Drivel

When night fell it began to rain. It was a hard rain, so hard that it washed away the dirt and the denizens of the street. When I woke this up this morning my mouth felt like an army had tramped through it, my head ached like it had been hit with a brick & a twist of lemon and I felt like a punch-drunk pugilist from palookaville. It was then that I vowed never to drink another Pandora's Box*. I stumbled from my bed to what I hoped was the bathroom and not the closet where I was storing a friend's saxophone. I had made it to the right location but fear of the mirror kept me from turning on the light. A short time later I exited the bathroom, put on my robe and staggered to the kitchen without tripping over the cats. I put on the coffeepot then parked myself at the kitchen table. As the smell of the brewing coffee filled the room, the memories of last night returned in flood of imagery and emotion. I had spent the evening with Betty Jo Bialoski. Aahh, Betty Jo. Everyone knew her as Nancy. She called and asked to meet for drinks in a nightclub on Claypoole Street called Chez Chicolini. I arrived early and secured a booth in a back corner where I could watch the door. She's a tall, well-proportioned lady and when she entered the bar, all the heads turned. She was wearing a light blue pants suit that clung to her like a second skin. I thought I was over her but when I saw her I felt the old urges stirring again. She was still wearing her mane of golden blonde hair long, and you could get lost in her large ice blue eyes. She was dressed to the nines and it was only a-quarter of eight. She has that breathless way of speaking that could melt frozen butter or a cold heart. I hadn't seen her since that night in Casablanca. She said that she was doing fine and still collecting six-bladed, pearl-handled, gold in-laid, Boy Scout knives. After a few drinks, we returned to her suite at the Hotel Rittenhouse to get reacquainted. The sudden stabbing pain in my left leg returned me to the reality of my kitchen. One of the cats had clawed me. After putting out some food for my neglected friends and a bandage on my leg, I took the shnitzengruben out of the fridge and turned on the radio to see what was happening in the clean world. The first thing I heard was "If you take cranberries and stew them like applesauce, they taste much more like prunes than rhubarb does." I quickly turned off the radio and returned to day dreaming of Betty Jo. I gave her a call later in the day and arranged to meet her at the country club out in Suffolk County around 8. On the way there I had stop at a filling station for some fuel. The road back to the highway was quite dark and I took a wrong turn. While trying to find my way, I saw a light up ahead. When I arrived I found myself in the parking lot of what appeared to be a tavern. I figured I could go in an use the pay phone to call Betty Jo and let her know I'd be late. I parked and went inside. Behind the bar was a large individual chomping on a cigar. The atmosphere seemed friendly. I asked the bar keep about the phone and I ordered a beer. He filled me in on the workings of the place while I sipped my beer. I made my call and the bar keep gave me directions back to the highway. I asked about directions back to the bar. He said: "Don't worry. When you need to find your way here, the road will guide you." I went on my way. Now whenever I need a friendly place to cheer me up I head out to Suffolk County and sure enough the road leads me to Callahan's. * Pandora's Box 1 1/2 ounces of Tequila 1/2 ounce Triple Sec Fill with Pineapple Juice

A Little Marxism

The idea of slipping the titles of the films into the dialog is an old one but I decided to try something different. I poured a glass of milk from "The Cocoanuts" I bought at the store and opened a box of "Animal Crackers" to go with it. I had to break up the kid's Monkey Business" as it was getting too loud and told them the whole thing was a bunch of "Horsefeathers". They said that making noise was "Duck Soup" compared to keeping quiet. I began to think I needed some time away from them but "A Night at the Opera" wouldn't be as much fun as "A Day at the Races". Of course if I went to a hotel I could sit and watch TV and have "Room Service" bring up some food or even a larger room. I remember when the family was "At the Circus" in San Jose. I had to "Go West" and then south to get there. You should see "The Big Store" Wal-Mart opened in Union City. That place is huge! Someday, I would like to spend "A Night in Casablanca". Maybe on my next anniversary as I'm still "Love Happy" when I think of my wife. I wouldn't want to commit "The Incredible Jewel Robbery" to give my wife a present or to finance the epic of the millennium "The Story of Mankind". If I did, I would probably end up with a lawyer from the offices of "Flywheel, Shyster and Flywheel". I'd rather go to the "Copacabana". Someday, I plan on meeting Pete "Mr. Music" Generous. If I did meet him at the Copa that would be "Double Dynamite". Since I wasn't in the Navy, I didn't have "A Girl in Every Port". The next time "Hollywood Goes To War", I want to work at the "Stage Door Canteen". It's not "Strictly GI" but it's OK. I would also like to work at "The All-Star Bond Rally". Anyway, that's almost the "Marx Brothers in a Nutshell". Signed: Flatbush Escapee Ps: Don't ask me if "Success Will Spoil Rock Hunter" because I don't care.

The Decision

There I stood, awash in confusion and not knowing which way to go. A decision had to be made. The inner turmoil was rising. How was I to handle this? I compared the data before me. I was racking my brain and it was starting to hurt. Time was running out. A decision had to be made. Finally a sigh of relief, the data was sorted and a decision was reached. A winner chosen. The inner struggle was over. I decided my first instinct was the best and pushed the buttons. Out came the bag of pretzels and my change.

A Little Quiet

It was a dark and stormy night. The neighbor�s dog was climbing down from the top of his doghouse. I saw that he was bringing his typewriter in with him. I began to smile as I realized that I had a chance for a night without having to hear that infernal tickity-tickity-tickity-ding, tickity-tickity-tickity-ding. All night long the racket that beagle made typing, pulling out paper, crumpling and starting over. He also has a habit of muttering to himself. Then that stupid bird would show up and they would start telling jokes. I prayed that the rain would last a week.

Just Another Night

When I was growing in Brooklyn we lived in an apartment building. Sometimes when I couldn�t sleep I�d listen to the night. Somewhere a toilet flushes. A siren wails as it passes by in route to the hospital down the street. My next-door neighbor arrives home from a party. He must have tripped over something because I hear a loud thud followed by him decrying the fact that he landed on his ass. I hear car doors slam. Someone lucked out and found a parking space. The occupants are loud and are oblivious to the time. Someone shouts �Shut up�.

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