You know what I don't understand? Besides women. How Herman Cain's popularity has dropped since some allegations of inappropriate sex advances have come up. It only surfaced when his popularity began to pass that of the other GOP hopefuls. Have the reports actually been true? Have these women brought forth evidence or witnesses to corroborate these accusations? Or have they now begun to fade into the background since his reputation has been besmirched?
Remember Bill Clinton? His campaign trail was littered with women who were not only approached but fell under him smiling in eager anticipation. He was quite the rake while governor, while running for president and while in the White House. Should we play the race card with this? After all, it was fine for our gray-haired red nosed Good old boy Clinton. He's revered now!
That I thought had to be mentioned, but it doesn't answer the question. Why was this brought up now? Who found these women who thought it absolutely necessary to come out in the press? It seems so suspicious to me. The mystery hangs. Was it the GOP boys who were jealous of his ascendancy? Or was it the Jackasses, sorry Donkeys, who were afraid Cain could knock their sad choice out of the presidency? It makes me wonder. Does it make you wonder?
One more thing. Why would the women who supported Cain before not support him now? Did they support Clinton after his high school antics in the oval office or on the campaign trail? As I said, I don't understand politics or women.
My Mind
This is my mind
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Friday, November 11, 2011
11-11-11
For those of you who gave of your life to your country let me be the first to say, THANK YOU. I worked for a local hospital for over 25 years. The only time I received thanks for serving my country was after complaining for 3 years straight that the only veterans on the payroll in my department were two of us who were scheduled every year to be working Memorial Day and Veteran's Day. The third year I wrote the head honcho a letter about this. That was the year I, and my fellow veteran, were offered thanks, grudgingly.
It's a pet peave of mine, and most veterans, that the days set to commemorate veterans pass without much thought to men and women who have spent time in uniform. Those men and women deserve the nation's thanks. They heeded the call, whether by draft or by volunteering. It's a call all citizens should feel a duty to be shared.
I'm in favor of the draft if it could be set up for those called to be used where needed. Not everyone would have to be a part of a shooting war. Some could serve in the cities where a helping hand is needed.
From the age of 18 to 26 the young could use a hand in their struggle to know themselves and what they want to do with their lives. A stint of 2 years during this time in every person's life would provide some well needed discipline. To focus that raw energy into a channel of action would prove invaluable. I've seen the kids of today floundering in their lives. The fact that they have been born in the USA is not appreciated. A piece of their lives in the service of this great country could give them a chance to feel that they have made a contribution of import. Two years, minimum, to strengthen this country in arms and in service.
We need a unifying faction. Our country has zipped off in all directions. We were once the melting pot. Now we are petty little groups who complain about our rights being violated. E pluribus unum has very little meaning these days. When I was young people flocked to this country legally and became citizens as quickly as possible to call themselves Americans. Now they sneak in illegally to chant against unfareness. Every ethnic group has begun to extoll its importance over simply joining the population of this country as a unified nation.
I guess the schools have stopped teaching civics. I'm sure the history books do not fill the students heads with stories of the heroes who founded this country. It's evident since all those stories are debunked and the heroes shown to be men and women with feet of clay just like any real person. They made mistakes but they built a strong nation that has lasted for over 200 years.
We need to reunify our country. For me one way to do that is to ask each citizen to offer up at least 2 years of his/her life to the service, in one way or another, of our nation. To belong to a group of individuals who were united for a specific time as true citizens in service to one nation under God with liberty and justice to all. We would then give genuine thanks to our veterans, a citizenry of veterans who have shared that service.
It's a pet peave of mine, and most veterans, that the days set to commemorate veterans pass without much thought to men and women who have spent time in uniform. Those men and women deserve the nation's thanks. They heeded the call, whether by draft or by volunteering. It's a call all citizens should feel a duty to be shared.
I'm in favor of the draft if it could be set up for those called to be used where needed. Not everyone would have to be a part of a shooting war. Some could serve in the cities where a helping hand is needed.
From the age of 18 to 26 the young could use a hand in their struggle to know themselves and what they want to do with their lives. A stint of 2 years during this time in every person's life would provide some well needed discipline. To focus that raw energy into a channel of action would prove invaluable. I've seen the kids of today floundering in their lives. The fact that they have been born in the USA is not appreciated. A piece of their lives in the service of this great country could give them a chance to feel that they have made a contribution of import. Two years, minimum, to strengthen this country in arms and in service.
