Caution: Sexual Content

Have you ever been awakened by the need to pee?  If you are a man over fifty (or maybe forty) you can surely relate to this.  It does become a challenge as one ages to make it to dawn without at least one trip to the commode.  You don’t turn on the lights, even if you are in an unfamiliar environment (say, a hotel).  On reaching the royal throne a seated position is taken and you wait; the length of time seems relative to ones age.  And while you are there you try very hard not to think.  Because thinking generates alpha wave activity in the brain and alpha waves keep one awake.

As you sit, waiting either for the event to begin or finish, enveloped in a cocoon of darkness, barely able to keep from sliding off the toilet seat, the lights of a passing car stray across your window (if you do not have a window in your bathroom, this whole story is moot, but I digress) and your first thought, especially if you have ever been employed in a hazardous occupation, is, “Who the hell is driving in my neighborhood at three o’clock in the morning?”

If you have never worked in a hazardous occupation, you probably fart, snort, scratch and go back to bed.  These people are much more likely to die unexpectedly at the hands of others. 

There are only three types of people who drive around residential neighborhoods at three o’clock in the morning: doughnut cooks, peace officers, and criminals.  Which one has just invaded your stupor?

At this point, ones brain kicks into survival mode and you become an animal of the forest.  The senses of smell and hearing take over.  Hearing is damned near useless because all your ears can discern is your urine flow (or dribble) splashing off of the water in the toilet bowl.  Even though it is a natural reaction, holding ones breath does not help as eventually you gasp for air creating more unwanted ambient noise.

Forget smell:  all you get is wafts of garlic, courtesy the pepperoni pizza you had for dinner commandeering your kidney function.  Besides, due to the evolutionary development of sight as the primary survival sense in humans, we do not possess the olfactory keenness necessary to distinguish cop from a crook.

Eventually, as part of fight or flight, your bladder and urethra conspire to stop the flow.  Nobody wants to pee on their ankles.  Now you can hear, but you're pissed (no pun intended, but pretty damned good if I say so myself… it seems that a great many of my humorous thoughts are not intended, but I digress) because you know that you’re going to have to finish this process in an hour or so. 

After due time, coincidentally about the time it takes for your legs to fall asleep, you decide that there is no clear and present danger and stumble back to bed to enjoy the rest of your night’s sleep… or you would if you could stop thinking about that teaspoon of urine still sitting in you bladder.

Now you’re thinking to yourself, “Dale, what about the sexual content?”  C’mon, would you have read this missive if I’d titled it, “Peeing in the Dark”?

By the way, my g-mail address is daleholbrookoutwest@gmail.com

Extra! News Flash!

According to casual observers, the Sun is still in residence at the center of the Solar System.  This corrects earlier reports that it would never shine again.  In a related report, Azure Blue has been reinstated on the color chart.

Additional details will follow as received.

Nuttin' Funny

This is one of those tough weeks.  Aside from the unusually cool weather we’re experiencing here in Paradise (San Diego, California, USA for those unfamiliar with the details of this blogger’s life) nothing is noteworthy.  The daily high this week will average less than 70^o and I am talking about the inland foothills where I live, not the beach.  You know I’m desperate when I retreat to the weather for my headline.

Today (May 20^th , the date I write this) marks the end of an era.  David Letterman will air his last show (as host of “Late Show”) tonight.  Yawn!!!

I’ve never been a big fan of Letterman, whose comedic strategy seems to have relied on smug delivery rather than humorous content.  But don’t get cocky, Jay Leno fans; his cornball approach, while more humble, was just as lackluster.  At least Leno put a lot of his effort into biting the hand that fed him.  And that probably made him the richest TV failure in history.

Johnny Carson

Now I was a working stiff and generally had been asleep for over an hour before either of these buffoons aired.  But I did see clips from time to time.  And for my money, Johnny Carson was ten times the comedian that both of these guys together pretended to be. 

