Thursday, June 30, 2016

FAREWELL TO JUNE



 Sunrise today, with morning fog


Many thanks to everyone who appreciated my previous post, Wild Ride. And thanks to everyone who didn't appreciate it. What the heck - - I'm in a rare good mood today.

There's something that has been bothering me about my previous post. It has to do with the part where I said that Nancy and I removed the back seat of the Camaro through the trunk of the car. It didn't make any sense to me.

The incident happened long ago, when we were teens. My memory has since been clouded by booze and hard living. After I posted the story on my blog I kept thinking about it.
Then! Suddenly! Last night at around 3:00 a.m. I remembered!

My cousin Nancy didn't lock her keys in the car. She locked them in the trunk! We removed the back seat to get into the trunk.
Note: I just revised Wild Ride and made the correction.


I happened to stop over at Nancy's house today and she mentioned my blog and confirmed the back seat incident. She also said that the guy who worked at the stables helped us with our effort to remove the seat.

I've always kept very detailed diaries, and I also wrote down all of my youthful adventures with Nancy in a notebook. Unfortunately, these were all lost by the movers when I came to Tennessee.  Now I only have my rapidly deteriorating memory to rely on.

The past few days have been gorgeous - - but rain is predicted for the weekend, Independence Day (Monday), and most of next week. It's no exaggeration when I always say that Tennessee is the most rainy place I've ever been. That's why I've given up on maintaining the weeds. They would have to be cut at least three times a week. My feeble efforts are constantly thwarted by torrential downpours.

I drove into town today to buy some necessities before the chaos of the upcoming holiday weekend. Everything went alarmingly smoothly, which makes me suspicious. As an avowed pessimist, I always worry when things go well. It's not normal.

But, as usual, I did forget one thing on my list of supplies. I got beer and cat food, toilet paper and cat litter, milk, bread, even a watermelon.....

.....but I forgot to get lemon juice, which I desperately need.

Why don't you just use fresh lemons, Jon?

Hey, Pancho - - did you ever try to find a fresh lemon in rural Tennessee? It's easier to find a Gay Pride Parade. Besides, I'm not in the mood to cut and squeeze anything. Who do you think I am - Julia Child?

My entire life revolves around a large bottle of lemon juice, reconstituted (whatever that means).
Well, that and a keg of beer.
I drank a few beers today to mellow out. 

My cousin Nancy's daughter moved back in with her for awhile. Nancy's daughter is a parrot connoisseur. I'm not joking. She moved her entire pandemonium of parrots into my cousin's house.
I'm almost positive that a group of parrots is called a pandemonium of parrots. In any case, any large number of parrots can definitely cause pandemonium.....

Anyway, I counted about seven parrots - all beautiful birds in huge, gorgeous cages: cockatoos, cockatiels, a macaw, a Senegal.
I recognized the Senegal immediately because I used to have one. It lived twenty years....and then had a tragic, accidental death. It still upsets me to think of it. Someday, I might write about it.  

The parrots are all fantastic - - but my cousin Nancy is a much more tolerant soul than I am. My three cats are enough to drive me to the brink of bonkers. 

Living with a pandemonium of parrots could turn a vegetarian into a killer and a meat eater.

Ponder that for awhile. It might get funny. Then again, maybe it won't.

Farewell to June??
Yup. Tomorrow is July.    



Thursday, June 23, 2016

MY BRUSHES WITH THE DUKE

A YOUNG JOHN WAYNE


I first wrote about this on my old blog Lone Star Concerto. It's not particularly interesting, but I'm rehashing it anyway.

One night, while surfing the web for no plausible reason, I stumbled upon some old photos of Hollywood celebrities. I was stunned to see one particular photo of John Wayne because it was taken the night that I first encountered him - and it was taken while I was standing there, about five feet away. Unfortunately I'm not in the photo - - the photographer was interested in the Duke, not some unknown 18-year-old kid.

I've met a lot of famous people during my adventurous Hollywood years. I also had  brief, casual encounters with others. I saw John Wayne twice. Both times were brief, casual encounters. 

My two brushes with the Duke didn't happen in Hollywood. They occurred in Orange County, where he lived (Wayne lived in Newport Beach).

Just for the record, I've never been a John Wayne fan. Never cared for any of his movies and couldn't remotely relate to his personality - - on screen or off. Seeing him in person didn't generate much excitement on my part. And I doubt if it generated any excitement in the Duke.

My first encounter with Wayne happened when I was eighteen, before I ever went to Hollywood. I was living in Orange County. Sometimes, on warm summer evenings, I'd walk to Knott's Berry Farm (in Buena Park) which was about two miles from where I lived. Hanging out at the "Farm" was a pleasant way to kill a few hours. I'd smoke a few cigarettes, get something to eat, and amuse myself by watching the tourists. Often I'd sit by the antique carousel and listen to the music.

