Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Dance With My Father by Luther Vandross

It really is amazing how certain songs can affect us in a variety of ways. One song that deeply affects me is Dance With My Father sung by Luther Vandross and written by Vandross and Richard Marx. Now if you aren't familiar with the song, Vandross sings about his late father and the effect his father had on both him and his mother remembering one such memory of how his father used to dance with his mother. Writing about it now is giving me goosebumps, Why? I'm really not sure why. But I do have a few ideas as to why this song affects me so much.

The song came out in June of 2003, so perhaps I was still feeling that new dad sensation. My son had been born in June of 2002 and Gaby was still 6 months from being born. Maybe it had to do with the fact that it was one of Luther Vandross' last songs before he passed away in 2005. This is probably the actual reason why.

This kind of goes in hand-in-hand with my Father's Day rant. Fathers get the shitty end of the stick when it comes to holidays like Fathers Day compared to Mothers Day and understandably so. There are so many dead-beat Dads out there that screw things up for us dads who take care of our business with our kids on a daily basis that its hard to us to get the same kind of "love" that the moms do on their special day. Especially in the media with commercials. Why can't dad get some bling on Fathers Day like moms get on Mothers Day. But those of you who have heard that rant know how I feel about it so enough about that. LOL. Back to the song.

Even in music, you rarely hear someone singing positively about their dad. Poppa Was a Rolling Stone is a classic but let's be honest Poppa was not a Father of the Year candidate. But there is something in the way Luther sings about his father and how he wishes his mother and him could get one more dance with him that really tugs on the heartstrings. And its not that I relate it to my father. I still have my dad with me.

So I think that I hope that I can do an adequate job with my kids that they will remember me and hold me in such high regard in the same way that Luther Vandross held his father.

Do you all see where I'm coming from with this? It really is a beautiful song. Here are the lyrics:

Dance With My Father
Back when I was a child
Before life removed all the innocence
My father would lift me high
And dance with my mother and me
And then
Spin me around 'till I fell asleep
Then up the stairs he would carry me
And I knew for sure
I was loved

If I could get another chance
Another walk
Another dance with him
I'd play a song that would never ever end
How I'd love love love
To dance with my father again

When I and my mother
Would disagree
To get my way I would run
From her to him
He'd make me laugh just to comfort me
yeah yeah
Then finally make me do
Just what my mama said
Later that night when I was asleep
He left a dollar under my sheet
Never dreamed that he
Would be gone from me

If I could steal one final glance
When final step
One final dance with him
I'd play a song that would never ever end
Cause I'd love love love to
Dance with my father again

Sometimes I'd listen outside her door
And I'd hear how mama would cry for him
I'd pray for her even more than me
I'd pray for her even more than me

I know I'm praying for much to much
But could you send her
The only man she loved
I know you don't do it usually
But Dear Lord
She's dying to dance with my father again

Every night I fall asleep
And this is all I ever dream

This is why we dads out there need to do right by our kids. So that we can be remembered for what we did as opposed to what he haven't done like that poor old rolling stone Poppa. I have tears welling up as I type this out. Man have I become a sap in my later years. LOL.


Mr. Magoo in Drag

I just saw at 5:45am what looked like Mr. Magoo dressed in drag with a bad wig in a short skirt with fishnets and a tight top with big boobs and erect nipples near the train station at Parkchester.

What the fuck was that!!! As I'm crossing the street the fucker is right behind me and walks by me at such a fast clip that I couldn't get a picture. Ugh!!!!

And now I need to go to sleep after seeing that? Que jodienda.


Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Its Been A While For An E-Mail Scam

For those of you who have read my blog in the past, I get a kick out of the e-mail scams. I don't know exactly why. But it just seems amusing to me that people come up with these elaborate stories to bilk people of their money and that people would be so gullible as to be bilked of their money by these stories. So on that note, here is a very heart-string plucking message from Mrs. Elizabeth Wilson from Israel. I love that she refers to me as "My Dearest":

Hello My Dearest,

I know how surprise this email might appear to you but i want you to consider it as a request for an assistance from a dying woman. My Name is Mrs. Elizabeth Wilson. from Israel but now undergoing medical treatment in Abidjan the capital city of Ivory Coast.

I am married to late Mr Benson Wilson, who worked with Israeli Embassy in Ivory Coast for Eleven years before he died in the year 2008, after a brief illness that lasted for only Ten days.

