- The Great Daniel Friend Vote Off
- 18 Dollar Saturday Follows 106 Dollar Friday
- Shooting On Bourbon Street Last Night (and not a movie this time)
Last night, at about 2 in the morning, when I was scrounging for food; there were people who said that they heard what sounded like gunshots.
I stuck my nose around a corner; stepping over a large pool of blood at that corner; and observed a man who was shirtless and overweight and looked South American, laying on his back in the middle of Bourbon Street; having CPR administered to him; and there was also a girl sitting on a curb with a lot less attention being paid to her who was holding a rag to her head. A head which had been "grazed" by a bullet.
The Facebook Thing
The thing I am doing on Facebook is a "vote off" in which all of my "friends" have to vote one of themselves off of my list; and I am profiling each one of my 75 friends, in order to aid the voters in making an informed decision.
This has usurped my attention from this blog; but; in the interest of diversification; here is one of my friend profiles from the Facebook thing that I am doing.
Donna Parrow; where do I begin.
I just drank a 25 ounce Lime-A-Rita and puffed a blunt, that's a start.
I met D"onna when I was a college kid; soon to become a college drop out. I was about 26, and had been in college for 7 of those years; changing my major whenever I got close to graduating in any one discipline, getting more Pell Grants and student loans "for books and ink pens."
I lived at Southwood Apartments, in Amherst, Massachusetts, in apartment 99C, an address about which lore probably lives on to this day, as told by Brunos Pizza deliverymen, about the weird guy who would be playing an electric guitar so loudly that you would have to time your knocks on the door, in between chords; and try to be out of time, otherwise he will just think that it is the drummer that he is imagining in his head and keep going.
His eggplant sub will come to 5 dollars and 20 cents; it will be lukewarm because you will be dropping it off after having brought the people in houses their pizzas and eggplant subs; and, because it was going to Southwood Apartments.
Southwood Apartments was a curious mixture of one half;the innocent, wide eyed, full of hope and wonder, and looking through rose colored glasses, college kids (myself one of them) who were blissfully ingnorant of the fact that the woman in the next apartment was spending all of her mental health disability check on crack, through the span of three nights, and masterbating to a picture of Prince Charles (I swear to God, why would I lie, especially in The Great Daniel Friend Vote-Off) and the other half, the woman in the apartment next door; and not much else in between; except there were families, "familias" in the case of the Spanish one in the apartment above us.
They had, like 9 children. Or, SHE; had like 9 children; and the dads were on like a time share; where, if Louey just got a construction job making 25 bucks an hour working a crane; then he very well might be the dude sitting on the couch and flipping through the channels; after she had gotten tired of Ricky; him being around so much because every time it rains he can't work... And the welfare check that she got for having 9 children; adorable, I might add; was something close; the children, I mean; to what a damned good diesel mechanic might pull in each month; and like clockwork it would arrive the first of the month. Massachusetts is what it is...
Well, I was in a situation, as one of the blissfully ignorant college kid half of the population, where I had dropped out of school because A: What am I going to do with a degree in English, except put it on the front cover of my first novel? and B: I was going to work full time and save up so much money that I would return to finish my Senior year of college in grand style; and I am talking eggplant subs here; delivered luke-warm; but not for long because; as the lore continues: "....yeah, he'll give you 11 dollars and he'll say 'theres $5.20 for Brunos, and $5.80 for you, dude! I like to see the little guy making more than the owner!'"
And this was after I indeed got a full time job; and a pretty good one where 60 hours a week was begged of me, and I was making good money and having to wake up at an unGodly hour, so that I basically went straight to the apartment to sleep before I could spend any of it; except for picking up the phone and calling Brunos....and so came the legend of the guy in 99C, and, I am sure that the old crusty veteran deliverymen will conclude the story with: "So, you never know, kiddo! You might think that you are going 3 miles out of the city to some derelict infested hellhole of an apartment complex where not even Prince Charles is safe; but you just never know, you might get a 5 dollar and 80 cent tip; out of that rat trap...so keep your head up; especially in Southwood, if anyone say's "pssst, over here" just keep walking."