One night it was getting late, near closing time, and I was almost ready to leave. I happened to strike up a conversation with a girl who worked in the Candy Shop. She told me that John Wayne was going to arrive for a private party in the Banquet Hall. "Do you want to go see him?" she asked.

"Sure, why not?"  We walked to the Banquet Hall and waited by the entrance. No one else was there. Only me, the girl, and a couple of photographers from local newspapers.

A long, white limo pulled up and out came John Wayne, his wife Pilar Pallete, their daughter Aissa, and actress Maureen O'Hara. I think Wayne's son Patrick was there, too (well, one of his sons was there).

Wayne was so close to me that I could have easily picked his pocket. He was tall. I'm six-foot-one and he towered over me. Maureen O'Hara was beautiful, all decked out in a green silk gown. She and Wayne were close friends for nearly forty years and they made five films together.

Daughter Aissa kept smiling at me and I would have been flattered - - if it wasn't for the fact that she looked exactly like her father. Picture John Wayne with a long blond wig.

The photographer snapped the photo that I discovered on the Internet. I think it was used in the Orange County Register (I was a proofreader there briefly).



John Wayne and his wife Pilar Pallete.
This is the photo that was taken while I was standing right by them.

My second encounter with Wayne happened about four years later at a party in Newport Beach. I went there with an actor friend and the Duke happened to be one of the guests. My impression of Wayne could be summed up in three words: aloof, gruff, and soused. He was always soused. It seemed to be his trademark. Maureen O'Hara was also there and she was very lovely and gracious. O'Hara  seemed to be the Duke's constant sidekick. It's rumored that they had an affair long ago and I strongly tend to believe it.

Ironically, around the same time, my mother happened to meet John Wayne at an Orange County cocktail party. My Mom was an executive secretary for a top honcho O.C. businessman. He invited her to the cocktail party. My mother generally disliked parties and mindless social gatherings, but she went anyway and she did meet John Wayne. Much like myself, she wasn't particularly impressed.



What do I know about John Wayne? Only the basics. He could be nasty at times, and I've heard a few firsthand stories about his unpleasantness from people who knew him. He was a hardcore drinker. Smoked five packs of unfiltered cigarettes a day. Battled numerous serious illnesses, including lung cancer and a stroke. Suffered fractured ribs and broken limbs while making movies. Wore a hairpiece. Had plastic surgery for eye bags and sagging jowls. Was a staunch Republican and member of the John Birch Society. Believed in conservative values. Real name was Marion Morrison. Nickname came from a dog named Duke that he had as a child.

Wayne holds the record for the actor with the most leading parts in films - - a total of 142.

What have I observed from my personal encounters with Wayne?
One thing for certain, his personality wasn't fake. What you see in his movies is exactly what he was in real life. He wasn't acting. He was merely being himself. I don't think he was ever comfortable with all the Hollywood fluff.

Anyway, that's my take on the Duke.



If you hate this blog, you'll really hate my other one.
Here's the link: 
Cabinet of Curious Treasures 

Wednesday, June 22, 2016

SOLSTICE AND MOONLIGHT



Private thoughts often clash with public perception. That is why there's a danger in keeping a public journal. Revealing the sacred mechanisms of your inner self always encourages adverse reactions and willingly invites opposition. Fires rage.

After the smoke of the conflagration initially settles, however, a reassuring calm and clarity prevails: and I realize that this is my special place and all others are merely interlopers treading on uncertain terrain.

Despite the dangers and vulnerabilities, there is an intense satisfaction and curious comfort knowing the intruders are there. Without the recurring footfall of  interlopers the silence would be deafening.

Thanks for being here.

Wouldn't it be more simple to speak in layman's terms, Jon?

Probably. But it would be far less poetic.

Moonlight and summer solstice. A full strawberry moon. Moonlight floods the open spaces with dazzling silver light and starkly shadows the forest with intriguing shrouds of mystery. The night is alive with all things nocturnal: owls and bats, 'possums and racoons, crickets, frogs, coyotes and wild dogs.

The coyotes have been abundant these past few nights - howling and shrieking, uttering grievances in a barbaric language that often sounds unnervingly human.

 back yard in moonlight
(and moon rising in header photo)

Last night, just after midnight, piercing screams came from the trees that skirt the cow meadow. The screams continued and increased as they moved closer to the house. Then I heard something running through the tall grasses just beyond my bedroom window. I looked out and saw nothing. 

I dared to venture out on the front porch but could see even less. Clouds were obscuring moonlight and a surrealistic vagueness prevailed. The porch is on a much higher level than the ground. It's more like a balcony.

