Real Ale Brewing: Black Is Beautiful

 https://realalebrewing.com/news/the-black-is-beautiful-initiative/

How odd for the Real Ale brewing company outside of Austin: Ostensibly supporting blacks by brewing a "Russian Imperial Stout with Lactose." (OMG---What if said supported blacks are lactose intolerant?! And I don't think your fellow leftists would go for the "Imperial" part.)

When will this utterly mindless politically correct idiocy stop? I found the following especially stupid, the idea that the Real Ale brewery will be "...hopefully bringing forth change to a system that has fractured so many families and has been broken for decades."

How could a brewery, of all random places, ever be "bringing forth change to a system that has fractured so many families"? (As long as you serve all people, you're doing fine. Dare I say it: Shut up and brew.)

And, by the way: What is the "system that has fractured so many families"? Most black families don't have a male present. Most black males are killed by other black males. What is this "system" that you so glibly speak of? Could it be that black people, like all other people, should be held responsible for their own behavior?

And could it be that this brewery is jumping on the politically correct bandwagon, sans any thought whatsoever? I have no respect at all for such suck-ups.

Neil Diamond - Brother Love's Travelling Salvation Show

ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLYWOOD - Official Trailer (HD)

Once Upon a time in Hollywood (2019) | Flamethrower Scene

Next time an intruder comes on your property. (If only Sharon Tate had had a flamethrower.)

Cliff Booth vs Hippies | Once Upon A Time In Hollywood

When psychotic left-wing hippies show up at the wrong house.

Once Upon a Time in...Hollywood

While spending the night at Mom's the day after Thanksgiving, got to watch some of her free HBO after she went to bed. I'm not a big blood-n-guts violence fan, but in this movie's case: It was extremely gratifying to watch the Manson hippies get smashed in the face multiple times by Tarantino's tough Texans (played by DiCaprio and Pitt).

A side-note: Back when I lived briefly in San Francisco in the mid-90s, I was riding a bus when a thug got on and didn't want to pay his fare. We sat there for 10 minutes while the punk and driver argued, and various kind white bus-riders offered the scum-bag a dollar for his fare. He refused all dollars. Just wanted to ride for free for the hell of it. The bus driver ultimately caved and let the thug ride the bus. At the time, I remember thinking: "This would never happen in Texas." (Today, in 2020, it's happening all over America, including Texas.)

Bucket List Places to Visit

In the US:

Nashville/Memphis (Graceland)/Washington DC/Southern Civil War battlegrounds

Los Angeles (studios, Joan Crawford homes, Manson sites)

Massachusetts (Plath, Sexton, Lizzie Borden sites)

 

In Europe:

Germany (Berlin, family sites in Wolfsburg and Braunschweig)

England (North: Liverpool Beatles sites; South: London plus Thomas Hardy and Plath/Hughes sites in Wessex/Devon)

 

In Russia:

Moscow and St. Petersburg, plus Romanov sites like Yekaterinburg.

After the above, I guess Paris (via chunnel) and the pyramids of Egypt.

For Sandra (January 1986)

 Poem for a Water Sign

There is something left unsaid: for wounding eyes,

a cut of silence bled for washing clean.

In frequent deep, voices unwed; lone

divers careless in this wet sky,

a stroke above the clouds that

part their waves to meet God.

She swims to this sign,

a glass-winged girl

heaven-sent,

stirring

sluggish soil

and flooding deaf

horizons with the

brook's gurgle, a babble

academy loosing its

flow, dismissing what may shatter

stone. There is no fear of drowning, no

caution at the water's edge. All is safe

she will say, in sinking to the sea below.

Honey, it's OK.

Marlene Dietrich and Joan Crawford, 1954.

 

How to Deal with the Autistic (and Otherwise Challenged)

As I've mentioned on this blog earlier, an apartment neighbor a few doors down has an autistic girl who has, since July, jumped over my low backyard fence on two occasions and actually either attempted to enter, or actually entered, my apartment. On both occasions, I chased her away, then reported her to apartment management.

