Chamblee54

End Her Addiction

Posted in Poem by chamblee54 on September 20, 2018

To Blindly Follow

Posted in Poem by chamblee54 on September 19, 2018

Measuring Racism

Posted in Library of Congress, Race by chamblee54 on September 19, 2018





PG hears the word “racist” tossed casually so much, he suspects it has lost it’s meaning. Dictionary definitions are of little use. The meaning of the word depends on who is saying it.

The modest suggestion here is for a seven point scale to measure racism. Zero would be totally colorblind, and six would be metaphysical hate. For the sake of simplicity, this scale, in the beginning, will only apply to white-black relations in the United States.

The model for this is the Kinsey scale. In his books on human sexuality, Dr. Kinsey described a seven point scale. Zero was totally heterosexual, and six was totally homosexual.

PG does not have a clue how to write a test for this scale, or how to score this test. White people see racism differently than black people. White people are affected by racism in different ways than black people. Different cultures view racism in different ways.

How would PG score on this scale? He has black friends and black enemies. Certain parts of black culture are enjoyable, and certain parts make him want to turn the radio off.

PG does not like people that do not like PG. When it is us against them, you need to remember which one you are. How does this register on this racism scale? It depends on who does the judging.

This is a repost. Pictures are from The Library of Congress.





Elderly Robot

Posted in Poem by chamblee54 on September 18, 2018

Only Confirmed Followers

Posted in Library of Congress, Weekly Notes by chamblee54 on September 17, 2018


Advice for those considering joining the military ~ Jeanette Winterson’s 10 Tips on Writing ~ I Approve This Message: Why Political Ads Now Come With Disclaimers ~ Unearthed, Vol. 1 :: Sausalito Haze ~ Our current POTUS is famous for his incontinent use of twitter. Here is how W does twitter @GeorgeWBush This account’s Tweets are protected. Only confirmed followers have access to @GeorgeWBush’s Tweets and complete profile. Click the “Follow” button to send a follow request. ~ The most popular personality test in the world is a joke ~ djt on 091101 ~ Rahsaan Roland Kirk “Blacknuss” ~ Here is a response to the TPC video. I am tired of the kneeler controversy. Both sides are right. Police should not kill unarmed black people. The flag, and the national anthem should be respected. Just because you intend a gesture to mean something does not mean people are not going to be offended for different reasons. But above all, I am tired of Nike. The controversy was quieting down, when Nike fired it up again. Nike is making an existing conflict worse to sell shoes. ~ zoe tillman ~ Don’t fall for the hoax: Facebook isn’t restricting your News Feed to 25 friends ~ @TheKert She has made a statement confirming it’s him. Obviously she disagrees with his statements but she confirmed that is in fact her brother. ~ @Suburban_Dic BDSM – Bridge, Dominoes, Scrabble and Monopoly. ~ For all the poor Black kids who become prey for rich white liberals ~ led zeppelin debut ~ Left or Liberal? ~ sex pisstols ~ The High Price of Stale Grievances ~ Officials: Evidence in Botham Jean’s home supports Amber Guyger account of his location in apartment ~ Tom Waits Releases a Timely Cover of the Italian Anti-Fascist Anthem “Bella Ciao,” His First New Song in Two Years ~ Seven Questions With Phil Johnson ~ what dave wallace ate ~ The value of skepticism ~ My Chat with Rick Mehta – Academic Freedom Under Threat ~ David French on “The Great White Culture War” | The Ezra Klein Show ~ The Great White Culture War ~ On Saturday, I received a robo call from 2020 insight. It said it would take five minutes, but lasted nine minutes. Chris, the robovoice of 2020 Insight, said that it would be a survey. You were asked to respond to a series of statements about the candidates for District 81 in the Georgia House, Scott Holcomb and Ellen Diehl. All of the statements were complimentary towards Rep. Holcomb, and derogatory towards Ms. Diehl. One of these statements said that Ellen Diehl has a life sized cardboard cutout of Donald Trump in her home. Whether this is, or is not true, has no impact on her ability to represent the 81st district in the GA House of Representatives. It is a sad moment when a politician insults an opponent by saying she supports the President of the United States. ~ This publication is made possible, in part, by the voters of Minnesota through a Minnesota State Arts Board Operating Support grant ~ Neal and Bob were walking one day. They saw a dog licking his balls. Neal said, “I wish I could do that” Bob replied “Maybe you should pet him first” ~ A better way of phrasing that would be to observe that sometimes African Americans DON’T use the magic word. The language choices of African Americans give me neither permission, or desire, to use the magic word. ~ @Suburban_Dic Cunnilingus – Dinosaur noted for its short arms and long tongue ~ Of course I am a sinner. Is photoshop mischief a sin? I differ with you about the details. IMO, the death/reputed resurrection of Jesus has nothing to do with what happens to my post mortem soul. ~ The Bipartisan Campaign Reform Act, also known as McCain–Feingold Act, requires candidates for federal offices to have a disclaimer in their advertising. It is now boilerplate… I am Joe Blow, and I approved this message. Question: Is there any requirement like this for state and local races? Are the so-called surveys from 2020 Insight, which are really advertising for one candidate, legal? ~ The least radical thing you can do is speak in all caps ~ pictures today are from The Library of Congress. ~ here is the poem from last night at java monkey:
#myleastfavoritephraseis you okay ~ but nothing to get excited about
are you triggered at the end of the day ~ this is a teachable moment no doubt
it’s a deal breaker that you can believe in ~ christians aren’t perfect just forgiven
i work to live i don’t live to work spin ~ have a nice day don’t get mad get even
you might have a negative attitude ~ he’s a nice guy once you get to know him
that’s the way we do things here dude ~ love the sin hate the sinner sink or swim
he’s a nice guy once you get to know him ~ good grief that is not an apology
love the sin hate the sinner sink or swim ~ cool beans on the right side of history
good grief that is not an apology ~ that’s the way we do things here dude
cool beans on the right side of history ~ you might have a negative attitude ~ selah

