Shaken, Stirred Or On The Rocks.

 

Kelley told me she was divorced when we first met. She was sitting alone at the corner bar with a sad expression on her face, absently poking at an over-cooked steak and drinking beer with shots of whiskey. She asked me what I did for a living and I told her that I had just lost my job and had decided to spend my last twenty dollars on getting drunk. When I sobered up, I'd apply for unemployment, but first I needed to get hammered. She laughed and I knew I'd made an instant friend.

She bought me a round to "celebrate" and within a few minutes she was using her fork to hand-feed me bites of her steak. She took me home to her nice suburban split-level that night and I stayed there for a few wonderful days, drinking and screwing and not really caring about much else. Eventually she brought me back to my dismal abode, which she announced "needed a woman's touch".  Kelley planted pansies in the flowerbox outside my apartment, took down my tattered old band posters  and told me to get some paintings. It was good advice and my life began to brighten. I stared caring about things that single men often overlook, like having matching silverware and a shower-curtain that isn't moldy.

Kelley had a nice house but it had the aura of  strong male presence lingering in it, a guitar she didn't play, a toiletries kit in the bathroom and clothes in the closet...in hindsight it should have bugged me that she had chosen to keep so many of her ex-husband's possessions around but at the time I was just glad to have a guitar around her house and didn't give it much thought until  one night just a few weeks after we met when she called me in a panic and told me not to come over that night, to stay home instead.

Oh. OK.

The next day she called me at my new job and told me between sobs that she loved me but couldn't see me any more. She didn't say so, but I got the impression her husband was back.She was good to her word and I haven't seen her since then.


I will be more careful next time. No more married women.


That vow lasted about ten years. I should have known better the second time, but this time it was the most beautiful woman in all the world and we were deeply, hopelessly in love; I knew she would leave her husband soon and all I had to do was stay patient and true and our love would win the day... she did leave her husband, but not for me- she left  him for a third man.

The third and hopefully last time, I just didn't care. My new friend didn't want to know much about me  except that I was from out of town, but she didn't try to hide her marriage from me, in fact she she very colorfully described her husband's dysfunction to me, a revelation which I found off-putting- but not off-putting enough, apparently.

I didn't give a damn about morals at that point, I was still in a state of broken-hearted shock from the end of my previous affair and I was overflowing with anger and stockpiled sexual energy and needed some internal human combustion and controlled explosions ; I felt rough and  luckily my new friend liked it that way, so we got along very, very well as far as that goes.

There was no plan to communicate afterward but she  is smart and easily  found me on-line; after a few exchanges and a hastily retracted invitation, it was determined that we really don't get along in any non-sexual sense of the word and communication was halted with no animosity, just a vague sadness on my part.

I think maybe it is better that way.


_____________________________

Two FABULOUS new  shows for your listening pleasure:

THE NEW BREAKFAST SNOB, MARCH 4 2011 

 Issac Hayes- I Don't Know What To Do With Myself

Gong- Fohat Digs Holes In Space

Traffic- Shanghai Noodle Factory

Moody Blues- Legend of a Mind

Talking Heads- Drugs

Phil Manzenara- Miss Shapiro

Brian Eno- Back In Judy's Jungle



Ozric Tentacles- Chinatype

Fleetwood Mac- Emerald Eyes

Jefferson Airplane- Turn My Life Down

Ten Years After- Hard Monkeys

Marianne Faithfull- She

Stranglers- Ice Queen

Iron Butterfly- Are You Happy?

King Crimson- One More Red Nightmare

Steve Hillage- Light In The Sky

Crack The Sky- Lighten Up McGraw

Atomic Rooster- People You Can't Trust

Magazine- Honeymoon Killers

Moby Grape- Murder In My Heart For the Judge

Stills/Kooper- It Takes a Lot to Laugh,It Takes a Train to Cry

Savoy Brown- Leavin' Again

Cop Shoot Cop- Two At A Time

Download.