Well, Donna Parrow (you thought I forgot what the hell I'm supposed to be writng about, didn't ya?) lived in Southwood.
I got laid off from my full time job and I was collecting half of my average salary in unemploymet benefits -it was Massachusetts in the late 80's, afterall- and I decided to augment my resources, upon which I was already getting up at the crack of dawn and playing my guitar and my bass and my keyboard and my drum machine and recording music all the live-long day; I decided to start dealing in a medicinal herb thats healing properties had not yet been officialy established by any medical association at that time; but I was getting it from a guy whose nickname was "Doc," and that was close enough for me.
I began selling treatmets for depression, glaucoma and loss of appette at Soutwood Apartments, in the tobacco form.
I ran into a guy who was sitting in a wheelchair who said that he could benefit from one of my treatments; and he gave me his apartment number.
The next afternoon, I decided to go knock on his door. I had gotten a shipment of medicinal herbs from a Jewish guy on the north shore, who will remain nameless because this isn't intended to be a "tell-all" story; right Dona? lol!!
I was walking across the yard towards his apartment.
I had seen, up ahead of me, two little girls headed towards, and disappearing into the same building where I was headed.
The older one was a very cute Puerto Rican looking girl of about 11, and the littler one was about 6 and looked like a model, if you shrunk the model down to about one fifth size.
I went inside the building and mounted to the second floor and was about to knock on the guy in the wheelchairs door but I couldn't because it was wide open; and inside were the very same girls that I had seen crossing the courtyard.
They invited me in like it was nothing. The littler one was holding a clay object which she had made at school. It was interestingly colored; frog green and blood red, glazed and fired in a kiln; and it was an ashtray.
The little girl had made an ashtray. While her contemporaries were making paperweights and doorstops; the little girl was showing off to me proudly; an ashtray. The most practical 6 year old in the universe.
Her sister was in the bathroom; and called to me and asked me if I thought that the cut on her lip which she was looking at in the mirror; was going to become infected or something. I was in college, afterall.
I went and looked at her lip. She had been in a fight. I was suddenly aware that I was alone with a cute 11 year old Latina girl in a bathroom only twice the size of a broom closet; and she was showing me her lip up close; and I thought: Is this kid not afraid of anythiing? What if I had been Daniel the pervert? Oh, wait, I AM Daniel the pervert, but you get the point...
So, then, to make a long story short, these people came into my life; and there were plenty or times when I lived with them. When I did meet Donna, and saw her puffing on Newports, and flicking her ashes into the green and red clay ashtray it was classic.
To her credit, she was just a pretty good mother; and she probably saw how I had become like a second father to her adorable pugulists and potters; and it was just a happy time; and we all benefitted. And we all rose together.
At some point the fortunes of the Parrishs' changed and they were able to leave Southwood Apartments along with their concerns over having their tires slashed in the parking lot; and move to an apartment. And then to a rented house. And then finally to Florida to a house which her and the guy formerly in a wheelchair had bought.
And, each step of the way; I had somehow shown up and wound up going, right along with them; from the ghetto to a peacful spot in rural Florida with a horse shoe pit in the back upon which I practced so much that I would go out there in the total darkness of the peaceful spot in rural Florida; and launch the shoes into into the inky blackness, using only a mental visualization of there the stake was; and I would often hear the tell-tale CLANK! coming from exactly 45 feet away, out of the darkness. Add the enhancement of that proclivity to the treatment of depression and of glaucoma to a certain list, if you catch my drift...
And so that is my profile of Donna; she is kind of like family; disfunctional family with a capital D. LOL!!!!!!!!
Just kidding, Donna.