Earlier this evening, the same child (about 8 years old) was making her way from the parking lot of the apartment complex to the apartment that she lives in (a couple of doors down from mine). And she chose to shriek at the top of her lungs the entire time. I first heard her shrieks coming from the parking lot, then kept hearing her ear-piercing screams as she made her way to her apartment. As she passed my front window (which was open because of the nice weather), she was still screaming. At which point I yelled at the top of MY lungs through my screen: SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And, miraculously, the little brat immediately DID shut the fuck up. I momentarily scared the Crazy out of her.

The effect of my yelling led me to think: Should we probably not be mollycoddling certain people? The Obnoxiously Autistic (think "Sandy Hook"), the Homeless, the Criminal, the Professional Race/Gender Victims. You can be sympathetic up to a point, but once that point is crossed, then ENOUGH already: Shut up, stop camping on our streets, stop expecting sympathy when the police shoot you when you resist arrest (and when the actual #1 cause of your own deaths is being shot by other young men of your own race, not by police), stop expecting everyone else to buy into your own mental problems (no, you're not a woman, and no, we're not going to start saying "zie/zim/zer" per instrux from Academia).

Perhaps, given the hell-hole state of many cities of our country, it's time for no more leftist mayors or police chiefs or judges. Note to women and "people of color" and other left-wingers who have been placed in positions of power: If you can't handle running your cities or police departments, then turn them over to people who can. You're doing a terrible job. Your mollycoddling is not working at all. You're a poster child for a return to "Old White Men" running things. (Think "Weimar Era." You're exactly that right now.)

The Church: Unguarded Moment (1981)

So hard finding inspiration
I knew you'd find me crying
Tell those girls with rifles for minds
That their jokes don't make me laugh
They only make me feel like dying
In an unguarded moment

So long, long between mirages
I knew you'd find me drinking
Tell those men with horses for hearts
That their jibes don't make me bleed
They only make me feel like shrinking
In an unguarded moment

So deep, deep without a meaning
I knew you'd find me leaving
Tell those friends with cameras for eyes
That their hands don't make me hang
They only make me feel like breathing
In an unguarded moment

The Church: You're Still Beautiful (1990)

It was only seven years ago
Your mirror finally broke
Your little bunch of followers turned you into a fool
The butt of all their vicious jokes, screaming

You're still beautiful baby
Nobody can take that away
You're still beautiful baby
Even when you fall down that way

You turned up backstage at the palace
We thought you was wearing a mask
I felt so fucking embarrassed
When you looked at your reflection and asked, you asked

Are you still beautiful baby
Nobody can take that away
You're still beautiful baby
Baby don't believe what you see

Once upon a time I would have killed for you
I'm sorry that you got in this mess
But you're the walking picture of Dorian Gray

At least it's artistic, I guess...I guess

Times Square 1980: Your Daughter Is One

The problem with this song is:
The scumbags that you sought out in lieu of your parents were often truly that: scumbags. 

They did not give one shit about you.

And your parents usually were not "scumbags," and they DID care.

Times Square (1980 movie)

Caught this by accident on TCM Friday night, about 20 mins into it. And it was interesting and entertaining. A lesbian fantasy about 2 misfit girls trying to survive in the Times Square area, back when it was a sleazy mess.

Since I missed the first minutes, I had to look it up today online: The girls meet in a mental hospital. The younger girl because she'd run away from home, and the older because she'd gotten into a fight with police. (When I first started watching, I thought the girls were 16 and 20-something; in the film, they're supposed to be 13 and 16.)

The 13-year-old society girl, Pamela Pearl, has apparently escaped from an "evil" father---a city commissioner trying to--gasp!--clean up Times Square. The street girl she meets up with is Nicky Marotta (I kept hearing "Marauder"). After leaving public messages with a radio DJ (Tim Curry), the two become "street heroes."

Here's the thing, though: The movie is pretty stupid and simplistic and unrealistic. It's a dumbed-down feel-good version of what street life is actually like. For instance:

(1) The two need money, so the 16-year-old girl gets the 13-year-old a job at a strip club (the older girl knows the manager). When the 13-year-old tells the Puerto Rican manager that she won't dance topless, he's all for it. (Really? He doesn't check IDs AND he doesn't care if one of his dancers won't take off her top?) Apparently he's charmed once the 13-year-old starts bopping (fully clothed) to a punk song on the runway. Please.

