Week 599: Trailer Park Sintennial and Fare Thee Well 500’s, Don’t Let the Screen Door Hit You on the Ass: And a Special List Battle Royale!

-One-

Here’s to a Place That Has More Kids Than Teeth

I lived in a trailer park for a little over a year, 1978 to 1979 b.c.e. It was in South Park, a neighborhood a few miles south (duh) of Seattle. The Dumwamish River flowed about a hundred yards from my metal abode, and the South Park Draw Bridge was about a block away. The world’s largest and long lastingest mud puddle, which never evaporated once while I lived there, stood between the park and the cleverly named South Park Tavern (I was only nineteen and looked fifteen, so I usually got kicked out about half the times I went in–until a cop saw me and gave me a minor consumption ticket. Bastard). There was also a popular 24hr eatery (the equally cleverly named South Park Diner) where I took most of my meals (great pulled pork sandwich and home fries). Ah, it was a fine trailer park–I paid, get this, seventy-five smackers a month for a small one bedroom trailer. And I felt oddly honored when the show South Park came on the air some twenty years down the line. Those were some strange and yet terrible times, but I’m glad I had them.

One oddity was I never met the landlord. Every first of the month I slipped a money order through the slot of “their” door. You see, I was told it was a husband and wife run outfit. I inherited the trailer from my brother who had moved and they said sure if I wanted to renew his lease–I guess no one cared to meet me. When I left I gave a month’s notice with the last rent money order and returned the key the same way. It had Christmas lights duct taped to it, which, of course, I left up. I really doubt such a situation can happen anymore–I don’t think so anyway, gotta feeling the area got the hell gentrified out of it. Anyway this is a brief little mention to the South Park Trailer Park (which I hope, along with the everlasting mud puddle, still exists, but I have my doubts and I refuse to check on it). Anyway, I just found out that the American Trailer Parks have been around since the 1920’s; so let us call this year the 100th, since no one else is staking a claim.

-Two-

I’ll be as Holy as You Let Me (and a Word Was Born)

I’ve begun a long forestalled project this year. I am reading the King James Bible cover to cover. I read one chapter of it a day, everyday (I know it will take a very long time, but there is nothing that dies harder than an old lady–so, with a nod to Kate Bush, I’m running up Calvary Hill, no problem). Today (not this today, but on the today I write this) I read Genesis 32. Jacob had just rassled the Lord in 31 and today he made up with his brother Esau. It is incredible the amount of jerks you meet in Genesis. Guys who instruct their wives to pretend to be their sisters to protect themselves; and there were women who told their husbands to bang their female slaves then called the resulting children their own (no word on the slaves’ feelings) . And then there was Onan, he of the “Blue Ball Express–which always pulls out on time”–God was not pleased with Onan–and I find myself wondering just how did the Lord “slew” him? Still, I find myself no longer as unfairly aligned with the darkness in my soul against the scriptures. Good things often happened to deficient people (such as Jacob, later Israel), because they were able to grow and change. A lot of the time preachers do not express the flux nature of Genesis, which I find detrimental to the message.

Now, I’ve begun the project (which I will complete unless smited or smoted or even smittened) not as an aim for heaven, but as a way of understanding something I’ve always taken aim at with fangs bared and claws extended. That is unfair of me, so the project is underway. So far I am certain that the Bible is a series of allegories, with occasional real persons and places added. You have to allow for that because, for instance, it is impossible for two persons to create an entire species. Moreover, the lifespans are ridiculous. But there is value in this book, along with the great Sermon on the Mount and poetry such as the Lord’s Prayer. Anyway, no one in the world would love to know God more than I–but there is no way I would ever want to be Tammy Faye Baker. If faced with that choice, I will quote Twain “All right then, I’ll go to hell.”

But there is a genuine comparison between the human behaviours of ago to those of now (and all before, between, and what is likely to come). The people of Sodom were so horrible that a man, Lot, who offered up his virgin daughters to star in a gang bang so he could be a good host to his guests (preventing their star turn in the proposed gang bang) is the only righteous man in town. This was followed by the conversion to sodium by Mrs. Lot; still, I can identify with Lot’s wife, I would have looked back, especially when told not to. I think her name should be Sodo-Chloe–for sodium chloride. Then there was the incest in the cave, which was proably shaped like a trailer.

