Here We Are - You Have to Laugh

 

Take a Break From the Daily Doom and Gloom (AKA "the News")

 I was looking for info (years on the air) for the old TV show Dharma and Greg the other day and decided to watch a couple of episodes. 

This is a thoroughly delightful series. No violence, superb writing, great comedic timing, and just plain entertaining. Dharma (flower child), Greg (lawyer), Dharma's parents, Larry (old hippie), and Abby (free spirit), Greg's parents, Edward (CEO), Kitty (socialite) are the characters but they are really caricatures of themselves.

The juxtaposition of conservatives and liberals in the context of two diametrically opposed families brought together through marriage is the basis for some hilarious situations. Dharma's father, Larry, is so serious in his denigration of republicans, the wealthy, the police and the government (he's almost a right-wing liberal, if that makes any sense). 

Greg's parents are so stereotypically a white privileged classist couple. Dharma and Greg are always trying to get their parents on the same page, but it is nearly impossible.

So much of the dialogue and humor is still relevant today. However, I think, we unfortunately lack the humor nowadays.

Watching more episodes is on my TO DO list. Hope you enjoy the show as much as I do. Link to full series:

https://youtu.be/QA6D79_7IXQ

Finally Discovering My Drag Personna (?)

A couple of weeks ago I recommended “From Scratch” on Netflix as we enjoyed it a lot. So we also recommended it to our neighbors, Susanne and Larry. They really liked it.

But over coffee Sunday, Susanne made a comment that took me off guard.

I should state that I have never been confused about my gender (I came out as gay rather late in life but definitely identified as male).

Susanne happened to mention that the old Sicilian woman/grandma/widow who was Lino’s mother, (Filomena played by Lucia Sardo) reminded her of me!!!

Lucia Sardo as Filomena

Filomena with her son Lino

That is the first time anyone ever told me I reminded them of an old Italian woman. (I'm sure I could have reminded her of Lino 40 years ago. - Leon says I was a real "Guido") But now...I'm a Filomena...

I’m thinking about getting an ankle length black dress and a pair of black low heels. Maybe a shawl too. I'll do drag as Filomena, or maybe Phil O'Meana...and my dream is to be featured on the YouTube channel “Pasta Grannies” …hmmm.

 As far as Old Italian women are concerned, here are my real Italian Grandmas

And my real Italian Grandpas

Road Fatigue? Yeah, That's the Ticket

Please indulge this interlude while I continue to prepare photos from our trip for a future post(s).

I often get TEXT messages from political candidates and the like, usually asking for donations and ending with a notice to text "STOP" if I no longer wish to receive text messages from this group.

So imagine how puzzled I was when we saw this sign on an Interstate Highway, I think it was in Pennsylvania.

 I turned to Leon and asked "Why would you have to text "STOP" at the rest area? And who do you text it to?

I blame it on having spent too many hours on the road.

Fortunately we both had a good laugh at my expense.

MASH-UP: Trump’s al-Baghdadi Speech & Obama’s Bin Laden Speech

I just couldn't resist posting this. It's the first time our so-called president has made me laugh.



 

Sometimes Humor Is The Best Response

All the terrible things that happen since the "gays got married" here:

It Would Be Funny If It Weren't So True

No, it is really funny.

OK, So I'm a Little Less Depressed

Or Among the Former Muscle Boys:
The Very Popular 宫保鸡丁 and  麻婆豆腐
(Kung Po Chicken and Stir-Fried Bean Curd in Chili Sauce) 

I Need Subtitles for Life

I am not a stupid person. I went to college and even managed to get a Master's Degree.

Leon has dyslexia but is probably smarter than me in many ways.

He watches a lot of BBC TV and has no trouble understanding English. I have trouble with Downton Abbey on occasion and once even turned on the closed caption so I wouldn't miss anything.

Leon pointed out this Budweiser commercial and said "It's cute, watch it."

So I did. I said, "Yeah, it is cute. But I didn't get the story. The lady wants to adopt a puppy. The puppy went to say goodbye to the horse. Then the cute guy who had the puppies gives the puppy to the lady. The lady and the puppy drive off with the husband. Then the horses come and attack the car as they're driving off. And the puppy gets out and runs with the horses. I don't get it. The story doesn't make sense. And what are they advertising anyway?"