We need a unifying faction. Our country has zipped off in all directions. We were once the melting pot. Now we are petty little groups who complain about our rights being violated. E pluribus unum has very little meaning these days. When I was young people flocked to this country legally and became citizens as quickly as possible to call themselves Americans. Now they sneak in illegally to chant against unfareness. Every ethnic group has begun to extoll its importance over simply joining the population of this country as a unified nation.
I guess the schools have stopped teaching civics. I'm sure the history books do not fill the students heads with stories of the heroes who founded this country. It's evident since all those stories are debunked and the heroes shown to be men and women with feet of clay just like any real person. They made mistakes but they built a strong nation that has lasted for over 200 years.
We need to reunify our country. For me one way to do that is to ask each citizen to offer up at least 2 years of his/her life to the service, in one way or another, of our nation. To belong to a group of individuals who were united for a specific time as true citizens in service to one nation under God with liberty and justice to all. We would then give genuine thanks to our veterans, a citizenry of veterans who have shared that service.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
It's a long way to Tipperary...
They marched to the tune of It's a Long Way to Tipperary. They marched into the hell of no man's land. A place of blood and mire pocked with blast craters filled with rain and soaking dead. An area that was fenced off on both sides by barbed wire and land mines. Wifred Owen saw thusly:
No Man's Land is pocketmarked like the body of foulest disease and its odour is the breath of cancer...No Man's Land under snow is like the face of the moon, chaotic, crater-ridden, uninhabitable, awful, the abode of madness.
Hideous landscapes, vile noises....everything unnatural, broken, blastered; the distortion of the dead, whose unburiable bodies sit outside the dug-outs all day, all night, the most execrable sights on earth.
The war to end all wars. The Great War until 21 years later a greater war over shadowed it. 1914 to 1918 the world was locked in that epic strugle. The European powers jumped into another clashing battle that spread into a world wide conflict. Smiling faces marched into recruiting offices to sign up. They wanted their chance to show the other guy how wrong he was to pick this fight. With high expectation and the thrill of adventure they trained for their moment in history as part of the great cause. They were positive the altercation would be over by Christmas.
Those hopes were completely obliterated. The modern age had surpassed the pettiness of men's quarrels. Machine guns raked the lines of soldiers marching to their deaths. Shells of great weight were lobbed into enemy lines. Gas was released liquifying the lungs. Bodies were shattered, limbs thrown far and wide.
The fabric of society was ripped asunder.
God is in His heaven and all is right with the world.
The spirit of the world was flayed.
It would be over by Christmas. It was over before Christmas but near four years intervened. A generation of young men and women was decimated. The flower of youth it was said. Then in the eleventh month on the eleventh day at the eleventh hour the armistice was signed to end the Great War. Some say it was only a pause in the conflict which heated up again in 1939. So the war to end all wars only spawned WWII.
It is true, then, there will always be wars and rumors of wars. Funny, I read that in the Bible.
11-11-11 should be remembered as it is each November. Veterean's Day here in America. Remembrance Day in what was once the British Commonwealth. A day to wear a red poppy showing one remembers the broken bleeding bodies planted in fields across Europe. A remembrance of the horrors of war in hopes that remembering will encourage an end to conflicts.
John McCrae said it best:
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
No Man's Land is pocketmarked like the body of foulest disease and its odour is the breath of cancer...No Man's Land under snow is like the face of the moon, chaotic, crater-ridden, uninhabitable, awful, the abode of madness.
Hideous landscapes, vile noises....everything unnatural, broken, blastered; the distortion of the dead, whose unburiable bodies sit outside the dug-outs all day, all night, the most execrable sights on earth.
The war to end all wars. The Great War until 21 years later a greater war over shadowed it. 1914 to 1918 the world was locked in that epic strugle. The European powers jumped into another clashing battle that spread into a world wide conflict. Smiling faces marched into recruiting offices to sign up. They wanted their chance to show the other guy how wrong he was to pick this fight. With high expectation and the thrill of adventure they trained for their moment in history as part of the great cause. They were positive the altercation would be over by Christmas.
Those hopes were completely obliterated. The modern age had surpassed the pettiness of men's quarrels. Machine guns raked the lines of soldiers marching to their deaths. Shells of great weight were lobbed into enemy lines. Gas was released liquifying the lungs. Bodies were shattered, limbs thrown far and wide.
The fabric of society was ripped asunder.
God is in His heaven and all is right with the world.
The spirit of the world was flayed.
