"...RFD"

This rant inspired by a dear old comrade's soon attendance at her 60th Kindergarten Reunion. This shows how varied American culture is. Kindergarten Reunions like Black Barber Shop Culture are things that make American great ...again. Well, that and 80's Gay bar music but that's another rant.

See music in comments.

As a little kid I remember them barber shops as the only places folks told the truth about life. I recall their reaction to 'Sputnik' yeah, I'm that old. Them Shop folks really didn't like sending that doggo and later others to die in the unfunny monotonous void. Black folks 'really' likes animals. A southern culture holdover. 'But I digress.

'Kindergarten' seemed a profoundly suburban TV sitcom thing. This as opposed to them giant Southern Family Reunion Bar-B-Q's. Which also makes America great. They're common for folks in the South of all races. Odd they never showed up on 'Mayberry RFD'. Btw there's a seriously big regional industry for assorted reunion merchandise. Including stuff involving helicopters. ...???

As for kindergarten most of us were usually just dumped into first grade like totally untrained raw draftees sent to the front. Then told 'good luck' see you after high school. I mean I'd heard of kindergarten...but why? From my urban and class warfare life experience it seemed as remote, and bizzaro world as cotillions. I'm not against them I just don't get it...sort of like bicycles for cats. Eh which now that I think about it could be a new thing.

 

"...From my 2020 Covid posts"

This is how I go downstairs to get my mail now.

Comment's:

Charles: Does the Geiger counter help detect Covid 19?

Matisse: No silly, it counts Geigers'

Sidney: ...The North American Geiger. Noted for their literary acumen. 

The Geigers make up most of the Penguin Books proofreaders. 

They are now organizing as they were being paid peanuts.

Sharon: Don't turn suddenly to the left 

or that immersion-blender thingy might decapitate an innocent bystander!

We actually had a few laughs then.

 

Some years back while looking for a phone a youngster in a shop tried to sell me all sorts of nonsense. It does this that the other. I said I just wanted to talk on it.

A blank look from the sales kid.

He actually said, "...I don't understand".

I said I watch TV on my TV, and listen to radio on my radio, and take pictures with my camera. I email on my computer and blog on the same. I have no use or need to drag all of that around with me. Blank look...stunned actually. He said, "I don't think they make anything like that now."

The manager came over she was older...in her mid-30's so may have seen a large black piece of plastic on a table at her grandmother's house when she was a baby. "You're the man that wants a "telephone?"

"Yeah" I sez.

I tell her that at my age I know more dead or somewhat dead folks than live ones. I sez one day she "may be so lucky". She smiles. It's nice to make folks think, and smile.

Anyway, I sez that I've never texted anyone in my life and was unlikely to do this since everyone still alive I know has also never much done such foolishness either. That or watched movies on a bleeping phone. I mean whose idea was that?

Anyhow she taps on her hand-held device, ??? looks around, and sez, "Eh...I think we actually have something you can use. It's Korean and made for elders."

Really?

Anyway, she sends junior to the storeroom to fetch the rare, and prized item. It's a palm sized 2005-ish looking thing. It makes calls and takes them. ...Period.

Though she started to say "It could text if you..."

I said, "thanks I'll take it as it is."

I only thing I need this is for my sister relatives, and friends to call me to see if I'm still alive and me them. Good thing I got it when I did as I doubt anyone on earth makes this anymore. Goat herders in Mongolia are more connected than I am. 'And they're welcome to it too!

The End.

"...life and times"

*I posted this snap of my digs a while back. A glance at a life in progress. Our life and times. Humble routine and holy. Our lives stuff the world and circumstance. Below are the comments it got on FB.

• Rudy Kisly: Are you scanning to see where your fav over the air stations have gone to?
• 
  
• Sidney Smith: My cable went dead for a while...I read comic books instead.
• 
  
• Charles Vizzini: What comics do you have?
• 
  
• Sidney Smith: I'm a fan of old titles..."Atomic ROBO" is one. An ironic sentient cynical robot. That, and old Dark Horse titles Like "Concrete".