THE NEW BREAKFAST SNOB FEB 26 2011






Ozric Tentacles- Floating Seeds

John Cale & Brian Eno- Spinning Away

Carpenters- Superstar

Hawkwind- Take Me To Your Leader

Jim Protector- The Distance

Pink Frost- The Sun

Peter Blegvad- When Work Was New

Freelance Whales- Broken Horse

Al Stewart- Modern Times

Zerfas- I Don't Understand

Black Pepper Sea- Jackson's Car

Monster Rally/Gong/Faust/Tangerine Dream- Mash-up

Steve Hackett- A Tower Struck Down

The Bitter Tears- Starlight

Green Man- A Conversation With Death

Can- I'm So Green

Taxi To The Ocean- Bombshell

The Kinks- Complicated Life

Ozric Tentacles- Sacred Turf

Download.

------------------------

Selling Jack

I recently inherited a new PC at work- one that runs on an 'operating system' known as 'electricity' . The old one used a system of springs, gears and wires and was 'booted-up' by turning a hand-crank for several tedious minutes each morning. This is how automobiles were started back in my childhood years, but shouldn't something as futuristic as a computer have an internal, electronic 'ignition' mechanism?
Like a button you could press or something?

Here is how a car was started back in my day, except instead of a smiling maiden doing the cranking, it would be me; standing barefoot in cold, ankle-deep mud:

Look at the date: Sept. 1911. By 1911 , advertisers were already using sex to sell cars - a technique apparently discovered before the invention of the automobile battery and 'hot-wiring'.
There is nothing accidental in the erotic composition of this picture, but please don't make me explain it.
I'm already distracted enough.

Check out what Crank Babe is wearing- in 1911 America had some really bizarre standards of dress for women- a repressive puritanical desire to cover everything.
Not unlike current Islamic standards, really:



Hmm...a little ankle , but no sash to emphasize the waist and I like the white gloves on the American lass better...
I have a crush on the model from that ad. I wonder what she's doing today?
Here she is in another ad.
This 1911 advertisement starts off by insulting the reader:

"Are You Lazy ?" it screams at them in the text.

If that ad were produced today , it wouldn't ask that question. It wouldn't have to.

Today, we are all lazy and we all know it, so why should we waste what little energy we have answering rhetorical questions?

Today the text would promise to help you lose weight or to overcome depression.
It would sell.

Again, there's nothing accidental in this picture.

I Nearly Married a Machine

This is my Trashcan 38. It's a reel-to-reel multi-track recorder. For many years I recorded bands with it but eventually it became more expensive to maintain than it was worth.

So I pretty much gave up on recording music and decided to concentrate on drinking instead.

My tape deck languished in the basement for a few weeks or months while I pursued my new hobby.
It wasn't long before I started dating this girl named, er, um...Lily...she weighed about ninety pounds with a bellyful of margaritas but could match me drink for drink, all night long. We had drinking contests almost every night and she could hold her own.

Well, not always. Lily was a student and I had a straight job, so she usually had a few hours head start on me when it came to catching a buzz, so there were a few nights when I wound up carrying her skinny ass home from whatever bar or party we'd been mooching booze at.
I didn't really mind doing that- after all, I am a gentleman , if nothing else; but it did start to hurt my back after the third or fourth such incident.

So I had an idea.
Usually my problems begin when I start having ideas and this time was no exception.
See, I figured I'd put that tape deck to use- it had a helluva motor inside and was a lot smarter than some of the people I recorded with it, so I thought maybe I could build a giant robot out of it that could carry Lily home for me when she passed out. I was worried that the police might see me carrying an unconscious woman down the street and get the wrong idea- there was a lot of potential for misunderstanding and all- but if I had a Giant Robot it would be a lot easier to explain what what was going on... well, honestly, if you have a Giant Robot you really don't need to explain much of anything to anybody...


This worked great for a month or so until one fateful night at the corner pub. Lily had conked out an hour before last call and her snoring was starting to bug me while I was trying to hit on her best friend, so I got my G.R. to carry her home without me while I hung out looking to score with Lily's pal.

That was a mistake. Her friend shot me down so I walked home alone...maybe Lily could be stirred into action, I thought as I entered our dark apartment. I didn't see my robot- I guessed it had returned to the basement. It wasn't programmed to do that- it just liked it down there.

I didn't hear Lily snoring but I heard her special little sound- a sort of gasping meow- I wondered if she'd started the party without me...I tiptoed down the hall, maybe we could play 'Burglar'...I opened the bedroom door and saw the robot's metal ass...

Well, you can guess the rest.

Anyway, Lily and I broke up after that.