Jack Paar

Steve Allen

If you liked Carson, you should hunt up some of the The Tonight Show clips available from his predecessors, Jack Paar and Steve Allen.  Paar (1957-1962) relied on an understated, sneak up and grab you from behind delivery.  No one has been drier.  Allen (1954-1957) was more the master of the bad one-liner (insert rim-shot here, pause… timing is everything) and sketch artist.  He is also credited by some as the inventor of the “man on the street” gimmick. Either of these guys will make you laugh, even if you are sad that Dave is going away.  Look for some of their clips on YouTube.  I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised by what you find behind the mists of television history.

Okay, that’s it this week.  I made it a short one in case any of you are on the road and just getting a chance to take a brief peek at you smart phone.  Hopefully the weather will warm up by next week, sweat jokes are always funnier. 

Lessons of Time

- or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and…-

Background for you young ‘uns:  In the 1970s (yes, we had electricity then), a new concept in theatrical motion picture viewing surfaced.  It was the neighborhood mini-cinema complex.  As an alternative to the 800 seat, downtown mega-movie houses we had grown up with, these were small (100 seats?) and located in suburban mini-malls.  Quite often they would offer two or three screens.  This concept was an attempt to draw back the steadily declining number of cinema patrons that had been lost to TV by interjecting convenience into the equation.  But no amount of convenience could overcome the poor quality of Hollywood product and the plan failed.  As a result, those that could, survived for a while by running second and third release movies at very discounted ticket prices.  Being young and broke and thoroughly void of social skills, I was a frequent patron.

One particular Sunday afternoon, I was cruising the neighborhood of Pacific Beach with my shooting partner Frank.  I happened to notice as we approached the marquis sign of just such a mini-theater, that they were offering a double feature: Candy, a cheesy sex-romp featuring a winsome blonde with a sprinkling of major Hollywood actors in cameo roles; and Dr. Strangelove, the now classic Stanley Kubrick dark comedy about Armageddon.  Even though I had seen both movies, for a buck a seat it seemed like a good way to kill a few hours.  Frank, as always, was agreeable, especially if there was some chance of a glimpse of skin; Candy’s, not Dr. Strangelove’s.

Remind you of anyone you might know, Tink?

My experience with Candy was rather recent and I was happy to revisit the sweetly salacious comedy that featured the likes of Walter Matthau, James Coburn and Ringo Starr.  It had been years since my one and only viewing of Dr. Strangelove (on TV, no less) and I recalled that my decision to watch it was based on the TV Guide’s describing the movie as a comedy and starring Peter Sellers.  I vaguely remember having been disappointed, at thirteen years of age, that it was not more like The Pink Panther!

Oh what a difference seven or eight years makes.  First, Dr. Strangelove was filmed in glorious 70mm black and white.  I cannot put into words the difference compared to viewing it as TV broadcast replete with commercial interruptions.  I had missed two-thirds of the movie due to environmental, technical deficiencies.   And, at the age of thirteen I had no life basis for understanding the psycho-sexual content.

Peter Sellers was the selling point of this movie because he was exploding into the public consciousness at that time (1964) and was the only actor I recognized at my first viewing circa 1968.  And deservedly, he was nominated for an Oscar for best performance by an actor in a leading role; although, as he played three characters I’m not sure for which he was nominated.

Stanley Kubrick, director, was nominated in that category and the film was nominated for best picture; quite a feat on its own right; but doubly so when you consider how off-mainstream political thought this movie was when released.

Second: As good as the script and the direction are, it is the performance of the supporting cast that really makes this movie a treasure.  Though he became a Hollywood icon with his performance in Patton (1970), in 1964 George C. Scott soared as General “Buck” Turgidson, struggling to strike a balance between his obligations to his mistress and heading off total nuclear annihilation. “Sir, you can’t let him in here.  He’ll see everything.  He’ll see the big board!”

Keenan Wynn marvelously underplays the role of Col. “Bat” Guano, an Army Ranger dedicated to preserving the right to private property and above all defending the capitalist system. “Okay. I’m gonna get your money for ya. But if you don’t get the President of the United States on that phone, you know what’s gonna happen to you?  You’re gonna have to answer to the Coca-Cola Company!”

Perennial side-kick, Slim Pickens, is undoubtedly the crowd favorite for his portrayal of Maj. “King Kong”, the pilot of a B-52 destined to overcome all available American and Soviet attempts at preservation of the human race and deliver the fateful and fatal coup de grass… in person.  “Shoot! A fella could have a pretty good weekend in Vegas with all that stuff.”