Adaria Armstrong: Ha ha, I thought it said Atomic Hobo....now wouldn't that be grand!

And I see lots of toys’ vintage and otherwise, love those little cars.

Is that a mini-mini I can barely see?

Sidney Smith: Yes, a Mini Cooper in the corner.

It bounces on its springs when I move it around...'Loves all that sweet jazz.

Adaria Armstrong: For Norma Jean's viewing pleasure. 

Rodeo ducks...round em up, move em out raw hide!

Sidney Smith: Saint Norma before the machine devoured her.

*Facebook is normally a sewer of lies hate impulsive ugliness and bad vibes.

However, there are islands of sanity.

I'm lucky to be on one. Albeit guarded 24/7 by committed moderators. 

There are regular attempts to destroy it.

Recently far-left racists and p.c. book burners kept posting their stuff on my page. Same with far-right Nazi stuff for others. These are dealt with in minutes. Even I'm impressed. Seems the rational center is finally getting organized.

This from summer 2016. Absolutely nothing has changed. it's actually gotten worse.

I see things now more racially than I really want to. I see the Bernie movement which I was like so many attracted to. I see it now as just more selfish white kids overcome with themselves like the hippies before them. They will not be affected much if Trump wins.

Just as Nixon really didn't affect them much. ...other than piss them off.

Indeed some of them have actually said they'd vote Trump before they'd vote Hillary. That or piss their vote away on this or that fringe party. ...or stay home.

I can't afford to do any of that.

Last month 100 Queers were shot in one place at one time. Half were outright killed. In recent weeks the long cruel continued killing of unarmed Black men by the militarized police took an upswing. Also being an old fart now I'm watching as my Soc. Sec. check gets smaller as more deductions come.

So as much as I'd like to just get along. I can't.

Trump winning would not just be a "Bummer". It could mean I lose my home my medical care or my life. In some ways I really feel my existence...such as it is depends on stopping Trump. So this long emotionally heated no quarter civil war among whites of the center left, and the far left I saw as suicidal.

At least as it related me.

I'm not saying things will be just swell for me, and mine under the Dems. However at least we'll be alive. I'm now so much more aware of the grave danger I'm in what with being Queer Black, and newly retired which is to say poor.

These are very bad days.

They have 'forced' me to think in racial ways. Something I have never wanted to do. Race the concept of it, and the history of it for black, and white folks in this country is worse than merely an abomination. I'd have to call it a sacrilege against life.

So yes, I'm now a sort of racist in that I think racially, and view others racially. My life is now more than ever held in check to the reality of class myth of race, and the real blood they both spill.

Chestnut vendors. I had forgot them swell folks. The neat stalls with roasting chestnuts. That, and sometimes hot peanuts cashews almonds. All mixed of course with car exhaust subway noise diesel fumes, and fire engines. I loved the warm salty aromas as my folks dragged me behind them. Anyway, them folks was a true part of the Soul of this totally weird City.

Them cute little hats ladies wore were neat too. See the folks below. My youngest aunt Pauline wore them things. Heck if I had one, I'd bleeping wear it at least around my digs or parties for sure.

They was so smart, and perfect. Where did all them hats go. Generations of guys, and gals wore them things forever. ...then gone.

Is there an elephant's graveyard for those swell hats?

I mean like there is for old tech. Somewhere in a rainforest there's mile high piles of Eight Tracks VCRs iPod, and Mood Rings. Somewhere them swell Lady Hats along with them Dick Tracy style brimmed guy hats our fathers, and grandfathers wore wait for us.

A comment on this post which first appeared on my FB page.

From Di Burns:

Historically, the precursor to the pillbox hat was military headgear. 

During the late Roman Empire, the pileus pannonicus or "Pannonian cap" - headgear similar to the modern pillbox hat - was worn by Roman soldiers. A similar hat was popular with the Flemish in the Middle Ages. In some countries, especially those of the Commonwealth of Nations, a pillbox-like forage cap, often with a chin strap, can still be seen on ceremonial occasions. 

