Because the weather was unpleasant I spent most of yesterday reading Daniel Vaughn's book, "The Prophets of Smoked Meat." I love the title. At first glance it would seem like this book would appeal mostly to Texans, but because it's so well written it gives an outsider a pretty good look at the different regions of Texas culturally. The abundant photographs are also quite helpful. After fifty pages my stomach started churning ( I used to be able to eat like Daniel, but that was a long time ago) and I could practically feels the dust from the backroads on my face. Texas was in the midst of a devastating drought while Daniel was exploring the myriad BBQ joints scattered around the state which he says is approximately the size of France. He explains the esoteric differences between the farming roads and the ranching roads. Texas has alway remained a mystery to me, I've driven thru it many times, especially in the 60's on my trips between Chicago and California, but I never really got much of a feel for the place. Clearly I had no idea about the marvels of Texas BBQ or I would checked it out. I find the classic Texas accent almost impossible to understand. I read somewhere that had radio not been invented when it was,  the differences in dialects in the US would have developed regionally to the point that people in one part of the country would not have been able to understand people in the other parts. National radio shows prevented this from happening.  Radio must have come late to rural Texas.
             I'm only halfway thru the book but so far I'd love to go to Marshall Texas to Neely's Sandwich Shop with the dancing pig sign in front and try a delicious "Brown Pig Sandwich." Yummy." The only criticism I have of Daniel is that he's too nice most of the time; however, he does know how to apply  the sharp knife and twist it subtly when necessary. He particularly disliked the BBQ joints in East Texas and warns ominously, "tread cautiously through the piney woods."  I'm going to try and finish the book today.

            Last night D-Train was in one of his manic stages. He seems to be revving up for his upcoming vacation which he will once again spend on a bar stool at the Old Town Ale House. He said that it actually might be cheaper in the long run for him to go to London or Paris considering how much he tends to spend on his "vacations " at the Ale House. Two young, maybe sixteen years old,  black kids in yellow T shirts were standing on the corner trying to get people to give them money for something called "youth work".  Of course it was a hustle but seemed harmless enough. This prompted D-Train to say that the only worthwhile charity was the Red Cross. Of course I immediately challenged his uninformed assertion, "once again I find your ignorant prattle pathetic. "
             "Why?"
              "Because the Red Cross pays it's boss a million dollars, that's why. What the fuck is that all about, it's supposed to be a charity , and yet they put people like old hag like Libby Dole (Bob Dole's shitkicker wife) in charge and pay them a million dollars a year."
              "The CEO is worth it."
               "It's supposed to be a charity, the Salvation Army doesn't pay their top general very much. "
                "The Red Cross is much bigger."
               "I hate you, and I hate everything you stand for. You are a loathsome , ignorant pig."
                 This brought a smile to D-Trains face and he inserted his head phones and immediately tuned me out. I turned to Lee and said, "that took longer than usual."

                Just as I was about to leave Bill Mullen and an old friend of his named Janeal came in the bar. Actually, they seemed to be just peeking in. Of course I dragged him all of the way thru the door but he said that they didn't have time for a drink because he had a  train to catch. Bill is certainly the best all around Chicago journalist that I have personally known. He's won a couple of Pulitzers for his outstanding foreign reporting in the days when the Tribune made an effort to be a real newspaper. Hawkeye, who is  a friend and former colleague of Bill's described him thusly, "Mullen has never written a bad sentence and he's never uttered a coherent sentence", or something to that effect. Janeal, who's presently living in Colorado, hadn't been back to Chicago in forty years. She said that was also when she had her last drink. I had to drag them down the bar to see my amazing paintings. I had D-Train take some pictures of us and send them to Gracie. Perhaps he will, and then she can post them.
                  Mullen did the Ale House some big time favors when he wrote the obits for both the late owners, Bea and Art. He also wrote a great obit for Hank Oetinger. Of course the Tribune, being the rag that it is never used Mullen much during the last ten years and then forced to leave in a buy out. What a waste of talent.

