who had most likely promised to call her the next day. Sylvia, whose only gear was an enormous purse, watched us pack up.

Driving home everybody was in a good mood. We kidded each other about playing the wrong notes or losing the beat but we were tired and soon a few of us nodded off.

$2 would buy 6 gallons of fuel

Five miles from the city limits we stopped for gas and everybody got out of the cars and stood around while I pumped $2.00 worth of gas. I gave the attendant a $20 bill. It was from the cash we’d been paid for our show and it was the smallest denomination I had. He couldn’t make change because the owner only left $10 in the till after midnight. Since the gas was already in the car he couldn’t let us go and be short in his register tally so he called the owner to ask him what to do.

The guy couldn't break my $20 bill

 I leaned on the counter as I waited. Outside, the guys were leaning against the cars. Vic had set fire to one of his stinky Delicados and was probably bragging to Alex about the girl he corralled at the dance. I could see Alex giving Vic his man-of-the-world smirk, “Yeah, I did that, too”. But Vic knew better. Jer was drumming on the fender with his fingers, apparently explaining to Bobby some new rhythm he wanted to try. I could tell Bobby was listening because every time his girl pulled his arm he would shrug it off. Sylvia and her cousin were talking, their heads close together.

What a crew. We were the Blue Rockers who together could string enough guitar and drum sounds in unison to make people dance. None of us had enough talent to play at a higher level than the one we occupied. None of us had aspirations to move on to better bands. We didn’t kid ourselves that we would ever be any better than we were now. But, damn, it was fun.

      Disclaimer 1: Some of the characters in this writing are fictional and some are not. Some of the events described actually happened and some did not but more than 45 years on, I don't remember which is which

~ Time Served

     Disclaimer 2: No musical instruments were harmed by the Blue Rockers, unlike the music on which they visited much violence.
~ Time Served

Just nod and say, "Uh, Huh"

On December 31, 2007, 12:00 PM I left my office for the last time. There was no one there to bid me farewell, wish me luck, or lament my leaving. All my co-workers were on Christmas holiday. I redirected my phone line to the secretary’s phone, turned off the lights, locked the doors and went home. I was unemployed and officially laid off but eligible for recall by my former company though I was pointedly told that that would not happen. The company I worked for had been sold.

Some people think it’s ironic that after spending my entire adult life working on and with consumer electronics (TV’s, stereos, satellite dishes) I don’t own a TV. The same people might think I’m being elitist in some way that lets me brag about the fact that I don’t watch television like the vast majority of lesser folks. Actually, the reason is more prosaic. I don’t have a TV because there isn’t much I want to watch. Paying subscription fees to DirecTV or Comcast doesn’t make sense if you’re only interested in a handful of programs; and furthermore, if you miss those programs, there is a ‘so what’ moment in which you understand that if you never see those shows again your life will not change in any way whatsoever.

"Everybody lies" ~ House

The other night I was watching an episode of “House, M.D.” on Hulu. “House” is about a brilliant doctor whose misanthropy closely mirrors mine. My mastery of my profession doesn’t remotely resemble House’s fictional one but we are pretty close in our views about human nature. But all that aside, Hulu provides its internet users with current TV programs for free but has periodic commercial breaks. The frequency of the interruptions is about the same as regular TV watching but with a curious addition. The commercials are interactive. As the commercial plays a message appears at the top right of the computer screen asking: “Is this advertising relevant to you?  “Yes”  /  “No”. You can click “Yes” or “No” and Hulu responds with a polite thank you message.

I usually respond “No” because commercials for women’s makeup don’t apply to me. I already have good insurance; I don’t eat fast foods; my pets eat store brand kibble; I don’t suffer from high blood pressure, anxiety, chronic back pain, irritable bowel syndrome, or rickets; I’m not looking for a new car. In fact, based on my “No” responses my relevance to Hulu’s commercial sponsors is zero. I cement my disinterest even more by muting the sound during commercials, which if there is some way they can know this too, the advertisers could in theory, block my access but that would be overkill. Besides, I could be watching the program, muted commercials and all, with someone for whom the advertising is relevant. 