It would be over by Christmas. It was over before Christmas but near four years intervened. A generation of young men and women was decimated. The flower of youth it was said. Then in the eleventh month on the eleventh day at the eleventh hour the armistice was signed to end the Great War. Some say it was only a pause in the conflict which heated up again in 1939. So the war to end all wars only spawned WWII.
It is true, then, there will always be wars and rumors of wars. Funny, I read that in the Bible.
11-11-11 should be remembered as it is each November. Veterean's Day here in America. Remembrance Day in what was once the British Commonwealth. A day to wear a red poppy showing one remembers the broken bleeding bodies planted in fields across Europe. A remembrance of the horrors of war in hopes that remembering will encourage an end to conflicts.
John McCrae said it best:
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Dawn of the....
Breakfast is over. Coffee is drunk. Guilt sets in for leaving Julia behind a plate glass window that separates her from...well let's return for part 6...
Oh my gosh! Pushing through to the folks at Danny's is like stepping through a barrier of gelatin. I'm here as the wall of imagination fwoops back into it's protective position. It was a difficult passage but I'm here now and...
Something isn't right. There's a darkness unlike before. The streets are deserted. Newspapers sweep across those deserted streets like tumbleweeds. The sky is a dark roiling mass with an oppressive rain falling.
Danny's is dark. There are motionless people inside.. Let me go in...
The lights are out. There's broken glass on the floor. Pancakes are stuck everywhere. Grey masses sticky with genuine Canadian imitation maple syrup. But this is no time for humour. There are bodies in the booths. The counter is covered in heads shattered laying in dried blood.
How long was I gone? Julia is collapsed against the window with a butter knife wedged into her chest. There's a pistol in her lifeless hand drawn from the concealed holster strapped to her thigh whch is exposed beyond her hip. Her flesh is grey and still. Looking in the direction of the gun's muzzle I see holes in the wall. Looking over the counter I spy Joe, who bought Danny's. He is still.
In the space of an hour Joe must have snapped. There was a butcher knife in his right hand caked with blood. In his left a stack of pancakes laced with more dried blood.
It's a scene out of a nightmare. I'm getting out of here. It's no place to be on a sunny day out there in the real world.
Shuffling sounds begin to waft into my ear. Scratching sounds come from behind the kitchen door. It's locked. Movement comes slowly toward me. I turn and it's...
NO! It can't be. Julia is sidling towards me dragging one leg behind. Her crooked taloned hands are reaching towards me... There's Joe and... Joe. They are slowly stumbling in my direction. Groans are drifting from their closed mouths. And there's Gabe slowly pushing on the door. Joe's fist is pounding into his slab of a hand as he creeps forward. Joe, behind the counter has grabbed at the counter pulling himself up from the pool of dried blood that had been his bed. Their eyes... their eyes... they are cold and dead reflecting only me within.
Julia has a slight bend at the corner of her lips, That same cruel touch of a smile she carried in life. Her mouth is opening showing strong teeth. They are all closing in mouths open with gluey strings of saliva connecting upper and lower teeth. Those grusome mouths begin a biting and churning motion intent on the rosy warm flesh before them. Joe and Joe shuffle closer. Gabe incehes in to my left. Julia comes straight on in that slow jerky gate and the sound of teeth clacking together along with the scratching at the locked door echoing amongst the low creeping moans coming from their dry throats. I could swear they are saying brains...
What the... Sorry. I must have fallen asleep while typing. Creepy. Enough of that.
Oh my gosh! Pushing through to the folks at Danny's is like stepping through a barrier of gelatin. I'm here as the wall of imagination fwoops back into it's protective position. It was a difficult passage but I'm here now and...
Something isn't right. There's a darkness unlike before. The streets are deserted. Newspapers sweep across those deserted streets like tumbleweeds. The sky is a dark roiling mass with an oppressive rain falling.
Danny's is dark. There are motionless people inside.. Let me go in...
The lights are out. There's broken glass on the floor. Pancakes are stuck everywhere. Grey masses sticky with genuine Canadian imitation maple syrup. But this is no time for humour. There are bodies in the booths. The counter is covered in heads shattered laying in dried blood.
How long was I gone? Julia is collapsed against the window with a butter knife wedged into her chest. There's a pistol in her lifeless hand drawn from the concealed holster strapped to her thigh whch is exposed beyond her hip. Her flesh is grey and still. Looking in the direction of the gun's muzzle I see holes in the wall. Looking over the counter I spy Joe, who bought Danny's. He is still.