Leon: "You need subtitles for everything in your life."

I Really Enjoyed This Video - In The Spirit of The Christmas Season - From WestJet Airlines

Thanks to Wicked Gay Blog for this:

Craig's List Humor

Let me know what you think.....

Last week Leon and I posted an add on Craigslist for a futon sofa and futon arm chair.  (As our dog Benni said in his blog, we bought a new couch that we needed like a hole in the head).

Our asking price was $425 for the two solid oak mission style pieces.  As anyone who's done Craigslist knows, people negotiate and haggle.  We expected an offer, but not this.  

First Email: This person expressed an interest and asked if she could buy only the sofa for $100.  

My reply: I replied that $100 was too low, besides, we wanted to sell the two pieces together.  Then the following exchange occurred: (Complete with uncorrected spelling/typos):

On Feb 18, 2013, at 10:41 AM, CTbuyer wrote:

Hi

It i Marisa again.  I really want this.  Let me know if there is a way of negotiating.  Note - I have 2 mission recliners for sale on Craigslist, they are brand new.   Almost 600 plus tax and shipping.  I have only literally sat in one a few times.  Selling them for 450 each.  Too large for my tiny place.  Willing to trade with you one of the recliners - the one I never used if you wont sell for 100.00. Let me know.  On craigslist title is mission recliners.  Photos are in the ad.  They are solid oak.

My reply: Sent: Mon, Feb 18, 2013 10:56 am

Subject: Re: 2 Mission Style Futons - $425 (Bristol)

No thank you; selling as a complete set for price listed;  I will give to charity if I cannot get a serious buyer.

On Feb 18, 2013, at 11:00 AM, CTbuyer wrote:

I am a serious buyer.  You will give to charity and not make a penny vs. make money.  Well if it means anything..............   I have a cat rescue organization.  I do cat rescue and adoptions.  Hey, i am trying.  I really love that futon.  Please consider it.  Let me know how negotiable you are...   if it does not sell as a set you are just getting rid of it?  does not make sense.   You wont do 100 for the sofa?  If not, what are you willing?  Pleasee work with me.  It would go beautiful in my living room, but I already have two recliners I have to sell, I cannot take in your chair.

[Like I will donate it to her cat rescue organization so she can put it in her living room?]

[I'm trying to discourage further discussion here]

My reply: Sent: Mon, Feb 18, 2013 4:28 pm 

Subject: Re: 2 Mission Style Futons - $425 (Bristol)

Complete set only - price is firm.

On Feb 19, 2013, at 11:06 AM, CTbuyer wrote:

So what happens if no one wants to buy it or spend that much money?  Your than just giving it away?   Does not make sense.  Well good luck.  If you look on craigslist you wont find a futon anywhere above 150.   Your futon is gorgeous, and looks good quality, but it is a shame.   if you change your mind, let me know.  I tried negotiating with you.  You should put in your ad, no negotiations.........  it is like a teaser.  Well, there is someone else in (TOWN) that is selling theres for 50.00 so I guess I will go with that, but I really wanted yours being it goes with my furniture.  If I bought your futon, and than you sold your chair separately you could probably make yoru 400 that you are looking for........  Alot of people like mission chairs.......I have them, but mission futon chair........... there is a ton of them on craigslist.  

[this woman cannot take a hint, and I had another reply from someone willing to pay full price, so this was my reply]

Sent: Tue, Feb 19, 2013 12:01 pm

Subject: Re: 2 Mission Style Futons - $425 (Bristol)

IT'S BEEN SOLD AT THE PRICE I ASKED - NOW LEAVE ME ALONE

[but it didn't end there]

On February 19, 2013 5:24:11 PM EST CTbuyer wrote:

wow, glad I did not give you my money.  YOU ARE A PRICK!

RUDE SON OF A BITCH. FUCK OFF.

[My bitch side got the better of me and I couldn't help replying, stooping to her level and suggesting she look in the mirror...I don't know if there was more as I blocked any further emails from her]

Exchanging Valentines in the Age of Frugality

Leon mentioned that he was at the pharmacy and had planned to buy me a Valentine but by the time he picked up some other items it slipped his mind.  So much for romance!