Ha! Get it! Trailer Park humour in the Old Testament! Okay, fine whatever. But due to that event the Bible has allowed me to invent a new word, which I humbly introduce to the English Language:

Precetious (n) Telling a “new Joke” that has already been told or is currently going round the joke cycle.

My mobile home shaped cave for Lot and his daughters must be precetious. It is too obvious with all the slamming of poor people with associations of incest and trailer parks. Plus it is “cool” to ridicule the Bible. I am stepping back for that; I’m for humour and holy books, but I am done with the scornful approach. For example, George Carlin (who was a genius, but when he got older, frankly, he began to slip and was not much more evolved comically than Dice Clay) blamed the Bible for over-population. “Go forth and be fruitful.” Well, other than not explaining China or India, it was precetious (I love getting my word underlined with the uptight red squiggle) for certain. George, I think, got pretty used to all the butt-kissing the younger generations of comics laid on him. Hey, the same went for the monumentally unfunny Bob Hope and Milton Berle. The only comic I have ever seen who seemed unimpressed by his ascension to the holy was Richard Pryor. Even when he was terribly sick I could see the “fuck off” in his eyes. Eddie Murphy did a wonderful imitation of Richard’s act–but Richard was most extremely first–and Pryor, unchained, is my candidate for the funniest person ever.

Hmm, I seem to have lost my way, even though introducing my Bible Study and new word was the object of this “lesson” number two.

So let us moveth forward.

-Three-

The 599th Week That Was

So many wonderful things have occurred in weeks 500-599 that one is tempted to put on Green Day’s Good Riddance and get weepy about it all. But let us not get overly stupid. A number is a number and there is nothing more special about 599 than there is in any other. More good things is always number the numero uno desirement. (Maybe another new word?)

Ever erudite Geraint Jonathan returned Sunday with Shakespeare the Tease. You need not be an expert on the Bard to enjoy Geraint work (but some knowledge is helpful). Like the subject Geraint is a master of wit and poetic prose. And there are no truer words today than those writ four-hundred years ago.

Taking the Plunge by M.A.B. Lee led off the work week and forever reshaped the concept of the plumber’s helper. And although one might feel that there was a lot of this tale at the surface–oh no, there was and is so much more to it. Absolutely funny as hell and a great read first thing in a day. So well thought out and presented.

Tuesday brought us The Potato Man by Leigh-Anne Burley. Life can build up on you as well as in you. And in just a few words Leigh-Anne showed us the implosion of a human being. A truly sad event, but maybe it can help someone who sees him or herself on the sofa, hating the same sort of life.

Shoshauna Shy (who has a real cool name, if you ask me) returned with Iowa on Wednesday. I am similar in age to the kids in this tale and trust me she got the way the American world was for little kids in the sixties. The old days were not always the good ones, no matter what people tell you. It is also a personal story, like Leigh-Anne’s, with heartbreak, but being young, there was hope as well.

Joe Ducato presented The Duster on Thursday. This one mixes the fantastic with the grim often idiotic overly orderly society in which laws are followed because, well, because. You find yourself rooting for “The Duster” even though his task is a tall one that gets ever higher by the moment.

Right now I must confess to writing The Hydra of Lambistan. It is 5:27 A.M. and it is easy to confess to my sins prior to sunrise. Anyway, for those of you who read it and commented kindly, I greatly appreciate you. And for those of you who chose the old If You Cannot Say Anything Nice, Then Say Nothing at All bit–in my mind The Thumper Commandment, well. I guess I owe you my thanks as well (but not to a sizeable portion).

Anyway, here’s a reminder to please do things you are not likely to do and further thanks for those of you who do such good deeds without being prodded by one of those giant wooden forks you used to see on dining room walls in the 1970s.

And farewell to the 500’s. It requires not a doctorate to figure out that it takes about two years to do a hundred, so I hope you remember to return next week when Hugh yanks the 600’s, doubtlessly screaming, spitting, shitting and kicking, into the world for, as the Beatles once put it, a damn good wacking (metaphorically of course, for LS deplores violence on numbers).

