I wrote previously about my youthful experiences in the Playboy Club, with ‘friend’ Chip. (Playboy Club Memories)
(and my unrequited lust for Bunny DJ, who treated us both well!)
It occurred to me there are additional stories. This is one of them.
(Sadly, it’s NOT about DJ…)
I’ve written before about having been a semi-pro magician in my youth. Chip also dabbled in magic – it was one of the things that (unfortunately) bonded us. So, we looked askance at those who pretended to be the real thing.
Charlatans, we called them.
Often, in the Phoenix Playboy Club, they had a medium/mind-reader. His name was Dr. Richard Ireland. He was a Phoenician, and had a church here surrounding his psychic abilities.
We looked askance at him, as well.
One night, when Chip went to the club (I had to work, or something). Dr. Ireland was doing his act, part of which was having his eyes covered with gauze and bandages, followed by a cloth blindfold. Then, he passed around a large, glass bowl to receive ‘offerings’ and questions from the adoring crowd.
And he began to do ‘readings’.
Chip decided to play his game. He was certain the good doctor couldn’t see anything, trussed up as he was. Chip wrote him a check (which was undoubtedly rubber – knowing Chip), folded it into the smallest package possible, and dropped it into the bowl.
As the evening progressed, Dr. Ireland emptied the bowl and answered questions placed therein. When he got to Chip’s check, he did not unfold it. As he had with the previous questions, he placed it on top of his head – even if the bandages and blindfold were not in place, he could not have seen ANYTHING.
And he said, “Mr. (last name excised), Thank you for your most generous contribution. But I must return your check to you, so that you may sign it!”
Of course, all jaws in the room dropped!
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. – Hamlet (1.5.167-8), Hamlet to Horatio
(DJ, if you are out there, please email me!)
I’ve not been ‘on a date’ in some time. It’s simply a matter of logistics – I’ve no extraneous funds and my car is a beater with no air conditioning.
The fact that I don’t travel is any circles with available women has nothing to do with it!
I was thinking this morning about a few of my more memorable dates in the distant past. Some with fondness; some not-so-much.
I used to like to attend the cinema. There were many first-run films each week, lots of theaters from which to choose, and who doesn’t like sitting in the dark with a young woman? (this was in my 20’s – before I had been married, and subsequently divorced).
Now, of course, there are fewer movies and movie houses. And one may sit at home in one’s skivvies and watch videos until the cows come home, with beer, pizza, and (if one is so lucky) company.
AND, one may pause to go to the bathroom!
Times have changed.
ANYWAY, I remembered a couple of dates. One was a later Hitchcock film. I did (and DO love Alfred Hitchcock). My date said she did as well. Were post-date antics in the offing?
Sadly NO. The film was Frenzy. A film of a serial killer rapist, made in London. I think it was the first time Hitch actually exposed breasts on film. Following a violent rape and strangulation. Hardly something to arouse a normal young woman to later romance.
Another time, a former girlfriend returned to town and looked me up. We went out a few times, and I had hope of rekindling the romance. But, it was not to be…
She had mentioned she liked Burt Reynolds. There was a new film out with him in it. I thought “Hey! Maybe this will get things going again?”
Hardly. The film was Deliverance. You remember – dueling banjos, homosexual rape?
I just couldn’t get a break!
(as an aside, the consummate actor Ned Beatty was the rape victim here. I’ve wondered about the audition…“Hey, pages 18 and 19 are missing? Don’t worry about it, Ned.)
McDonald’s was never on my radar as a child. We, as a family, rarely did ‘fast food’, and when we did, it was something like Kentucky Fried Chicken (before they stopped calling it fried, as hawked by the REAL Kentucky Colonel!) or Gibby’s Broasted Chicken. I do remember a visit to Dogs N’ Suds, once.
My Dad was one of those guys, who if they had a poor commercial experience with a vendor, never gave them a second chance. He used to often regale us with the tale of visiting McDonald’s Sunstroke Room (because they didn’t have covered, exterior parking in the Phoenix Summers), and ordering a chocolate shake-thin, because he preferred to drink them through a straw rather than eat them with a spoon. He didn’t understand that they had recently begun utilizing an early milk shake machine in lieu of the Mixmaster, making shakes one thickness. Thick. That forever ruined McD’s for him. And colored his later fast-food decisions.
So we got to hear the sunstroke room tale every time their TV commercial appeared. And we never went there.
The first time I visited McDonald’s, I was a college freshman, trying desperately trying to impress fellow freshman Marta B. (a lovely Scandinavian brunette) to
go make out with me study for finals. During an abortive effort to get alone, she asked we drive through. I was unimpressed, mostly because I was a horny freshman, but also because the generic cheeseburger had ketchup, mustard and a pickle chip – of which I was not fond.
It was five years later, when my Dad (who by then knew the franchisee of the dreaded sunstroke room location – the first McDonald’s in Phoenix – then located a little South of the SW corner of Central and Indian School Rd.) got me a job there when I was between ‘better’ jobs.
I worked there almost two weeks. I learned how to prepare their signature sandwiches, fries and shakes, including making them to my tastes. And, that, when when one wasn’t serving a customer or cooking, one was cleaning! That impressed me.