I told him I'd been at the pharmacy the other day and had actually picked out a card but there were ten people at the checkout and, well, I am not a patient person.  Given that the card was priced at $4.99, the decision to put it back on the rack was easy.  So much for romance!

The interesting thing, as I told Leon, was that I had found a card suitable for two men and whether that was the intent or not, it worked for me.

We decided to go back to the pharmacy and do our usual temporary shopping routine, only with photos: we would pick out and exchange Valentines right there, take some photos of the event, return the cards to the rack, walk out and put the $10 we just saved toward a dinner out.

Now, as I said, this is not a new tactic for us.

I started this kind of "shopping" years ago when we would go to KMart or other big box store.  I would put things into the shopping cart - a nice jersey with a breast pocket, two new folding beach chairs, a waffle maker, some new bath towels, whatever.

We would continue walking around the store shopping.

Then I'd say something like, "I really don't care for the color of that jersey and for that price I can do better.  I'll wait till it goes on sale." Then we'd walk back to the Mens Dept. and put the jersey back on the rack.

And then I would get to thinking and comment, "Gee, we already have some perfectly good beach chairs, do we really need to spend $45 on two more?  We'd walk over and put them back.  Then I'd make some excuse for the waffle iron and the bath towels and they'd go back on the shelf too.

We'd walk out of KMart without buying anything and go out for pizza.  It was a perfectly good shopping trip and very satisfying.  And I think I enjoyed the pizza so much more as a result.

Now we've never done this with greeting cards, but it makes perfect sense.  After all, what do you do with a card once you open it and read it?  Put it on the credenza for a few days?  Toss it in a drawer?  Throw it away? This way, we have a nice photo and a lasting sentiment.

OK, here's the card I chose for Leon:

And here's the card he chose for me:

This one was also a contender in the M4M category, a bit more sentimental and meaningful; probably the one I like best:

And we're looking forward to dinner out tomorrow evening.  Nothing fancy mind you, we only saved ten bucks.

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY HONEY!

Restaurant vs Home Cooking

Home Cooking

OK, so we saw this restaurant "Le Louis XV" on Giada's TV program, I'm not even sure of the name of her new program - probably something like Independently Wealthy Perky Breasted Food Network Star Eats Her Way Around Europe Without Gaining An Ounce.

So we thought we'd jet over to Monte Carlo next month and check it out.

We checked out their website, and unfortunately they're closed from February 19th through March 6th - the only time we could have possibly gotten away.

Oh, well, here's what we'll be missing - and just for your information the current exchange rate for Euros is 1€ = $1.35.

Makes Mama Leone's 1962 Gold Standard Shine

Fly on the Wall in the Oval Office on November 29, 2012

Mittsy: Oh, Barackie, can I sit in the Chair?

President Obama:  Please don't call me Barackie.  Only Michelle can call me Barackie.  And NO, you cannot sit it the Chair.

Mittsy: Oh, come on, Barack, no one will know.  We're behind closed doors.  It's been my dream.  That's the only reason I accepted your invitation.  Please, please, pretty please.

President Obama:  Look, Mitt.  I won, and the Chair is mine and I can't let you sit in it.  But if you must, I'll just stand over here and give you a minute or two to TALK TO IT.  You and Clint can compare notes.

Mittsy:  Oh, Barack, you are cruel.  Are you sure that the turkey chili we're having for lunch isn't made with crow?

Another Provincetown Story - The Three Hour Tour

Ptown Harbor And Cape Cod Bay
Viewed From The Boat Slip in Ptown

ANOTHER PROVINCETOWN STORY

(c) Frank DeFrancesco 2012

(A fictionalized account based on actual events.  The names have been changed, or have they? etc….)

            We had arrived at Coastal Acres, the only campground within walking distance of Provincetown around mid-morning on the day after Labor Day.  We spent an hour or more setting up camp and making it homey and comfortable for the two weeks we’d be there. My partner, Leon and I always vacationed in September because, as we told our friends, September at the Cape was the best time of the summer.  Not only were there fewer tourists, but children were back at school and the weather, barring a hurricane, was usually spectacular.