The Royal Military College of Canada dress uniform includes such a hat, and similar caps were standard issue for the Victorian era British Army. Another cap called a Kilmarnock is a modern version of the traditional headdress worn by members of virtually all Gurkha regiments. The modern woman's pillbox hat was invented by milliners in the 1930s and gained popularity due to its elegant simplicity. 

Pillbox hats were made out of wool, velvet, organdy, mink, lynx or fox fur, and leopard skin, among many other materials. They were generally designed in solid colors and were un-accessorized but could include a veil. Jacqueline Kennedy, First Lady of the United States from 1961 to 1963, was well known for her "signature pillbox hats", designed for her by Halston, and was wearing a pink one to match her outfit on the day of her husband President John F. Kennedy's assassination in Dallas, Texas."

From my Covid Journals.: July 13, 2020.

Small details of a life. This as we stay within our walls for months on end...and start noticing details. I was just chatting with my FB pal Justin Belshe. Mostly about life culture, and history. We got to yakking about the little details of everyday living in our digs. He showed how he has has Kindle 10 on an arm over his bed so he can watch movies. I showed him my plastic earth over my bed...the city lights come on at dusk, and fade at dawn. Four bucks at the dollar store...I have a moon somewhere, but never put it up. I ought to dig the damn thing out and bang it onto the wall too.

"...Moon over Brooklyn"

Bob da Bunny on the Moon.

No bleeping idea how he done it.

But the bastard did!

 

 

This from my series of short time portal stories.

I went back to July 862 BCE Manhattan. Wilderness, and rather cool even though summer. The long jump froze my Dark Matter pocket watch.

I was there four days subjective time as it rebooted.

No native folks I could find.

Though they found me and were watching.

I awoke on the second day to dried fish, and nuts wrapped in leaves next to me. I spent four days living being fed and protected by the island's Mannahatta folk.

I never saw the kind people that took care of me. I left them a carved Blue Jay.

Neon shimmer and gone.

Another short time portal story from my series.

I set my Dark Matter pocket watch for farthest than I've ever gone.

Three thousand years.

5020~CE.

Specifically, the Bronx July 26th 11:16am 5020~CE. I figured that part of the former City would be above water. ...it was. There you see below the ancient subway exit of the #2 IRT line. The 241st Street Wakefield Avenue stop.

I climbed the overgrown stone stairway to an open air of wilderness.

A much larger daytime moon was in the sky.

What was still of the city was engulfed in tropical rain forest. Much as the Inca cities were before it.

It was very hot, and humid. Giant dragonflies flew above.

No trace of people as far as I could see.

Though they may be further inland. 3k years is long enough for a successor culture to take root, I hope. However, New York the portions above the deeper ocean I saw was or will be home to insects, and small mammals.

I sat on a moss covered log and read my emails.

Oh, how brief are empires.

"In National News..."

A vast crime haul of 28,000 bags of nuts were reportedly stolen from a warehouse in Detroit Michigan. Officials fear this may be an escalation of the Innercity crime wave that has plagued that community since "Coca Cola-Green" was foolishly introduced some months ago.

Cultural confusion, and outbreaks of violence in many regions around the country has been laid at the feet of this profoundly questionable product.

The Detroit "Rodent Affairs Commissioner" Otto Schmink says the "Nut Bag Incident" has the paws of certain Squirrel youth gangs all over it. Leaders of the "Detroit Rodent, and Ferret Action league for Justice" Condemned Commissioner Smink's statement as both insensitive, and near Speciesism.

A suspect below, Dubteppia Johnson, was arrested as she sat outside her trailer in the troubled quadruped ghetto of "Crushed Dreams Lane". "They grabbed the first Rodent they could find," said her outraged neighbors.

Statement from the defendant:

"Hey, I was just reading the racing forms when the Pigs come out'a nowhere grabs my ass, and the next thing I know I'm on the front page of the "Post".

