WHY I HATE HOT DOGS (#fridayflash)

Press play for some mood music

Why did I walk out? Well, for starters I told her the last place I wanted to be was at a barbecue on my Sunday afternoon. Now, before you go and call me un-American, realize that I hate the heat. Actually, what I really wanted to do was park my ass on the couch and watch Jeter do what Jeter does best while sipping suds direct from Colorado's best brewery. Is there anything more patriotic than that? I tell you this, sir, no one -- and I mean no one -- knows the pursuit of leisure better than I. That's American.

And by the way, did I ever tell you what I hate more than the heat? Fuckin' hot dogs. Before you go and say, "Everyone loves hot dogs..." bear in mind why I deplore them. They remind me of my dad. Don't get me wrong, he was a good-enough guy who worked hard and loved his son but when my parents got divorced, weekends were tough.

It was around 1954 and men certainly didn't have the options or the carnal opportunities that seem so plentiful today. My Saturdays with Pop were really Saturdays with Spiro and his hot dog cart. My mother -- a chronic worrier -- easily dressed me for 20 degrees colder than it ever was. Are you so shocked now why I hate the heat? I was never sure of who Pop was schtupping every week, but I knew it took about three hours and cost him a finske for my babysitter Spiro the Giddy Greek. To this day, I remember that laugh and that god awful music that he managed to find on his transistor. And me? Is it any wonder why I became a pissed off little bastard who begrudgingly ate his wieners on the curb with a trusty Coke by my side?

That's why I hate the heat.

That's why I hate barbecues.

That's why I hate hot dogs.

And by the way, did I ever tell you that my name was Frank. Yup. The irony...

Music: Me Kalese Mi Arhondisa. It can be downloaded HERE.

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BARBIE'S MILK BUBBLES (#fridayflash)

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Looking back, I can say with complete authority that Mom was usually a fun sponge who could suck the joy out of a Saturday morning cartoon with just one look.

I put up with it for years. And so did Pop. After a while, it was the norm. So much so that when we saw a smile, we got worried. Nevertheless, she was always dependable and Pop and I relied on her to keep the house above water.

It had been a while since they entertained and it must have been Pop's birthday because I remember hearing over and over about some sort of present he hadn't received. Something he seemed to have wanted a while.

Devouring my Saturday morning bowl of Cap'n Crunch while staring hopelessly into an episode of "Super Friends," I remember hearing about this so-called present and how Mom had it. I was stoked. I mean, shit, what little kid doesn't wanna help unwrap a gift, right?

After a few minutes of slurping milk, I snuck my way up the stairs. They didn't have a lock on any of the doors because I had a habit of barricading myself during hide and seek sessions and hiding for hours. After creeping into their room, I didn't see any box or gift wrapping.

# # #

That night, I watched Pop blow out the candles of his cake and for once, he looked relaxed. Happier. Even Mom didn't look quite as miserable as she normally did.

Me? I was fucking bored. The neighbors brought over their daughter Karin who kept egging me on to play with her Malibu Barbie. After saying no a few times, I don't know what compelled me to rip off the doll's sundress and run into the dining room. Even worse and somewhat perverse was the fact that I was also clutching onto a Mickey Mouse figurine.

And there I was. to the horror of my parents: A three year-old going to town on Barbie's milk bubbles.

"Ralphie!" Mom shouted in a whisper. "Stop that!"

I heard her but I kept slobbering on the bulbous plastic. In fact, I think I might have even moaned a bit. Our guests were cracking up, so I kept on. The little showman that I was...

My Pop ran over and kneeled in front of me. He laughed, more out of embarrassment and said in front of the group almost reassuringly, "Little boys don't do those things. You're hurting the doll..."

And this is where it gets good because I stopped licking Barbie's boobs and answered, "But it didn't seem to be hurting Mommy this morning."

Half of our guests stifled their laughs -- the other half made it painfully obvious that they were glad to have made our soiree.

After that night, Mom went back to being miserable, Pop disgruntled, and in the process, I think I subliminally became an "ass man."

Music: The Pink Panther theme by Henry Mancini. It can be downloaded HERE.

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BOSSA NOVA BELLHOP (#fridayflash)

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Pablo worked as a bellhop over at The Biltmore. In fact, Sully Klein, the hotel's manager, said that if he kept up the good work, there's be an entry-level concierge position for him come time for the holiday rush.