In the space of an hour Joe must have snapped. There was a butcher knife in his right hand caked with blood. In his left a stack of pancakes laced with more dried blood.
It's a scene out of a nightmare. I'm getting out of here. It's no place to be on a sunny day out there in the real world.
Shuffling sounds begin to waft into my ear. Scratching sounds come from behind the kitchen door. It's locked. Movement comes slowly toward me. I turn and it's...
NO! It can't be. Julia is sidling towards me dragging one leg behind. Her crooked taloned hands are reaching towards me... There's Joe and... Joe. They are slowly stumbling in my direction. Groans are drifting from their closed mouths. And there's Gabe slowly pushing on the door. Joe's fist is pounding into his slab of a hand as he creeps forward. Joe, behind the counter has grabbed at the counter pulling himself up from the pool of dried blood that had been his bed. Their eyes... their eyes... they are cold and dead reflecting only me within.
Julia has a slight bend at the corner of her lips, That same cruel touch of a smile she carried in life. Her mouth is opening showing strong teeth. They are all closing in mouths open with gluey strings of saliva connecting upper and lower teeth. Those grusome mouths begin a biting and churning motion intent on the rosy warm flesh before them. Joe and Joe shuffle closer. Gabe incehes in to my left. Julia comes straight on in that slow jerky gate and the sound of teeth clacking together along with the scratching at the locked door echoing amongst the low creeping moans coming from their dry throats. I could swear they are saying brains...
What the... Sorry. I must have fallen asleep while typing. Creepy. Enough of that.
Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain
Like I said, this DST is hittin' me hard. Sitting here waiting for the kettle to boil. I need that boiling water to pour into my cup filled with instant coffee beads. Yeah, I'm no connoisseur of deep rich coffees brewed from freshly ground beans. I'm a caffeine addict who gets his kick quick. Not so quick this morning. I think DST has altered the law of physics or is that one of the sublaws of thermodynamics...let's see thermo, temprature, along with dynamics which is close enough to dynamite for such an early morning. So, blowing up with heat could pretty much describe boiling water. Ever watch it? It's like little explosions continually through absorption of heat. Not bad for a mind chockablock with spider webs and grey stuff. This old spooky attic, addict?, has lots of shimmering spectres still haunting after 60 years. Those shades from half learned ideas of childhood slip through the cracks on occasion. It doesn't have to be Halloween. It just takes early early mornings when the ego or superego, is that the one with the cape?, hold closed the door to the room containing the id, or is that IT? Whatever it is when that door opens the monsters, the skeletons and the shades come out. When the shades are drawn the eery light of that sub world is kept below.
Maybe that's when I picked up that pencil as a child and began to draw. It was super heroes to ward off the monsters. And there were monsters. I know there were. They stayed in the room at the back of the house next to the bathroom. The door was always locked. I seemed to be the only one who heard the stirrings in that room. It's a frighting thing for a child of 4 or 5 sitting on the porcelain throne with feet dangling to hear a scritch, scritch at that door. A young imagination can provide all manner of scarey critters come to gather him up with his shorts around his ankles. To be pulled under the door into the dark of the dusty cluttered space beyond.
Excuse me. I had to sit up straight and shake my head. Those ghosties and ghoulies need to go back to the underbrain and clear out of my every day world. HA HA. That was a short trip into the netherness of my dark and scary mind cellar. Wonder what the coffee drinkers at Danny's are doing.
...Part 5 of a continuing story.
Julia sat sipping her coffee. Her seat was by the window opening onto the street. The parade of humanity going to and fro in the world always amused her. Beyond that glass a world of men to be manipulated, cajoled and generally humiliated slipped past. She smiled when one of her toadies came to view. Upon recognition they would melt into obsequious gelatin before her eyes. It was all she could do to hold back a high pitched cackle much like the witch from Oz.
Joe, who bought Danny's, approached.
"Yes, Danny?" Julia turned toward him.
"It's Joe. Don't any of you people know that yet?" He threw his arms up into the air staring at the ceiling.
"If you were to change the name of this place it would avoid all the confusion. Have you though to of that?" Julia's exasperation was very evident.
Meanwhile just outside the window stood.....
Well, I don't know who stood outside and it's time to figure out breakfast.
Maybe that's when I picked up that pencil as a child and began to draw. It was super heroes to ward off the monsters. And there were monsters. I know there were. They stayed in the room at the back of the house next to the bathroom. The door was always locked. I seemed to be the only one who heard the stirrings in that room. It's a frighting thing for a child of 4 or 5 sitting on the porcelain throne with feet dangling to hear a scritch, scritch at that door. A young imagination can provide all manner of scarey critters come to gather him up with his shorts around his ankles. To be pulled under the door into the dark of the dusty cluttered space beyond.