Paul Krassner

Posted in Uncategorized by chamblee54 on September 16, 2018

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Paul Krassner is alive at eighty six. He survives Lenny Bruce, Abbie Hoffman, Groucho Marx, and Lyndon Johnson. His magazine, The The Realist, is now available as an online archive.

PG was recently looking for background noise to compliment his photomongering. Somewhere along the way, he found episodes of WTF podcast to be available on Youtube. He made a list of shows he wanted to see, including Paul Krassner. When Mr. Google was recruited to find the show, other things floated to the surface. This is how Mr. Google operates.

An onion is more than an internet namesake. It lends a lively flavor, both cooked and raw. The onion consists of many layers of thin skin. These can be peeled off, as you get deeper and deeper into the root. A thin skinned root that gives you bad breath…. an aromatic symbol for the sixties.

When you go looking for WTF/Krassner, you are directed to issue 74 of The Realist. The feature story is the missing segments of a John Kennedy biography. On page 18, Jackie Kennedy saw more of Lyndon Johnson than she needed to see.

“That man was crouching over the corpse, no longer chuckling but breathing hard and moving his body rhythmically. … And then I realized – there is only one way to say this – he was literally fucking my husband in the throat. In the bullet wound in front of the throat. He reached a climax, and dismounted. I froze. The next thing I remember, he was being sworn in as the new President.”

Page two of issue 74 is the letters to the editor. The featured scribe is John L. Timmons, Secretary, Mattachine Society of N.Y. He wrote “Letter From A Homosexual,” in response to a cartoon page in issue 69, fag battalion. Using KY to lubricate a rifle is not a good idea.

At the time, America was fighting a war in Vietnam. Young men were given the choice of go in the army, or go to prison. It was ugly. There was a group, “The committee to fight the exclusion of homosexuals from the armed forces.”

