Let’s see what happens when your host (me) has nothing to say, and instead it’s open mike night. Step right up, speak your mind, tell a story, sing a song, whatever.
once weekly, usually on Saturdays
5/31/2025
Anything goes #30
25 responses to “Anything goes #30”
-
My Date Night
Yesterday was a day to remember: I got my story on the front page of the Independent and on Kym Kemp’s news site RHBB, and my date night went off exactly as planned:
Before I went on my walk I turned on the sauna, at the park I ran into Jennie who I had met the week before, the woman I had mentioned in my essay about longevity and loneliness. We walked around the park for a while and wow, this woman is friendly, talkative, forthcoming, and positive.
I showed her and her dog some of the trails, as she was new to the park, we crossed the great wet field together, I made to give her a fist bump in the parking lot, and she ignored it and wrapped her arms around me for a nice goodbye.
I got home, took the waiting sauna and thought about switching up the fantasy rotation from my stale overused retreads to something new, specifically this exuberant Jennie! It would be risky making these preparations for my date night with myself, then slipping someone new into the fantasy rotation, though I was warming to the idea as I thought about Jennie in the sauna: I imagined the possibilities, the foreplay and positions, while sweating with Mozart playing from the speakers on the deck.
After the sauna and dinner and reading, then listening to a book on CD for an hour, I closed down the internet at 6:30, got ready for bed, and finally found myself with the fat roach in my hand and the lube on the side.
It was a “no-doubter” as the smoke went in my lungs, the fantasy of my new girl’s smile punctuated my brain, and my screams were as loud as ever, maybe give it a nine on the scale of ten.
(There was nothing left to do but dance, which I did for the next hour, fantasizing about turning my housecleaner coming the next morning into my creative director, or making my first dance video, but after the weed-influenced eight hours of sleep with no insomnia, the performance idea withered in the stark light of the morning.)-
I enjoy the heck out of these stories, prurient interest sure, but also just a good time, good writing.
You’re obsessed with sex, of course — as are most people, certainly including me. I don’t write about it much, dunno why really, but thoughts of getting boinked are almost always near the top of the rubble in my head. Anyone who says otherwise is lying, or disabled, or very, very boring.
-
No more than obsessed with food, internet, Netflix, hikes, and sleep issues (especially)…
Just fun to get all “anything goes” here with mostly archival inglorious deeds…-
Keep rockin’, man.
Reminds me, I have a true story about my penis that might be worth telling…
-
-
-
-
Okay, that one went right up…but no time to edit, oh well…
-
Oooh, thanks for that info. No word yet on a resolution to the recent comments/software issues, but I’m still checking the times on comments, and haven’t seen any perceptible delay since Thursday. Fingers crossed.
-
-
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, but he’ll remember with advantages the films he saw that day. The only problem with this A-Z sequencing is that the best film of the last 50 years (OK, maybe the quirkiest) gets a back seat in the caboose. Nonetheless, I watched Zero Effect again today and I’m sticking by my assertion. It’s all there, serenaded by Nick Cave and a Bad Seed or two. Unforgettable.
John
-
Zero Effect! You mention it now and again, and I saw it and liked it and won’t dispute that it’s a fine piece of moviemaking entertainment, but yeah, I’d stop short of saying it’s the best or quirkiest of the last 50 years. That’s just me, though. Dafuque do I know? We all hand out our own Oscars.
You got me curious, so I checked, and the very back seat in the caboose of my alpha-order coming attractions is Zrcadlení (1965).
-
-
OK, bluejay: Ya got my favorite movie; here’s my favorite song by my favorite musical group. To be entirely fair, I think they have a couple of songs that are better than this, and I’m not perfectly sure they’re better than the Beatles, but like the Beatles, they invented themselves and a slightly new kind of music. They don’t do covers, and this is a cover of a 1950s song (written in the 1940s) made popular by The Four Lads. This isn’t a typical TMBG song because they don’t do typical. Ladies and gentlemen, They Might Be Giants shouting eight minutes of the classic song Istanbul Not Constantinople . . .