Excuse me. I had to sit up straight and shake my head. Those ghosties and ghoulies need to go back to the underbrain and clear out of my every day world. HA HA. That was a short trip into the netherness of my dark and scary mind cellar. Wonder what the coffee drinkers at Danny's are doing.
...Part 5 of a continuing story.
Julia sat sipping her coffee. Her seat was by the window opening onto the street. The parade of humanity going to and fro in the world always amused her. Beyond that glass a world of men to be manipulated, cajoled and generally humiliated slipped past. She smiled when one of her toadies came to view. Upon recognition they would melt into obsequious gelatin before her eyes. It was all she could do to hold back a high pitched cackle much like the witch from Oz.
Joe, who bought Danny's, approached.
"Yes, Danny?" Julia turned toward him.
"It's Joe. Don't any of you people know that yet?" He threw his arms up into the air staring at the ceiling.
"If you were to change the name of this place it would avoid all the confusion. Have you though to of that?" Julia's exasperation was very evident.
Meanwhile just outside the window stood.....
Well, I don't know who stood outside and it's time to figure out breakfast.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Secret ingredient?
This DST is a butt kicker. Going by the clock for the next few days will cause me to go to bed later and wake at the same time though the clock's face is different. Probably the coffee consumption will increase for a week or so before my body accepts the new time without thinking "what the real time is." That's the experience of looking at the clock and measuring what the body thinks the time is opposed to what the eyes show you. It takes a while for me to adjust.
Today is the day I pick up my bike from Mike's. It's a Giant Via 1. I haven't ridden a bicycle in 40 years. I decided I need to add excercise to my repertoire. Well, I just need to do something to get my blood moving on occasion. Anyway, I felt comfortable on my last bike of 40 years ago, a Raleigh 3 speed and this was the closest thing I could find to it.
It'll be an adventure. And speaking of adventures I think I hear a part 4 to the continuing story coming forward....chock full of cliches and weary story lines....
"Whereas in silks my Julia goes, Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flows, that liquefaction of her clothes." It was the first line of Robert Herrick's poem that came to mind as Julia, and it happened her name was Julia, approached from the alley across the street. His mind drifted at such times as he saw her. It never occurred to ask what she had been doing in that alley. Others would have thought the worst when she dressed as she did on this occasion.
Silks were her favorite. The royal blue accentuated the ice blue eyes that bored through a man. Her crimson lips beckoned even the toughest whom she could bend to her every whim. Hair of the deepest chestnut, almost black, cascaded over her shoulders in thick voluminous curls. Her face was the smoothest porcelain with the chill of alabaster. His eyes traveled down the tightly wrapped figure that moved with an elegance never matched by any other woman he had known. He was captivated. If she asked, he fell over himself to make it happen. When in her presence he was owned body and soul. Mostly soul since she would not comply with his carnal desires.
She commanded with her eyes. He obeyed with his life. She was perfectly content with the arrangement. He never thought. He just complied.
"Hello, Julia," he said as she approached.
"It's Miss Stern," she said. Ice crackled in the words. "Have you seen that Palooka guy?"
"yeah. He was here earlier with Gabe. I never would have taken them to be such good friends."
"What? Where'd they go?" she slid into a booth signalling to the man behind the counter.
Perplexed, Sam asked, "Huh? You want me to find him for you? I'd be happy to find him."
Joe, who bought Danny's, showed up with pad and pencil ready to take a pancake order. "Pancakes?" he asked.
"Danny, how many times have I told you no Pancakes?" Fire emerged through the eyes of ice.
"Uh, it's Joe. I tell you that every time too."
"Then why is the place still called Danny's?"
It was a continual topic. Joe heard the same thing from everyone coming in. It was adding to his slowly simmering anger.
"Whadaya want?" rasped Joe. She told him coffee and dismissed him with a flick of her hair.
Turning to Sam, who was completely overwhelmed by her perfume a pleasant fragrance that hinted at roses, she smiled and spoke slowly. It was honey in the air to Sam. He heard the tones but not the words. As he sat like a puppy entranced her face slowly changed from a warm loving facade to the darkness of an approaching storm. Sam didn't notice simply being happy in her nearness.
