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Say Goodbye to: Pascual "I-285" Perez, an MLB pitcher who had his best seasons with the Montreal Expos and the Atlanta Braves. He was controversial for his antics on the field and his cocaine habit. He ended his career with the NY Yankees. Poor old Pascual was stabbed to death in the Dominican Republic: Pascual Pérez, 55, Dominican baseball player (Atlanta Braves, Montreal Expos, New York Yankees), stabbing.
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After Sandy
This huge city is still still...quiet...though out on my street there is activity...at the tacky Holiday Inn that is adjacent to my building tourists are hunkering about, there is music wafting through the lobby and spilling out onto the street...and there are cabs slowing down in front of it begging for customers. I was out looking for breakfast but there was no Muslim coffee man out there and my corner deli that was open Monday all day wasn't open. Only Dunkin' Donuts up on Fifth Avenue was open so I trudged up there and got some of their watery coffee amidst a bevy of early-morning cops all sluggish and sleepy-eyed heading off to be dropped off on their beats. I am not a big fan of Dunkin' Donuts coffee...my dear friend in Rhode Island tells me it's a Rhode Island-invented company...they love donuts in Rhode Island. I like Rhode Island myself; last time I was there I felt good there and I liked downtown Providence in terms of tightness and atmosphere, but, of course, I had the jitters the whole time I was there and didn't right myself until I got back to good ole Gotham, my hometown now for 43 years...Holy Cripes! how time doth erase all things lovely.
Do I feel bad about being skeptical of Sandy and his/her threat to this city? Nope. Even though I have to admit, he/she did do some bad-ass flooding down in the Battery-Wall Street area; and, yes, the quaint seaside village of Breezy Point almost totally burned to the ground, though I must emphasize, most of the homes out there were flimsy wood structures that once a flame hit them went up PUFF in smoke. The hurricane didn't start the fires, the downed electrical lines started the fire...and the skeptic in me asks, why aren't electrical lines underground by now...why still strung up on poles with transformers that blow up and sparkle plenty when hit by high winds and heavy rains?
The skeptic in me asks why are all of our subway lines still shut down? Not all of the stations flooded...or did they? And why did all of the stations flood in that case? And why are most of the bridges still closed? And did the tunnels all flood?
I just don't trust anybody but my mother, and like B.B. King sang, sometimes I even wonder about her. I blame my mother for my skepticism. I blame her for my cynical nature. Not that my mother was gullible, she wasn't, but she was a worrier. She worried about every damn thing. She got that from her mother who was the number one worrier in the world during her time on the earth. Her mother was the kind of woman who would sit for several minutes at a stop sign worrying about some magical mystery car suddenly appearing from out of nowhere to hurl itself into her if she moved out from the stop sign too quickly. And my mother's mother's mother, too, was a champion worrier, though of all those women, she had the most right to be a worrier experiencing the life she experienced from the time she was born when Lincoln was president until she died peacefully in the 1940s. I grew up just assuming that all women were worriers. Maybe that's why I was so hard to live with for women who tried to love me. I vowed to never worry about one god-damn thing when I was still a dumbass learning adolescent. And I can honestly say I don't remember worrying about anything in my life...nothing...nada...zero. I didn't worry when I got into debt as a young man; I didn't worry when I ended up wrecking my Chevrolet while driving drunk and running off the highway and ending up wreaking havoc through a farmer's peach orchard; I didn't worry when while living in Lubbock, Texas, a tornado hit that city; I didn't worry when while driving my MG through Cajun country and suddenly my headlights went out and left me barrel-assing over a long old Huey Long bridge in the pitch blackness of those Louisiana swamps...and I could go on and on and on with tales that would have the normal person worried as hell, fretting wildly, and calling upon the Big Daddy in the distant sky for salvation.
There's one thing about Dunkin' Donuts coffee served in those Styrofoam containers you don't have to worry about. That watery second-class coffee is gonna stay nice and hot for a long damn time, even though the chemicals oozing out of that Styrofoam, those carcinogens, and into your bloodstream are deadly...hell, people who drink Dunkin' Donuts coffee every damn morning of their lives don't worry about such mild bullshit, do they?
And the 50% of We the People of the USA who are going to vote for that asshole Mitt "the Mormon" Romney, who hasn't really got a worry in the world, ain't worried one damn bit. These are the fools I was reading comments from on Yahoo News who were blaming President Obama for Hurricane Sandy. Yes, they were blaming Sandy on Obama...you know, for perfectly logical reasons like he's provoked God (which God they never say) by being for women's rights to abortions and Adam and Steve marriages and the fact that they truly believe he's a revolutionary Muslim born in Kenya...why you god-damn right God would bring vengeance on We the Backsliding People of the USA because we elected so anti-Christ a man as our President. And, oh yes, I forgot, he's a Black man, too.
I'm on a roll, I know, but, hell, I'm getting fagged (I've had a gay ole time writing this post), so I'm going up in my lofty living room to see if WBAI-FM is back on the air--their studios are down on Wall Street, which according to our elite Lords is going to swing back into gambling action today--so I can hear the USA-traveling Amy Goodman's Democracy Now slant on things...aha, I'm just reading where Chris Hedges is gonna vote for Dr. Jill Stein in the upchucking(coming) election. Good choice, Chris, though she doesn't have an ice cube's chance in hell of ever being president. Want to know my cynical opinion---and I'll give you something to worry about---I have a sneaky feeling old Mitt "the Mormon" Romney's gonna maybe---with the help of Karl Rove, the Koch Brothers, and his Wall Street crooked cronies, like David Bach---beat that Black Muslim anti-Christ son of a bitch and take back the White Man's House and put this country back on that straight and narrow path G.W. Bush had us going down---Hey, Mitt, how 'bout giving us World War III!!!
thehighlycynicalandassholegrowlingwolf
for The Daily Growler
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