The Mattachine Society was neutral. Some members supported the war, and some were opposed. It distracted from the overall agenda to take sides in other disputes. The editors at The Realist agreed. “… homosexuals who don’t want to be drafted will no longer be able to exploit their deviation rather than face the consequences of conscientious objection.”

When issue 74 was published, Walt Disney was still alive. This may account for the action on page 12. Maybe Uncle Walt did not want his animated actors to be drafted for active duty. The activities on page 12 might not be sufficient to have the players excused from active duty, however. By this stage of the war, the local draft boards were not accepting excuses.

Getting back to Paul Krassner… he founded the YIPPIES with Abbie Hoffman, took LSD with Groucho Marx, and published a satiric magazine without advertising. Only the last part can be confirmed. After the description of Lyndon Johnson’s post mortem dentistry, who knows what is real, and what is fake. Pictures today are from “The Special Collections and Archives, Georgia State University Library”. The opinions expressed in this repost are in no way, shape, or form connected to that fine institution.

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Post Office: A Novel

Posted in Book Reports, GSU photo archive by chamblee54 on September 15, 2018


Post Office, a novel allegedly based on the life of Charles Bukowski, was on sale at a “Friends of the Chamblee Library” book sale. The author would not like this. You cannot complain when you died 24 years ago. PG paid a dollar, and read the story. Hank Chinaski, the stand in for the author, got a lousy job at the post office in Los Angeles. For 196 pages, Hank drinks, works, screws, admires women’s bodies, drinks, bets on horses, fights with supervisors, has hangovers, and drinks more. The story is easy to read, suggesting the helping hand of an editor.

PO stands for both post office and pissed off. The two concepts are not mutually exclusive. When PG was 8 years old, a mail man ran over Pongo, his dog. To hear Hank tell the story, life at the PO was an endless cycle of sadistic bosses, and brain damaged co-workers. Administrative wanks rule over everyone. Somehow Hank made it through 11 years as a clerk. The institution survived. Mr. Bukowski perished in 1994. The headstone reads “Don’t Try.”

‘I Never Saw Him Drunk’: An Interview with Bukowski’s Longtime Publisher is an interview with John Martin, the owner of Black Sparrow press. Mr. Martin thought Hank was the next Whitman, and started Black Sparrow (initials are not always convenient) to distribute Hank’s product. When Hank quit the post office in 1969, Mr. Martin agreed to give him $100 a month. This later became $10,000 every two weeks, with more at the end of the year.

“How did his first novel, Post Office, come about? This is a good story. So we made that deal in December for $100 a month—early December, as I recall—and so he gave notice to the post office, and his last day there was going to be December 31. He said, “OK, I’m going to work for you on January 2, because January 1 is New Year’s Day and I’m going to take that as a holiday. We thought that was really funny. About three or four weeks went by, I think it was still in January, or at worst the first week in February, and he called me—oh, and I had told him earlier, “If you ever think of writing a novel, that’s easier to sell than poetry; it would help if you could write a novel”—so he called me up at the very end of January or the first week of February, out of the blue, and said, “I got it; come and get it.” I said, “What?” And he said, “My novel.” I said, “You’ve written a novel since I saw you last?” And he said, “Yes.” I asked how that was possible, and he said, “Fear can accomplish a lot.” And that novel was Post Office.” The novel includes a near fatal party in that month.

Mr. Martin has a take on Hank which differs from his image. “Hank was not comfortable among people, in a crowd, even at a small gathering; he was a real loner. He wanted to get up in the morning, have a quick breakfast with his wife, read the paper, leave the house about noon, go to the track, come home at 6:00, have dinner about 7:00, go upstairs at 8:00, and write until two in the morning, and he wanted nothing to interfere with that routine. … he was the most polite man I’ve ever known, and the most honest man I’ve ever known. He was so deferential and polite and so concerned for your comfort, and whether you were happy or not, when you were with him.”