Dr. House was busy solving yet another mystery that had baffled the entire medical community. The scene closed as House insulted his staff for 137^th time. I looked away as the commercial played and saw a photograph of me petting Nipper, our company mascot, almost eighteen years ago. Considering that the pup was about 4 years old at the time, he must be over 150 years old now. And I’ll bet any money that I’m in better shape than he is. The color picture has been fading steadily and in a few years it will scarcely be visible. I’m fading from that memento as surely as I’m fading into irrelevance in the workaday world. 

 

In Doggy Dollars he earned 7 times my salary

Even though that sounds gloomy, the opposite is true. Anonymity has been sort of an unplanned goal of mine for many years. Just as I did, nearly every working person I’ve known in the last forty years has said that they daydream about being ‘out of the rat race’. Well, it feels great to be free of office hours, frequent travel, annoying co-workers, deadlines, freeway traffic, and PTA meetings, among dozens of other demands of pre-retirement life.

I've Fallen and I can't get up

My cell phone is permanently turned off. Telemarketers are discouraged from calling my home phone because I signed up with the Do Not Call directory. When LDS members knock on my door I tell them that I’m a lapsed Mormon and they flee as though from the devil himself. I got that tip from a friend who told me LDS members are commanded to have no contact whatsoever with members who have “fallen” into apostasy.

I actually like people but only for short periods unless they know something I want to know. My reserve of small talk so tiny that I have to prepare and rehearse bits of information whenever I know I’m going to be among people other than my family. Using a trick I learned from my dog, I do a lot of nodding and cocking my head when someone tells me details about their lives that they shouldn’t be telling anyone but their Confessor. 

No......... I did not know Snooki was such a bitch

A long time ago I read a dedication to book whose title I’ve forgotten now. To paraphrase the dedication it said that if you can sit perfectly still, the world will unfurl itself at your feet. I took that to mean that if you paid attention and listened closely you could know everything you would ever need to know. With today’s technology I can sit perfectly still and watch the world unfurl itself on my laptop. My fast internet connection allows me to know of events large and small from the world over. I partake of lots of silliness as well as hard news about various predations taking place here and elsewhere. Thanks to the internet I can take a long view of history which tells me that the arrival of Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse isn’t imminent. In fact, they haven’t even saddled up yet. 

Lots of horsepower and horse pucky

It’s really hard to organize even a smallnumber of individuals to do anything in unison. Just ask any high school basketball coach. 

Just once, can you do it like you practiced?

 

The world may not know or care who or where I am but I know where the world is.

Be a good girl and give me the knife, Catalina

(Holiday fiction for the survivors)

I spend a lot of time on the internet reading political news blogs. Blogs that are published in the fall tend to focus on holiday themes – Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hanukah, football, and shopping. Among the topics there are many bloggers who write nostalgically about going home for the holidays, meeting up with friends and family for get togethers full of cheer and bonhomie. There are also many, many other bloggers who are filled with dread at the thought of another bout of sibling rivalry replete with clashing social and political views. At the office we all hear about everyone’s dysfunctional families in which the teller of the tale is the only reasonable, sane person. Looking back at my own history I concur with that finding. I was the only sane and reasonable person at my family’s holiday parties. My brothers and sisters were all nuts.

What our minds think we remember

Probably closer to how it really was

Twenty years ago, there we were again at Mom & Dad’s house for the annual November family get together. We had arrived early as was our custom do some clean up, set up the adults table, the kids table, cool the wine and sneak in some early snacking – tamales, stuffed jalapenos, while avoiding the awful wine coolers my sister had brought. She had a thing for wine coolers though they had passed out of fashion years before.

My Mom and Dad had gone into their bedroom with wineglasses and 2 bottles of good red. They would emerge in an hour or two, go to the den where the kids were watching MTV. This group had already learned to stay out of the way when the ‘adults’ start shooting.

