FEBRUARY 24, 2013
So anyway, the situation after this year's V-day had Denby getting out of jail after the Editor had showed up to post, grumbling, bail before sour judge named Lex Talionis who stated tiredly that it appeared that Denby probably was innocent -- which matters little in the eyes of the Law, as MC Hammer knows full well -- but that he looked definitely hapless and not a flight risk, so bail was set at 150 dollars (about three zeros to the left of what was assigned to Althea) and he was told to never return to bother the jailers about not getting popcorn on Friday ever again.
The charges for accessory to kidnapping, grand theft, battery, human trafficking, and felonious obnoxiousness were dropped the following day.
Ever since the country blipped with a rare bout of general common sense in re-electing Obama under the general premise that if we are wrong we might as well go whole hog and avoid changing horses mid-stream amid a couple wars and economic malaise people have glommed onto the idea that even though we have not pulled ourselves out much from the Bush miasma, at least things are not getting much worse. It does not seem like that we are going to invade or bomb someone again soon, and that allows for a certain relaxation. This has resulted in a widespread return around here to genial traditions like V-Day time-outs and being civil to one's neighbor.
Sure we have problems like healthcare and lunatics messing with things they don't like, calling the things they don't like vaguely perjorative terms like "entitlements", and there is the worrisome problem of Orange County -- which should act smarter than it does, but steadfastly refuses to do so -- nevertheless, people still feel optimisitically that the next destructive asteroid heading for earth will somehow zip on by without messing up Lady Gaga's hair or causing a flurry of bad apocalypse movies to afflict us with yet another trashing of New York City's Port Authority building featuring the Holland Tunnel and subways fillling with water.
No wait. That DID happen and it was not a movie. Nevermind, New Yorkers are a sturdy lot and have lived for a long time under impossible circumstances, so they are bound to come up swinging. Battered by storms and mad terrorists in airplanes, New York abides.
Rush Limberger may continue to spout inanities, and that goofball on FOX Spews may continue to cobble his meaningless charts, but forget all that, honey. Grab the KY jelly, dear, and let's unplug the phone!
In short, there is a Future in America once again.
Over at the Native Sons of the Golden West, the Regional Congress has gotten into some trouble as Wally has sequestered himself in the bathroom with a couple of the Golden Poppy Girls in protest against what he and some others see as runaway spending. If they don't come out soon the organization is likely to suffer a severe beating on its credit for they have taken the official checkbook and the Org Mastercard in there with them and nobody can pay any of the bills until Wally opens the door. It would be dangerous to try to break it down, as he also has his 50 caliber pistol in there as well as the cheese tray and a fair number of crab sandwiches..
Besides, the Congress had been imbibing a good amount of wine from Napa and Sonoma and the closest latrine is over at Crab Cove, which is quite a hike when you gotta go.
Even though the situation is serious, Wally locked himself in there with a case of champagne besides the tray of cheese and crab sandwiches, and everyone can hear him and the girls whooping it up.
David Phipps has been looking for ways to jimmy the door open after pleading for Wally to come to his senses and stop embarrassing this noble red-blooded institution before the world, but that door used to be the main hatch to the SS California, which ran aground years ago on the Wilson Shoals, and it was made to withstand a tough pounding.
"C'mon Walleeeeeee!" David pleaded. "There's ladies here that gotta pee!"
"No more entitlements!" Wally shouted through the double-thickness steel door. Sounds of a champagne cork popping and lots of laughter. "Gee Wally! That bottle fizzed up just like you did a while ago!" More sounds of laughter. Waaaahoo!
Meanwhile the Native Sons Congress sits around, much as it is wont to do, nibbling on crab sandwiches and taking surreptitious leaks off the wharf into the otherwise pristine marina while trying to figure out how to extend the retirement age past the point everyone dies so the organization does not have to pay out anything for the pensions. It's business as usual in America.
"Walleeeeeeee! After midnight the automatic cuts kick in!" David pleaded. "Act like an adult and be responsible!"
"Piss off! We're havin' fun!" Sounds of laughter. Champagne.
Seeing that there was nothing to be done there, Marvin of Mervin's Merkins and Mike DePuglia, owner of N. Eptatood Contractors (Fabrication , Construction and Auto Repair) went over to the Old Same Place Bar.
"Tell me again how your man drove a VW microbus into a pipeline trench trying to fix the car," Marvin said.
Mike DePuglia shrugged. "The boy wanted to use the trench to get under the frame to get at the transaxle. He just miscalculated where da gasline started when he fired up the welding equipment."
There was a long pause before DePuglia said, "Sure made a big boom when it went. That's how it got inna the trench -- after it caught fire. He didn't drive it in there, exactly. It sorta slid."
"O, I see."
Over in the snug of the Old Same Place Bar Old Schmidt was holding forth, thoroughly schlockered for Lent. He stated that he had vowed to give up sobriety for the duration until March 20. It would be difficult, for the flesh was weak, but he knew he had a strong spirit tested by adversity. In reality, he was celebrating the opening of allowed training for his favorite football team, Hannover 96.