But soft, what light through yonder window breaks -
it is the east and Juliet is the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon
who is already sick and pale with grief
that thou her maid are far more fair than she.
Be not her maid, since she is envious....

Long ago, pathetically long ago  I used to know most of Romeo's soliloquies by heart and I could recite them with reasonable conviction. Unfortunately these oratory talents never impressed anyone.

Why did I mention this? I'm simply marveling at the artistic dimensions of my youth.
Nowadays, I have trouble remembering my phone number.

The lightning bugs - or fireflies - are everywhere. When I was a very young child in New Jersey we called them lightning bugs. My family moved to California when I was five and I didn't see lightning bugs for the next thirty years. They are not a west coast pleasure. It's very satisfying to see them again.

Remember those haunting blue orbs that I saw in the forest last summer? They are completely gone. I never saw them again. I'm certain they were some type of firefly.

Summer nights are enchanted here in the wilderness. 

 

 

Friday, June 17, 2016

ENCHANTMENT




I got a request on my previous post from blogger John Gray of Going Gently 
He wants to see a photo of the painting that is hanging above my cat Bosco:





Well, it is actually an antique poster of a 1913 painting by Maxfield Parrish, entitled Enchantment. This particular poster is an advertisement for Edison Mazda light bulbs. 

The original painting is on my header photo, and this is my poster:


 I specifically hung this poster above my bed, because if it falls off the wall and hits me while I'm sleeping it will do only minimal damage (it's framed under sturdy lightweight acrylic). 

I once had a heavy oil painting above my bed. It fell one night and nearly killed me.

I've had this poster since I was eighteen yrs. old and it brings back lots of fond memories. I bought it in an antique shop on Hollywood Boulevard. I loved it at first sight and......these many years later I still love it. It's one of the very few things I have left from my Hollywood days.

My diaries and journals are lost, most of my photos are gone. I'm left with only memories of an incredible time and a fantastic place -  when I was adventurous, reckless, enthusiastic, outgoing. A far cry from the introverted hermit that I've become. 

I also still have this antique owl, that I bought in another small shop on Hollywood Boulevard.

  
 I had kept the owl on my desk for years. One time long ago, in a blind (and uncharacteristic) moment of rage, I threw it at somebody. It hit the wall and broke apart at the base. I managed to glue it back together and it has endured all these years.

Another of my Hollywood momentos is an antique Turkish hashish pipe made of brass and wood - which I actually used. It might still be around somewhere, packed away. I haven't looked for it.

So why am I mentioning all of this crap? 

Tonight as I look at these token relics of the past, I'm thinking of those long-ago times. And I can almost smell the cool, damp air of a misty California autumn night - when I haunted the after-midnight streets of Hollywood.....

....when I smoked Kool cigarettes and sometimes hash, when I swigged whiskey from a pint bottle that I kept in my coat, and popped occasional quaaludes, when I had a switchblade stashed down the side of my boot....when I thrived on adventure, and was always ready for a sexual encounter....




It was a different time, in a world infinitely far away from where I am now, and I miss it immensely.





 One of the very few photos left, taken when I first went to Hollywood. It was used in a local periodical, in an article about West Hollywood musicians. I was still pathetically skinny - wearing a loose-fitting shirt from India. I also had on the boots in which I kept the switchblade.

This started out about a poster and somehow got lost in a ramble of memories. But for me it was a satisfying ramble.

Am I living in the past?

Nope. But I'm sure as hell missing it.

 

Wednesday, June 15, 2016

NOTHING MUCH, WITH PHOTOGRAPHIC SUPPLEMENTS

Question:
What should a blogger post when he's in a foul mood and doesn't feel like writing?

Answer:
Boring photos that nobody wants to see. 

Three sunny, hot days in a row! That's an incredibly rare event in Tennessee. I took advantage of the great weather - -staggering around the steep inclines of my Hillbilly Estate, valiantly battling acres of weeds that are nearly as tall as myself (I'm 6' 1"). I sprayed and trampled, cut and slaughtered, and was making fair progress (despite my screamingly bad back and the fact that I'm 150 yrs. old).

Then -
yesterday afternoon, the Evil Gods of the Backwoods Mountain saw my progress and decided to nip it in the bud. 

I heard the unnerving sound of distant thunder, and felt the humidity intensify. I helplessly watched as dark clouds rolled in .....and could do nothing to roll them back.....

It began to rain, the rain turned into a deluge, the deluge became a torrential downpour - with thunder so deafening that my cats scrambled for cover and I began to regret my sins. It poured all afternoon, with Biblical fury.

All the weeds that I killed seemed to be miraculously resurrected and new ones sprouted alongside them with alarming vigor. I could hear the weeds growing all night, while they laughed with vindictive delight.