Everything was ready. I was on my third Jack and Coke by the time Ed and Catalina showed up. My mind went back to the good weed I used to have a few years ago; the mellow stuff that let me take the bad with the good with equanimity. But there was no grass now so Jack would be my friend that night. Intoxicants make me passive and accepting while they make Lorenzo more lecherous, Ed more voluble, and Catalina snarkier. Consuelo zones out on something but I’m not sure what it is. Maybe it’s Xanax. Dolores doesn’t change at all no how much what she ingests. She’s just pushy and nosy all the time. Her husband, Danny, is a man who can smile at everything from a cooing newborn to Freddy Krueger’s worst crimes with equal amusement. Mark and Kitty are the party poopers. Kitty takes these parties seriously and tries to be peace maker among the rest of us who are actively looking for a fight. Mark isn’t fun until he’s near passing out from too much alcohol

Catalina was the first to arrive bringing her famous Three Chocolate Enchilada Melt that everyone acclaimed but secretly tossed in the nearest trash receptacle. This year she brought twice as much but it didn’t matter. I had set out several trash cans in strategic locations around the house. As always Catalina was decked out in finery she got a Gilbert’s, a ladies fashion store where even the sales clerks believed they were better than anyone on the planet. Husband Ed’s hulk was ruggedly dressed in an outdoorsy sweater and slacks befitting the manly heavy construction guy he was. I kept his wine glass full in order to draw him out and start talking about his conservative politics. It’s easy to tie him in knots when he’s sober. A slightly drunk Ed can be turned into a human pretzel as easily as a balloon artist can make balloons into monkeys or poodles.

Lorenzo and Consuelo came next. She looked snockered already. I can’t really blame her. She’s married to a self-described world’s smartest man who has the desperate look of a man who hasn’t been laid in years. I have the strong suspicion that she cut him off years ago. To watch him socialize is a study in how sexual losers think they’re being clever by using transparent double entendres. Consuelo is dressed in the latest from J.C. Penney’s. Nice outfit but nothing like Catalina’s ensemble from Gilberts. Me? I don’t care what people wear or what it costs. It seems to matter to Catalina and the rest of the bunch.

Next, Dolores charges in with Danny not far behind. What a pair. Dolores is the organizer of sing alongs and party games. She is also a master pop psychologist who can tell you what’s wrong with you, your wife, and your kids. She doesn’t see that everyone there has been married far longer than she; that her own kids are sociopaths, and whose husband is so passive that a gunshot near his head would barely make him look up. Dolores as the arbiter of what’s right and wrong is matched only by Catalina’s repressed desire to murder everyone in the house. She knows she can’t do that so she settles for trying to cut everyone down to size with her snide remarks.

It’s 8:30 now. In the last two hours I’ve been surreptitiously gathering up plates of uneaten Three Chocolate Enchiladas and dumping them in the trash. Lorenzo’s been chatting up my wife, looking down her dress every chance he gets. She’s looking good as usual. She walks away from him and Consuelo catches him leering and gives him a cross look that fades quickly as though she’s already forgotten why she was cross.

Ed and Danny are laughing about something over in the corner. Ed repeats whatever he said and Danny laughs again. To Danny a joke told twice is just as funny the second time it’s told. Danny hasn’t moved from the corner where he had been chatting with Ed. He’s staring and laughing at the space where Ed had been standing moments before.

I look around and now Catalina is talking to my wife and Consuelo. In top form as usual, she asks if my wife is wearing the same dress she wore last year. In fact, it is the same red silk, floor length dress with a slit from ankle to hip. I love that dress and wouldn’t mind if she wore it more often. Lorenzo’s been leering at her but I’m ignoring him for now. Now it’s Consuelo’s turn at being Catalina’s fashion target. “What a nice outfit”, she sniffs, “didn’t Sears have them on sale two years ago?” Consuelo demurs but Catalina’s not done. “I’m sure I saw racks and racks of that same dress, 60% off”. Consuelo is beyond caring. She must have dropped another Xanax.

Isn't that the same outfit you wore last year?

Yes. Thank you for noticing.

My wife edges away and goes over to where Danny is sitting on a stool sipping wine and watching out for Dolores. He’s not supposed to drink too much. Too much is whatever Dolores says is too much. It varies with her mood. He’s an agreeable guy with no opinions whatever. He’s got a tic that makes him appear as though he’s winking. The crazy thing is that the tic seems to be timed to the conversation he’s hearing so that when there’s a pause his eye twitches and makes the speaker believe that comprehension and approval are taking place inside Danny’s head. However, he does know football and is quite at home opining on which teams are winners and which are losers. Even though I’m an indifferent sports fan, I like to listen to him when he talks football. My wife takes the stool next to him and he compliments her on her dress. “You wore that dress last year”, he says. “It looks good on you.” My wife smiles at him gratefully. Sweet Danny. I could almost kiss him. A few feet away Consuelo is looking blankly at Catalina and Lorenzo is sneaking glances at my wife. I ignore him.