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6alVaijX1lI
jtb
-
ba ba ba beba ba be babababa
Our national anthem indeed…
-
No advance tickets so it’ll be a madhouse, but…
They Might Be Giants, live & free at KEXP Studios, Monday 6/16, 3PM. There’s a Dick’s a block away. I’ll buy the concert tickets if you’ll buy lunch.It’s also on the radio, if you’re not up for a long freeway drive.
-
I’m afraid my back wouldn’t take that much walking, but they’re known for putting on a hell of a show. I checked on ticket prices: They’re playing two nights, and you can get a reserved seat for both nights quite a way from the stage for only $450.00. I’d sell my car to go, but I don’t know how I’d raise the rest of the money.
jtb
-
No, it’s free. They’re doing an interview and jam session on KEXP, and the radio station has a no-charge viewing area that’ll be utterly jammed with sweaty assholes, and I might be one of them.
-
As I understand it, TMBG, likely without their backup band, is doing a promo for their Northwest concerts at the KEXP studios, then doing several nights in Seattle and Portland. When I walk more than a block, I walk with a cane and I’m not very mobile. I suspect you don’t quite know how incredibly popular TMBG is/are. There will be thousands of people, including old people like us, jumping up and down for a glimpse of the guys. It sounds like a great adventure, and I’m slightly ashamed I’m not up to it. Time marches on.
John
-
Be not ashamed, man! You’re alive and cognizant, something most people aren’t.
TMBG is popular among old-timers like us, but I expect to see few under-30s.
KEXP’s “Gathering Space” is basically a very large cafe with tables and such. A few hundred folks could fit inside, but more than that would have to be turned away, and that’s mostly what I’d be going to see — the crowd being turned away. Sounds hilarious!
And then two Dick’s Deluxe down the street and listen on the radio. I will toast you in ausencia with a strawberry shake.
-
-
-
-
-
-
i don’t know why this one should work, but i commented many hours ago, and my comment shows up in the aggregated comments, but not here, where I made it. As I told my first wife, maybe I’m just doing it wrong. Obviously, I’m doing the exact same thing again here, expecting different results.
jtb-
In this test, I’m trying a reply to see whether THAT works. By the way, my fifty dollar setup (not counting cane) is a registered Democrat. You’re not using a Republican system, are you?
jtb (registered Democrat)
-
That’s exactly the sitch, for a week now. “IT is working on it.” I can and do nudge comments to actually publish, but it’s a button to be pushed. Can’t push it when I’m not online or not home, but I do push it whenever I remember to push it, which is 5 times daily, minimum.
It’s a pain in the butt for everyone, sorry. It’s 2025, things are supposed to happen instantaneously, with no George Jetson button-pushing.
-
-
Holy shit! I wrote a short note here containing the phrase “Registered Democrat” and that got lost, but it somehow pushed the last two lost messages out of the ether and onto this page. I’m guessing my political phrase was uninvolved in finding the two lost messages, but what DID help?
jtb
-
I pushed the manual “publish comments” button at 5:55 PST. An automatic ding-dong alarm reminds me to push the button every three hours. Content of comments is irrelevant. Good times!
-
So an alarm doesn’t bong every time the word “Democrat” passes through your movie server. Perhaps it was a coincidence but we can’t rule out an Act of the Apostles. They’d be Democrats if they registered today, except for Judas, who would be Secretary of State.
jtb
-
Doug, I trust that you know that I’m not giving you shit for possession of glitchy software. You are providing a valuable community service by running this site and providing an equally valuable community service with your fine writing. Software has glitches or they’d call it something else. We used to have code called “firmware” but I lost that about 20 years ago.
jtb
-
Aw, shucks, and yeah, I trust you.
-
-
Still weirds me out and seems wrong that many states require voters to pick a party as they’re registered to vote. Glad WA doesn’t ask such a nosy question.
