Category Archives: Tales Out of School

Phantom

The previous post, Sweet Spot, reveled in life before responsibility. Not to be read as a continuance or sequel, Phantom serves as aftermath.

Sixteen years after that hi-ho halcyon night, three of us bent elbows in Amsterdam. Kewpie, Warren and I converged in the Lowlands. On a late autumn evening, we treacherous three tippled somewhere near the Leidseplein.

Earlier in the shortened day, angry North Sea gusts twisted clouds deserving van Ruisdael’s brushstrokes. Although conditions failed compelling Amsterdam burghers to tighten their scarves or fully button coats, it certainly quickened our paces … right into a warm Brazilian themed bar. Continue reading Phantom

Sweet Spot

Over the last week of September 2014 I instigated an email roundelay. The thread concerned Elmira’s Ass. Oh, I came so close to awarding that title to this post. But if – when – readers got offended, I wanted them spewing umbrage somewhere about the content, not before the first paragraph.

A giveaway title like “Elmira’s Ass” and right there the jig is up!

Now a little backstory to the big backside in question.

Idleness fomented the conversation about Elmira’s ass. Much must happen before I’m confirmed into my new gig. Ambivalence and apprehension vie with anxiety because until the proper authorities sign off, I’m in administrative limbo. However, once I get the job I hope to be in Schaeffer City pdq.

Given the hours on my hands, and given the devil uses such idle implements, my musings ran aground on Elmira. Particularly her ample rump. Continue reading Sweet Spot

His Azure Adventure Ends

This concludes Intrigue the Boy and Three Kimonos

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    Gone that March 1978 Thursday night were Trevor’s shitkickers. His entire casual appearance, the being it conferred, had been exiled. Though technically still a greenhorn, he learned quickly. He bought another pair of Western boots specifically for decent social occasions as well as two-steppin’ and instructor-hosted events. Not only did he endeavor to keep the black leather glossy but the white stitching pristine.

    Absent also on this night were chinos and tees, replaced by tailored navy blue serge over a button-down shirt. One real-life tie whose Windsor knot was genuine completed the transformation that startled Delores. After he crossed her threshold, she smilingly stepped back, then circled to better assess “the wonder.”

Continue reading His Azure Adventure Ends

Three Kimonos

A continuation from Intrigue the Boy

    At the appointed time on the anointed day Trevor cooled on Delores’ doorstep. With the Arizona campus having depopulated over the weekend, he eagerly looked towards Monday.

    It was strange seeing her at noon. Then again, he was lightly clothed on a mid-March day. Same time back East, he likely wouldn’t have been lightly clothed inside, much less outdoors. Continue reading Three Kimonos

Intrigue the Boy

    Trevor couldn’t certify the moment Delores monopolized his horizon. Though certainly a presence from Arizona Day One, she remained undistinguished for what seemed his longest hours.

    To him, Delores personified gravitas. More so than any other older figures he should’ve respected outside his parents. Not just her face, whose age she made zero attempts to Continue reading Intrigue the Boy

The Amoralists — Part Two

    Fabio could’ve taken lessons in deviousness from Celia. He should’ve. Maybe pointers from her might’ve prevented his now and forever pronounced limp. Probably not. Indifferent a student in youth as he had been, Fabio was not an old dog to be taught new tricks.

    Maybe ascribing Celia as devious is unnecessarily harsh. Driven. She was driven. At least that lends her a trait Americans can admire. Otherwise it would be too easy to call her manipulative.

    Celia grew up in Brazil’s Minas Gerais state. Once I asked her town’s name, and she told me, but I forgot it. Or misheard it. Likely the last. Sometimes having drank too much vitamin whiskey her accent thickened into incomprehensibility. And she couldn’t be understood either.

Continue reading The Amoralists — Part Two

The Amoralists – Part One

            With severe apologies to Andre Gide …

    Does distance improve perception? Well, in my case perhaps 2400 miles have clarified a few escapades.

    Relocated now to Las Vegas (too early to claim “settled”), several scenes and the actors upon those now far away New York stages stalk under brighter light. Those acts having concluded years ago, they can today be reckoned through lengthy contemplation.

    Nothing has prepared me for the last two years. Disruption. Demise. Dislocation. Ready for such life occurrences as we swear, aren’t we forever caught out by these upheavals? Maneuver as best we can, coping is the best one can hope.

Continue reading The Amoralists – Part One

Woman Is a Devil


    Another obscure Islamic cleric has thundered in self-righteous indignation about a young woman who didn’t know her place. A woman, who, God forfend, expressed herself without concern how it would enrage some screaming man who’d forgotten his last erection. Continue reading Woman Is a Devil

The Wonder Bar


    July 5th begins summer’s great trench. Nothing but sweltering discomfort punctured by periods of merciful relief.

    There is a New Yorker magazine cover which aptly suits these dog days. On it a grinning rubicund sun wipes sweat off his brow while beneath him broiling on the way to burning beachgoers merry themselves towards heatstroke.

    The best part of this season for me? Beer. Beer is colder these days than during winter. Continue reading The Wonder Bar

Left Behind with the Magyar


 

    My next door neighbor will be moving out soon. He and his rambunctious visitors won’t be missed.

    A foreign exchange student, he likely pursued some technical degree. Others residing at this address welcomed him. Not me.

    Mind, nothing personal, but he must’ve found me intimidating. Purposely. Clearly intentionally.

    Admittedly, I did absolutely nothing to invite him. I reserved my friendliness. Why? The noise. His and his friends’ lack of consideration. Despite his alien culture, he should’ve arrived equipped with a modicum of deference. At least until he understood the parameters of his new abode. Were the shoe on the other foot, that’s what I would’ve done.

    Had he just done that little bit, I, in turn, would’ve been more than cordial towards him.

    Bedlam aside, along with his general disregard of comportment, other residents who share this place more than made up for my estrangement.

    Of course they would. He and his friends were probably the first Muslim Arabs they ever met. Continue reading Left Behind with the Magyar