"I hear good things about you, kid..." Sully would say every now and then pinching his cheek. "You're getting a rep." Pablo would just smile, nod, thanks his boss and continue on.

Pablo was Brazilian, and, as such, knew a thing or two about the opposite sex. The other bellhops would often joke that Pablo probably came out of the womb flirting with the nurse.

Still, Pablo did his thing. Day in. Day out. A good worker. A solid earner. He did everyone proud.

# # #

It was a little after midnight and the wedding in the Sterling Room was almost over. The event was packed with about 300 drunks and after making eye contact with one in particular, he motioned for the hallway. Ultimately, the pair made their way to his lovepad - Room 724.

Truth be told, this one tonight was a little bit old for the bellhop's taste but he'd been sipping some Canadian Club throughout the wedding so he was just buzzed enough to do the deed.

After setting the mood with some records that he kept on hand, they kissed. She smelled like a mixture of Chanel, maraschino cherries and gin. In a weird way, that did the trick. She noticed and the groping got underway. He asked her to disrobe.

Watching her, Pablo lit a Pall Mall, dropped his chinos and hopped onto the spongy mattress.

Exhaling, Pablo smiled, looked at the older woman and said, "The price is twenty bucks..."

The squeaks cam fast and furious and fifteen minutes later, she was back at the wedding at her table and he was at his station in the lobby.

Another happy customer compliments of the Bossa Nova Bellhop.

MUSIC: Antonio Carlos Jobim - Desafinado. It can be downloaded HERE. Photo: Courtesy of The Hound Blog.

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DINO...

Pouring one for you as we speak... No joke.

Dean Martin (June 7, 1917 – December 25, 1995), born Dino Paul Crocetti, was an American singer, film actor, television star and comedian. Martin's hit singles included "Memories Are Made of This", "That's Amore", "Everybody Loves Somebody", "Mambo Italiano", "Sway", "Volare" and smash hit "Ain't That a Kick in the Head?". Nicknamed the "King of Cool", he was one of the members of the "Rat Pack" and a major star in four areas of show business: concert stage/night clubs, recordings, motion pictures, and television. (Wikipedia)



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UNCLE ROCCO (#fridayflash)

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Sandy looked through the drawers and found the cigar box. They were filled with photos of her Uncle Rocco and after flipping through half of them, she found her favorite. It was the one of him all decked out leather. She smiled.

"It takes a certain kind of man to wear leather," he told her when she first saw this amazing picture. "People can tell if you're not meant for it so don't ever let the jacket wear you."

She smiled some more and felt her bottom lip quiver. She bit it, stifled herself and remembered the story behind the photo.

* * *

"The Wild One" was just released and everyone under 25 wanted to be Brando. Problem was, Rocco didn't have the scratch to buy a motorbike like the Triumph Thunderbird 6T in the film, so the family car would have to do.

Uncle Rocco and the rest of the neighborhood's throttle jockey hooligans worked on the engine round the clock and pretty soon, that heap was tighter than a bank vault with a busted timelock.

Still, no matter how ponies rumbled under that hood, there was that outlaw biker just itching to get out.

So Rocco compensated, bought a leather jacket from Andy's Thrift Shop and played the role of Johnny Strabler. With his 'duck's ass' (D.A.) pompadour greasier than the 'spoon' off Interstate 344, Uncle Rocco swore he was tough enough to swap punches with a power shovel -- all 138 pounds of him. He even went so far as to rip up his draft notice.

That afternoon, after Rocco lit his first Pall Mall, Spike McCrory took a snapshot of him before catching "The Wild One" yet again at the drive-in. By the time it was through, they had enough puffy chest incentive to rebel against as many 'whaddya gots' as they could possibly find.

Uncle Rocco and Spike sauntered into the nearby malt shop and plopped their rumps at the counter. It was a packed Saturday night and Rocco saw a slinky piece of homework that caught his eye. He smiled and had a waitress send over a milkshake. Funny. That night, there was all sorts of extra credit going on, and that slinky piece of homework was on everyone's mind - namely Mikey Mapplethorpe - who hip checked Uncle Rocco out of his stool.

The place went quiet. Spike helped Rocco to his feet and as the rest of the malt shop watched, Rocco knew what they didn't. The switchblade in his back pocket was primed and ready.

* * *

Uncle Rocco got out of jail a few years later and by then, the country's newest rebel was a lost cause after he perished in a Porsche 550 Spyder on Route 466 in California.