"I don't even like nuts I'm frigging allergic!"

More on this important story as events warrant.

"...Peter Pan Speaks"

Yes, I know all about the World of Men with their Greed Wars Cruelty, and Madness. 

You exterminate whole peoples you kill babies' children. 

You poison the land the seas the skies.

You make microbes that can murder the whole world. 

Yes, I know your world well. 

Which is why I rescue as many of your little ones as I can”

"...lunch"

*Warning pack a lunch and a sleeping bag as this is a long summer saga.

Once upon a time:

Me my Dad our Buick, and the Faeries. City faeries are neat, but you have to be quick to spot them. This is a tough town, and faerie or not you have to be fast to get over.

City faeries are attracted to neon lights. In summer to see them folks buzzing brightly lit pizza, and ice cream stands. They also like the ruby red lights on da butt end of cars. That's how I saw my first faerie's.

This happened a few thousand years ago when there was no such things as being Homeless. America was fat happy and on the make. Heck my dad got us a house, car, and TV. On a baker's salary! I was even sentenced to catholic school and them things ain't cheap. We'll 'never' see such times again.

Well, one night in that long ago gleeful time I was sitting next to my dad on the front seat of our Buick. A 1958 sky blue, and white two tone. Detroit knew what it was doing in them days.

Anyway, as is the habit of kids on long car rides, I was squinting my eyes to make the passing streetlights look weird. I had just begun to do the same with the car ahead of us when I see something odd.

"Wow that's a big bug!" I thought.

Only when I stopped squinting it wasn't. A bug that is. It wasn't tinker bell either. It was a bleeping Faerie! Thing is faerie's is just like folks. Just a lot smaller...with wings feelers weird colors, sometimes extra arms magical powers, halos, and eh...Well okay faerie's ain't like folks at all, but so what.

So there I am sitting next to the old man as we're rolling through Queens, and there's these little faerie folks darting around the tail lights of the '56 Oldsmobile in front of us. Hey, com'on ya can't make this stuff up.

'See by this time I'm an experienced kid and know better than to tell my dad that I'm seeing tiny bug people on the ass-end of the car he's tailgating. Hey gimme some credit. I still remember the penance I had to do for one of my previous visions.

I foolishly told my folks that I saw flaming bat winged hog demons flying out of an open manhole on Flatbush Avenue. My mom made me kneel on a rod while I said the rosary ten times over for being in league with Satan. Heck I never even met the guy.

So I keep my young trap shut. If dad saw anything he wasn't about to tell me. He knew better too.

Still, they was fun to watch, and they meant no harm.

"Yes, all very interesting" you say, "but Uncle Sidney what the hell are you getting at with all this?"

Ah, I'm glad you asked!

See what with the burning hell of summer in our faces. We has to prepare for "Faerie Time!"

"Da fuck?" you say. ...Hear me out.

As we know from traditions handed down from kid to kid. Like the varied rules of stick ball. These morph from block to block. That and "Ring Around the Rosy" passed from child to child for nearly a thousand years. The knowledge of "Faerie Time" has come to the 21st century.

Come midnight on the Longest Day them faerie folk wakes up!

That Queer bunch opens their eyes and begins their summer frolics! Which is to say it's their mating, and general screwing around w/humanity season. One thing tho' don't mess with'em. Don't be bamboozling or ripping these folks off. They may be cute but they has sharp teeth, and heartless lawyers. ...get da picture?

Otherwise, we're all welcome to dance the summer with them. That business about abducting folks for years is crap told by the Church, Microsoft and the NSA. As for them 'Hell Demons' who are also real...take my word. Ran into a bunch while doing eight balls with meth chasers. Bad idea! Stay da bleep clear of them bastards.

As for 'Faerie Time'. How long has this been going on? How da bleep should I know? Rule of thumbs sez they showed up somewhere between Eve, and Babylon.

"The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve. Lovers to bed. ...'tis almost fairy time."