            We had met many nice people at the campground over the years; many were seasonals or September regulars, and a few were friends we got together with off-season as well.  Sebby DeVito was one of the seasonals who had a large RV, a truck, a boat, a motorcycle and other toys he could not afford.  Sebby would never admit it, but his boyfriend Kyle contributed more than his share of the expenses, even though he did not always share in the fun.

            Whenever we were in Ptown, Sebby would get Leon to help him with some maintenance chore or other, like getting his boat out of the bay when a storm was approaching; or helping dump his holding tank; or cleaning the carpet in his camper; or driving his drag personna through town in a convertible to the tune of Where The Boys Are.

            During this particular September, the long-term weather report looked good and Sebby’s boat was still in the water.  Now you must know that in all the years we knew Sebby, we had been invited to go boating with him three times at most.  So when he came over to ask if we wanted to go for ride, we jumped at the chance.  It’s not often we get out on a boat of any kind and even though Sebby’s was a fishing boat and didn’t have very comfortable seating – well, a boat ride, is a boat ride.  So we said, “Sure.”

            We walked and fed the dog and left him in the camper with instructions to the neighbor to tie him out for a while if he got to squealing and whining.  “We should be back in a few hours, so he shouldn’t be a problem,” we assured them.  It was just after two o’clock when Sebby, Kyle, Lee and I headed out to the marina.  It was an absolutely gorgeous day as September days often are on the Cape.

            “I was thinking of going down to Wellfleet harbor to check out some of the other guys’ boats.  It’s about an hour from here.” Sebby said.  We all got into Sebby’s dinghy and rowed out to the “Darling B.” which was moored well beyond the low tide water.  After tying off the dinghy and getting our gear aboard, we finally got underway around three in the afternoon. 

            Kyle and Lee discussed the latest episodes of Doctor Who, I enjoyed the sun, the ocean view and the motion of the boat while Sebby navigated the waters. Someone chimed in with a rendition of the theme song from Gilligan’s Island and all but Sebby joined in.  Sebby was not amused.

            We took a leisurely cruise past Wellfleet then circled back toward the harbor. We arrived at Wellfleet Harbor in a little over an hour and a half.  After tying up the boat, we disembarked and walked around the harbor for a while.  Sebby pointed out all the most luxurious yachts in the marina and made it sound like any one of them would be his when he decided it was time to trade up. 

            I haven’t mentioned that Sebby was a charmer.  He could charm the skin off a snake and then sell it back at profit.  He had gotten more than one entire summer off from work after an injury by consulting with his personal physician who he affectionately referred to as “Doctor Summeroff”. Somehow the broken toe or the back injury didn’t stop him from enjoying the boat or cruising for tricks.

            Sebby would brag about pretending to be an RV repair business and get special deals on camper parts or warrantees.  He had Kyle convinced that he needed this or that, and would get Kyle to put it on his charge card with an empty promise to make the payments.  He always fell back on the concept that partners shared everything, but not necessarily equally.  More like, ‘what’s yours is mine and what’s mine is mine, and what’s ours is mine too.”  So trading up might not be entirely out of the question if he could get Kyle charmed up to it.  Kyle was in debt up to his ears.

            We were all getting a bit hungry so we decided to stop for some fish and chips at the eatery on the dock.  We enjoyed our meal on the dock while we watched the sun over the water turn the sky crimson and gold.  “Red sky at night, sailors’ delight,” said Sebby.  He had a way with words.  Kyle mumbled something like “We need to get going before the tide goes out any further.  This is Wellfleet, you know.”

            Sebby shushed him off with, “Yeah, yeah, we got plenty of time.  I just want to take a look at that forty-footer at the end of the dock.”  We strolled down the dock.  Kyle was getting more upset and gave Sebby another warning.  “Yeah,” Sebby said, making it look like his idea, “I guess we should be going.”

            We boarded Sebby’s fishing boat, he started up the engine and we headed out of the harbor.  Sebby, in all his swagger and charm played the captain well. It was twilight and I had difficulty finding the channel buoys bobbing in the bay.  They were way out there, but I have a little night-blindness and don’t see well in twilight or in the dark, so I trusted in the sharper eyesight of others.

