"Scenes from a Restaurant" OR "Why I Love South City"

SCENE I:

Patron (to Bartender): Man, I usta get wasted all the time at your old place.

Bartender: You weren't the only one.

Patron: Hey, what's your brother been up to?

Bartender: He's in jail, actually.

Patron: Oh, sorry to hear that.

Bartender: Yeah, long story

Patron(to guy on next barstool): I guess that's why he hasn't called me back.

SCENE II:

(Cook comes behind bar with 24 oz cup. Begins pooring Jack Daniels into cup.)

Patron: You know you can't drink Jack Daniels at their distillery. It's a dry county. You ever been there?

Cook(doesn't look up, removes spout from bottle to make for easier pouring): No.

(Cook fills to rim of cup, about 1/3 of bottle, turns and walks back into the kitchen.)

(FADE)

FIN.

Adam

In late October 1918, my great-grand uncle (is that a legit term for a relative?), Adam lie in a ditch in France waiting to go out of his trench in attack of a German machine gun. He was more than 4,000 miles from home - from the country he was fighting for - yet he was less than 500 miles from the birthplace of his parents.

More than 90 years later I am freaked out by how much he looks like me.

I wonder what kind of thoughts entered his mind. I wonder what he thought he was fighting for - for his country, for the nation of his forebears, for the freedom of Europe or was he just scared and regretting what had been a breezy decision many months ago to join the army?

Adam was the twin brother of my great-grandmother, Eva. (yes, Adam and Eva) They were born in 1893 in Toledo and were raised on a farm in Michigan. When my great-grandmother married and moved to the city, Adam lived with them for a time, then joined the army. My great-grandmother lived a long life and I still have a teddy bear she gave to me when I was a small child.

My great-aunt provided me with photos of Adam before he went to war. Some are the typical kind you might get at Six Flags or the like today - just a teenage kid with his sister and friends posing in a fake "Seeing Toledo" carriage. His sister - my great-grandmother - was beautiful, a trait she passed down to my great-aunt, although she claims her mother was the beauty, not her.

Knowing so little about his life, I still keep coming back to what Adam must have been thinking as he was charging a German machine gun post mere days, unbeknownst to him, of the war being over. I found a quote of an American soldier during that time:

"There are two chief reasons why a soldier feels fear: first, that he will not get home to see his loved ones again; but, most of all, picturing himself in the same position as some of the dead men we see. They lay there face up, usually in the rain, their eyes open, their faces pale and chalk-like, their gold teeth showing. I remember hundreds and hundreds of dead men. I would know them now if I were to meet them in the hereafter."

I wonder if he felt this fear as he charged. I wonder if he only single-mindedly saw the machine gun, trying to get it before it got him, as he was shot. I wonder if he felt relief and joy that the War was over as he lie recovering from his mustard gas infected leg. I wonder what his last thoughts were as he slipped away and was laid to rest as little French girls decorated his grave with flowers festooned with red, white and blue ribbons - just three weeks after the Armistice.

World War I had such a devastating effect on Europe, that today different countries mark its remembrance in different ways. In England, who lost over 700,000 sons, in November you still see everyone from newscasters to soccer coaches to everyday people wearing blood red paper poppies, a reference to John McRae's poem "In Flanders Field" to honor this loss.

In Poland it is a holiday of celebration as it marks the rebirth of a nation which had ceased to exist for more than a century of rule by Russia, Austria-Hungary and Prussia. It is a Polish version of the 4th of July with parades and fireworks.

I hope and wish Adam knew the role he played in this celebration of the place of his parents' birth - that he felt that he had contributed something and his life was not wasted - and that I am the first of my family to visit his grave in Countrexville, Vosges, France and tell him myself.

Dear St. Louis Voting People in Charge (SLVPIC),

- Isn't there a better way to organize than 3 lines based on what letter your last name starts with? This sounds good in theory, but as an "R," I was cursing my ancestors while staring at the empty S-Z line for 90 minutes.

- During this 90 minutes I also enjoyed having any "S-Z" person who entered escorted like a lottery winner by a poll worker - (speaking of pole workers, I think I may design a "Strippers for Palin" t-shirt - I just like how that sounds) - past the poor hordes whose parents hated them enough to saddle them with a "J-R." Sample lyric: "Zimmerman? Well, today is your birthday, honeybaby. You follow me..."