I looked in on Mom, Dad, and the kids in the den. Mom and a toddler were curled up together watching MTV along with the older kids. Dad was teaching some of the boys how to roll tight cigarettes that won’t shed or fall apart. The floor was littered with damp cigarette papers. My mind flashed back to the time he taught me and how years later I had amazed my stoner friends with that skill.

An hour or so later Catalina has been into the cheap box wine which she publicly loathes but nonetheless craves and consumes with alacrity. I’ve long suspected that she’s a secret drinker. For me, her lust for cheap box wine is the clincher. Now she’s been doing pirouettes in front of me and Dolores. Her outfit seems to shed price tags as she twirls around it’s so expensive. Suddenly she gets up on the table pulls her dress up and shouts, “See!! Even my panties are Gilberts!”, which must come as a surprise to Gilbert to find himself without panties this evening. Ed hurries over to get her down but she dances away from him, now showing her panties from the rear. Everyone, except Lorenzo, looks away from the sight of her cottage cheese buttocks. She slips and nearly falls but Lorenzo, who didn’t look away, catches her and cops a quick feel which earns him another cross look from Consuelo and a slap in the face from Catalina. Dolores goes over to take Catalina to the bathroom, probably for some quick psychoanalysis.

My wife is sitting in an easy chair over in the corner holding a cup of wine in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. She’s been drinking a lot but it hasn’t helped. This is the fifteenth Thanksgiving dinner she’s had with my family and wine no longer has power to anesthetize her. The force of this dysfunctional family is just too great. I go over to comfort her but thinking that I’m there to take away her wine she curls up into a ball, shielding her beloved wine from me. Of course, Lorenzo wouldn’t miss this up skirt shot but I catch him looking and he does a fast about face which brings him face to face with the ever righteous Dolores. She saw his leer too, so being the judge of all things right and wrong she knees him in the crotch. Consuelo gives Dolores a cross look. Lorenzo doubles over and Danny ambles over to repeat Ed’s joke in his ear. But it’s not over. Catalina’s told Ed about Lorenzo’s opportunism. Ed is not happy. He helps Lorenzo to his feet but seems to have forgotten why he was angry. He is slowly remembering when Catalina storms out of the bathroom. She’s looked into one of my trash bins and discovered several helpings of her Three Chocolate Enchiladas. She is furious and demands to know who tossed her dish. No one looks at her and she realizes the truth: Nobody likes her Three Chocolate Enchiladas. She bursts into tears goes into the bathroom then emerges moments later holding the trash can under her arm and scooping dollops of her enchiladas into her mouth with her free hand.

Everyone stared, speechless. Dolores and Consuelo suffused with sisterly concern rushed over and took her back into the bathroom to calm her down. I watched Lorenzo crabwalk away into the kitchen while I fixed my seventh Jack and Coke. My wife was still in the easy chair but seemed to be choking. I hurried over to help her. The front of her dress was soaked with wine; her glass was on the floor next to the wine bottle. She was choking from laughter and she couldn’t catch her breath. When she was finally able to speak she said, “This is even better than last year.”

By this time Ed was fully liquored up and seemed to remember in short flashes why he was mad at Lorenzo. I went over to calm him down with another glass of wine. Suddenly he started talking about what I great guy I am and how much he loves me. I start to pull away and Ed spots Lorenzo coming back from the kitchen. By now, Ed’s is so intoxicated that the synapses in his brain are only firing at half speed but still firing. He walks up to Lorenzo, who is still hurting from Dolores’s assault and starts to say something but can’t remember what it was. In his struggle to remember he balls his calloused construction man’s fists making Lorenzo think that Ed is warming up to deliver a lethal blow. Besides being a lech, Lorenzo is also a physical coward. I remember how he screamed like a little girl one time when my wife put a lizard on his arm. He was staring down her dress when she leaned down to pick up the lizard and she decided to teach him a lesson. Tonight as he looked up at Ed he must have seen himself as a dead man or at the least as a disabled or disfigured one. He crouched with his hands and arms covering his head, his life and someone else’s life flashed in his mind. The expected blows never came.