Pre the big switch, when this site was on Google software, it was buggy as heck, but my biggest complaint was that Google censors posts and comments that contain certain naughty words. The current host and software don’t do that, period.
-
-
-
-
Searching For Muchachas
It is way easier to find cabrito than a muchacha.
I parked on Calle Madero and walked down to the cab stand where Mauricio had been hanging out a few years ago when he turned me on to Yessica, my six months pregnant teenage sex slave. He wasn’t there but his fellow cabbie said he was now up at the bus station.
“I want to find a muchacha,” I told the cabbie. He gave me directions to a bar up the street and I hesitated. Really? Bar girls? Well, just for the experience I decided to check it out and walked a few blocks around the market and church to Calle Juarez and Bar Papion. When I walked in two couples sat at the bar and I asked the bartender where the women were.
“At nine, they come at nine,” he said.
“Nine? Every night?”
“Yes, nine…..”
One of the woman, a buxom delight, turned to me and we tried to have a conversation. I tried to get her to dance to the rockin’ music but she seemed to want to charge me.
“We don’t pay for dances in the states,” I said. Carmen finally got up there with me and we danced; she was pretty and had “thunder thighs.” The boys snapped many pictures of us as I swirled her around and when the song on the juke box changed she motioned to her girl friend to also dance with me.
Laura hesitated a beat then came out to dance. She was prettier than Carmen, packed fewer pounds, and played at being more reserved by pushing aside my hands a few times until she gave in to my woman-handling style. I held her close and found myself holding her from behind—the boys continued to snap pictures smiling and laughing. I gave each girl a dollar, Carmen motioned me to a barstool, and said I should have a beer and buy her one too.
The tall long-haired and pretty gay guy, Oscar, wanted to dance with me also.
“No, no,” I said, “just the women.” (The next day I thought that was kind of mean—he obviously considers himself a woman too of some sort.)
He went out there anyway and danced flamboyantly (I know, what a cliche) with a chair, then got Carmen to dance on the other side of the chair. She came back to sit with me and he danced on with his chair, very wild and crazy. A young, not good-looking guy came into the bar and sat at a distant table with a big grin on his face.
Oscar went over, danced on the guy’s table and the newcomer ran his hands up and down Oscar’s legs with a drunken smile plastered on his face. (Was this an equal opportunity brothel? A gay bar with some hookers on the side?)
Everyone at the bar cracked up including some new arrivals, friends of the owner just hanging out—everyone was very drunk except me and the bartender/owner.
“Are you working now?” I asked Carmen.
“No,” she said. (Lied?)
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“How old are you?” I asked the other girl, Laura.
“Twenty-six,” she said.
Both women gave me their numbers. “If I call you what would we do,” I asked Laura. “Oh, comer,” she said, eat a little.
I asked Carmen what she did and she said something I couldn’t understand so I had her write it down: Sicologo. Psychology? Sociology?
I asked Laura the same question and she came up with maestra, teacher.
“Kinder,” she said with a laugh.
I left, sweaty and dirty from all the driving and dancing and needed a shower. Earlier in the day I had driven through a hailstorm twice at 70mph, crazy violent rain for a few miles each time. One van got disabled in the fast lane and its occupants scampered out and onto the median as I flew by.
I missed the turn back to the motel so I headed on to the bus station to look for Mauricio; there I found his father driving the family cab who said he would be back for the night shift at 8pm. Instead of just getting his cell number like a normal person I headed back to the motel where I took a shower, then hustled back across town for my cabrito dinner. (The salsa was amazing, the next day I came back and bought some to go.) Then back to the bus station, the walkway in front crowded with passengers waiting for taxi rides home and a young attractive couple making out for the duration.
After half an hour of fruitless waiting I went back to the room, put on some music and fired one up. I had my usual room at the far end of the complex in utter privacy where I blasted the music, let the smoke fly, grabbed the lube and finally screamed, visualizing my friend’s daughter who lived near by.
Comments with attachments or multiple links are held for manual approval.
Leave a Reply