- I did like the "poll man in charge" telling the Republican Barbie observer to stay behind the table and observe, not interfere. I believe she spotted an Iraqi gentleman in line and tried to search him fo WMD's, invade his peanut M&Ms and liberate a green one in the name of freedom.

- The "poll man in charge" also yelled at the workers for verbally expresing their preference for voter registration cards as methods of ID to us in the huddling hordes. Apparently, they are not allowed to express any preference of a type of ID. Hearing this, I whipped out my fake ID fromhigh school identifying me as "Jim Morrison" with a bleach blond mullet. The workers were not amused - I think they were afraid of "poll man in charge" if they so much as cracked a smile.

- Can we all agree going forward to call the guy in "gentleman's clubs" who tells you not to touch the strippers as the "pole man in charge?" All in favor? Motion carried. Democracy in action!

When the dog bites, when the bee stings...

These are a few of my favorite words -

Underpants (to a lesser extent "panties" as well - yes, I am 11)

Autumnal (I just used this in a work setting to blinking, blank, uncomprehending stares)

Uncomprehending Stares

Cocksucker (1 swear word + 3 "k" sounds = winner, winner chicken dinner)

Winner, winner, chicken dinner (I can be folksy, bitches)

Exuberance

Boutros Boutros Ghali (I miss him)

Abbastanza Bene (try yelling it in a bad Italian accent while drawing out the two "n" sounds. See, that was fun! Almost as fun as ...)

A barrel of monkeys ("monkey" is also a great word solo or when paired with "underpants" in any context)

Brougham (pronounced BRO-ham) Noun

1. original meaning of "a light horse-drawn carriage with driver outside in front"

2. taken by Cadillac as a model name

3. now used as a less formal form of "Brother" as in "Hey Bro-ham, lend me the keys to your Cadillac Brougham."

Soccer and Wrasslin

Greatest soccer coach in the world, Jose Mourinho, with WWE's Vince and Shane McMahon

You would think that the lowbrow exercise that is professional wrestling has nothing in common with the highbrow enterprise that is professional soccer. The obvious link is that middle-class Americans tend to lift their noses and sneer at both. But as we have seen in the last two election cycles, America can be wrong.

I shall attempt to help you appreciate these worthy pursuits and their commonality in the tapestry of all that is good and holy.

The main thing they have in common for me is that they share TV time in my Monday night laundry fest - Fox Football Fone-In at 7, WWE Raw at 8. They mainly share underrated brilliance - wrestling has scripted athletic intensity - soccer has unscripted athletic radiance. Since you, the humble, unknowing neophyte may need guidance to see the light, let me elucidate matters for you.

First, the passion of both cannot be denied. Your typical Amazing Race, Dancing With The Stars, CSI: Tucson, MLB, NHL viewer will never see the joy of a perfectly executed bicycle kick goal or leg drop from the top of a 20' high steel cage. They have never felt the pain of their team being relegated to a lower division or had to look at the puss of the Great Khali in HD. This passion carries over to the personalities involved.

Take the cases of David Beckham, footballer and John Cena, wrestler.

The girls and casual observers that follow wrestling ans soccer loove these guys.

And why not? They appear in commercials with Fat Jared from Subway, Calvin Klein, Hans Wieman, Johhny Wad's Erection Rocket Pump, etc. They are handsome and handle their respectful field duties reasonably well. On the other hand, the hardcore fans HAATE these guys. To them, these two represent the Johnny Come-lately's who don't go about their business "the right way" and have not "paid their dues" and "disrespect the game." These are the Trekkie/LOTR/Comic book guy geeks combined with your grandpa that still complains he can't listen to Dinah Shore or pay $0.05 for a Nehi anymore. When the dorks and the bimbos go to war, it certainly is fun to watch.

The comedic value of the two entities is probably the best part. I give you the fake Italian guy (um, he's a wrestler, not a soccer player. Italian soccer player fakers are another blog altogether) with a unibrow, Santino Marella:

(in verry bad Italian accent) "I'll beat you like a rented mule, or a mule for purchase, bottomlines is, if there's livestock involved I'll beat you like it."

OR

"If you wear a mask, it mean one of two thing. Either you ugly or... you are the Batman. ...And you sir are not the Batman!"