“I went to the bathroom and threw some water on my face, combed my hair. If I could only comb that face, I thought, but I can’t.” This may be the best line in PO. There are a lot to choose from. PO is a guilty pleasure. It is sexist and misogynistic to the max. The writing is basic, and easy to consume. It is tough to believe that Hank wrote this in a month by himself, but it is also tough to believe that someone that ugly got laid all the time. If only Hank could have combed that face.

PG has written about Hank one, two, three, four, five, six, seven times, with some reruns thrown in for efficient blogging. PG has written two pomes about Hank. (A B) B is basically A in sonnet form. Never mind that Hank hated rhyming poems, to say nothing of posting the lines over pictures of dogs. Hank was a cat person, as if rhyme scheme blasphemy was not enough.

@bukowski_quote is a twitter facility dedicated to distributing 240 character bits of Buk. These tweets/quotes (twoats) have been packaged as two more sonnets, published in two parts each. (C D E F) Sometimes, PG feels this is a bit of post mortem cultural appropriation. The Hank of Tales of Ordinary Madness would have hated seeing his work used this way. How the millionaire, wine sipping Hank feels is a good question. Then, PG found a quote that made him feel better.

“I got into Bukowski about five years ago on a trip to New York from North Carolina. I swallowed Ham on Rye in a single sitting while riding in the back of some clunker-type Honda thing racing north on I-95 in what I think was June of 2005. Since then I’ve read all of his novels and much of his poetry (which is a lot, do you know how much poetry he wrote?) and don’t give a shit about the literary ball bags at the Vice office who say he’s a boring, repetitive, pompous, fake-macho, southern-California-weather-system-addled boozehole, partly because I agree, and partly because I don’t read him for some sort of illumination on the haggard life of the proletariat. I just see his writing as a quick source of thrills, spills, and funny things to call women that you’re angry at but also still want to fuck.”

A book report about Post Office would not be complete without one star reviews. patricia neumannon August 8, 2014 “One star for the fact that this was even published. I was offended by Mr. Bukowski’s low regard for women. Pehaps his target audience is adolescent boys, who might twitter at Bukkowski’s vulger attempt at humor.” Auntie Mon September 1, 2014 “A book about a pathetic, selfish White man? No thanks.” gammyrayeon February 8, 2013 ” … The narrator Henry Chenaski is a low-life alcoholic who spends his life getting drunk, having sex with girlfriends and chance acquaintances, and betting at the race track, all while working at the post office. Finally he resigns from the post office. End of story. All this is written in an arrogant tone, as if the narrator feels himself to be superior to all the other characters, especially to his fellow workers. Bukowski has stated that the novel is autobiographical, and he seemed to take pride in the tumble-down life that he led. I have known guys like this–he is every drunk or drug addict who ever excused his addiction as an indication that he is too intelligent and sensitive to deal with the angst of living among the clods and drudges. Alcoholism is not hilarious and entertaining, even to the alcoholic, eventually. And it is not hilarious and entertaining to read about.”

Pictures today are from “The Special Collections and Archives, Georgia State University Library”. These images are from “… a collection of images of downtown Atlanta streets that were taken before the viaduct construction of 1927 – 1929. Later, some of the covered streets became part of Underground Atlanta.” The renovation at Underground never stops.

How To Start A Fight

Posted in Uncategorized by chamblee54 on September 15, 2018

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One year, I decided to buy my mother-in-law a cemetery plot as a Christmas gift… The next year, I didn’t buy her a gift. When she asked me why, I replied, “Well, you still haven’t used the gift I bought you last year!”
My wife and I were watching Who Wants To Be A Millionaire while we were in bed. I turned to her and said, ‘Do you want to have Sex?’ ‘No,’ she answered. I then said, ‘Is that your final answer?’ She didn’t even look at me this time, simply saying, ‘Yes..’ So I said, “Then I’d like to phone a friend.”