              This morning there were some Jehovah Witness ladies walking in front of me as I was heading toward the bar. It's not uncommon for the Jehovah Witness ladies to be walking East in the morning and all of the AA men and women walking West toward the Mustard Seed with their Dunkin' Donut styrofoam  coffee cups in one hand and their cigarettes in the other. The Jehovah Witness ladies are black, overdress in dark clothes, often church hats, and walk at about one third  the speed of the average pedestrian. They usually travel in groups of three. Where they are going everyday I have no idea. Maybe to the high rises by the lake. I find their proselytizing odd given that in their religion only a very few people are allowed to enter heaven. It would seem that the more people they recruit, the less openings for them. Someday, perhaps the next time one of them asks me to take some of their literature, I will ask them why they always walk so slow.
                Street Jimmy was standing in front of the bar, "where you been, I been waitin' for an hour."
                "It's only seven-fifteen, I'm fucking early."
                 "It's cold out, an' where's Danny."
                "Damn, Jimmy," I said unlocking the gate, "you never stop bitching." I then did an imitation of Jimmy crying and whining about me being late. After a little while Jimmy started chuckling. When Faggpants showed up Jimmy immediately started bugging him to heat up his food. Faggypants soon realized that he'd brought the wrong sandwich for Jimmy and swore.
               "Don't worry," I said, "Tobi has some chicken curry in the back cooler, he can have that." When Faggypants handed Jimmy the curry his hand was shaking violently.
               "Damn, Danny," Jimmy said laughing, "you hand be shakin' like crazy. You an alcoholic."
               "You're a dope addict."
                "True, but a dope addict don' shake like an alcoholic do."
                  At this point I said, "no, the crack head just walks around half the time like a fucking zombie."
                Jimmy thought my comment was insightful. The boys then went on to argue which was worse, being an alcoholic or being a crack head. I came down on the side of alcoholics, "because they can work and function and a crack head can't." Jimmy strongly disagreed.
              Jimmy said he slept good on the El last night, "I went to  sleep early , I donno where China sleep. Jimmy was so frisky that he decided to forgo his nap and go sweep in front of the hardware store.
               Faggypants thought he might go see the new Michael Shannon movie , "he plays a hit man and it's getting really good reviews."