On the soccer end, the songs sung at matches are hysterical. On Chelsea's new Brazilian manager Big Phil Scolari, for example.

(to the tune of "Amore"):

"When it's World Cups you win, and Gene Hackman's your twin, you're Scollarrri..."

As I leave you to ponder my fondness for these hidden gems, let me remind you of their ubiquity. You can watch WWE Raw on Monday, ECW on Tuesday, Smackdown on Friday, on top of pay-per-view and other operations such as TNA. Soccer has English Premier League, MLS, Serie A, La Liga, plus these teams compete in other competitions including FA Cup and Champion's League - then there is the World Cup... Go watch. You owe it to yourself. And each other....

Prez Debate Diary

Nothing interesting to write about, so let's do the thing that writes itself - Debate Diary!

I am joined by two needy cats, Trader Joe's wine, a hot lady in a stocking cap and Papa John's new Indiana Jones XL pizza with pepperoni, mushrooms and black olives. USA v. Trinidad and Tobago soccer will be a part of the action via split screen viewing.

Anderson Cooper and Campbell Brown host the "Most populous political team on television." I may have even seen Marliyn Quayle hidden somewhere behind that Hispanic dude's eyebrows. Bob Schaeffer of CBS is our moderator. I am glad McCain will have someone to share potty breaks with.

8:05 - JM looks better tonight - more dapper and less angry. Maybe he got a gift certificate to where Rick Patino buys his suits and Bob Dole slipped him a Viagra.

8:20 - We have found the catch phrase of the night - Joe the Plumber - JM wants to lower his taxes, BO wants to raise his taxes - Sarah Palin and Dick Cheney want him released into the deep woods with only a bowie knife and duct tape so that they can redo "The Most Dangerous Game." Plumbers are good eating.

8:35 - JM just compared the Irish tax rate on businesses (11%) to the USA (35%). As the Irish have spent these tax breaks on blood sausage, poor dentistry and sheep, I don't understand his point. If elected, I would force the Irish to spend this savings on time management classes, deodorant and speech lessons. Feck ya!

8:40 - JM now wants to take both a hatchet and a scalpel to the budget. If he wants to get back i the race, he would make a commercial like those Direct TV ones that edit scenes from old movies. I see him taking a hatchet to Scatman Crother's chest ala "The Shining" and taking the scalpel to the "really big fat girl" in "Silence of the Lambs."

8:41 - Jozy Altidore takes on 4 T&T defenders to set up a cross.... GOOOOOOOAL! 1-1 in the 68th minute.

8:46 - Mr. Bob: "Gentlemen, why do you think your running mate is better than the other guy's?"

Obama: "Seriously? I cede my time to John. I can't wait to hear this shit."

Sorry, that was all of America's answer, not Obama's. My bad.

8:47 - I am 73% sure I just heard JM say about Palin: "she is a breast of freth air". I may be wrong. This Trader Joe wine is making JM sound like the ocean.

9:00 - Hot lady in the stocking cap thinks JM has a deviated septum because of his weird huffy nose noises he is making when annoyed at BO. I blame some bad guacamole from the Scottsdale Chili's (i want my baby back. baby back. riiiiiibs)

9:15 - Last question o' the night: "Our educational system sucks. What up players?" Bob waited until the last question to thug it up a little. Obama's answer: "Parents need to have their kids put away the video games and turn of the television." yesssss! I would add no fucking dessert until you take out the garbage. And stay off my lawn. Punk.

Quite a fun evening overall. I'll let Bill Bennett have the last word: "McCain has corrected crazies in the audience before. He told that one lady, 'Obama is not an Arab, he is a good man.' " Whaaa?

Worst T-Shirt Slogans of 1987

These are not real t-shirts. These are bad ideas of mine.

• I'm With Stupid, um, I mean Robert Bork

• "Perestroika" is French for "Father Stroika"

• Does Klaus Barbie Come With An Albert Speer designed dreamhouse?

• You can't spell Jessica Hahn without "C-a-n-s"

• Mrs Gorbachev, I want to part your Berlin Walls

• Segovia is Dead, but his fingernails keep growing

• I rescued Baby Jessica and all I got was this dumb t-shirt

I just may design one of these if anyone complains.