I took my wife to a restaurant.The waiter took my order first. “I’ll have the rump steak, rare, please.” “Aren’t you worried about the mad cow?” “Nah, she can order for herself.”
My wife sat down next to me as I was flipping channels. She asked, “What’s on TV?” I said, “Dust.”

My wife was hinting about what she wanted for our upcoming anniversary. She said, “I want something shiny that goes from 0 to 150 in about 3 seconds .” I bought her a bathroom scale.
My wife and I were sitting at a table at her high school reunion, and she kept staring at a drunken man swigging his drink as he sat alone at a nearby table. I asked her, “Do you know him?” “Yes”, she sighed, “He’s my old boyfriend…. I understand he took to drinking right after we split up those many years ago and I hear he hasn’t been sober since.” “My God!” I said, “Who would think a person could go on celebrating that long?”

When our lawn mower broke and wouldn’t run, my wife kept hinting to me that I should get it fixed. But, somehow I always had something else to take care of first, the shed, the boat, making beer. It was always something more important to me. Finally she thought of a clever way to make her point. When I arrived home one day, I found her seated in the tall grass, busily snipping away with a tiny pair of sewing scissors. I watched silently for a short time and then went into the house… When I came out again I handed her a toothbrush. I said, “When you finish cutting the grass, you might as well sweep the driveway.” The doctors say I will walk again, but I will always have a limp.
Saturday morning I got up early, quietly dressed, made my lunch and slipped quietly into the garage. I hooked up the boat up to the van and proceeded to back out into a torrential downpour. The wind was blowing 50 mph, so I pulled back into the garage, turned on the radio and then I discovered that the weather would be bad all day. I went back into the house, quietly undressed and slipped back into bed.. I cuddled up to my wife’s back, now with a different anticipation and whispered, “The weather out there is terrible.” My loving wife of 5 years replied, “And, can you believe my stupid husband is out fishing in that?”

After retiring, I went to the Social Security office to apply for Social Security. The woman behind the counter asked me for my driver’s License to verify my age. I looked in my pockets and realized I had left my wallet at home. I told the woman that I was very sorry, but I would have to go home and come back later. The woman said, ‘Unbutton your shirt’. So I opened my shirt revealing my curly silver hair. She said, ‘That silver hair on your chest is proof enough for me’ and she processed my Social Security application. When I got home, I excitedly told my wife. She said, ‘You should have dropped your pants. You might have gotten disability, too.’
These human interest stories are borrowed from Expressing Myself. This is a repost, with pictures from The Library of Congress. “Halloween party at Shafter Camp for migrant agricultural workers. Shafter, California.” November 1938. Photographer: Dorothea Lange.

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Gurgling

Posted in Poem by chamblee54 on September 14, 2018

Dirty Straws

Posted in Poem by chamblee54 on September 13, 2018

Tubby Boots

Posted in Georgia History, Library of Congress, Undogegorized by chamblee54 on September 13, 2018

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PG found Classic Television Showbiz while reserarching a recent feature about the late Sherwood Schwartz. The site is a treasure, with youtubes of classic tv shows, and interviews with “entertainers”. Somewhere in the sidebar was a link to a story about Tubby Boots. This is a repost.

Charles “Tubby” Boots was born around 1926 in Baltimore MD. He was a nightclub comedian. Mr. Boots weighed 375 pounds, had bleach blond hair, and often performed without a shirt. He wore pasties on his boobs, and would twirl them simultaneously in opposite directions.