Sandy was glad that the 'slinky piece of homework' -- her Aunt Sally -- pretty much reformed Uncle Rocco and by the time he was released, he was on the straight and narrow and the two were married a few months later.

The tears were coming back now and she put the picture back in the cigar box with the others and headed to the funeral home. Driving there she just knew her favorite picture would be the big hit of her collage.

Music: "Wild Wild Young Men," by Ruth Brown. It can be downloaded HERE.

Art: A tip of the hat to Paul Bishop at 'Bish's Beat' for the inspirational pic. Check out his blog. Its filled with all sorts of pulpy and retro delights.

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY, NORMA JEAN ...

Marilyn Monroe - I Wanna Be Loved by You

('Some Like It Hot', 1956). Download it HERE.

... You're STILL the standard.

After spending much of her childhood in foster homes, Marilyn Monroe began her career as a model, which led to a film contract in 1946.

Early movie roles were minor, but her performances in "The Asphalt Jungle" and "All About Eve" (both 1950) were well received.

By 1953, Monroe had progressed to leading roles. Her "dumb blonde" persona was used to comedic effect in such films as "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes" (1953), "How to Marry a Millionaire" (1953) and "The Seven Year Itch" (1955).

Limited by typecasting, Monroe studied at the Actors Studio to broaden her range, and her dramatic performance in "Bus Stop" (1956) was hailed by critics, and she received a Golden Globe nomination. Her production company, Marilyn Monroe Productions, released "The Prince and the Showgirl" (1957), for which she received a BAFTA Award nomination and won a David di Donatello award. She received a Golden Globe Award for her performance in "Some Like It Hot" (1959). (Wikipedia)


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REALITY CHECK...

Thank you to ALL soldiers past and present, living or deceased, for all that you have done and sacrificed for our country. You are heroes and we are forever grateful for what you have done for our freedom.



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THE ROCKABILLY KITTENS (#fridayflash)

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I don't know if I was hallucinating from the Nevada heat or if it was just the cheap gin I was sipping from my hipflask. Whatever the case, something was certainly odd about that afternoon. So much so, at one point I might've even heard Rod Serling's voice in my head.

"Consider if you will a hitchhiker. A man content to be a loner, trekking his way across our great nation. He's a creative sort with an overactive imagination and no one to share it with. A man who hasn't seen a car in three hours and is all too willing to hop in that back seat of one that approached. This is the story of happenstance on a lonely, deserted road in 'The Twilight Zone.'

I was getting a bit too close to the desert and just when I was about to turn back and head for town and the nearest flophouse, I saw them -- these three rockabilly kittens -- driving towards me. I stuck out my thumb and as they passed, the driver screeched some rubber.

As I hopped in, I was amazed to see three of the coolest looking rockabilly chicks I've ever seen. Their car was a Nash and I figured they could've been to Las Vegas for a variety of reasons - car show, rockabilly convention, tattoo expo. I looked at their arms and they weren't tatted up. In fact, they didn't look like they've been around the block all that much. Something was starting to feel strange.

Kitten Number Two shared the back seat with me and asked what was in my ears. I shot her a confused look and showed her my iPod.

"What's that?" she asked.

"It's for music..." I answered, positive she was just fucking with me.

She lit up. "Fun! Can I listen?" I carefully placed the earbuds in her ear and pressed play.

When she shrieked, I turned the player off. The Kittens up front snapped around to see what was wrong.

"That's horrid! What's that noise?"

"Um ... The Chemical Brothers," I told her. "Don't like it?"

"It sounds like outer space music for the depraved," she said leaning forward to the front seat and flipping on the radio. She started bopping her head. "Carl Perkins... He's where it's at..."

Kitten Number Two noticed my flask and asked for a shot. "It's gin," I told her, handing it over.

"All the better..." Kitten Number One, the driver, uttered.

# # #

When I woke up, I was laying on the side of the road right where the Kittens picked me up, flask empty by my side. It was windy and almost dark. The desert was no place to be at night so I started hoofing it to a greasy spoon a few miles back.

It was getting cold and as I stuck my hands in the pocket of my denim jacket, I noticed my iPod was gone. "You gotta be fucking kidding me --" was my only thought from the side of that shitty highway to the Formica counter.

When I plopped on the diner stool, I noticed the place was empty. By rights it should be. At 3 a.m., diners are way stations for the drunk, lonely or stupid. Guess which one I was.

I went to light a cigarette. For the record, those were gone as well.