Just then Mark, Kitty and their kids arrived. The children immediately fled to the den. They were late because Mark had had to go to the emergency room to bind up his dislocated shoulder. He had been on the losing end of a scuffle with a homeless guy who was cadging loose change by wiping down windshields with a dirty rag. One would think it odd that Mark who is an ardent environmental conservationist would have zero compassion for actual human beings. To Mark it’s not a contradiction to fight courageously against the felling of old growth forest and simultaneously approving of vigilante justice for the dirty, long haired, pot smoking hippies he believes still exist by the hundreds of thousands.

Ed and Mark sit together to talk about his recent battle for the American Way while Kitty joins the other women still keeping an eye on Mark. She counts drinks, you see, and she’s expert in knowing when to make him stop drinking. As he drinks he goes from melancholy, to depressed, to belligerent though not violent. By the time he reaches depression she cuts him off. It’s too bad because I love to bait him with my liberal opinions when he’s at the last stages of stupor. Tonight he’s too sober to be fun. Ed on the other hand is taking me on but I know that given enough time I can turn him into a vote for my side. I’m the balloon master twisting a balloon dinosaur into a baby whale.

Dr. Dolores will see you now

Mission accomplished I take a tour around the party collecting empty glasses and plates. I see Dr. Dolores giving Catalina a mental physic. I’m pretty sure she’s taking correspondence courses on instant psychological insights from Dr. Phil and Oprah. She’s so glib with the jargon that one could easily mistake her gibberish for actual wisdom. Catalina is all cleaned up and sniffing softly into her Kleenex, nodding in agreement at whatever Dr. Dolores is force feeding into her ears. Lorenzo and Consuelo are in an earnest discussion about getting the brakes fixed on their station wagon. Denial is their strong suit. The Xanax is working as intended on her and his emasculation at Dr. Dolores’s knee has temporarily flushed his libido. I see Kitty sitting on the arm of the chair that Mark is occupying. She’s stroking his brow, speaking softly; probably about the wisdom of not drinking any more, what with the pain killers they gave him at the hospital. He resists but there’s no fight in him tonight. Ed is sitting next to them but he’s somewhere else in the universe. His glazed look suggests that he’s just realizing that he agreed with my opinions and is wondering how the hell that happened.

It’s late. The kids in the den have mostly fallen asleep. Mom and Dad each have a toddler sleeping on their laps. They shush me when I open the door.

My wife is standing by the front door giving me a hipshot pose in her red silk, floor length dress, the one with the slit that goes from ankle to hip. One hand on her hip, the other extended over and behind her head, dangling the car keys, she flashes me some leg. It’s time to go home. Indeed it is.

Big box home improvement stores have established military veterans appreciation days by giving all present and former military personnel discounts on purchases made during Memorial Day and Veterans Day weekends. Active duty persons get a discount every day. It's a good way to give recognition to our soldiers for the work they do for the nation.

Last Veterans Day my wife, Merrilee, who didn't serve in the military received a $51 Veterans Discount on a freezer she bought from a DIY store. What she did have was an old fishing vest that she wore because the weather was a bit cold that day. As fishing jackets go hers was one that had obviously been used on many a fishing trip by some codger who loved the jacket with all its pockets, zippers, flaps, and buttons arrayed over it entire exterior. Fishing can be a serious business, after all. When you are up to your hips in a stream you need to have every lure, hook, and lead weight you can stuff on your person. The fishing jacket fills that need very well, thank you.

Merrilee loves her fishing vest. Its slightly worn appearance betrays its many years. I sort of think its vague decrepitude is part of its appeal for her. As a youngster she frequently fished streams and lakes in her northwestern home state, sometimes alone, sometimes with a favorite cousin several decades her senior. She seems to delight taking the vest from her closet when the weather cools. I think it briefly takes her back to those days when she was a little girl fishing in a stream.

Sometimes you don't catch any fish.