              Because yesterday was rainy and blustery I decided not to go to the Dunes. Actually, I wanted to hit a few golf balls because I'm getting together with McHugh in Michigan on the next nice day for a game of golf. We have a lot to talk about since Rogers death and I love his home course in Buchanan. I hate hitting balls when it's really windy so I decided to go to visit Ruben Four Toes in the hospital. Coach wanted to go with me but when I called him he didn't answer his phone. Ruben was quite pleased to see me. I'd never heard of the hospital he's in before he ended up there but it's reasonably new and quite clean. I remember when the pig fucker scum sucking doctor told my mother and  me that we would have to get my father out of Rush Hospital after my father refused further treatment for his cancer I spent an entire day going to nursing homes and hospices on the North Side. It was far and away one of the most depressing days of my life. Going from nursing home to nursing home and listening to the sounds and smelling the smells and seeing just how the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave takes care of their aged and the indigent makes you want to vomit. The next time some flag waving fuck- face tells you the US is the greatest country in the world tell them to spend a day looking for a nursing home for a loved one? Miraculously I found  a great one next to the Newbury Library. The hospice nurse said I'd need to get my dad there within twenty-four hours. When my mother and I went to Rush and explained where my dad was to be  taken the Discharge Nurse said that the Oncologist wouldn't sign a release form because, "your dad has a fever."
              "A fever? Hell, your surgeons  have already maimed him so he can never speak again and will have to die with that trachea tube in his throat, all in the name of testing him."
              The nurse was nice and said she understood and said my mother and I should go see the doctor and get him to sign the release form. This we did. He was a sallow faced little man with a really bad toupee. We were in his small seventh floor office and he had an unctuous manner that made my skin crawl. When he said he couldn't release him because of the fever I said, "are you fucking kidding, the fever is the least of his problems, when we brought him in here he could at least  eat and talk, and you dirty cocksuckers wanted to test him; had you said you might maim him for what little life he has left we would have taken him home. We have to get him into a hospice fast or we'll lose it, it you don't sign the form I will rip that shitty little toupee off off your slimy head and toss it out the window , and if you don't sign it then I will toss you out the window, and if you think I'm lying ask my mother?"
              My mother said to the doctor in a very serious , controlled voice," sign the paper."
              Fortunately for the repulsive little creep he signed the release form.
              Ruben is in relatively good shape considering everything; he's certainly feeling infinitely better since he had his leg chopped off. Of course he's more helpless than ever and just getting him in and out of bed is a major challenge for the nurses and orderlies. He prefers sitting in a chair most of the time but likes the bigger bed they brought him. He says that after he gets out of this hospital they are going to send him to yet another rehab hospital, "this is going to be a long process." His remaining leg does not look good but he says it hasn't hurt him since they cut off his big toes.
             "I don't know, Ruben, seeing as how long it takes to heal have you given any thought to having it chopped off so you don't  have to go thru this all over again?"
            "Nah, if I can get a couple of more years out of it it will be okay."
             Other than his sisters the only visitors he's had so far are Grasshopper, Naomi and me. He said Counselor is coming to town soon and he said he'd stop by, also, the Artist also said that when she gets back in town she'll stop by. "I know it's a pain in the ass for people to come by, people have their own shit to do, I understand."
            "Well, that's bar people. They're loyal when your in and  around the bar, but when your not, that's the way the cookie crumbles."
              When Ruben wanted to know if there was any bar gossip I shrugged, "not much, Street Jimmy got his ass kicked, Craig the Drunk's been asking about you, Sean Fahey was in town for some reason...."
             "Yeah, he called me."
              "Becca's been coming around again , not much else."
              I brought him the newspapers and the Enquirer but he didn't seem much interested in them. I told him to turn off the TV as it made it hard to chat. It's the boredom that's going to get him unless he can come up with some way to amuse himself. A magnificent looking black women came in. I don't think she was a full fledged nurse but perhaps a nurses assistant. She had an accent that reminded me of my friend Spikes ex-wife, who was from Dominica. When I asked her where she was from she said Africa, Seara Leone , to be exact. When Ruben asked her if they had elephants there she laughed and said she'd never seen any wild animals in her life. She was very dark skinned and had high  cheekbones sand stood about six feet. When she bent over to pick something up off of the floor her spectacularly constructed ass was sticking about six inches from Rubens admiring face. I know it took every ounce of self discipline he possessed to refrain from grabbing her ass. When another, almost as fantastic looking black woman came in to retrieve the machine that they use to get Ruben in and out of bed, I told them, "it used to take two or three guys to get Ruben on and off his bar stool."
               This seemed to interest the ladies and the one from Africa turned to Ruben and said, "do you like to drink?"
               I said, "does he ever, he used to drink ten or fifteen pints a day without breaking a sweat."
               Both ladies were impressed, "we'd like to join you sometime. Do you ever drink tequila?"
              Once again I answered for Ruben, "he loves  to but we don't allow him to anymore because as hard as you might find this to believe, Ruben can get very unruly and troublesome."
                 In the middle of  this conversation Ruben started laughing and said to the the two nurses assistants, "remember yesterday I told you to open the door after I took that smelly shit and everyone at the nurses station started complaining and  they made you shut it."
                 I felt like this was a  real mood breaker but both ladies smiled .
                I stuck around for about an hour and when I got up to leave Ruben thanked me for the visit. Once again I told him that if he needed anything to give the bar a call and we'd send someone over. I certainly hope a few more of his pals will stop by and see him.

           Last night Bowler Frank came in. I almost never see him anymore; when he does come in it's usually late at night. Not only is he an avid bowler, but the three hundred pound ex-marine is also  a pretty good golfer. He said he'd just gotten out of the hospital (he still had the plastic wrist band on) and while grinding his teeth together told Tobi and me about his latest heart attack, "they stuck a tube up my groin and put some  stents in, they told me not to play golf for six weeks but I think I'll play in two. The doctor told me not to  fuck around with where they stitched me up from where the tube went in because I'll bleed to death in a couple of minutes. " When he's  gnashing his teeth together he becomes extremely intense. He left after one drink.
             