But undoubtedly, the best performance is turned in by Sterling Hayden as the monastic General Jack Ripper, commander of the air wing who in his delusional state has launched a pre-emptive bomber attack against the Soviet Union in hopes of saving the water supply and the American way of life with it.  “I, uh… I do not avoid women, Mandrake.  But I… I do deny them my essence.”

If you have seen this film, you are chuckling as you remember other scenes and outrageous lines.  On the other hand, if you have not seen it, now you have been educated.  Get a copy of Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb, and join the ranks of the enlightened.

Beer!

I don’t like it!  Now all you suds jockeys out there fold up your umbrage and put it back where you generally keep it.  I am not suggesting you give up your brain numbing golden elixir and join the sober crowd, I am simply stating a taste preference.  And I prefer something that doesn’t taste bitter.  I have tasted a beer or two, mostly during my teens, and after brief experimentation, I just had no tolerance for the stuff.

You guessed right, I don’t like wine either; tastes like vinegar.  Save your breath, I’ve heard it before, “You just haven’t had good wine!”  Wrong; I’ve had everything from Mateus (it’s no wonder the Spanish carved off a bit of the Iberian Peninsula and set it aside for the Portuguese, yuck!) to Dom Perignon (which, as James Bond assures us, must be served at a precise 38^o Fahrenheit) and all kinds of whites, reds, fruit juices in between.  It all tastes like vinegar to me.

But I do like to imbibe.  My preference is for hard liquor, the higher the proof the better, as long as it has some flavor.  I don’t go in for mineral spirits.  I trend toward the sweet drinks: Gin & Tonic, Rum & Coke, Tequila and Bourbon.  I am particularly fond of Wild Turkey 101 (that means it is 50% alcohol).  For all of you Jack Daniels aficionados, why do you buy that rot gut when just down the shelf is a sweet, pleasant-tasting libation that will get you drunk in two-thirds the time?

I know gin is an acquired taste, and to that I say, “If you have to work to like it, it’s not worth the effort.  I do not drink martinis, I find gin too perfume-ish.  But mix in some good, sweet (e.g. Canada Dry, avoid Schweppes) tonic water and a lime wedge; you’ll have one of the most refreshing mixed beverages invented.  My personal preference is for Boodles or Beefeater brands; I find Bombay Sapphire and Tanqueray to heavily influenced by the juniper berry.  Keep in mind, that these are also high-octane brands (i.e. premium) and tend to run in the 95 proof range.  If you are a weenie or can’t afford the good stuff, I recommend Gordon’s.  Not that it has any superior characteristics, but it is named for a British General whose head wound up on a pike in the Sudan.  There is history everywhere you wish to look.

If you make the squinchy face every time you take a shot of Cuervo Gold, the problem is not with you (cardinal rule: never ingest anything that makes you recoil), it’s the tequila!  Good tequila is a joy to experience.  It is sweet, smooth and should be sipped, much like our earlier acquaintance, Wild Turkey.  There is no need for that college age ritual of salt, shot, lime.  Save your limes for warm summer days, sipping gin & tonic under the veranda.  There are many premium brands out there (caution, premium always translates to high-octane; these are not kiddy drinks); my favorite is Patron (silver).  Again: Don’t shoot it! Take a modest sip, swirl it in your mouth gently to maximize the flavor experience, swallow, repeat.

Okay, I’ll admit it.  There are certain times when the stars are aligned just right and the midday sun just hot enough that the best refresher is a margarita (I won’t expound on the available fruity flavorings that might put into question ones masculinity).  So save your Cuervo for summer, don’t waste the good stuff on grown-up slurpees.

One more bit of advice for you preppies out there.  Goldschlager has real flakes of gold in it.  Do you know why they can safely put flakes of gold in a beverage?  Because gold is inert; it will not react with anything (that’s why gold so valuable).  That means that you can’t digest it.  It will just flow right through your system.  Now do you really want to be spending your hard earned drinking money on gold you’re gonna flush down the toilet?