Whether it was because the weather was cooler or whether it was because the shopping trip was to buy a sub-zero freezer, Merrilee wore her beloved fishing vest to the store. I was dressed in cut offs, a thin grey T-Shirt, and 8 year old tennis shoes that I've worn through 2 home remodels and hours of yard work. In other words, I looked like a slob. Or if my thinking about this shopping trip is right, I looked like someone who needed 24 hour care; ambulatory, not visibly disabled, but still needing watching.

We chose the freezer we wanted and went to the checkout counter to pay for it. I should mention that in the course of our long marriage we have fallen into a sub-conscious routine. If there is no line for a cashier, I pay for the purchase. If there is a line of people waiting, Merrilee waits while I wander off a few steps away to look at something, anything to distract me. Today there was a line. Merrilee waited. I wandered off.

Merrilee is paying. I'm somewhere else

Merrilee gave the cashier the purchase order, swiped her credit card through the card reader and asked if the Veterans' Discount would be applied. She reached into her vest to pull out the proof of service documents. The cashier reached across the counter, not to take the document but to gently pat Merrilee on the arm. "Of course, the discount will apply, Dear". She didn't bother to look at the DD214. The transaction completed, she reached over the counter again, patting Merrilee on the arm, "Now have a nice day, Sweetie".

Driving home with the freezer in the back of our pickup we talked about the cashier's overly familiar behavior which I thought was unusual until I glanced at Merrilee and saw the fishing vest. It was clear enough: The cashier thought the fishing vest was some kind military utility vest.

This one is for bullets.          This one is for bait

She must have thought that Merrilee was a veteran from the Viet Nam era; and the guy who was with her, the doofus in the sloppy clothes wandering around staring at everything was under her constant care. "Now have a nice day, Sweetie".

Table Talk

No way to treat an important visitor

I was driving past a Dairy Queen the other day and I was reminded of a business trip I made to Bogota, lunches in Brazil, and a rib joint in Colombia.

The winner and runner up in the 2007 Dairy Queen beauty competition

On my business trips to Latin America it was customary for a department manager to take me to dinner on the day of my arrival. The dinners were at good restaurants and if my hosts knew that I liked beef, we had some excellent steak dinners. On the second day of my visit I would treat the Service Manager some of his office staff to lunch. On this particular visit in Bogota, I and six other people went to have lunch at busy little restaurant around the corner.

A clean, well lighted place around the corner

I wasn't especially hungry having had a big dinner the night before. When the waiter came around to take my order, I didn't want to be a poor host so I opened the menu and pointed to the first thing I saw -- a banana split. The others ordered their usual meals and soon everyone was eating except me. I said nothing about it and continued joking and fooling around with my guests. Fifteen minutes went by. Then thirty minutes. Suddenly my minder noticed that I didn't have my banana split. What an embarrassment for him!!! He went to the manager to complain about the delay. After a lot of body language and head shaking he came back with a frown on his face. He was embarrassed. His function that day was to see to it that my visit would be glitch free. My banana split arrived nearly an hour after I ordered it. The table had been cleared since everyone was done with lunch. It was already late but after all the trouble my order caused, I felt obligated to eat my banana split while everyone else waited.

Good food, good company

The restaurant manager was very apologetic about the delay but I told him not to worry about it, we'd come back tomorrow for another lunch, and I left a generous tip. He pulled me aside. He just HAD to explain. It turns out no one in the place had ever made a banana split, didn't know what the ingredients were exactly, nor did they have them after they figured them out (except for the banana). So they sent two of their employees all over the restaurant district to find three flavors of ice cream, whipped cream, chopped nuts,  chocolate and strawberry syrup. They didn't find cherries for the topping, my apologies. Then they had to make it look like the one in the tiny picture on the menu.

I'll have the Banana Split. Hold the cherries

 I still wonder why the waiter didn't just tell me that they weren't serving banana splits and would I like something else. It could be that my minder had told the manager in advance that he would be having an important guest for lunch and to make sure nothing went wrong.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Florida Flintstones

Brazil Carnaval 2007

I hired two Brazilian men to organize and manage a service network in Brazil sometime around 1998. I had been authorized to hire one Manager and two technical support people but after interviewing eight candidates I realized that two of them were highly qualified for parts of the management job but not for the whole job. One of them had a good background in finance and statistics while the other was an "outdoors" type manager who preferred being out and about working with his brains and hands.

