Back in Black......
OK......
If you are a reader of this blog....assume crushing Irish-Catholic guilt on the part of the blogger. Sorry to not have been posting.
I found myself actually working....like a dog.
That is a facile phrase....here are my dogs right now:
But...in Ireland in the old days, dogs actually worked in the kitchens running treadmills that turned the roasts. The cooks...and the dogs.....worked a minimum 16 hour day. More like 20's.....
Today alone I have received a dozen emails and a personal face to face delivery of concern about my lack of communication.
Facebook is partly to blame. I think of Blogger.com as literature or journalism....silly me.
Facebook is like screaming in the mirror in the toilet....
Also.....I have had this weird idea of trying to maintain a positive outlook.....and I have not been given much help from the outside.
As in....the Democratic Party, in whom we all based so much hope and energy....turned out to be just as corrupt a bunch of motherfuckers as the Republicans....except the Democrats don't actually fuck their mothers.......Democratic Senators will still vote against the will of 80% of the people in exchange for a few bucks.
And my friend Benny yells at me for referring to Dianne Feinstein as a rancid whore.....
The last actual whore I have known blew her head off with a shotgun....and she led a life way more proper than my senior Senator.....She just exchanged sex for drugs......and food...and a few beers. Her ex-husband, Les...who found her..... still comes in for brunch on Sundays.
Snack the Feral Chihuahua loves Les.
DiFi exchanges our Constitution for bucks for......who knows?
All I know is that it is not working out for me.....In the words of Hunter Thompson, my elected representatives.....Sam Farr excluded.......need to be "stuffed in a goddam bottle and floated out on the Japanese current....."
I was in a motorcycle accident in England in 1971. I was a Norton guy.....inclined push-rod 750's, balanced like gyroscopes.
Leaving Brands Hatch after a dramatic race between MV Agusta and Norton's....I smacked into a car in the traffic jam and broke all the bones in my hand and lost almost all the skin on my upper body.
I broke the bones in my hand because I punched the Pakistani who turned into me.....
No matter.....Illegal alien though I was.....rushed to hospital in ambulance. Scrubbed raw with green gas-station soap by a nurse who was straight out of "Misery".....Hand X-rayed and set by a Paki doctor who had less than a perfect command of English.
Six weeks of physical therapy at St. Bart's....the oldest hospital in England, and possibly the world. I walked each morning from Islington to my appointment in the Hand Clinic. A ten minute respite while I dropped my broken hand into hot wax. In and out....forming a glove of wax.....loosening the joints.
An utterly gorgeous British Army nurse....blonde and blue, thin and fit.....awaited me on the backside of the wax tank.
She smiled. I fell into those gorgeous baby-blues and was lost......Until she grabbed my hand.
She worked on flexibility....she worked on adhesions......My pain was irrelevant to her....it even inspired her......
And she was so hot........
Each morning I would hike my mile through historic London.....through the old markets, through Smithfield.....to my destiny with my Army Ice Queen.....
I would sob....and work......and eventually I could use my hand.
Total cost: Five pounds....about twelve dollars back then.
Cost to include: illegal alien doing wrong shit with bad-ass motorcycles; ambulance rescue; ER treatment and meds; six weeks of PT with the gorgeous ice queen.....
Five pounds.
What can Dianne Feinstein.....or my Health Care Provider I send $400 a month to.....that compares?
Nothing....because my crappy $400 does not compete with the money that she gets from the Health Insurance Industry.....
Next time I am gonna get on a motorcycle.....
Will be in England.......
So......
If you are a reader of this blog....assume crushing Irish-Catholic guilt on the part of the blogger. Sorry to not have been posting.
I found myself actually working....like a dog.
That is a facile phrase....here are my dogs right now:
But...in Ireland in the old days, dogs actually worked in the kitchens running treadmills that turned the roasts. The cooks...and the dogs.....worked a minimum 16 hour day. More like 20's.....
Today alone I have received a dozen emails and a personal face to face delivery of concern about my lack of communication.
Facebook is partly to blame. I think of Blogger.com as literature or journalism....silly me.
Facebook is like screaming in the mirror in the toilet....