She offered me $500 for the Robot.

I wish I'd accepted it.

Roomies?

My boss has been out with a toothache, so I haven't had much time to blog, eat lunch , read the news or do any of the other things that make my otherwise dreary day bearable.
I've got a temp helping me, but training takes time too...fortunately she's pretty quick.
I'm stressed out enough from waiting for the results of my X-Rays- not in yet!?- and the last thing I needed was a mountain of unexpected paperwork.

It wasn't as bad as I thought and I got it worked out by lunchtime, so I decided to catch up on my personal mail. My penpals cheer me up.

Emails from local sources are more of a mixed bag.

Have you ever had two good friends quarrel with each other and found yourself unable to comfortably choose sides because they both have valid points? Well, I have two sets of friends doing it right now and it's people who I see at least once a week or so...they have all sent me their manifestos denouncing each other and asking me to join them- which isn't possible.

My brain is imploding while it tries to sort through eight sides of four arguments, none of which are presented very clearly. I am used to clarity in writing and these jeremiads are full of bizarre references and distracting, irrelevant personal info and opinions.

I don't know why I am in the middle of this, perhaps I am the lone undecided member of our group? I don't understand and it makes me feel uncomfortable.

A few months ago, a different situation arose that was at least partially my responsibility, and my friends didn't listen to me when I said it was me. They put most of it on my other friend and he left. I felt that there was probably more too it, that sometimes personalities don't mix and unreasonable differences arise between reasonable people- it wasn't my business to ask why, which was the answer I received when I asked. In a nice way.

But now, I wonder if that incident wasn't more than a mis-handled case of bad communication.

The idea of being played by my friends against my friends revolts me, but it's a damned difficult noose to elude. I don't have- or want- enough objective information to wholly commit to any one camp.
I feel like I'm being drawn and quartered by people I care about.
It sucks.
I think I may be paranoid, but once melted, twice shy, as they don't say.

Anyway, after lunch the temp- who is looking for a new apt- wanted to show me an email she had received in reply to a roommates advert. It was curiously worded- to the uninitiated reader anyway: "discreet household, myself and two to three women, ages generally between 25 and 45...we are very private and considerate, what happens here, stays here...excellent home for open-minded woman, B/L OK. Also great opportunity for computer savvy housemate to earn $$$ helping with home business."

What did I think, she asked?

"Well, I think this is a swinger's ad looking for new talent and maybe a webmaster for their homemade porno site. But that's just a guess."

The phone rang. I answered with the company greeting.

It was a confused sounding man with a gravelly smoker's voice.

"Uh, is this...I'm trying to reach [ the temp]"

Oh, hoh! I could tell that this was the guy from the email...I passed her the phone. We sit two feet apart, so it's hard not to eavesdrop- but she waved me to stay and listen.

"Well, I'm at work and I don't have any pictures here and I don't have a computer at my current place...uh, I don't know...I'd have to see the place. Of course. OK."

"What?"

"He's going to send me pics of the house- and the housemates."

"Five bucks says he sends you nude shots."

"I'm not taking that bet."

A few minutes later she got a Yahoo message. With attachments.

We watched as her outdated PC slowly loaded the pics.

Hmmm...dude is nude. Full frontal. The temp giggles.

"Whoa, he is in good shape for an old man." She is 43. Dude is obviously older. Eeep.

Next, up popped a boner pic.

A close-up of Ol' Wrinkleneck. I was happily surprised to note that mine is bigger...most of the porn I've seen makes me feel a bit puny.

Finally we had a pair of three-way FFM shots. At least we think that's what it was...one person was of indeterminate gender , their face and crotch being hidden by another face and another crotch and all.

"Well, OK. These are posed shots. It's home porn. This would actually be an awesome way to make a living if exhibitionism and orgies gets your freak."

"I don't think so. Maybe lingerie or underwear...not that."

She was staring at the boner pic. Intently.

"I can't believe he sent me a donger."

Dr. Furter's Smoking Cure

The Rocky Horror Picture Show affected my life in at least two significant ways :

1) It made sure that I never became addicted to nicotine.

2) It confirmed my adolescent suspicions that I was a
heterosexual.

Let's start with the cigarettes... when I was 15, I got invited to go to the Midnight showing of RHPC at the Key Theatre in College Park, MD.
I was invited by some of my older friends who were , in my young eyes, 'supercool'.