My budget wouldn't cover their salaries plus a tech support guy so I tried to persuade my boss to let me hire the two men and forget about the third one. My manager wasn't sold on my idea to restructure the organization or on traveling to Sao Paulo to interview my two candidates. He simply didn't have time to travel 2 hours to Miami, another 9 hours to Brazil then retrace his way home again. So I suggested that we all meet in Miami. He agreed and I brought Ailton B. and Fernando Y. to Miami to meet my boss.

When I brought my prospects to Miami I took them to Tony Roma's Steakhouse for an evening meal because I knew they liked beef. I had already been introduced to Brazilian steakhouses called Churrascarias where waiters go from table to table with various cuts of meat on a skewer. You pick bits of beef, pork, sausage, lamb, chicken, duck, or other meats from the skewer. A small red/green token next to your plate is used to signal a waiter that your are ready for another serving. It's an all you can eat for one price type of business and when I was there the one price was about $40, a sum I had some problems justifying on my expense account. The meats are so good that two and three hour lunches are not unusual.

Three hours for lunch? No problem, I said

Never having been to the United States, my guests were a little nervous about being here and about which table manners were appropriate. Coming to Miami was big deal. We had a couple of drinks at the bar then moved to the restaurant area. Even after the drinks they were apprehensive about what to order so I suggested one of the rib dishes. We were making small talk while we sipped our third drink when one of the men nudged the other and directed his eyes to a family dining in one of the booths behind me.Then they both started smiling and laughing softly.
I turned to see the family of two adults and three kids enthusiastically devouring their rib dinners. Their lips, cheeks, and fingers oozed Tony Roma's World Famous Barbeque Sauce. The table was littered with the gnawed bones and heavily stained paper napkins balled up and tossed on an empty plate. My guys had not seen anyone eat ribs with their fingers like that. In Brazil and in most countries in Latin America the meat is cut from the bone then eaten with a fork. Ailton looked at his compatriot and whispered, "Los Flintstones". Our ribs were served and both men followed the American custom and gnawed on Dino's bones.
When in Rome...........

Fred and Wilma, what's left of Dino, and Pebbles

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Ribs, bibs and bling

As I mentioned above, in most of Latin America, rib dinners are eaten using a knife to cut the meat from the bones and a fork to eat it. But one time in Bogota my host invited me to dinner at a place that served ribs "a la Americana", meaning Ribs American Style. At that time the dress code for RCA called for white shirts, ties, dark suits, and black shoes. My travel bags had no room for casual clothes so I was a little perturbed about dressing in a suit to go to a rib joint but my host insisted.

Not your average rib joint

"Mr. Ribs" was not a 'rib joint'. It was a sit down restaurant where dinner was served on linen covered tables and with real silver silverware. The waiters wore well cut suit jackets and red cumberbunds. My host and his Sales Manager were dressed in business suits and his wife wore an evening dress, gloves, and a fur wrap. They all wore a lot of bling. I felt underdressed compared to them.

We took our seats in a remote corner of the room and I looked around and saw that everyone was dressed to the nines in this 'rib joint'. It made me wonder why this was called an American style rib joint. Our waiter served our wine and took our order. A few minutes later he returned with clear plastic bibs that covered us from neck to knee, and pairs of oversized, clear plastic gloves that covered my arms to the elbow. It was then obvious that in this restaurant Colombians could eat like the Flintstones and look good doing it.

"I said, we're having dinner at Mr. Ribs."

Remember to bring the Doggy Bag!

My weekend on the Starship Enterprise

Long ago, in a galaxy far away, I was a crew member on the Starship Enterprise.

Well, no. The long ago I'm talking about was 17 years ago in downtown Miami. For some, Miami is on another planet given its unique place in the cultural spectrum of the USA. It's been called the capital of Latin America. Hundreds of flights to Latin America start and end there. You can go to Europe or the islands in the Caribbean from Miami but the huge majority of the flights go to South and Central America. Miami is home to ex-pats from dozens of countries worldwide. Anyone from just about anywhere in the world can find fully developed enclaves reflecting his or her country of origin, even Romulans or Vulcans.