Then, I moved on to another, more familiar, security guard-related job. The McDonald’s moved a little further South, and across the street. No more neon arches. Or sunstrokes. They now had an indoors.
By then I was hooked. After all, I knew how to order my favorite burgers, now. And they had terrific fries.
Life continued. I grew up, got married, became a father. And sometimes took Molly to The Golden Arches. My (then) wife was never a fan, preferring Jack-In-The-Box. (Whom I also like.)
And, somewhere down the line, I got separated and divorced. And McDonald’s began serving breakfast!
I found I liked the sausage biscuits. And hash browns! Breakfast service ending promptly at 10:30 A.M.
Recently, McD’s has begun losing it’s market share. And they’ve made a number of changes to their menu since I was trying to kiss Marta. All in the name of getting back on top of the fast food pyramid.
Finally, they announced October 6 that they would loosen their no breakfast after 10:30 policy and begin serving breakfast ALL DAY! As many of their competitors have already done.
I was thrilled! I needed to run to Safeway yesterday morning, and needed to eat something. A McDonald’s is conveniently just across the street. What time is it? – OH, THAT’S RIGHT – All Day Breakfast!
Alas! It was false advertising. The do have some items from the breakfast menu all day – but NOT the sausage biscuits!
Fooled again by The Golden Arches.
And no Scandinavian beauty to kiss, either!
I tend to like (my) women with longer hair.
This doesn’t mean it must be past their waist (especially if it starts at their lower back!) but it does mean in this matter I tend to be traditional.
BUT, this doesn’t mean I’m inflexible…
Witness the exemplars below:
But that was the 90’s.
I recently stumbled upon a new show entitled Taxi Brooklyn, wherein a female NYPD detective (who is an abysmal driver) enlists the aid of a suspect/witness to chauffeur her around in his taxi. The plot and theme have many holes in them, but, then there’s this detective…
Not a beautiful as Janine Turner, but still as appealing and spunky!
I still like women with longer hair, but, I WILL make exceptions!
Gotta be flexible, ya know.
As most of you know, my Fort Knox gun safe (800#) was taken from my former residence in 2007. My house had been hit by a drunk driver’s truck, and I was living elsewhere while repairs were being made (six months). The police excluded the contractors of complicity. I had my doubts. Still do. *SIGH*
None of my credit cards, birth certificate, checks, valuables or firearms ever surfaced. Thank you Fort Knox! I do still have the handle and combo dial they pried off, though.
When I remember my
arsenal small gun collection, I’ve fond memories of many of the missing pieces. I’ve vowed someday to replace them. Tough to do living on disability.
The Missing Top Five (in no particular order)
While thinking about the guns that were mine, I sometimes think about the guns that never were – those that I never owned, but wanted to. Good thing I didn’t, or they’d have been in the safe!
The Fantasy Guns
Do YOU have guns you miss or never had, but want?
FTC – none of the brand names gave me anything – now go away!
I truly miss my Browning High Power. She was one of the guns I lusted after for years, and finally obtained in 1995. Traditionally, they were always cost a little more than a 1911, but, I made out. I purchased her from a private party who was selling her for a neighbor’s widow. With six factory magazines. At one of the few times in my life I actually had spare cash.
But, she was one of the collection in the gun vault when it was stolen. Many firearms are gone, but just a few are truly missed.
So, here it is years later, and I visit Mike’s Spot, trying to live vicariously, as he tells the tale of acquiring a Mark II Belgian HP. Mine was older and a little fancier, but, he has his. Okay, I was little jealous.
Until I read this part:
The gun shipped with 1 formally legal NYS standard capacity magazine. I now have a 10 round, neutered mag in the gun, that has been re-neutered (neutered harder) to 7 rounds to comply with current NY SAFE 13 legislation.
Not only is the whole point of John Browning’s design to have an ergonomic machine, but it’s designed to hold 13 in the magazine, +1 in the chamber! And one may find aftermarket mags which hold more.
This New York law is an anathema to all of our rights, and also our esthetics. I truly hope Mike resettles in a region of the country which still follows the Constitution. All of us deserve better than such a law. Or its federal counterpart.
You’ve undoubtedly read here about my adventures earlier this year of being forced out of my home. Fortunately, I was given a good place to land.
Of course, I’m STILL unpacking and trying to find places for stuff, and adjusting to living in a household with stairs, but, I’m coming along.
My old neighborhood was in the barrio, or at least barrio-adjacent. A mis-mosh of cultures which generally seemed to get along, albeit in a high-crime environment. (My home was burgled three separate times in 18 years! – and there were numerous ‘tagging’* incidents). But, I liked it there.
This new place I’m sharing with a roommate, is in a still diverse neighborhood, but closer to the collegiate culture. Less crime, little graffiti, and another nice benefit. Four miles from the university!
Most mornings I get to see attractive young women working to keep fit. At no cost to me! (save shots to my ego). No burglaries or tagging!
Things could be worse.
*tagging – a politically correct nickname for criminal damage, usually done with paint.