They had weed, acid, booze and Susannah. I didn't really do a lot of drugs at that point, but I liked hanging out with the older stoner loners anyway. They made me laugh- they were all misfits and readily let me into their little group of outcasts.

Susannah was the older sister of one of my friends; she was a really old 17 and , I was to learn that night, she thought I was hot.

That's why I got invited- Susannah wanted me along.
I didn't know much about women then ( some things remain constant) so I was blind to Susannah's deft manipulations- as our group gathered around Andy's GMC Pacer, she waited until I got in the back and then pushed her other pals aside and plopped herself on my lap. There were seven or eight of us, so the lap-thing was mandatory- but she chose my lap.

Well, guess what?

About five milliseconds after she planted her nubile buns on my lap, I started experiencing this certain swelling sensation...at this point, I was still a virgin but I was pretty sure what was going on.

This uncontrollable swelling kept poking itself upwards, like it knew exactly where it wanted to go and nothing- not my Levis, not her panties, nothing- was going to stop it.

"This thing has a mind of it's own", I thought for the first, (but certainly not the last) time.

Of course, Susannah could feel this insistent, repetitive pushing against her fine, fine derriere. She knew what was going on alright- she wiggled around so that she was almost facing me , turned and gave me one of the most intense tongue-kisses I've ever had; grinding , grinding down, keeping perfect rhythm with her hips- it occurred to me that maybe she liked me better when I was swollen, so instead of trying to hide my condition, I pushed back.
So did she.
Repeat.
Repeat.

Aha! I was starting to understand what this was all about...all I could feel was my tongue sliding into the beautiful darkness of her mouth and this unknown ,but wholly natural-feeling pelvic combat taking place- completely out of my control.

There were six other kids in the car and we didn't pay any attention to them- someone tried handing us a joint, we heard them laughing at us but we didn't care- teenagers have been horny and shameless a long, long time before they invented myspace, you know...anyway, it was about a 40 minute ride to the cinema but I didn't make it that long.

Susannah could tell what was happening and she was right there with me...why are you speeding up ? I remember thinking...ah, the innocence of youth...anyway, when we got to the theatre, I headed straight for the restroom so I could discard my ruined underwear and maybe clean myself up a bit...

The Men's Room was full of transvestites.

See, at the Rocky Show, the audience dressed as the cast of the movie and the movie was full of campy cross-dressers (and some Meatloaf) - a lot of pre-movie 'costume' adjustments were done in the restrooms.

Here I was, barely 15 years old , still recovering from my first assisted orgasm and suddenly I was in a toilet full of trannies, looking for somewhere to ditch my scummy shorts.

Hmmm...well, almost everyone else in here has their pants off, I thought- and not all of the men were men- so I might as well get it over with...I dropped my jeans, pitched my nastified FotL's into the wastebin and used a wet papertowel to clean myself as best I could.

People were fucking in the stalls and sniffing blow off each other's body parts...nobody even paid me any attention. It was truly anti-climactic.

So I strutted back to our seats, dazed but needing more Susannah...I had never known that the inside of someone else's mouth could taste so good...I wanted her for every meal, forever and ever...ech. Sappy.

I was sure that after the movie, something very special was going to happen and it was going to be the best, most important thing ever...ergh. You know how kids are.

"I threw my shorts away", I told her.

She laughed and kissed me.

The sweet woman-taste was gone.

She tasted like tobacco, but honestly, I didn't care. I was 15 and all I wanted was more bouncing and grinding- I was pretty much oblivious to everything around me, which is no mean feat considering where I was.

After a long make-out session, she lit a cigarette.

Very sophisticated, she was.

She offered me one.

I accepted it and she lit it for me, using her own cigarette.

Then she kissed me and exhaled deep into my lungs.

This was a night of firsts.
That was my first cigarette.

It made me feel funny. Not in a funny-good way, like Susannah made me feel. The smoke made me feel funny-sick.

Very ill.

I puked on Susannah. All over her plaid skirt and her Doc Martens.

After that, Susannah was done with kissing me. She didn't even want to talk.
If Andy hadn't been a nice guy, they would have left me behind, 30 miles from home.

I missed my first lay because of a cigarette.

The only cigarette I have ever smoked.