             This morning I really overslept. The weather turned much colder and it was once again raining. By the time I got  to the bar Faggypants was finishing his cleaning. He said he'd gotten to the bar extra early because his mom had to drive his Uncle Jim to the VA hospital. Street Jimmy was just tucking himself in on the wooden bench. I let Jimmy sleep for almost three hours as I was all alone  and in no hurry. When I finally woke him up he was a mess. He wanted money for helping Faggypants, "okay, I'll give you five  bucks..."
             "But Danny 'sposed to give me a couple of dollars too..."
              "Jimmy, I find you whining intolerable. You never stop bitching, now I'm not going to give you the five."
                "I won' complain nomore," he said holding out his hand.
                "I'm not kidding, quit the constant bitching or else, understand?"
                 Jimmy finally nodded but then muttered something under his breath.
                "You're very close to a suspension, mother fucker."
              "Okay," he said rubbing his eyes, "I'll be cool. Could I please have some  chips an' lemonade? PLEASE!"
               Before Faggypants had left he once again complained about Hawkeye leaving the foot light on by the step up to the washrooms, "that's why the batteries keep wearing out. Everyone else turns it off."
           Not only did Hawkeye fail to turn off the foot light, but he left the fan on in the mens room again. This is dangerous because Butkovich says they can catch fire if they get too hot, "Hawkeye is very self absorbed, and not only that he's passive aggressive; I just don't get how he can be such a stickler for detail in his personal appearance and yet so cavalier about his duties."

         Last night when Street Jimmy came into the bar his version of the fight with the  young buck came under closer scrutiny. Jimmy had insisted that the only reason the young buck managed to tag him in the eye was because Jose was restraining him. Lee, who was also present, shook his head, "bullshit, Jose wasn't holding you, you just don't know how to fight." This is true, considering that Jimmy has been brawling for almost fifty years, he is a very poor fighter. I've often told him to keep his elbows tucked in and his guard up, and employ jabs but he always reverts to round house punches that are easily evaded. Jimmy  made a feeble attempt to refute Lee, "he sucker punch me."
           "No he didn't," Lee insisted, "you grabbed a stick from the flowers and tried to hit him and he took it away from you and he hit you with a punch to your eye."
               When Jimmy was asked how the fight started he was candid, "I bought a rock from him in front of Stop an Rob an' when I smoked it it was shit an' so I chased him down an' caught him by  the hardware store an he toss my seven dollars on the street so I goes to fightin' with him. His lady jump on my back an' she be hittin' me."
              When I asked Jimmy why he bought a rock from a stranger he shrugged , "well, I was tired an' didn' feel like walking over to Sedgwick."
              "A half block?"
              "I was tired."
               When Jimmy once again insisted that he'd won the fight I pointed at his eye, "you're the one with the fucked up eye, not the young buck."
             Jimmy conceded my point, "you right."
             "All the capillaries in your  eye are broken and your eyes going to be red for a long  time."
              "How come?"
              "It takes a long time to heal. I had both my eyes fucked up when I was fourteen, a kid name Bruno Wachowski beat my ass good, and it took months for my eyes  to get white again."
              "Shit."
               When Coach asked Jimmy if he could  see okay out of his bruised eye he held his hand over his  good eye and  read the letters on the black board just fine with his bad eye. Meanwhile, he will continue to wear sun glasses.
              Once again Gracie assured me that it was going to rain overnight. She said she'd talk to Son in Law about weed whacking the front yard at the house in the Dunes. After all of this rain the stuff is really going to be growing.
               When I was asked if I'd heard from Andy I said , "no, he's definitely giving me the cold shoulder. He can be such a silly goose at times."
               D-Train refused to apologize for mistakenly calling the Oklahoma tornado stage four instead of stage five, "it's what they were calling it at the time and since then they upgraded it."
              "D-Train, you are a naive fool. All I had to do was observe the trees and how  the bark was blown off to know it was a stage five. Any amateur meteorologist could have deduced as much." When D-Train insisted that I didn't know what I was talking about I sighed audibly, "D-Train, you are such a child, when I was MIT I wrote my dissertation on tornados."
           "Was MIT before or after medical school at Johns Hopkins?"
          "After , but before I was an astronaut. "
            D-Train dismissively put his ear phones on and turned his head from me.

           This morning Faggypants managed to stay dry in spite of the rain. He said he'd seen the new Star Wars movie and it was the best one so far. Street Jimmy was a no show, I assume he's found shelter from the rain somewhere and won't leave until he has to.  Tobi was doing a deep cleaning and for some reason when she's around Faggypants seems to become tense. Just before I left he snapped at me for no reason. I told him that I was deeply hurt and didn't know if I could find it in my heart to forgive him.

