Old age comes with its aches and pains, but it also provides a lifetime of memories to look back on. In many ways, this blog has become the story of my life. As I’ve been journeying through the archives, I often come upon a post that reminds me of events I’d otherwise have forgotten. One of these days, I hope to gather the best of these stories in a book on the off-chance that someday, somewhere, someone will ask, “Who was that guy?” Hey, it could happen, even if it is in the form of don’t be like that guy. We shall see.
The story of yesterday isn’t that special, but I was still glad to live it. We kicked it off as usual with the Decay Dance, but since we still had candy left at the end of our regular route, we extended the journey another couple of kilometers.
So, the big news for our Saturday night was an invitation for Swan to join in a “’70s night” event at the Palm Tree Resort. There is some history involved that makes the story a little more interesting. Swan used to be the hotel receptionist, and her now-deceased former boyfriend, Allan, managed the upstairs bar/restaurant. That’s where I met them both, as I was a semi-regular (weekly) visitor at Palm Tree. I don’t know the circumstances, and I’m not passing judgment, but when Allan died, Swan did not receive the compensation she felt entitled to. After I began my relationship with Swan, she was boycotting Palm Tree, so I haven’t visited there for a couple of years now. I was a bit surprised when Swan accepted the invite and asked me to attend with her. I guess it was more about reconnecting with her former co-workers. So, I got to revisit one of my old favorite haunts last night.
The Palm Tree gathering was scheduled to commence at 7:30, which is close to when I usually finish my night out. What to do? Well, we started a little later, and I paced myself. We decided we’d arrive at 6 and eat, then take it from there. On our way to Palm Tree, I suggested we take a break from the walk in the air-conditioned Gold Bar.
Then we crossed the highway, hit the ATM, and climbed the stairs to the bar/restaurant at Palm Tree.
I moved to the bar and let the gals enjoy their reunion. There was a DJ, and he was playing the classic rock tunes suitable for the occasion. And then some dancing broke out.
Palm Tree has long been noted for its fresh-baked breads. From the bar, I had a clear view of the kitchen and saw the work in progress.
So, that extra hour last night didn’t faze me, though I did have some leg pain this morning. I think that just comes with being elderly.
With gas prices continuing to rise, trike drivers are looking for cheaper solutions:
So, Lucky can’t talk, but he’s already told me this in his own way several times:
Fifteen years ago, I’d just moved into the house I bought in South Carolina.
From the May 2018 LTG archives, I’m one week into my new life in the Philippines. Throwing some awesome darts, meeting new women, and discovering the joys and pitfalls of small-town living. And I wouldn’t have remembered meeting MJ but for this post. I don’t know why or what happened, but we never connected and then one day she just disappeared from Barretto. Maybe she met that “rich” foreigner she’d been looking for. John and Mango wound up getting married. Sadly, John was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease and it progressed to the point of being totally disabling. I understand he moved to Mango’s province and she and her family are taking care of him there. And life goes on, until it doesn’t.
I don’t even think about it anymore, but you don’t flush toilet paper in the Philippines. My housekeeper empties the bathroom trash bin daily, so it’s not as gross as it could be. Anyway, today’s YouTube video explains why toilets work (or don’t) the way they do here.
Now, for some shitty humor:
And that’s all I’ve got for today.
I was born in 1969 and lived through the 70s as well, but my first real memories of the 70s come from around the time of Star Wars (1977). I had puppy-love crushes on some of my female classmates in elementary school (I remember Carol Miller and Melinda Chambers, both brown-eyed brunettes), and finished sixth grade in 1981. I was a straight-A student all four quarters of sixth grade, and I’d gotten third place in the regional spelling bee (I misspelled “muumuu”; the winner, Meghan Hanrahan, correctly spelled the absurdly easy “aerotrain”). Despite the loss, I was riding high. Then along came junior high in a school for the gifted, and I got my first-ever C in anything. Sucked. Especially with an aghast Korean mom looking at my report card.