We were married for Eighteen years without any child. After the death of my husband i vowed to use our wealth for the down trodden and the less privileged in our society.

Recently, My Doctor told me that I may not last for the next seven months due to cancer problem, though what disturbs me most is my stroke and deaf problem.

Haven known my condition i decided to Serve God with our wealth. When my late husband was alive we kept the sum of ($7.6 Million U.S. Dollars) Seven million six hundred thousand united states dollars Having known my condition I decided to Give out this fund to a church or an individual or better still a God fearing person who will utilise this fund the way I am going to instruct here in.

I want an individual that will use this fund to provide succour to the poor and indigent persons, orphanages, widows around him or her and Schools etc. As soon as I receive your response I shall give you the contact of the Bank where the said fund is deposited I will also issue you the documents that will prove you the present beneficiary of this fund.

Any delay in your reply will give me room in searching for an individual or this same purpose, always be prayerful all through your life.

Please assure me that you will act accordingly as I Stated herein. Hope to receive your reply soon.please reply me through this email eliza_jj03@yahoo.co.jp

Thanks and Remain Blessed.
Mrs.Elizabeth Wilson.
Alrigty then. $7.6-million smackeroos all for me to be the beneficiary and to distribute it to the poor. Ay-yay-yay. As PT Barnum so eloquently stated: There's a Sucker Born Every Minute. Amazing.


Sunday, July 22, 2012

So This Dude Sicced God On Me...

I had this drunk dude stumble to the door and ask to use the bathroom. As per custom he was in no condition to come into a full bar and I said no. After a few tries the dude got mad and said that God sees what I do. That my actions would be remembered by god and that he MIGHT help me if I ever need help. Then he stumbled off to pee in the middle of the street. Guess he doesn't care if he's seen.


Saturday, July 21, 2012

To What Lengths Do Some Of Us Go To Give Our Digits Out

Now any of us who work in a bar see first hand how the power of liquid courage can work. Upon entering the bar a man can go from mild mannered and respectful to an unshackled beast a-la Jekyll and Hyde. Maybe he was a beast to begin with and the booze makes him mutate further. So here goes the story.

I'm on the #4 train headed Uptown to 125th Street after a long night at work.. Now those of you who have read my prior posts know that I primarily take the 6 train affectionally referred by me as The Iron Horse #6. But since there split service construction on the #6 line I'm forced to re-route somewhat. Back to the story at hand.

This drunk dude gets on either at Astor Place or 14th Street. I'm not sure. All I know is that he is super drunk. How can I tell? Really now folks, I'm a professional. I know a drunk when I see one. Plus the plop down into the seat in front of me was a dead give away. Casanova (and you'll know soon enough why I call him that) focuses his bleary eyed gaze on this young lady sitting down the seat to my right. She was a damn good looking woman. Can't blame Casanova for noticing her. But he was intently staring at her. It was actually quite uncomfortable. It was like watching a lion stalk his prey with a drunken gait.

So he reaches into his pocket and takes out a red pen and a small marble notebook. He scribbles something into it, tears the page out and drunkenly stands up as the train is moving along towards 33rd Street. He extends the ripped out page to the young lady. I can only assume that it was his name and number. She shook her head twice trying to reject the overture. Finally she took the paper and as she got up from her seat she dropped it underneath her. As the train stopped at 42nd Street, she got off and I saw that she got back on the train in the next car, trying to avoid Casanova. But my man as the hunter refused to be dissuaded.

He got back up and went into the next car through the emergency doors, he then proceeded to come back in to the car I was in and plopped down next to me. Again he took out the aforementioned red pen and small marble notebook. He scribbled down what looked like a name and a jumble of numbers. My man was determined to give this woman his digits. He was truly a persistent fellow.

Again he lurched up to his feet went into the next car and never came back in. Nosy fucker that I am decided to see if I could catch up with Casanova. As I got off at 125th Street, I saw him plop down next to the same woman who he was trying to pawn his number off on. If a picture was worth a thousand words, her face was worth ten times as much. To her credit, she timed her exit from the train to coincide with the doors closing, leaving her paramour on the now Bronx bound #4 train.

To add insult to injury, she got on the same train car that I was now on. Upon sitting down some other guy immediately started hitting on her. I did say she was good looking. She stormed off the train. Where she ended up only she knows.

Hopefully her odyssey of drunken and aggressive paramours came to an end.