"All over the Island people do zee darndest things. Angry elfs run mafia gangs. Apartment managers strut about mit zee mirrored sunglasses running buildings like third world dictatorships. The rents keep going up undt zee Congress pisses on zee wharf. Heh ho!" With that Schmidt began singing the famous "Hymn to the 96, Yellow-Blue", a sports song in celebration of the somewhat doughty Hannover football team, which is to Germany something akin to the Lions to baseball or the Cubs to American football. There history is so hapless they lost their original red jersey colors to be replaced with blue and gold.
As if to reflect the nature of the team, there is no fight in the song, but a sort of wistful feeling of loyalty despite all the disastrous . . . situations.
"Schmidt, you are drunk," Padraic said. "And its not anywhere near St. Patrick's day when its allowed to be as drunk as you."
Wir gehen Hand in Hand
Zusammen sind wir groß
Und stark wie eine Wand
Wir danken dir
Du hast uns viel gegeben
Du bist der Mittelpunkt
In unserem Leben!
We go hand in hand
Together we are huge
and strong as a wall
You have given us much
You are the center
of our lives!)
"Could you call a cab," Dawn said to Suzie.
Indeed, the air warms all over the world as the days get longer, the nights shorter. Tiny eruptions flower across the land of California from the ocean across the Valley and to the foothills where snow still falls as of this date. Nevertheless grand things are coming. Maybe Hannover will not make it to the European World Cup this year, nor even come close, nevertheless the sap still rises.
96 - Alte Liebe
Rot steht dir sehr viel besser als Gelb-Blau
Lass die andern alle reden
Von Bayern oder Bremen
Wir sind immer bei dir
96 - Hah Ess Vauuuuuu!
The door opened and with the gust of cold air entered a tall statuesque woman wearing black high heels, a long London Fog, and with platinum hair that still retained a slight tinge of reddish-gold. She was a woman of a certain age which never tells, but she had been a beauty in her time and was beautiful still with piercing blue eyes.
Schon lange Zeit bist du uns so vertraut . . . O je! Du!
Schmidt stumbled in his song and his eyes bugged forth and his mouth dropped open and he lost the power of speech.
O je! Eh . . .! Eh . . .!
"Nun was ist, Heinrich?" said the lady. "Kater hat die Zunge gefasst? Cat got your tongue?"
"O Lili . . . Why. . . ? I thought neffer again . . .".
"Well, Harry, you know the way the song goes. Sometimes things do not go as one wants."
The old man clearly was broken down, unable to respond as drunk as he was, slumped in his chair as the tears poured down his face, soaking his beard.
"Harry, you are drunk," the woman said. She rested an elegant hand on the man's back and he sat up straight.
"I ham ferpektly kindt and krumble." Schmidt said. "Fin fine. Donkey kay."
"Vot?" Padraic and Dawn said together.
"I am not married anymore," the woman said. "Things did not work out."
"O! So . . . so sorry." Schmidt was trying desperately to rally himself. "Vasser, I need water." he motioned to Suzie, who gave him a tall glass, which he downed in one long swallow. "Lili . . .".
"I am so sorry, Harry. I really am," said the woman. "We should . . . talk."
Suzie tried to take charge as the bar became silent of all chatter. "Could you like do something? He's had enough as you see."
"Right. I have a car. I have a car." Her composure was a bit rattled now that it was coming to doing something. Perhaps she had not thought things through and now she twisted a ring around and around her finger as if trying to remove it.
"O for Pete's sake take the man home," Dawn said. "Work out the effin' details later."
Suzie helped Lili, for that was indeed her name, bundle Old Schmidt from the barstool to the door and out and to the car.
"O don't know if I can do this," Lili said, staggering under the load.
"Trick is," Suzie said, "When they are like this, DONT STOP! Keep moving!" The trio tacked to the left and to the right, and so they got the wandering ship of Schmidt to land face down with his arms stretched out across the hood of the car after which Suzie and Lili manhandled him into the seat.
As they all gathered at the door to watch the mystery woman drive off with Old Schmidt in the passenger side of a Citroyen that looked to have seen some significant miles in its time, Padraic exclaimed, "Wouldya look at that now! Cute as a wet badger in the hayloft but Old Schmidt and some dame! Who woulda thought!"
Dawn wacked him. "Be kind now!"
The long howl of the the throughpassing train ululated from far across the water, across the star-crossed waves of the estuary kissing the rip-rap and wavered across the long lost grasses of the Buena Vista flats the locomotive pulling boxcars loaded with painful memories glided past the dark and shuttered doors of the Jack London Waterfront, headed off on its journey to parts unknown.
That's the way it is on the Island. Have a great week.
Manchmal geht es nicht so wie man will,
doch unsere Liebe steht deswegen noch nicht still.
Tränen können fließen, doch in der größen Not,
rudern wir gemeinsam im roten Fußballboot!
96, alte Liebe!
Rot steht dir ja viel besser als Gelb - Blau,
lass die andern alle reden,
von Bayern oder Bremen,
wir sind immer bei dir
immer bei dir
immer bei dir
trad. sports team song, "96 Alte Liebe"
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