So, I guess I haven't said anything bad to balance the profile and help you all vote more informendly, but that's the way the cookie crumbles in The Great Daniel Friend Vote-Off; It's kind of bland, kind of vanilla...
2 Hours Later...
Ok, now I'm almost through a fifth of Jmm Bfeim now an iwant to say shes a selfish conniving ruthless manipulative controllingbitch.!!...
Just kidding again, Donna; hee hee hee; this is fun!
Donna Parrow; where do I begin.
I just drank a 25 ounce Lime-A-Rita and puffed a blunt, that's a start.
I met D"onna when I was a college kid; soon to become a college drop out. I was about 26, and had been in college for 7 of those years; changing my major whenever I got close to graduating in any one discipline, getting more Pell Grants and student loans "for books and ink pens."
I lived at Southwood Apartments, in Amherst, Massachusetts, in apartment 99C, an address about which lore probably lives on to this day, as told by Brunos Pizza deliverymen, about the weird guy who would be playing an electric guitar so loudly that you would have to time your knocks on the door, in between chords; and try to be out of time, otherwise he will just think that it is the drummer that he is imagining in his head and keep going.
His eggplant sub will come to 5 dollars and 20 cents; it will be lukewarm because you will be dropping it off after having brought the people in houses their pizzas and eggplant subs; and, because it was going to Southwood Apartments.
Southwood Apartments was a curious mixture of one half;the innocent, wide eyed, full of hope and wonder, and looking through rose colored glasses, college kids (myself one of them) who were blissfully ingnorant of the fact that the woman in the next apartment was spending all of her mental health disability check on crack, through the span of three nights, and masterbating to a picture of Prince Charles (I swear to God, why would I lie, especially in The Great Daniel Friend Vote-Off) and the other half, the woman in the apartment next door; and not much else in between; except there were families, "familias" in the case of the Spanish one in the apartment above us.
They had, like 9 children. Or, SHE; had like 9 children; and the dads were on like a time share; where, if Louey just got a construction job making 25 bucks an hour working a crane; then he very well might be the dude sitting on the couch and flipping through the channels; after she had gotten tired of Ricky; him being around so much because every time it rains he can't work... And the welfare check that she got for having 9 children; adorable, I might add; was something close; the children, I mean; to what a damned good diesel mechanic might pull in each month; and like clockwork it would arrive the first of the month. Massachusetts is what it is...
Well, I was in a situation, as one of the blissfully ignorant college kid half of the population, where I had dropped out of school because A: What am I going to do with a degree in English, except put it on the front cover of my first novel? and B: I was going to work full time and save up so much money that I would return to finish my Senior year of college in grand style; and I am talking eggplant subs here; delivered luke-warm; but not for long because; as the lore continues: "....yeah, he'll give you 11 dollars and he'll say 'theres $5.20 for Brunos, and $5.80 for you, dude! I like to see the little guy making more than the owner!'"
And this was after I indeed got a full time job; and a pretty good one where 60 hours a week was begged of me, and I was making good money and having to wake up at an unGodly hour, so that I basically went straight to the apartment to sleep before I could spend any of it; except for picking up the phone and calling Brunos....and so came the legend of the guy in 99C, and, I am sure that the old crusty veteran deliverymen will conclude the story with: "So, you never know, kiddo! You might think that you are going 3 miles out of the city to some derelict infested hellhole of an apartment complex where not even Prince Charles is safe; but you just never know, you might get a 5 dollar and 80 cent tip; out of that rat trap...so keep your head up; especially in Southwood, if anyone say's "pssst, over here" just keep walking."
Well, Donna Parrow (you thought I forgot what the hell I'm supposed to be writng about, didn't ya?) lived in Southwood.
I got laid off from my full time job and I was collecting half of my average salary in unemploymet benefits -it was Massachusetts in the late 80's, afterall- and I decided to augment my resources, upon which I was already getting up at the crack of dawn and playing my guitar and my bass and my keyboard and my drum machine and recording music all the live-long day; I decided to start dealing in a medicinal herb thats healing properties had not yet been officialy established by any medical association at that time; but I was getting it from a guy whose nickname was "Doc," and that was close enough for me.