(2) The two girls become known, via the radio station, as the "Sleez Sisters." And one of their schticks is that they throw TV sets off of balconies. Now, "Network" had already come out in 1976. But this 1980 film spent about 10 minutes of film time with montages of the girls tossing TVs off balconies. No explanation; I guess it was a given, post-Network, that TVs were bad. (While watching all of this, I kind of hoped that a TV would hit someone on the sidewalk, leading to a plot point...Nah.)

(3) At one point, the father of runaway Pamela confronts the DJ who's been supporting the girls. DJ Tim Curry mocks the father for being "square," and the father backs down and apologizes. (Really? This guy's 13-year-old has just run away from home, and this punk DJ is mocking him for his concern? What is the father apologizing for?)

(4) Later in the film, the two girls get in a fight (the 13-year-old Pamela Pearl wants to have her "own ideas") and Nicky goes off in a huff to practice with her band. While Nicky's gone, DJ Tim Curry shows up at her underground pad with a bottle of vodka, which he proceeds to share with the 13-year-old Pamela. When Nicky gets back home...OMG: Why is she so mad?! (Other than that a 30-year-old guy is at her place getting her 13-year-old lover drunk.)

The film ends with Nicky and Pamela atop a Times Square rooftop, with Nicky singing her extremely basic "I'm a Damn Dog Now," which she'd previously performed at the strip club. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aFOTY0nj-so

It's not that great a song, but apparently it's inspired little girls across the city, who have all gathered below to cheer. Nicky jumps off the roof (caught by her fans) and Pamela Pearl and Dad embrace on the rooftop.

Interesting, but so godawful! :)

p.s. Nicky reminded me way too much of my very first girlfriend (back in '89), who was an ex-con (bank robbery): Sexy but stupid. And, worse, thinking she was talented at "writing" and "performance" when she was decidedly NOT---her "cool" was left over from when she, like the Nicky character, looked like the androgynous Bowie of the '70s. But she had none of the talent of Bowie. Her poems were very bad, her paintings were mediocre. But the Austin street kids liked it.

John Lennon with Cats

George Jones: Who's Gonna Fill Their Shoes

I'm a C-Span nerd---was thrilled to be watching this past weekend during a conversation about the Supreme Court when the moderator asked the guest, re Antonin Scalia, if he'd heard the George Jones song "Who's Gonna Fill Their Shoes," and, if so, who the guest thought could fill Scalia's shoes...Unfortunately, the East Coast guest had never heard of George Jones or the song, though he quickly offered up that he liked Neil Young.

 

This reminded me of when I was in a grad school writing program in San Francisco in '94-'95. I'd turned in a poem mentioning a George Jones song lyric. When classmates and the professor said they didn't know any Jones songs, I pointed out that Jones had been a major figure on the country (and American) music scene for the past 40 years, with literally dozens of hits. A Hispanic fellow student then countered: "Well, you didn't know who Selena was!" True in 1995 at the time of her murder. But then her first album had just been released in 1989. A bit of a difference in ignorance.

George Jones: The Real Deal (1999)

Here's what I think "reincarnation" is.

 

George Jones: A Thousand Times A Day

"You're not intimidating me!"

A couple of hours ago, someone was banging on an apartment door a few doors down from me. After about 5 minutes of the constant banging, I went out to see what was going on.

I stood there on my doorstep with my hands in my pockets and looked down the row at the guy banging on the door. After about 30 seconds, he spotted me standing there. First, he mimicked my stance. Then he crossed his arms. Then he called out, "You're not intimidating me!"

Me: "I'm not trying to intimidate you. Why do you keep banging on that door?"

No answer.

I went back inside. He, I guess, did, too, because I didn't hear anything else from him.

p.s. Other recent apartment occurrences: Another guy has been setting off fireworks within the complex since late September. Setting them off every couple of days, then running back into his apartment, so it was hard to identify who was doing it. Except I caught him in October! (He, seriously, had a big box labeled "Fireworks" sitting on a picnic table while denying he was setting off fireworks!) Now, am I being a "Nurse Ratched," or am I being a Voice of Reason?

Whichever the case, why am I in such an environment? I'd much prefer not to be living around 20-something assholes who don't know how to act.