The parts in blue are borrowed from Classic television showbiz.
Tubby’s parents were a vaudevillian dance team called Boots and Barton. At the age of seven this youngster was clocking in at an astounding two hundred pounds, a constant target of ridicule in his Baltimore schoolyard….During his childhood, Tubby managed to witness a performance by comedy’s greatest cult icon, Lord Buckley … Tubby Boots recalled shortly before his death, “[Lord Buckley] was like a father figure to me. I met Buckley when I was seven years old when I was working at the Hippodrome in Baltimore, Maryland, and I was in awe of him. I saw his act every time he would come back to play the theater … I would sit in the theater all day and watch the shows. I’d stay out of school for the whole week – my mother would pack me a lunch – she knew what I was doing because I wanted to learn about show business. Buckley would do his hat-switching act. Every other show he would get me to do it with him. I’d hang out with him backstage, we’d go out for lunch or dinner, he’d sneak me back into the theater and I’d watch the whole stage show again. I started working nightclubs when I was eleven. I weighed 250 pounds and passed myself off as twenty-one. I got arrested in a strip joint and the police said: ‘We’re not going to throw you in jail but you’re not going to work in this town again – you’re too notorious.’ So they actually put me on a train and said ‘Where you wanna ticket to?’ I said, ‘New York.’ I didn’t run away – I was forced to leave. So when I got to New York I called Buckley and, pretending to sob, said, ‘My mama died in a car crash…my father was with her…’ Unbeknownst to me, he called my mother and told her, ‘He’s with me.’ So he got me a job at The Three Deuces, passing me off as twenty-one.” The Three Deuces was one of Manhattan’s major jazz holes in the thirties and forties, regularly featuring Dizzy Gillespie and Charlie Parker. Lord Buckley was connected to the jazz world for most of his career, performing in their clubs and utilizing a great deal of the Black hipster vernacular in his act.”
Mr. Boots got a job as the emcee for burlesque shows, frequently in traveling carnival shows. He was doing well, when Lord Buckley called him from Hollywood. Supposedly, there was a movie job waiting for Mr. Boots. When he got to California, he found out otherwise.
“Tubby became affectionately known as Princess Lily. “He used to call me Princess Lily but Prince Charles of Booth was my title. Buckley used to say: ‘Lil! You had the misfortune to be born with the beautiful body of a woman in the ridiculous body of a man!””
In 1959, Mr. Boots was in a bizarre accident. He was taking a bath, and the controls for the hot and cold water were in another room. Lord Buckley was handling these controls, and poured scalding hot water into the tub. Mr. Boots was stuck in the tub, and was badly burned. He spent a week in the hospital, and was not friends with Lord Buckley later.

After he recovered, Mr. Boots moved to Miami Beach. He performed in motel lounges for many years, and developed a following. Comedy albums were becoming popular, and Mr. Boots contributed “Thin my be in but fats where its at”. The albums were sold at his shows. The legend is that no copies exist that were not autographed.

The various search engines are sketchy about Tubby Boots. The Lady Bunny tells about going to see Mr. Boots in a supper club on Long Island in the eighties. Reportedly Mr. Boots did well during the comedy club explosion of the eighties.

PG saw a show by Tubby Boots. It was December 1974, at a dingy Atlanta bar called The Cove. PG was hanging out with someone we will call McClain, who liked the drag shows at The Cove. The bar was a former electronics warehouse, with a sign for Ballantines Beer by the front entrance. Ballantines had not been sold in Georgia for a long time, but the sign stayed. This was on Monroe Drive, behind Piedmont Park. Tubby Boots was a friend of somebody, and did a show at The Cove one night.

If you can stand to look at the embedded video, you get an idea about his show. Forty years later, PG can remember a few of the jokes. There was a one liner about an *African American* who took a shit, and thought he was melting. There was a routine based on the role Katherine Hepburn played in “Suddenly Last Summer”. My boy is not queeyer, he’s carnivorous. After a while, the shirt came off, and he twirled pasties from his boobs in different directions.

After the show, PG talked to a black friend, who did not want to meet the comedian. Meanwhile, Tubby Boots and McClain were making out. Before long, McClain came over to PG, and said he wanted to go somewhere else. McClain died in July, 1992. Tubby Boots died in August, 1993. Pictures are from The Library of Congress.

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Just As Broke

Posted in Poem by chamblee54 on September 12, 2018