Extra Note

This paragraph is being added a few days after I had scheduled the article, please forgive me if it comes off a bit choppy. But I feel I should make special mention for Dolly Parton, who died yesterday. For me there are three famous people I have always believed I will be extra sad about when they go: Carol Burnett, Loretta Lynn and Dolly Parton. They all have/had a special quality of friendly respect that cannot be faked. Carol is still with us and I hope she makes a hundred, but, like with Loretta before, I must bid farewell to the unlikely yet wonderful lady from the south. Dolly and Loretta Lynn were quite special yet utterly different although they came from similar backgrounds. Below is a clip of my favorite Dolly song.

The next day…I want all the Cool Famous People to please stop dying for a little while. Tim Curry was awfully cool and like with Dolly, his passing leaves a sadness.

Rocky Horror is immortal, but this wasn’t bad either:

-Four-

Grammar Stuff

Word I vow to stop misspelling: Here I’ve decided to add grammar mistakes to the ongoing list. This time out fewer versus less is the subject. I keep forgetting they are not the same, that “fewer” means a decrease in the actual, knowable number while “less” refers to uncountable mass numbers, like traffic and such. It is one of those mistakes that most of us make–or at least whatever group it is that includes yours truly.

Bi-word of the bi-week: Collywobbles (n) “whimsical word for butterflies in the stomach”

Hated Word of the Bi-Week: “Icon/iconic.” I have had enough of it. Please stop using it. Such laziness unless used ironically or in dialogue.

-Five-

List Battle Royale

The list this bi-week is different from the norm. First of all it is neither one to ten nor an A to Z offering, it is a list of seven, each item representing a day of the week. My idea is to present a Battle Royale, that wrestling gimmick in which a bunch of steroid-infused bozos hit the ring and go at it until the one guy the promoter says will be the winner remains. This battle involves songs that represent days of the week and will end with a clip of the pre-ordained winner.

The Combatants:

Monday: Come Monday Jimmy Buffet

Tuesday: Tuesday Afternoon Moody Blues

Wednesday: Goodbye Ruby Tuesday The Stones because I cannot think of a Wednesday song and have enough integrity not to google for one

Th: Thursday’s Child Bowie

Friday: Friday on My Mind Easybeats

Sat: Saturday Night’s All right For Fighting E.J. (my band did that one, unbelievable time signature)

Sun: Sunday Morning Sidewalk Kris Kristofferson

The Action:

“Hello folks, Irene the Idler here to call the action of the Great Song of the Day Battle ROY-Al. All seven have entered the squared circle, though Sunday appears to be monumentally intoxicated as Lindsay Lohan. He has staggered off to a corner and appears to be trying to roll a cigarette.

“There’s the ring of the bell. And it is clear that the Moodies and the Stones hooked up to form an allegiance. They have jumped Bowie and Buffet and have excused both from the big dance early. But neither went out first because the Easybeats understood that they did not belong in the same ring with the others and committed the Battle ROY-AL version of suicided by grabbing a handful of its own long hair and yanking itself over the top ring while the opening bell was still ringing.

“This leaves the Moodies, Stones, Sir Elton and Kris K, who appears to have passed out in his corner. Now folks are there two more duplicitous people in music than Mick Jagger and Elton John? Everyone knows the answer to that save for the Moody Blues. And out the first B-list super group goes after a from behind double drop kick from Mick and Reggie.

“The problem with duplicity and evil alliances is that such things must come to a head when all the true competition has been eliminated by unholy teamwork–It appears that both Mick and Elton had made a pre-alliance with Kris, but guess who was feigning drunkenness? And first there goes Elton then Mick (who is yanked clear by the arm of Johnny Cash), as Willie Nelson distracts the ref. It’s as clever as when Kris turned around on three when dueling Jack Elam in the Billy the Kid movie—Ring the bell, and behold the winner who is—

Jesus Christ, it’s getting to be like the obits page around here: Anyway and in memory of Frank Beard (1949-2026)–Stop dying already

And I was just thinking of her when she died this morning. This one hurts personally, for she was always known in my life for her positve energy. Bigger than life, a female Freddie Mercury to me