In the feeble light of dawn I saw a tremendous crop of new weeds - bigger, stronger, and greener than the ones I had demolished. My three days of work were completely eradicated. I would now need a tractor to get through them.

Well, shit. I give up. I surrender to the Gods of Nature (and the Goddesses, if you want to be politically correct).

Jon, for someone who wasn't in the mood to write, you're doing a helluva good job.
So where are the photos? 

I thought you'd never ask.

 There are many wildflowers amongst the weeds (I used "amongst" just to irritate Spell Check)

I didn't take any photos of the weeds because I didn't want to depress you.


 The sunlight was dappling the leaves on the morning before the storm

Scratch, my 10 yr old feline, relaxing yesterday afternoon - trying to ignore the 94 degree heat (that's Fahrenheit, for those of you in Guam)

This is how Scratch looks on a good day

  Scruffy, taking a rare break from being feisty and getting into trouble.

Bosco, who is lazy, obedient, and dislikes trouble of any kind.
Bosco is related to Scruffy - they had the same father but different mothers. 

Scruffy and Bosco are two years old.

Why so many cat photos, Jon?

Because I don't have any children or grandchildren to bore you with. Thank God.  

I saved the best for last: photos of me naked.

(I just said that to see if you're still awake)

These are photos of the sunset last evening, after the storm. Taken from the front porch. 





 

Sunday, June 12, 2016

GUNFIRE, UMBRELLAS, WEEDS

This isn't exactly a "regular" blog post. Just some unconnected random thoughts that probably shouldn't be written.

A mass shooting at a gay nightclub in Orlando, FL occurred last weekend. Nearly 50 people were killed and many more wounded. The gunman, mercifully, was killed by police. This is purported to be the deadliest mass shooting in U.S. history.

One thing to consider:
The maniac who slaughtered these innocent people wasn't a white, straight, Republican, American male.

He was a so-called "Muslim American" who pledged his allegiance to the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant (ISIL).

Okay, this remark is purposefully snide  -  - but perhaps we might consider seriously screening the foreign masses who live here and reap the benefits of our country, rather than always trashing the evil white American man. That's the way I feel.
(and you're fortunate I didn't say everything that I'm thinking......)

 






A horrifying freak accident  happened at Virginia Beach, VA last week. Lottie Belk, 55, was killed when she was impaled by an airborne beach umbrella. Ironically, she was celebrating her birthday at the beach with her family. A strong gust of wind sent the umbrella hurling toward her and the sharp handle pierced her torso.

This tragedy ignited a particular memory that I have from long ago. It happened when I was twelve years old in California. My mother and I were spending the day at Huntington Beach (my father hated the beach and seldom went).




We were both laying in the sun, on separate towels, only about a foot or two apart. Suddenly, a fierce gust of wind swept across the beach - launching things into the air. A gigantic beach umbrella was twirling right at us, and the sharply-pointed wooden handle harpooned in the sand directly between our two towels - only inches from us.

I'd never seen anything like it. If it had landed only a few inches to the right or left, one of us would have definitely been impaled. This was no cheap, Chinese plastic parasol from Walmart. It was a massive, very heavy vintage umbrella - and the thick wooden handle had a sharply-pointed end.

The umbrella was retrieved by its owner and he apologized profusely. I think my Mom and I were too stunned to say anything. Twenty or thirty years later we still talked about the incident.
"Remember the time we were almost impaled at the beach?" 

I honestly don't like blogging about news stories, but today I made an exception. I'm not a newsie-type person.

So what else is new? I've sobered up since my trip to town (see previous post). It's still in the 90's and blazingly hot. My back still hurts (screamingly so) but I can crawl around.

Spell Check seems to be intolerant to the word "blazingly" , but I don't give a crap.

I've been trying to tackle the fields of weeds, some of which are nearly as tall as myself. It's really a futile task with the enormous amount of rain here. I'm taking advantage of these rare dry days.

This morning, just before dawn, I sprayed weeds. It was still dark but I was chased by wasps and bees. Coyotes howled in the distance.

My strategy is to spray, then whack with a weed wacker, then mow. If I'm still alive.
Actually, I should probably weed-wack, mow - and then spray.
Whatever. 

 Random glimpse of the back yard - not much to see

This afternoon I was out amongst the weeds again, half-naked, in the blazing sun (I threw in the half-naked part just to enhance your visual imagination).

Spell Check doesn't seem to accept the word "amongst". Tough shit.

I went back to the house sweat-drenched, bug-bitten, and deliciously sun-burned. And extremely queasy. The heat has a nasty way of creeping up on you. Had to drink half a gallon of water and revive by a fan.

This blog post is going nowhere. I had initially planned on writing about music. Maybe next time.

It's sunset right now. I'm going to make some ice tea and homemade potato salad.