            Gracie swore that it was going to rain like hell yesterday afternoon so I stayed in town. Although windy, it was nice and hot and so I decided to take a stroll thru the park and ended up at the zoo. The White Cheeked Gibbons were putting on an amazing ariel display. Their upper body strength has to be a hundred times greater than a humans. It turns out they are not monkeys but apes. How do you tell the difference? Monkeys have tails, apes do not. Actually the monkeys prehensile tails are highly useful, but the Gibbons don't seem to need anything but their hands and feet. I was wearing sandals without socks for only the third time this year so when I got home my feet felt a bit violated. Naturally I had a nap and then headed for the bar. When I demanded an explanation from Gracie, who was bar tending, about her incorrect  meteorological prognostications she blamed the Weather Channel. The Weather Channel was of course covering the horrific tornado that took out much of an Oklahoma town. Predictably both of Oklahoma's neo-Nazi senators voted against disaster relief for New York and New Jersey so it will be interesting to watch them when they beg for their own disaster relief. I think the older I get it's the hypocrisy of politicians, especially the bible thumping flag waving types, that frosts my ass the most.
             I immediately spotted a nut case sitting at the bar before anyone had to point him out. He was in his mid twenty's , flabby, and had a very sappy permanent smile. He was sitting two bar stools over from me and immediately began to engage me in conversation. After about thirty seconds of listening to his insipid drivel I asked him his name?
          "Lance."
          "Lance, okay Lance, we have rules around here, the chief of which is not to be a bore. Understood?"
            Although Lance said that he understood it was soon apparent that he did not. Gracie said he'd first intruded on Mierka, who was sitting in the middle of the bar studying her lines for the Sam Shepherd play she's presently rehearsing for. After Gracie shooed him away from Mierka Connie the Crack Whore took over. But even Connie, after about a half hour of hustling him for drinks, threw in the towel and left. He told me that he was from French Lick Indiana, had been a pro caddy, had a  seven foot father who played straight man with the Washington Generals against the Harlem Globetrotters in basketball, and had moved to Chicago to become an actor. Unfortunately yesterday was his first class of improv at Second City, "and I don't like improv, I'm more of a method actor so I quit."
            "Lance, I understand your dislike of improv, but method acting is no better. When I studied with the Royal Shakespeare company I learned  it was all bullshit. " I then did a few lines from Hamlet and then Julius Caesar, "see how perfect my diction is? Acting is a craft, not an art, the secret to being a good actor is knowing your lines and then enunciating them clearly. Learn from me Lance, I've taught you more in the last five minutes than you could possibly learn from any acting school in the US." By now I had Mierka giggling surreptitiously.
            The kid was blotto, I don't know how many Makers Marks he had had, but I told Gracie that after the one he was drinking she should cut him off. When the kid said he was going out to smoke I said, "Lance, look around you, do you think Alphonso gives a flying fuck if you're going to smoke, or the Defense Attorney, or the Inventor, or Coach, or me? Nobody here gives a rats ass so please , if you can't say something interesting , don't say anything at all."
              Lance's smile almost faded before he blurted, "I fucked a goat once."
              "Okay, Lance, that's mildly interesting, was it a male or female goat?"
            "Female."
             "Was it consensual?"
             "What do you mean?"
            "Did the goat instigate the sex or you?"
            "I did."
              When the Defense Attorney told Lance she was appalled he went outside and smoked his  cigarette.
              When D-Train came in after work he sat down next to Lance. When Lance tried to engage him in conversation D-Train barely acknowledged him and started playing on his iPad . This was too bad because D-Train would have given the kid a run for his money. When Gracie cut Lance off he didn't argue and just got up and sidled out of the bar.
               Gracie told me that Street Jimmy had gotten in a fight earlier in the day in the middle of Weiland Street with some younger guy and had a black eye. When Lee came in he confirmed that Jimmy had gotten in a fight and Jose and him had broken it up. When Jimmy came in he was wearing some shades which I made him take off.
              "You better be careful, you keep taking shots to the eye and one of these days you're going to get a detached retina."
                "Young buck sucker punched me while Jose be holding me down."
                 "And why were you quarreling."
                "Mother fucker took my money."
                 After some grilling Jimmy admitted that it was a drug deal gone bad. Lee said the guy he was fighting was with a lady pushing a stroller and she started punching Jimmy in the back. When the guy pulled a knife Jimmy grabbed a stick. Jimmy said he was going to put some peroxide on his eye.
                Tobi and I went home just before the rain finally came.
                 The thunder woke me up with a start a couple of times during the night. Usually I sleep better when it's raining, but thunder negates that.
             