Julia's mind raced through such rapid changes in emotion. It happened to her all the time. Men just fell over themselves to be close. They were so stupid, she thought. She had learned at an early age how easily men could be manipulated. It was complete instinct when very young. The instinct grew to complete understanding after she had grown into the beauty she saw in the mirror each morning. A smile crept over her face. She'd found out what boys wanted in the 8th grade. When they had studied the topic of slavery she had understood. It took so little to enslave these weak minded idiots. She honed her skills over the years. A twitch of an eyebrow could open doors for her that remained closed to anyone else. Julia, Julia how simple the world was. Men ruled it. She, and any woman of physical beauty and exceptional inteligence, ruled them, whether they knew it or not. Simplicity itself.
But right now she needed Joe Palooka to tell her about Gabe. It had been a simple request of a simple mind in a powerhouse frame. Just a little punch or two here and there. Get the money or break something. That was all she had asked. So why was he still walking?
"I want you to find Palooka and get him back here to me. Do you understand?" The words were solid ice fracturing Sam's reveree. He sat bolt upright.
"Get out there now. Don't come back without him," she leaned into the corner of the booth. Joe sidled up to the table and slipped the coffee cup onto the table. She pulled it to her inhaling the aroma. Joe had added his secret flavoring as before for Gabe and Joe. She smiled at him then sipped the hot brew. "Nice," she said to Joe. He smiled, his eyes darker than before.
Sam ran out the door. He hesitated on the sidewalk looking in all directions. One way as good as another he set out to accomplish Julia's wish. Julia settled into the booth and sipped her coffee. Her smile a knowing comment men.
It'll be an adventure. And speaking of adventures I think I hear a part 4 to the continuing story coming forward....chock full of cliches and weary story lines....
"Whereas in silks my Julia goes, Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flows, that liquefaction of her clothes." It was the first line of Robert Herrick's poem that came to mind as Julia, and it happened her name was Julia, approached from the alley across the street. His mind drifted at such times as he saw her. It never occurred to ask what she had been doing in that alley. Others would have thought the worst when she dressed as she did on this occasion.
Silks were her favorite. The royal blue accentuated the ice blue eyes that bored through a man. Her crimson lips beckoned even the toughest whom she could bend to her every whim. Hair of the deepest chestnut, almost black, cascaded over her shoulders in thick voluminous curls. Her face was the smoothest porcelain with the chill of alabaster. His eyes traveled down the tightly wrapped figure that moved with an elegance never matched by any other woman he had known. He was captivated. If she asked, he fell over himself to make it happen. When in her presence he was owned body and soul. Mostly soul since she would not comply with his carnal desires.
She commanded with her eyes. He obeyed with his life. She was perfectly content with the arrangement. He never thought. He just complied.
"Hello, Julia," he said as she approached.
"It's Miss Stern," she said. Ice crackled in the words. "Have you seen that Palooka guy?"
"yeah. He was here earlier with Gabe. I never would have taken them to be such good friends."
"What? Where'd they go?" she slid into a booth signalling to the man behind the counter.
Perplexed, Sam asked, "Huh? You want me to find him for you? I'd be happy to find him."
Joe, who bought Danny's, showed up with pad and pencil ready to take a pancake order. "Pancakes?" he asked.
"Danny, how many times have I told you no Pancakes?" Fire emerged through the eyes of ice.
"Uh, it's Joe. I tell you that every time too."
"Then why is the place still called Danny's?"
It was a continual topic. Joe heard the same thing from everyone coming in. It was adding to his slowly simmering anger.
"Whadaya want?" rasped Joe. She told him coffee and dismissed him with a flick of her hair.
Turning to Sam, who was completely overwhelmed by her perfume a pleasant fragrance that hinted at roses, she smiled and spoke slowly. It was honey in the air to Sam. He heard the tones but not the words. As he sat like a puppy entranced her face slowly changed from a warm loving facade to the darkness of an approaching storm. Sam didn't notice simply being happy in her nearness.
Julia's mind raced through such rapid changes in emotion. It happened to her all the time. Men just fell over themselves to be close. They were so stupid, she thought. She had learned at an early age how easily men could be manipulated. It was complete instinct when very young. The instinct grew to complete understanding after she had grown into the beauty she saw in the mirror each morning. A smile crept over her face. She'd found out what boys wanted in the 8th grade. When they had studied the topic of slavery she had understood. It took so little to enslave these weak minded idiots. She honed her skills over the years. A twitch of an eyebrow could open doors for her that remained closed to anyone else. Julia, Julia how simple the world was. Men ruled it. She, and any woman of physical beauty and exceptional inteligence, ruled them, whether they knew it or not. Simplicity itself.
