
It’s been pretty quiet around here lately, so I’ll try not to disturb the peace. It’s not like I have a way to drum up something interesting anyway. So, let’s get on with the routines then.
We did the Decay Dance candy handouts on Sunday since Swan was otherwise occupied on Saturday. Hey, candy is always dandy on any day of the week!





For our Sunday evening out on the town, I surprised Swan with a rare visit to the rooftop of the Central Park Reef hotel.








But we came for the views and got what we came for, so I’m not going to bitch and moan about the prices. Much.








Then we followed our more normal Sunday routines, with a visit to Red Bar and, later, a nightcap at Jumpin’ Jacks. For the first time ever, Swan agreed to play pool with one of the waitresses, and she did surprisingly well for a beginner. Good job, girl!
And that was how we scrambled through another Sunday.
Twelve years ago, I was holding court with Kevin Kim in Itaewon:

Continuing through the November 2018 LTG archives, I was taken back to another one of those otherwise forgotten moments in time. A waitress friend at Treasure Island got fired for keeping a tip in contravention of the policy that tips are shared. I prefer to tip the person serving me, but rules are rules. Then TI upped the ante by refusing to supply the waitress a “certificate of employment” showing that she had worked there. This meant the job she was seeking on a cruise ship wouldn’t happen because she couldn’t prove the requisite experience. It is also a violation of the Philippines labor law. So, I intervened on her behalf, which made things worse until I threatened to hire a lawyer for her. Yeah, lots of drama, but in the end it worked out. She got the certificate, got the cruise ship job, met an Aussie bloke there, got married, and is happily living in the land down under. It also led me to change my American-style tipping habits. For some reason, my “friend” Jerry didn’t like me anymore, but that happens a lot these days.
Today’s YouTube video talks about ten things parents did in the 70s that would be considered child abuse today. My childhood was primarily in the 60s, and my folks did all of these, well, except for the having me buy beer. I spent many hours riding in the back of a 1958 Jeep pickup truck, staying home alone while mom and dad worked, and doing wild shit on the streets of town, with the only caveat being to get home before darkness fell. Yep, the good ol’ days.
And now for the funny business:



Alrighty, then. I’ve got a Hash to attend to. And tomorrow, we’ll be doing our monthly get-out-of-town journey; this time to the ocean at San Narciso. So at least I’ll have something different to write about here for a change.