                  This morning I felt okay even tho I didn't think I slept that great. The boys were both working when I arrived at the bar. Street Jimmy said he slept at the church last night with China.
                 "Did you get wet?"
                "Uh, uh, we under a roof in the back."
                 "Why the hell is China sleeping with you outside?"
                   "She back on the shit an' she kinda sick."
                   "What happened to her rehab?"
                    "They kinda  tossed her out."
                    "I love success stories. So now she's back on the street with you. "
                     When Faggypants asked Jimmy how his food was Jimmy said, " it's alright," however, a few minutes later he added, "Danny this be  real good, I loves the hot dog."
                    "It's not a hot dog, it's a bratwurst, I got it at Whole Foods and it was only a dollar. They're homemade."
                    Jimmy left for the Hardware Store as soon as he finished eating; he's been sweeping the sidewalk for Nick lately. Faggypants thinks maybe he'll venture over to the zoo. I'm going to the Dunes even tho it's supposed to storm again.  

         Yesterday my Cousin Jamie was having her  graduation party from Columbia College (Chicago). She has a degree in sign language. During her studies she became romantically involved with a deaf man named Tony. He seems like a nice fellow but it's tough communicating if you can't sign. Several of her classmates were also at the party, which was held at her Sister Julia's apartment in the Loyola neighborhood. Jamie is an Antonick, a distinct off-shoot of the Çoates - Cameron clans. My Cousin Susy Coates and her husband Robin Antonick had six kids, three boys and three girls. Robin is a die hard Christian Scientist and the two of them met at the Christian Scientist College, Principia. Even tho they are scattered all over the country all  six siblings were in attendance. This was the first time I'd seen all six at the same time in years. Even considering that they are part Cameron, which is a  family of extreme eccentrics, the Anonicks stand out in their quirkiness. Robin, the father, (he bears a striking resemblance to Robin Williams, the comic) invented the John Madden football game. I'm sure he made some bucks off the game but what he's doing now I'm not sure. Susy , the  mom, is the youngest of the Coates'. She is remarkably even keeled considering the chaos she's been surrounded with her entire life. The eldest son, Christopher Robin, was a paratrooper; this is hard to picture given his mild mannered demeanor. Julia is involved in modern dance and teaches yoga. Ryan is a rebel, a bit of a loner; and is very taciturn.  Jesse is living a bohemian life in Oakland, she's a marvelous seamstress and lives in a tent which she constructed. Casey is a very good looking fellow and married to  a Chicago girl from the South Side who's dad is a retired fireman. Casey and his wife live in Portland and is in the business of making beer vats. He has a rambunctious daughter named, Franky. Franky is inexhaustible and raced up and down the hallway for a couple of hours screaming during the party. My Cousin Stevie cautioned me about using the term "hippie" around Casey. Of course I immediately asked Casey if he had a problem with the word "hippie" and he  seemed confused. He also seemed surprised that I had lived in Berkeley from 67 to 71. I don't think he  took offense with the word hippy.  And Jamie, the honoree, we've already discussed.
            I was quite surprised to see my cousin Jennifer and her husband there. Jennifer is the eldest Coates cousin. She was looking remarkably well, especially considering that she's the third eldest Cameron cousin; I'm the oldest and my sweet brother Scott is next and then Jennifer. She lives in Southern California and we rarely see her anymore. Her husband is a  computer whiz. Both of my late Cousin Donny's kids were there. Cameron, who is studying philosophy at Loyola, is also a beer making hobbyist. His younger sister Sonya, just got back from Switzerland where she is attending college. The fact that they are both pursuing academic goals is somewhat remarkable given that there is a heavy strain of anti-intellectualism running in the Coates family. I credit their moms as well as the Cameron gene for their intellectual apostasy.
            Of course there was plenty of tasty food (my appetite is still fucked up but I shoved quite a bit down my gullet) and Tobi said a lot of it  was vegan, what ever the hell that is?  It was fun seeing  everyone and Tobi said she had a great time.