(Sez Francis Bacon or Shakespeare, or somebody.)

Legends, and real history, are full of faerie traces and their weird goings on. That Shakespeare/Bacon play kinda got some of it right, but they mixed it up with all their class, and culture bullshit.

I guess every era does that in a way.

But "Faerie Time" is a real deal.

My older cousins told me, and I told my special friends at school, and they told their friends, and so, and so, and so through the years, and ages to come.

An unbroken tradition from kid to kid. Like learning how to jerk off or shoplift.

When I was little, I danced in a faerie circle with the sweet wee folk by the light of a full moon in Harlem. Then again on a warm steamy night in Central Park when I was a happily crazed, and horny teenager. Now in my demented pissed off later years I still hear their songs.

Bless the little fuckers!

"...life and times"

It was the early 1960's, and "Morning in America!" Jackie Kennedy was "jazzing up" da White House and trying to give us a little class fer Christ's sakes. Dr. King, and brave others was out there risking their lives for the soul of the nation. Because of that white folk's was finally starting to feel a little ashamed of all them lynchings 'n stuff they let pass.

We was putting up da first satellites, and planning to go to da Moon! For those of you who wasn't there I got' a tell ya this country was hot shit in them daze! Imagine...our folks had good jobs, gas was cheap, we had TV, and was watching till them radioactive came home! Eh...we sort of set A-Bombs off a lot. 

The schools worked, da trash was collected, Santa came every Christmas, we had flesh-colored Band-Aids...only pink but it was a start. That and any work'n Joe could buy a house. Shit! We had big plies of H-fucking Bombs and zillions of new B-52' to deliver them! So nobody dared give us crap. Not only that, but polio was licked, and comic books was 10 cents.

Hey! Was that a "Golden Age" or what?!!

Well, in da middle of all that bright and happy noise I decided I wanted to be a Boy Scout! 'Made sense given da times. I wanted to serve my country...over easy with fries. It was "Camelot" big time back then, and I wanted to do my bit for "Kennedy and Country!"

Also in my pubescent mind I figured da scouts was just da place for "Colored Sissy" kid, with Anarchist tendencies. I figured getting in would be no problem. After all I was real smart cute, sweet, and polite as hell! I also had the da frigging "Pope", my Mommy, and Robert Kennedy's Justice Department on my side.

How could I lose?

I had visions of wearing one of them "Smokey da Bear" hats that scouts gets ta have. Boy those things is neat! Better than cowboy hats any day. Anyway, I was dreaming of that, and all them badges, ribbons, medals', assorted bright and cheerful doodads they heap on ya in da scouts for being a good kid.

'Course then there was da official "Boy Scouts of America!" hatchet, canteen, compass, handbook, and surplus national guard folding mini shovel dancing like sugar plumbs over my innocent, and curly head! Eh...to say nothing about them cute scout short pants and knee sox. Well, okay that was a later fetish, but still ya gets the idea.

Let me tell you of my innocent boyish scouting visions...

I saw me, and my new scout pals out in da wilds tracking hunting mountain lions, digging up Spanish gold! building tree houses, sighting UFO's. We'd be capturing Atomic Spies, rescuing kat's, exploring unknown caves, and make'n friends with da Indians.

We'd be tying all sorts of knots, painting ourselves up like Sioux Warriors, eating wild berries shitting in da woods, wiping our butts with leaves. We'd run on all fours like wolves, and howl at da moon! To relax we'd go nekkid skinny dipping, have kissing contests, and build model airplanes!

At night under da stars we'd sing doo-wop songs, cook foot long kosher hot dawgs over a roaring campfire, and tell scary stories about robots from Neptune attacking Pittsburg. At bedtime we'd open up surplus air force parachutes use them as our communal tents. We'd all say our prayers, kiss each other good night, cuddle up like puppies, and slip into the gentle arms of Elysium. Perhaps some few might stay awake to chase fireflies or recite poetry to each other. Oh, such a sweet and innocent vision.