I began selling treatmets for depression, glaucoma and loss of appette at Soutwood Apartments, in the tobacco form.
I ran into a guy who was sitting in a wheelchair who said that he could benefit from one of my treatments; and he gave me his apartment number.
The next afternoon, I decided to go knock on his door. I had gotten a shipment of medicinal herbs from a Jewish guy on the north shore, who will remain nameless because this isn't intended to be a "tell-all" story; right Dona? lol!!
I was walking across the yard towards his apartment.
I had seen, up ahead of me, two little girls headed towards, and disappearing into the same building where I was headed.
The older one was a very cute Puerto Rican looking girl of about 11, and the littler one was about 6 and looked like a model, if you shrunk the model down to about one fifth size.
I went inside the building and mounted to the second floor and was about to knock on the guy in the wheelchairs door but I couldn't because it was wide open; and inside were the very same girls that I had seen crossing the courtyard.
They invited me in like it was nothing. The littler one was holding a clay object which she had made at school. It was interestingly colored; frog green and blood red, glazed and fired in a kiln; and it was an ashtray.
The little girl had made an ashtray. While her contemporaries were making paperweights and doorstops; the little girl was showing off to me proudly; an ashtray. The most practical 6 year old in the universe.
Her sister was in the bathroom; and called to me and asked me if I thought that the cut on her lip which she was looking at in the mirror; was going to become infected or something. I was in college, afterall.
I went and looked at her lip. She had been in a fight. I was suddenly aware that I was alone with a cute 11 year old Latina girl in a bathroom only twice the size of a broom closet; and she was showing me her lip up close; and I thought: Is this kid not afraid of anythiing? What if I had been Daniel the pervert? Oh, wait, I AM Daniel the pervert, but you get the point...
So, then, to make a long story short, these people came into my life; and there were plenty or times when I lived with them. When I did meet Donna, and saw her puffing on Newports, and flicking her ashes into the green and red clay ashtray it was classic.
To her credit, she was just a pretty good mother; and she probably saw how I had become like a second father to her adorable pugulists and potters; and it was just a happy time; and we all benefitted. And we all rose together.
At some point the fortunes of the Parrishs' changed and they were able to leave Southwood Apartments along with their concerns over having their tires slashed in the parking lot; and move to an apartment. And then to a rented house. And then finally to Florida to a house which her and the guy formerly in a wheelchair had bought.
And, each step of the way; I had somehow shown up and wound up going, right along with them; from the ghetto to a peacful spot in rural Florida with a horse shoe pit in the back upon which I practced so much that I would go out there in the total darkness of the peaceful spot in rural Florida; and launch the shoes into into the inky blackness, using only a mental visualization of there the stake was; and I would often hear the tell-tale CLANK! coming from exactly 45 feet away, out of the darkness. Add the enhancement of that proclivity to the treatment of depression and of glaucoma to a certain list, if you catch my drift...
And so that is my profile of Donna; she is kind of like family; disfunctional family with a capital D. LOL!!!!!!!!
Just kidding, Donna.
So, I guess I haven't said anything bad to balance the profile and help you all vote more informendly, but that's the way the cookie crumbles in The Great Daniel Friend Vote-Off; It's kind of bland, kind of vanilla...
2 Hours Later...
Ok, now I'm almost through a fifth of Jmm Bfeim now an iwant to say shes a selfish conniving ruthless manipulative controllingbitch.!!...
Just kidding again, Donna; hee hee hee; this is fun!
Good God wall of skeeze, er, text.
ReplyDeleteI was posting what looked like long posts but were actually a week's postings at a time, due to the horrible internet access in San Jose, CA.
I'll read the SkeeZ-0-Novel later, lower bandwidth than watching COPS.