          Before we left for the party I stopped off at the Ale House for a quick beer. It was perfect timing as the author of "The Prophets of Smoked Meat" , Daniel  Vaughn, stopped by with his architect pal and his lovely girlfriend, Britney. Daniel had just enough time for a beer before he caught a plane back to Texas. He said the three of them had been reading my blog the previous night and found it  amusing. Britney, looking even sexier today than yesterday, said she hoped that someday she could have a nickname. Gracie, who was bar tending, immediately came up with "Brit the Clit." Britney loved it and I certainly thought it was a  winner, so from now on she's Brit the Clit.  It was lucky Daniel stopped by because Tobi had purchased three of his books that she wanted him to autograph. She's giving them away as gifts to people that  would really appreciate the subject. Daniel was nice enough to give me a book which he had also autographed. Before Daniel left  I wished him good luck. I consider him the guinea pig for Anthony Bourdain's new line of authors and wish him nothing but success because I have a feeling that the better each of his authors does, the better it is for the next guy in line. So far Daniel's book  has gotten excellent reviews. One of the reviews I read on line mentioned that all of Anthony's authors books are about food. Well,  this is  not  true, because my book has nothing to do with  food. I guess I get to be the aberration. Coach couldn't wait to read Daniel's book so I told him he could read my copy.
           
             Last night when we got back to the bar after the party Touhy was there with Miss Jones. He was talking to a group of young people and seemed to be having a fine time when suddenly not only was he gone but all of the young people.  As odd as that was something even odder occurred  - Touhy left a full beer behind. This simply doesn't happen and Grasshopper went outside and looked around to make sure they weren't still present. No, they had vanished into the night.
             
             This morning Street Jimmy appeared awake and somewhat alert. He said he'd slept behind the church with China. I'd seen him with China yesterday afternoon. The methadone has really done a number on her. She used to be tooth pic thin but she's easily tripled in size. When asked he insisted that there had been no diddlying, "I jus' didn' feel like no pussy."
              "Odd."
              "Sometimes I don' feels like it."
              "Very odd."
               Faggypants said he was exhausted from the previous day. Tobi has been on his ass over cleaning techniques. In spite of his exhaustion he was cheerful for the most part. After Jimmy finished eating Faggypants asked him how his food was?
              "It's gone, ain't it."
                "Jimmy," I said, "do you consider that a compliment?"
               "It's a done deal."
                "Is that a compliment?"
                 "It's a dead issue."
                 "You are quite the  flatterer."
           
           

            I finally connected with the traveling nurses last night. I hadn't seen Andrea for at least three years and needless to say she's still hot. I could tell Laura (the no longer traveling nurse) was really happy to see her. Before the nurses showed up a middle aged fellow sporting a similar hair style to mine ( only his hair is black) walked over and introduced himself to me. His name was Daniel Vaughn and he was in town promoting his book, The Prophets of Smoked Meat, which is a "journey thru Texas barbecue." I knew immediately who he was because Anthony Bourdain had told me about Daniel last week when he was in town. Anthony has thus far picked eight writers that are to be published thru Ecco Press and Daniel's is the first of these writers to hit the book stores. Daniel was with two guys and a seriously sexy hot chick. I had a very informative chat with Daniel about his experiences in writing his book and we compared notes. It turns out that Daniel first heard about the Ale House while listening to the Legend and Corby talking about us on their Texas sports talk show. Daniel immediately tweeted the Legend and told him that the Genius said hi. The Legend then tweeted  him and said "hi" right back at me. Since the Legend and Corby plugged us on their show a month ago we've had a steady stream of Texans stop by the bar. These are not your shit in the mouth barely discernible Texans like Stanley Marsh 3 , but bright, funny Texans. It's a shame people like Gov Perry and Sen Cruz have made the whole state a cartoon because there are clearly a lot of cool Texans. I had to cut my conversation short with Daniel when the nurses came in. They both look just as pretty as the day they walked thru the door. We took a trip down memory lane and Andrea insists that her wandering days are now over now that she's found a home in Denver. We'll see.
             There were several nut cases in the bar and after a while it seemed like one of those nights. A goofy looking broad walked over to us and asked the nurses if the Ale House was a  gay bar? Even tho they assured her it wasn't, at least exclusively, the goofy broad didn't seem convinced, "my girlfriend insists that it is." And then while I was conversing with the nurses Laura told me some guy was in Grasshoppers face. When I turned around a fairly big guy about thirty was shouting at Grasshopper about a credit card. The bar is cash only and the guy was indignant that he was not allowed to use his credit card because, "I'm a surgeon, I save your mother and your father, don't you understand!"
I tapped the guy on the shoulder and told him the sign clearly says cash only and if he wanted to use a credit card every other bar on the street takes them. This just enraged him all the more. He had a slight accent, perhaps Palestinian, and he looked like he was pretty strong, but now I was mad and told him we wouldn't serve him even if he did have cash. It was difficult getting him to leave and we kind of had to herd him out the door. Fortunately Officer Bill was  there and he eventually calmed the guy down outside. The nurses, who have met more than their share of surgeons over the years, were amused by the idiots antics and both agreed that the  guy might have really been a surgeon.
          "I've met crazier surgeons than him, "Laura smiled.
            Andrea nodded seriously, "I sure have."
             I apologized to Daniel and his group when they got up to leave for cutting our conversation short but they seemed to understand. He has a book signing at Macy's and Anthony is appearing with him. He promised to stop by again if he had the opportunity. I Ended up spending a good three hours with the nurses. The girls can both still put the booze away although now that Laura has a baby she doesn't get out much. Mitt was supposed to join us but was a no show.