But right now she needed Joe Palooka to tell her about Gabe. It had been a simple request of a simple mind in a powerhouse frame. Just a little punch or two here and there. Get the money or break something. That was all she had asked. So why was he still walking?
"I want you to find Palooka and get him back here to me. Do you understand?" The words were solid ice fracturing Sam's reveree. He sat bolt upright.
"Get out there now. Don't come back without him," she leaned into the corner of the booth. Joe sidled up to the table and slipped the coffee cup onto the table. She pulled it to her inhaling the aroma. Joe had added his secret flavoring as before for Gabe and Joe. She smiled at him then sipped the hot brew. "Nice," she said to Joe. He smiled, his eyes darker than before.
Sam ran out the door. He hesitated on the sidewalk looking in all directions. One way as good as another he set out to accomplish Julia's wish. Julia settled into the booth and sipped her coffee. Her smile a knowing comment men.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Pancakes?
The clock says 5:00. My mind says 4:00. It's still dark out. What happened? Daylight Savings Time. Who are they kidding? That concept is so outmoded. I know it takes at least half a year off your life. I never feel good after it happens. For at least a week after the fall back or spring forward my mind is constantly saying it's really 6 or it's really 5 when it's...well you get the idea.
I was ready to write a full history of the origin of DST this morning. Then I woke up too early. My mind isn't ready for in depth anything at this time of the morning so whoever cares can simply go to the Wikipedia breakdown and read it for themselves. For me, I could do without it. It's purpose is to aid business with no thought to the human beings that have to change clocks and rouse themselves earlier or later depending on the two seasons affected. Why do we simply change clocks and sleeping habits because someone out there says, "This is the way it is. Do it."
Enough of that. No rebellious ranting. It's too early though it's later than yesterday or is that earlier. It's so damn confusing for aging minds.
So what's gabe up to?
Joe Spinsky had taken over Danny's two years ago. His childhood had been a happy one. His mother had kept him happy every morning with a stack of pancakes interspersed with slabs of butter and a heavy hand with the syrup pitcher. Heavy handed isn't the right term but to say that she glazed over every time she tipped the pitcher above his stack o' flapjacks would be more accurate.
Joe...we're talking about Joe that took over Danny's not the Palooka guy...never realized his momma had a medical problem, petit mal or simply a short attention span. He equated griddle cakes, butter and syrup with love. Later in life he was overcome with his love for humanity and scraped together enough money to buy Danny's. Danny was overjoyed to sell since his love of humanity had been lost over the years becoming acquainted with jackasses who took their anger out on business men who took their money for what they considered inferior service and edibles. Danny took Joe's money and ran. They were both happy.
"How about some pancakes?" asked Joe.
Joe looked up at Joe and said, "No thanks. Just two cups o' Joe, Joe."
Gabe seemed confused. "I thought your name was Danny."
"No, gabe. It's Joe. Just like Joe here. How long have you been coming in for coffee and pie?"
"I don't know. Maybe 2 years."
"That's when I took over. Two years ago."
"So why do you still call it Danny's?"
"Well, it takes about two years to break even. I didn't have enough to change the sign. Besides everyone around here seemed comfortable with the name. I got plans though. Next year I'm changing it." He got a far away look in his eye. Gabe and Joe noticed that he seemed to go into a trance and his hand conformed to an imaginary pitcher that remained in a pouring position.
"Yeah, we're happy for you. How about that Joe, Joe." Gabe pointed his index finger into a circular motion next to his temple as his eyes rose to the ceiling. Joe, the owner of Danny's, shook his head quickly as he came back to life, asked, "How 'bout some of my Johhny cakes. Got a special on the blueberry chocolate chip strawberry ones."
"Don't want no effin' pancakes, Danny. Just coffee, black with cream."
"You got it," said Joe who owned Danny's. "I'll be right back."
He poured the two cups of coffee from the urn and spit into each cup. His desire to serve humanity over the last two years had dimmed somewhat. He carried the laced coffees to the table. Once more he asked, "Pancakes and syrup?"
"HELL NO!" shouted Gabe and Joe.
Joe, who now was beginning to regret his decision to buy Danny's, walked away from the two. Every day he offered his lovely stacks of pancakes, six to a stack for the price of three with a full pitcher of genuine Canadian imitation maple syrup and a wheel of butter produced from his very own churn in the kitchen. Every day he was told no. One can only take so many rejections. Pancakes, butter and syrup were love to Joe, who bought Danny's. Joe who punched faces couldn't care less about pancakes, or love for that matter.