Anyway, the 70s to me meant fishbowl haircuts for my half-Korean hair, family picnics at various parks, weird paisley patterns on clothing, big collars, huge glasses, bell-bottom jeans, a lot of corduroy tops and bottoms, and various 70s-era cartoons and TV shows, including from horror movies that gave me nightmares.
Now that I spend so much time reviewing movies, I think the 70s were a time when Hollywood was way less politically correct and had more balls, but at the same time, it was a reflection of some ugly societal conflicts and prejudices. Also, it was just before the 80s, the real era of Lucas and Spielberg, which is when cinema really started to up its game with tighter editing, pacing, sound, and visual effects. That said, the 70s produced some amazing movies, like THX-1138 (1971—George Lucas at his most creative), The French Connection (1971), The Exorcist (1973, and both directed by William Friedkin), Star Wars (1977), and—as I found out years later when I finally saw it—the utterly incredible Deliverance (1972), which holds up even today. If you’ve never seen Deliverance, I highly, highly, highly recommend it. I’m surprised I haven’t reviewed it on the blog, but it’s easily one of my absolute favorite movies, and it definitely cements the idea that, in the 70s, Hollywood had big, massive balls. I’m pretty sure that people like Quentin Tarantino agree, which is why so many Tarantino films are 70s callbacks in terms of music and ambience.
I much prefer the 70s for nostalgia than the awful 80s, a decade I’d like to forget—the feathered and over-sprayed hairdos, the awful synth-pop music, the pastel Polo shirts and sweaters worn over the shoulders and knotted on the chest. A shame, too, because some of my favorite personal moments come from the 80s, but the decade taken as a whole was garbage. It amazes me that some people these days pine for the 80s. Jesus Christ.
Well, I hope the 70s celebration was fun.
Oho! I wrote:
I had puppy-love crushes on some of my female classmates in elementary school (I remember Carol Miller and Melinda Chambers, both brown-eyed brunettes), and finished sixth grade in 1981.
Spot the error! I’m not exempt from criticism, either.
Shalom, John, shalom!
Greetings to you my old friend. I trust your bank account is healthy and fit? Otherwise the living is just bupkis. Good to see you have the sunlight on your face. Free vitamin D is nothing to be scoffed at. Sad to see Swan did not get her entitlements, but next time she must hire a lawyer, a good one, not some schmuck out for a quick buck.
As for me I have been blekhedikh, but don’t worry, my doctor will extract the plasma from my blood for rejuvenations.
Zei gezunt!
Goldberg, I’m doing alright for an old man, financially and health-wise, thank you.
Swan doesn’t have a legal case; she just wanted the owners to do the right thing. They opted not to do so.
Enjoy your crepe and stay healthy!
Kevin, I assume you mean the comma wasn’t needed, but I like it better with it than without. Just add an “I” before finished and make it two independent clauses.
Kevin, thanks for sharing your memories of the ’70s. It sounds like you had an amazing time. I was 15-25 years old and had a totally different experience, mostly sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll. Two kids by the time the ’80s arrived.
Shit, I always thought those dresses were spelled “mumu.” And what course, pray tell, did you get a “C” in?
Oh, I saw “Deliverance” and never forgot it. Those dueling banjos and the ass rape are burned into my memory. Quite the story.
I agree, the ’70s were the classic decade, and it’s been pretty much downhill from there ever since. Although that internet thing they came up with is pretty cool. Honestly, it is hard to imagine a life without it. And smartphones.
I think “mumu” may or may not be an accepted Anglo spelling (leaning more toward “not”). The Anglo pronunciation is “moo-moo,” but the native-Hawaiian spelling and pronunciation are “muumuu/mu’umu’u” or “moo-oo-moo-oo.”
I assume you mean the comma wasn’t needed, but I like it better with it than without.
But given how often you use them, you seem to favor compound predicates, unnecessarily comma’ed. We must purge ourselves of these demons.
Kevin, to hell with those demons! Oh, wait. I guess they are already there.