Unfortunately, 'none' of this swell shit went down. What did happen was...

My Mom: "What did you say?!"

Scoutmaster: "Eh...I'm sorry but it's just policy". "There's nothing I can do about it.
This troop doesn't admit Coloreds."

My Mom: "But this school which is integrated. The troop is part of this school."

Scoutmaster: "Technically yes, but the board has the final say in these matters.
As I said I'm sorry we can't admit your son into our program."

My Mom was gonna slug this jerk, but didn't because he seemed, (to her at least), ashamed of having to do this foul shit to someone. I'd have slugged him anyway, and maybe burned the school down too. Anyhow the 'I'm just following orders' cog went on to tell my Ma of another troop that was willing to take 'some' Negros. ...Swell. That bunch was a long bus ride away so thanks, but no thanks said my Ma.

Boy! ...All that evil crap going down just 'cause I wanted to wear a "Smokey da Bear" hat. Nice world we got here...swell. Thing is I didn't hear about any of this for years. My Mom did what all folks do. They protected their kids from evil as long as they can.

She told me this fuzzy story about there being no room that season. 'Made sense. Remember it was the height of da "Baby Boom" era. There was zillions of us kids all over da place. Hell, we was "Climbing in through da windows"...to quote Holden Caufield. So yeah, I bought it.

Next year I asked again...same story. The year after that I didn't ask...didn't wanna be a scout anymore anyway. Had other problems...like slamming headfirst into my teen years. A nightmare of burning dumpsters on greased skates full of deep shit and crushed desires.


Well, the seasons passed, and with one thing, and another I found myself a young man. Eh, perhaps I should put that another way. Never mind, look it was 1976 the Bi-Centennial year. We'd just lost the Viet-Nam War, there were mile long lines for petrol, the economy was in the toilet, Ford Pinto's were spontaneously combusting on our highways, we'd stopped going to the moon, or anywhere else for that matter. People thought platform shoes were cool, and the first rumblings of the Drug Wars were being heard. Yeah, da 70's... swell.


70's or not ya only gets one "Bi-Centennial" to a country, so we celebrated. I had gone home to visit my folks...I was living out west back then. I was sitting in the front room of da old family place watching the parades, and mayhem with my Ma. We finally got a color TV. Dad didn't want to get one. He thought they caught fire. A common notion back then.

Anyway, there was guys dressed in civil war uniforms re-enacting hell on earth. After a bunch of beer commercials six-gun tote'n cowboys showed up and shot at each other for a while. Then some white guys dressed as Indians did some sort of phony Native dance. Then a float with astronauts on the moon we no longer went to.

Next some old guy's weary fez caps driving "Model T's" chugged by. This was followed by high school "ROTC" drill teams goose stepped down 5th avenue. They flipped their M-1 carbines all over da place. A bunch'a folks dressed like pilgrims drinking Cokes on a flatbed pulled by oxen. All this followed by some poor slobs in hot dog suits shoveling up after them.

Yep that's "America" alright...recognize her anywhere.

After a while on comes the Boy Scouts, hundreds of 'em! Aw gee, they was wearing their "Smokey da Bear" hats too! Wow da boys was having a great time marching and horsing around with each other. I mentions to my mother that it was too bad about all that "overcrowding" when I was a kid. I told her that I really, really wanted to be a scout back then.

My Mommy gets quiet, she looks at me, and tells me da whole story..., all of it.

Like I said, parents, the good ones protect their kids. Protects their Innocence as long as they can. Many seasons later. Long after my Mommy had gone to Heaven. I got a call from my sister. She said her son, my youngest nephew had been called "nigger" at school that day. He was still crying...so was my sister. ...So it begins.

Let kids enjoy their Innocence for as long as possible. But when the demons finally approach your walls of love. Make them ready. Teach them to face the fire and survive.

(Btw... I still want one of them "Smokey the Bear" hats...I really do.)

Amen.

Wrote this over 20 years ago.