Also.....I have had this weird idea of trying to maintain a positive outlook.....and I have not been given much help from the outside.
As in....the Democratic Party, in whom we all based so much hope and energy....turned out to be just as corrupt a bunch of motherfuckers as the Republicans....except the Democrats don't actually fuck their mothers.......Democratic Senators will still vote against the will of 80% of the people in exchange for a few bucks.
And my friend Benny yells at me for referring to Dianne Feinstein as a rancid whore.....
The last actual whore I have known blew her head off with a shotgun....and she led a life way more proper than my senior Senator.....She just exchanged sex for drugs......and food...and a few beers. Her ex-husband, Les...who found her..... still comes in for brunch on Sundays.
Snack the Feral Chihuahua loves Les.
DiFi exchanges our Constitution for bucks for......who knows?
All I know is that it is not working out for me.....In the words of Hunter Thompson, my elected representatives.....Sam Farr excluded.......need to be "stuffed in a goddam bottle and floated out on the Japanese current....."
I was in a motorcycle accident in England in 1971. I was a Norton guy.....inclined push-rod 750's, balanced like gyroscopes.
Leaving Brands Hatch after a dramatic race between MV Agusta and Norton's....I smacked into a car in the traffic jam and broke all the bones in my hand and lost almost all the skin on my upper body.
I broke the bones in my hand because I punched the Pakistani who turned into me.....
No matter.....Illegal alien though I was.....rushed to hospital in ambulance. Scrubbed raw with green gas-station soap by a nurse who was straight out of "Misery".....Hand X-rayed and set by a Paki doctor who had less than a perfect command of English.
Six weeks of physical therapy at St. Bart's....the oldest hospital in England, and possibly the world. I walked each morning from Islington to my appointment in the Hand Clinic. A ten minute respite while I dropped my broken hand into hot wax. In and out....forming a glove of wax.....loosening the joints.
An utterly gorgeous British Army nurse....blonde and blue, thin and fit.....awaited me on the backside of the wax tank.
She smiled. I fell into those gorgeous baby-blues and was lost......Until she grabbed my hand.
She worked on flexibility....she worked on adhesions......My pain was irrelevant to her....it even inspired her......
And she was so hot........
Each morning I would hike my mile through historic London.....through the old markets, through Smithfield.....to my destiny with my Army Ice Queen.....
I would sob....and work......and eventually I could use my hand.
Total cost: Five pounds....about twelve dollars back then.
Cost to include: illegal alien doing wrong shit with bad-ass motorcycles; ambulance rescue; ER treatment and meds; six weeks of PT with the gorgeous ice queen.....
Five pounds.
What can Dianne Feinstein.....or my Health Care Provider I send $400 a month to.....that compares?
Nothing....because my crappy $400 does not compete with the money that she gets from the Health Insurance Industry.....
Next time I am gonna get on a motorcycle.....
Will be in England.......
So......
posted by Txacoli at 7:29 PM
7 Comments:
Hey there, I am moving from Charlotte, NC back to Upper Carmel Valley just to be able to drive as damn slow as I want to. I have 2 Chihuahuas, one looks very similar to yours or is it the resident dog? I adopted them 4 years ago in LaQuinta, CA. I am lucky enough to meet a man that lives on Cachagua Rd rent to me with 2 dogs. I miss the beach and friendly people, there are a few here, old timers, but the transplants from NY and NJ are changing the South. They run you off the road. Will see you at The Store.
Great to have you back! Funnily enough I lived in Islington for 11 years (legally) and now live in Shoreditch. If I can ever bring myself to go through the brutality and humiliation that is US border control, I will pass by the Store to shake your hand, that works courtesy of our NHS!
I am just glad you are back to writing your blog---- I was among the CV folks worried about you---- whether I agree or disagree.... I always find your writing interesting and enlightening... and THANK YOU for that.
This comment has been removed by the author.
A gentle reminder...
Recall
Glad you are back to blogging. Always enjoyable and/or challenging to read your words.
I want to know how you've survived this long! Sheer guts, probably...
would like to know more about the fire you had. How often do you see Cougars, snakes, etc.
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