"Best coffee in town," said Joe, the puncher, as he slurped in a mouthful. "Robust and hot."
"I don't know," said Gabe. "It's got a distinct twang I don't particularly relish."
They drank their coffee and spoke of maybe Gabe getting a loan to pay the boss. As they were speaking the picture in my mind began to fade. I reckon it'll be tomorrow that their story will begin to reappear.
"How about some pancakes?" I distinctly heard that as Joe, Joe and Gabe's world began to recede into whereever they came from.
I was ready to write a full history of the origin of DST this morning. Then I woke up too early. My mind isn't ready for in depth anything at this time of the morning so whoever cares can simply go to the Wikipedia breakdown and read it for themselves. For me, I could do without it. It's purpose is to aid business with no thought to the human beings that have to change clocks and rouse themselves earlier or later depending on the two seasons affected. Why do we simply change clocks and sleeping habits because someone out there says, "This is the way it is. Do it."
Enough of that. No rebellious ranting. It's too early though it's later than yesterday or is that earlier. It's so damn confusing for aging minds.
So what's gabe up to?
Joe Spinsky had taken over Danny's two years ago. His childhood had been a happy one. His mother had kept him happy every morning with a stack of pancakes interspersed with slabs of butter and a heavy hand with the syrup pitcher. Heavy handed isn't the right term but to say that she glazed over every time she tipped the pitcher above his stack o' flapjacks would be more accurate.
Joe...we're talking about Joe that took over Danny's not the Palooka guy...never realized his momma had a medical problem, petit mal or simply a short attention span. He equated griddle cakes, butter and syrup with love. Later in life he was overcome with his love for humanity and scraped together enough money to buy Danny's. Danny was overjoyed to sell since his love of humanity had been lost over the years becoming acquainted with jackasses who took their anger out on business men who took their money for what they considered inferior service and edibles. Danny took Joe's money and ran. They were both happy.
"How about some pancakes?" asked Joe.
Joe looked up at Joe and said, "No thanks. Just two cups o' Joe, Joe."
Gabe seemed confused. "I thought your name was Danny."
"No, gabe. It's Joe. Just like Joe here. How long have you been coming in for coffee and pie?"
"I don't know. Maybe 2 years."
"That's when I took over. Two years ago."
"So why do you still call it Danny's?"
"Well, it takes about two years to break even. I didn't have enough to change the sign. Besides everyone around here seemed comfortable with the name. I got plans though. Next year I'm changing it." He got a far away look in his eye. Gabe and Joe noticed that he seemed to go into a trance and his hand conformed to an imaginary pitcher that remained in a pouring position.
"Yeah, we're happy for you. How about that Joe, Joe." Gabe pointed his index finger into a circular motion next to his temple as his eyes rose to the ceiling. Joe, the owner of Danny's, shook his head quickly as he came back to life, asked, "How 'bout some of my Johhny cakes. Got a special on the blueberry chocolate chip strawberry ones."
"Don't want no effin' pancakes, Danny. Just coffee, black with cream."
"You got it," said Joe who owned Danny's. "I'll be right back."
He poured the two cups of coffee from the urn and spit into each cup. His desire to serve humanity over the last two years had dimmed somewhat. He carried the laced coffees to the table. Once more he asked, "Pancakes and syrup?"
"HELL NO!" shouted Gabe and Joe.
Joe, who now was beginning to regret his decision to buy Danny's, walked away from the two. Every day he offered his lovely stacks of pancakes, six to a stack for the price of three with a full pitcher of genuine Canadian imitation maple syrup and a wheel of butter produced from his very own churn in the kitchen. Every day he was told no. One can only take so many rejections. Pancakes, butter and syrup were love to Joe, who bought Danny's. Joe who punched faces couldn't care less about pancakes, or love for that matter.
"Best coffee in town," said Joe, the puncher, as he slurped in a mouthful. "Robust and hot."
"I don't know," said Gabe. "It's got a distinct twang I don't particularly relish."
They drank their coffee and spoke of maybe Gabe getting a loan to pay the boss. As they were speaking the picture in my mind began to fade. I reckon it'll be tomorrow that their story will begin to reappear.
"How about some pancakes?" I distinctly heard that as Joe, Joe and Gabe's world began to recede into whereever they came from.
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