           This morning Faggypants was in full speed mode when I got to the bar and Street Jimmy was once again only semi-awake as he swept. I told him that I wished he was as peppy and alert in the morning as he was at night while prowling the streets for handouts. He only grunted a reply. Faggypants said I just missed a crazy black guy who had been picking cans out of the  dumpster, "he was swearing at us and Jimmy wanted me to call you and ask if you'd give him permission to hit the guy."
           "I knows you don' wan' me hittin' crazy dudes but this guy be pissin' me off."
           D-Trian showed up at nine and said he thought it was ten. He immediately set up his computer and said we had to drop everything and witness the amazing tape he had finally completed. It had a very interesting beginning , music , poetry  and then his porn star appeared. Just her face.  I told him he should enter it in a fetishist film festival. He seemed shocked we didn't share his interest in Danica's face.
             "D-Train, you want to see a real face, google Hedy Lamar."
              There was an obituary of Bob Sickinger in the paper. Sickinger was the only game in town for small theater back in the Sixties when I moved to Chicago. He presided over the old Hull House Theater and in those days wasn't encumbered with Actors Equity issues, and so the size of his casts was never a problem. The guy was good, especially at taking amateurs and making them appear like pros. My brother Douglas starred in Albee's American Dream and my brother Scott did some sets for him. When one of my brothers introduced  me to Sickinger back stage one night he extended a very limp left hand to me. Had I had time to think I would have spit on it but I reflexively shook it. He barely looked me in the eyes. I waited patiently twenty years to be reintroduced to him. I was in the Broome St Bar in NY when a  Chicago guy I knew introduced us. Of course I stuck out my left hand even more limply than he had, and didn't even turn my head toward him.When  I  told him that my brothers had both worked for him at Hull House his interest seemed piqued but I totally ignored him much to my friends embarrassment. Even after I explained to my friend why I had behaved in such a rude fashion he was still displeased with me.
             Sickinger had to leave Chicago because of a scandal. He was banging some other women and his wife found out about it and told the Hull House Board that they should check their books. That was it and he was out of town. He failed in LA and never  did much in NY. Punk, Tea Bagger phony David Mamet was quoted in the obit that "Sickinger was the greatest director I've ever known." I can't begin to describe the amount of pleasure it gave me to snub Sickinger at the Broome St bar.

Daniel Vaughn and I discussing what a brilliant judge of literary talent Anthony Bourdain is. Vaughn is the author of the Prophets of Smoked Meat. Anthony has a stable of eight writers that he's discovered for Ecco Press and Daniel's book is the first to hit the stores. He stopped by the Ale House last night. The Texas writer is in town on a promotional book tour. A good time was had by all.