"Great..."

The waitress, who oddly looked like an out-of-place fembot, slid me some coffee. "'S'matter darlin?"

""Ah, nothing... I lost my iPod up the road."

She tilted her ear like a confused pup. "You mean earPod..."

Now I was confused. She pointed to her head and pulled out what looked like a hearing aid battery from her ear. "Holds 75,000 albums... Plays holograms in 3D... What's an iPod?"

I shook my head and laughed. Sipping my coffee, I should've known better than to sip gin in the Nevada sun.

Music: Carl Perkins, 'Gone Gone Gone. It can downloaded HERE.

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SAMMY DAVIS, JR. DIED 21 YEARS AGO TODAY

Here's some Sammy goodness for fans of who I personally thought was the 'Hardest Workin' Man in Showbiz'











Sammy Davis, Jr. pieces in Bukowski's Basement

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FURTHER ON UP THE ROAD (#fridayflash)

Please click play for some mood music

She met the putz on his leave.

It was few years past the Armistice in Korea and when they were on their first date, Bobby admitted to Lori Beth that the only reason he joined the Navy was because "all the real fighting was already done."

How brave... Lori Beth thought to herself. A real winner. First dates were the do-or-die time to impress a gal and here he is all but inadvertently admitting what a coward he is.

Bobby fiddled with his rum and Coke. "Besides, I figured I'd beat Uncle Sam to the punch, huh?"

She smiled politely and looked out the window, unsure if if he was just nervous or just a complete ass. For the time being, Lori Beth chalked it up to him just being nervous because on their way out, he somehow managed the bravado to knock out some hopped up hooch hound who was a little too hot in the zipper.

"Respect the lady..." her sailor told the creep.

Her perception of Bobby changed. For the next week, they spent every waking hour at a hot pillow joint the next town over until he shipped back for his next tour.

One night, as Lori Beth joked about all the girlfriends he has abroad tucked away in love huts, Bobby laughed, told her how unglamorous life was on cramped aircraft carriers and tossed her the keys to his 49 Mercury.

"Watch her for me," he said. "I'll be back before you know it."

# # #

The six months went by fairly quick. In between her job at the concession stand at the drive in and writing Bobby letters every weekend, it wouldn't be long before they were together again.

But it was long.

The rumor was that he was making time with some roller derby hussy two counties away. She wouldn't have believed it if it wasn't for picture proof in the local rag. There he was on the society page with "Payne Mansfied," the so-called blonde bombshell of the regional derby. They were engaged.

Her blood boiled.

She decided to sign up for the derby that afternoon. Forget the fact that she couldn't skate -- all that was important was that she had her name: Blocky Marciano. She originally wanted to go with Rita Hateworth but figured the former sounded more vicious.

But that wasn't good enough.

Lori Beth needed more revenge so she did what any red-blooded American woman would. Much to the chagrin of her mother, she found that skimpy two-piece from last season and washed Bobby's Plymouth in the front yard with the radio cranked and flirted with every fella that strolled by.

The hottest Saturday afternoon of the summer, she made sure everyone saw her. Word needed to get back to Bobby - written or otherwise - that she knew what a crumb-bum he was and more important, she was selling his car. The '49 Merc.

Oh she sold it alright. Little did she know that her future Mr. Right was only 345 smackeroos away.


Music: 'Further On Up The Road,' by Bobby Blue Bland. It can be downloaded HERE.

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RIVETING: 'PAGE ONE: INSIDE THE NEW YORK TIMES'

Andrew Rossi’s riveting documentary 'Page One: Inside The New York Times' had its World Premiere at the Sundance Film Festival, and was acquired by Magnolia Pictures and Participant Media for theatrical release this June. In the tradition of great fly-on-the-wall documentaries, the film deftly gains unprecedented access to the New York Times newsroom and the inner workings of the Media Desk.

With the Internet surpassing print as our main news source and newspapers all over the country going bankrupt, 'Page One' chronicles the transformation of the media industry at its time of greatest turmoil. Writers like Brian Stelter, Tim Arango and the salty but brilliant David Carr track print journalism’s metamorphosis even as their own paper struggles to stay vital and solvent, while their editors and publishers grapple with up-to-the-minute issues like controversial new sources and the implications of an online pay-wall.

Meanwhile, rigorous journalism is thriving – 'Page One' gives us an up-close look at the vibrant cross-cubicle debates and collaborations, tenacious jockeying for on-record quotes, and skillful page-one pitching that brings the most venerable newspaper in America to fruition each and every day.