Tuesday, July 17, 2012

The Woman on the 6 Train

So there's this woman on the 6 train giving us quite the show. Wow. Its amazing to watch her in action. If I was someone else, I'd video her. But in doing so I would feel bad that I'd be invading her privacy. She doesn't seem drunk or high for that matter. She's clean, well dressed, adorned with jewelry like bracelets and anklets. She has a nice big purple purse (which Momma-San would be really impressed with). I really don't know. To the naked eye she seems mentally ill or possessed.

In addition to the invasion of privacy, I'm also afraid that if I do video her I'm afraid of the stuff that might appear in the video. Like in the horror movies where an aura is often seen emanating from someone who is possessed. Let me give you a quick synopsis of her behavior:

She sits just cackling and speaking gibberish with her right hand raised. Then she starts arguing with the someone or something that she seems to see and gets up and starts shaking and convulsing while squealing and laughing as she does it. Then she walks around shaking her head until she sits down and puts her sweater on and fixes her dreads. She gets up and does it again this time stopping at one of the ads on the train and whispers sweet nothings to the image on the ad while taking her sweater off. Then she sits down and does a little dance and jiggle. After that she stops to arrange her top flopping her breasts around taking them out as she fixes her top to make them fit. Like I said earlier. Quite the show folks.

I'll be honest with you. I'm not sure what is more unnerving. Could it be the woman's convulsions, contortions, gyrations, speaking in gibberish, her high pitch squeals and laughs or the people on the train that don't even bat an eyelash at her behavior and sit there like nothing is going on. One dude actually sleeping right across from her with no headphones on. That's a mighty strong sleep he has going to not have her disturb him.

Most people from other cities would be going from one car to the next getting the hell out of dodge. Shit, at 59th Street she scared the living daylights out of a group of tourists causing them to scatter like a gaggle of geese with one of her banshee-like shrieks. But no, us New Yorkers just sit there and stare through her and everyone else as we sit in our private little clear cubes of personal space.

We New Yorkers are a fucked up breed of urban dwellers. I think the worst are the ones observing her and posting what they see to FB and their blogs. Remind you of someone? LOL.

Its like I say on the regular: As much as people try to make NYC as shiny as a brand spanking new penny, the old NYC rears its ugly head just to let us know that it exists and is never too far. Ya gotta love my old NYC.


Sunday, July 15, 2012

Yo This Place Sucks

So this group comes in and as usual they leave the person with the fake ID for last. I guess they figure that I wouldn't dare sacrifice a group of customers for one person with a fake. Wrong!

So the young buck has a fake Illinois ID and tells his friends that he can't get in and his friend says out loud:

"Yo, this place sucks"

Normally I'd just let it slide and be done with it but since it was a little slow tonight, I decided what the hell.

I tell the guy who made the comment the following:

Just stop bro. This place doesn't suck. If it sucked you wouldn't have tried enter in the first place. Had I let your friend in you'd be doing shots and having a couple of beers right now.

It's like when you're kicking it to a fine girl and she's hot until she tells you she's not interested then you insult you. You're too young to be so sour."

To which the dude nods at me in agreement and quietly walks away with his friends.

It's really not that serious folks. Truly it's not.


Thursday, July 5, 2012

Who's The Boss

Yesterday I worked the rare day shift at the bar. Since it was the 4th of July I figured that I was in for a slow day. Instead I got a lively shift full of a variety of rotating tourists and one asshole. Why an asshole? Read on.

These two guys come in and order two of the personal pitchers of Bass. About a half hour later, one of the guys. Alls me over and complains that his beer was warm. Now mind you, he's doing this AFTER the beers were finished. Now I know I've been bartending for a little more than a year but I've worked in a bar since 1995. No way am I falling for that. Here's how it played out:

Him: Hey, our beer was warm.

Me: No it wasn't. If it was warm you would have complained about it when you first tasted it.

It was warm when we finished it.

When you order a beer that big and take a half hour to finish it (after I looked and pointed at the clock) it's going to end up warm.

I thought the person who paid was the boss.

Ok, this is where I get irked. It's this mentality as with "The Customer Is Always Right" mentality that people have that pisses me off. It's just not true.

That's not true. Want to know why?


Because at home I always pay and I'm not the boss

To that I just smile at him and he just sits there quietly. Guess I struck a nerve on Mr. Who Pays is the Boss

You want two more beers?

He puts up two fingers with nothing else said. What else could he say. Jackass.