Booga, booga, earthlings

Back in 1994 RCA hired me to set up and administer a service center network in each country where RCA was sold. That meant virtually every country and island south and east of Miami. I was to travel to each country or island to find, vet, and train technicians on the vagueries and quirks of our products. Until I was hired, this had not been done before though our salesmen had been opening markets for the 3 prior years. I was to be the  Service Operations Manager; a 47 year old, 130 pound Superman. My international experience up to then included some border crossings to Juarez, Mexico and a year's tour of Asia with the military. My corporate experience was zero.

The paragraphs above are the set up for how I became an unwilling Starship crew member for two days in June of 1994.

Departing or arriving? After a while I couldn't remember

RCA expected much from me. Carefully concealing my many trepidations about what to do next, I made a travel plan which would take me to a different country every week. The plan was to travel on Tuesdays and return to Miami on Fridays. I had no idea what RCA could do for me or what I could ask for without looking inexperienced so I asked for nothing that was not related to the business. I had no car and no place to stay. My family was still in El Paso prepping our house to sell. I found out later that RCA could have done a lot for me in those first months.
              
The first order of business was where to stay. Knowing nothing at all about Miami I drove down major streets until I found the Ernesto Motel near the airport. The rooms were moderately priced. I could rent by the day. Across the street there were modern office buildings and all around were apartment buildings. Looked ok. I should have been more careful but what did I know about anything?

$35 per night or $10 per hour

Does the eye shadow make me look fat?

The Ernesto Motel had two sections. The U-shaped structure had single story units on either side of the U and a two story section in the center. A woman with too much makeup and too red lipstick checked me into the upper story rooms. Between puffs of smoke from her cigarette she said "Thirty-five dollars a day, payable in advance, no credit, no credit cards!!" It was late, I checked in, fell asleep right away. It wasn't until the next night that I realized that the units on the laterals were rooms rented by the hour -- no credit, no credit cards and no doubt, rooms where you could take a shower and have a 45 minute catnap before you had to check out.

NO!!

For the next few weeks the routine was the same: Fly out on Tuesday, return Friday, spend the weekend at the Ernesto. My attempts at sociability with the woman in the office were ignored --- "$35, pay in advance, no credit, no credit cards" began and ended her conversations with me. Then one day, returning from a trip, I twisted my ankle so badly I could barely walk. Burdened with my garment bag and laptop, every step I took was agonizing. When I arrived at the Ernesto I asked for a room on the first floor, explaining that I was hurt. "Thirty-five dollars, in advance, room 2B". I asked again but she said no.

The longest mile

I paid, picked up my bags and began to climb the stairs, placing the bags on a riser, stepping up; placing the bags on the riser, stepping up; placing the bags on a riser, stepping up. I heard a whisper behind me, "Dios mio", as I reached the top of the stairs and turned left to my room, 2B.

It hurt as bad as it looked

 As I lay on the bed with my foot on a pillow my adventure on the Starship was about to begin. There was a soft knock on the door and Miss Congeniality from the office came in carrying a bucket of ice, a plastic bag and some towels. She put the ice in the bag, wrapped it a towel and put it on my swollen ankle. Then she stood on a chair and turned on the old TV, the one with a manual, rotary channel changer.

I listened to the local news and when that was over the announcer brayed that the                      48 HOUR STAR TREK MARATHON IS NEXT! 
"My god," I thought, "I've died and gone to a circle of hell that even Dante never imagined."

Me too, Cap'n Quirk. Me too.

Trick or Treat!!

Scene: There I was, an employee of a manufacturer of 7 million state of the art TV's each year plus twice as many remote controls. I was in bed with a painfully twisted ankle, an ancient Muntz TV that could only be reached by standing on a chair, no remote control; and William Shatner with his cast from Hollywood's Finest Halloween Costume Emporium playing all weekend. Tales told by idiots. Sound, fury, and in some episodes I'm sure I saw Furries.

"Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."                              Macbeth

Scene from a "lost" episode of Star Trek

If it starts to rain remember to close your mouths, boys

One of these days, Alice, to the Moon!

You may have guessed by now that I don't care for science fantasy/fiction and I especially don't like TV costume soap operas that litter the set with bad science while committing felonious assault of the laws of physics, credibility, and method acting. Fortunately, all I had to do to keep from driving pencils into my ears was to kick my bad ankle with my good foot. Hard.