Check out the trailer:



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E-BOOKS, READERS AIN'T GOIN' ANYWHERE...

... So embrace it. Deal with it.

Blog Buddy Ed Gorman gave me the original heads up on this little nugget and I thought it would be apropos to pass it along.

In February, e-Books hit a major milestone. According to Association of American Publishers (AAP) sales figures, eBooks ranked as the top format among all categories of trade publishing.

E-Book sales totaled $90.3 million for the month, expanding 202 percent compared to the same period last year. YOWZA...

Here’s more from the AAP: "This one-month surge is primarily attributed to a high level of strong post-holiday e-Book buying, or ‘loading,’ by consumers who received e-Reader devices as gifts. Experts note that the expanded selection of e-Readers introduced for the holidays and the broader availability of titles are factors."

Did you hear that? Get on board, everyone. Dust old those old manuscripts because it's great news for scribes everywhere.

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DELTA DAWN (#fridayflash)

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Sugar Foot Hollow was always peaceful. Or so it seemed.

Under the shiny surface of comely dimestore counters and picture-postcard porches, four women decided to break the cycle.

* * *

Mertyle's life was good enough. She woke up every day, made her pies and if she was lucky, got to read her Saturday Evening Post before Supper. She had no children because her woman parts didn't work so well but it was probably for the best. You see, Davis, her hubby of 27 years liked men. Once word got out that he and 'Fillin' Station Pete' were sweet on one another, Mertyle decided it was her duty to clean up her own kitchen instead of anyone else in town -- namely her daddy, a wizard for 'The Brotherhood.'

Peggy was married to Jeb, a man so painfully angry the Lord gave him a peg leg that nothing made him smile -- not even the sweet nectar of his moonshine that kept his roof dry and his belly full. Peggy took the abuse quietly and kept smiling on Main Street. She couldn't smile anymore, however, when Jeb threw out their 16 year-old daughter Mae for getting knocked up by the high school football coach. The image of her baby leaving in tears, begging forgiveness, still haunts her. Peggy never saw Mae ever again and doubts that she ever will.

LeeAnne was married to what she thought was a pillar of the community. While Brett was his name to friends and family, the rest of town knew him as Coach Parsons. His weakness? Teen-aged girls. After news spread that he impregnated the daughter of his wife's best friend, Coach Parsons was fired and rumor had it didn't leave his barn for a month.

MoonPie and Loretta grew apart years before her last child left the house. Didn't matter, though, he was a good provider. But the boredom escalated once the children were gone so Loretta took matters into her own hands. While MoonPie worked his fifteen hour shifts at the mine, she kept company with the region's travelling bible salesman. Funny thing, it didn't take long before she took the Lord's name in vain underneath him. A wedding date was eventually planned.

* * *

Getting them to the wheat field was the hard part. The ladies paid Milo, a gargantuan mute, to help wrangle up the men within a few hours. Rope and chloroform can do wonders.

They lined up their husbands -- barely conscious -- but confused enough to piss their pants. The foursome smiled a last smile and pulled their triggers. They dug with Milo all night long.

All was now quiet in Sugar Foot Hollow.

Music: Loretta Lynn - A Man I Hardly Know. It can be downloaded HERE.

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'DEADWOOD' AT THE RACETRACK

Bukowski loved the track so I think this post is more than apropos. A making-of featurette has arrived for the upcoming HBO drama "Luck" and let's just say it looks like "Deadwood" at the racetrack.

A what an ensemble -- creative and otherwise. "Miami Vice" creator Michael Mann directs the pilot and will produce the series along with David Milch of "NYPD Blue" and "Deadwood" fame.

The show follows a number of characters who frequent the same horse racing track and stars Dustin Hoffman as "a man in his late 60s just released from four years in prison who's autodidactic, intelligent, and deeply involved in gambling."

David Milch was quoted in Variety as saying; "The pilot is about a bunch of intersecting lives in the world of horse racing... It's a subject which has engaged and some might say has compelled me for 50 years. I find it as complicated and engaging a special world as any I've ever encountered, not only in what happens in the clubhouse and the grandstand, but also on the backside of the track, where the training is done and where they house the horses."

It will also star Nick Nolte, Kevin Dunn, Richard Kind and Dennis Farina.

The series is reportedly aiming for a launch in fall 2011.



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