Wednesday, July 7, 2021

Simple Science

 It's not interrogative, it's declarative, you see?  Not a question.  I keep getting ads like this on my computer.  How did they know?  If only they told me that this person was a doctor or a lawyer?  I'm not saying I don't get excited by overblown looks.  I used to tell my friends that a woman could never have lips too red, breasts too large, or heels too high, but I was absolutely kidding.  I'm not a breast man.  Indeed, I love looking at a photo like this.  I mean, who wouldn't.  That's a really cool car, an early '60s something, I'd guess.  But you know how those old cars drive.  And if the driver doesn't have the most interesting things to say, you'll be the man in the old joke.  You know the one?

"And older journalist was sitting in a bar having drinks with a group of young reporters when a beautiful woman walked into the room.  The young reporters were all twitching and jerking and staring at her and making lewd comments under their breath.  The older journalist sat calmly staring at his drink.  When the group had settled down, the journalist turned to the younger reporters and said, 'Just think.  Somewhere, some guy is sick to death of that.'"

You can change the genders in that joke, I guess.  Maybe it doesn't matter though. We are still in the era of saying that men are dogs, right?  

My buddy Brando always said, "Stick with the sixes."  It was clever, but like all advice, it did no good.  As Glinda the Good Witch responds to Dorothy's query, "Why didn't you just tell me in the first place?"

"It would have done you no good.  You had to learn it for yourself." (link)

And so I have.  More than once.  You think, maybe, the first time is an anomaly.  But then you find out that it is simply science.  Genetics, to be more succinct.  You see, the genes for tremendous beauty and that other thing are too close together on the chromosome.  They just don't get separated in reproduction.  

Again, choose either gender as you like.  Just ask Brangelina.  

I don't disparage great beauty, however.  Indeed, I'm as attracted and repulsed and manipulated by it as anyone.  Beauty is as great (or maybe even greater) a power as intelligence.  

It just doesn't last as long.  And once you have experienced the tremendous potency that great beauty brings, losing it can be the most terrible thing.  It is like becoming an athlete beyond their prime.  

Being a person of great interest, however. . . that's another thing.  My first request after meeting the girl in that photo would certainly be, "Tell me a story."  Oh, yes, it would be.  Don't suspect me of lying.  And if no story of interest was forthcoming?  You'll call me a liar, but my interest would immediately wane.  

But Brando. . . that doesn't mean a six has a great story to tell, either.  

It is the good story that gets me into trouble.  It surely has, too, because a great story teller is always a little bit crazy, right?  It's just science.  Genetics to be more succinct.  You see, the genes are just too close to one another on the chromosome. . . . 


  1. "We are still in the era of saying that men are dogs, right?"

    You've given me the best lead in to tell my second tale of yesterday. Let's see - maybe I need to smoke a joint first. I'll be back.


  2. Oh. I wrote my story, well Part 1. It's good. Well I mean, it could be.

    I'll check on it in the morning and see how it smells.

    Oh I remember the days when I could write for 8 hours a day.

    But if I post it it will appear I'm some type of Senior Citizen Internet Fishing Molester attempting to lure you into my old car or something like dat.

    It's a story about Being Human, featuring my Friend Tammy aka Bam Bam.

    A little Cape Cod Society News:

    "The Osterville Harbors estate of style icon and esteemed horticulturist Rachel "Bunny" Lambert Mellon is up for sale, with an $19.8 million asking price."

    The stories of the house sales out there....

    I wanted to talk about something you said up there. Well. Alot.

    Blaming is not a good thing. It serves no purpose. Like Jealousy. Tammy used nearly the same negative words you did about Men.

    That's sort of where the story starts.

    It's late. I have to W again tomorrow.

    I am capable of whipping anyone I come into contact with butts in Wizard of Oz Triva.

    Beauty lasts forever. That's what so special about it.

    Well. That's what I think. I think. It's a lovely topic to talk about.

    Alas, I must retreat.



  3. When I lived part of the time down on the Lane. In the cottage with T. Well, the first years T was there, we didn't really socialize with the neighbors. Who turned out to be some interesting folks.

    Anyway, this is the story of the latest threesome request.

    Tammy aka the boys call her "BamBam," is a caretaker - a CNA – or some designation like that. She works for a state agency. Years and years ago, she had two clients on the Lane.

    Eventually, when T & I allowed people into our lives - Tammy came bouncing in.

    She gave free hugs to the boys who wanted to take one. Robin, who has since hung himself, was always first in line. He was a breast man.

    A lot younger than me, but carrying around a LOT of shit - Tammy - first kid at 17, 3 kids 3 fathers - 2 of them heroin od'ers - dead.

    I love the hell out of her.

    What she does for people, who need help, on a daily basis is miraculous. She's Mary fucking Magdalene. She's the most devoted worker to her clients, to any individual who may need a little help in this world - I've been with her when we have to leave a gathering and take a ride to deliver $10 and a pack of ciggies to some guy she knows who is living on the streets. That guy from a particularly well known wealthy Cape Cod family

    - anything can happen to any of us – be kind you never know when you will need to turn to your friends for help.

    Rarely, does she do anything good for Tammy.

    Her oldest daughter had a kid at 16 and lives with her and the Baby Daddy, and Tammy's youngest, Grace, who is a gorgeous, curious, intelligent - cool kid. T. loved her. Used to give her books to read, in a half of a duplex on the seedier side of town.

    Her other daughter, also had a baby, ran away to PA had to be rescued by Tammy because of domestic abuse,etc. She's now back living here as well.

    Tammy has been sharing her bedroom with Grace for years. She spends her days doing other peoples laundry, cooking, grocery shopping. She spends her days doing that same stuff for her family. Oh and the one living ex often drives his camper down from Maine and parks his rig outside her house – in order to see his kid.

    She'd do anything for me. If I called her.

    Her crowd is – well - rough. Jailbirds, crackheads, people she's always trying to help straighten up. Comparably, I'm an easy buddy.

    And hopefully, I did something for her – or at least shared something with her to consider, ponder, something to encourage true emotional self-care.

    I'm no Glennon Doyle, I hope that's her name. But I'm a relatively, calm person – who has the knack at seeing the forest through the trees, so to speak.

    Talk about an insecure individual – Tammy. And that insecurity manifests itself as jealousy.

    Tuesday, on the way home from work, I stopped at the Green Beret's to pick up my weed and her car was in the driveway - and they were both sitting in the car.

    All of us connected via our time on the Lane.

    She screamed when she saw me - jumped out of the car - big hugs.

    Scott says, "Jesus Christ this is like divine intervention - Mermaid shows up. Park your car and I'll get the outdoor chairs - Tammy is losing her mind. I'm a guy and have no idea what to say."

    I knew, right then, I wasn't going to get home at any reasonable work night time. But clearly, I was needed.

    I had put two new CD's in my car player. I'm not sure how it's going. But one choice has already proved to be a "Summer 2021 Sing-a-long with the windows down at the top of your lungs Potential to Heal" choice.

    I'm hopeful.

    End of Part 1