            Kyle reminded Sebby that Wellfleet Harbor and the bay was a virtual maze of shoals and sandbars and other obstructions, “Sebby, make sure we are in the channel. You know that the bottom can change from year to year and there are rocks and there’s even a sunken ship hull out here.”

            “You think I’m stupid?  I’ve been boating out here for years before I met you.  I know what I’m doing.”  Sebby tried to make it a point that HE was the captain of his ship.  We were heading out toward the sunset at a pretty good clip while Lee, Kyle and Sebby were straining their eyes to spot the next marker buoy for the channel.  They all agreed that the channel buoys seemed awfully far apart.

            We spotted a little skiff coming in and Sebby and Kyle flagged him down so he approached us about thirty feet off of our port side.  “Are we on course for the channel?”  Sebby shouted out. 

            “No. You need to head out about forty degrees to port and go until you see the marker number three.  Then you can turn back to your right and out into the bay.”

            “Thanks,” we all shouted back in unison.  Sebby veered off to the left in the direction the guy on the skiff pointed. But before anyone had even spotted the number three marker, Sebby turned the boat sharply toward the right in the direction of Provincetown harbor and gunned the engine.  Lee said, “Sebby, I think you turned too soon.  We should be going that way.”  Lee pointed off to the left.

            “I know what I’m doing.  I’m following the channel,” Sebby replied in a tone that meant he was not about to discuss his decision to turn off the original course.  Lee and I knew from previous experience not to argue the point.  We sat back and tried to enjoy the ride.  We were moving quickly and the boat was thumping against the waves.  There were wisps of clouds on the horizon reflecting the last purple and rose light of evening but the rest of the sky was dark.  A few stars were already visible.

            Like most fishing boats, the Darling B. was equipped with a depth finder which was busily reporting the distance to the bottom of the bay.  “12.5”, “13.0”, “11.5”, “8.5”, “9.0”, “6.5”. We were about three miles out of the marina.  Lee was studying the changing numbers.  Finally he spoke up: “Sebby, the depth finder is saying “5.0” and “5.5” and “4.5” and “3.0” and what does “minus dot minus” mean?”

            “Holy shit!” Sebby exclaimed in his official Captain voice.  He cut the engine just as the boat abruptly halted as it burrowed itself into a sandbar, a section of the infamous Billingsgate Shoal more than three miles off shore.  The boat hesitated briefly then listed to the right.  Sebby looked defeated.

           

            Sebby and Kyle immediately went into George and Martha mode.  “Didn’t I say the tide was going out?  And you should know that’s a big deal at Wellfleet, especially at sundown.  But you’re the big know-it-all Captain who doesn’t know shit.  You turned way too soon. Now you’ve got us all stuck out here in the friggin’ dark”, Kyle attacked Sebby with every accusation he could think of.

            “I went the way that guy said.  He was the one who was wrong.  I shouldn’t have listened to him.  I was on the right course to begin with,” Sebby tried lamely to defend his position.  “So now it’s my fault.  You think you know how to navigate?  You don’t know anything about navigation.  I’ve taken the course.  I’m certified.”

            “A whole lot of good that does us.  I’ve been sailing boats since I was eight and I know this harbor.  You’ve got to follow the channel way out beyond the shoal, Kyle retorted.  “You do this all the time, Sebastian.  You are so fucking stubborn and won’t listen to anyone.  That’s why I didn’t say anything – I wanted the responsibility for this to be all yours.  Maybe you’ll learn that you don’t know it all.” 

            Kyle was livid.   Sebby was obstinate.  Lee and I were quiet.  We decided that getting into the middle of this would get us nowhere.  I noticed that there were iridescent sea creatures that glowed eerily in the shallow waters off of Cape Cod.  Something I never knew.  The knowledge of these creatures would make this whole fiasco worth living through, I was certain.

            We were in shorts and t-shirts.  There was a breeze and the day’s heat was quickly dissipating as it usually does on September nights.  Sebby attached the removable plastic windshield around the cabin to keep us from shivering.  We had cell phones and someone suggested calling the Coast Guard.

            “Like that’ll do us any good.” I said.  “How would they get to us and even if they could, they wouldn’t be able to get us out of here until the tide comes in anyhow.”

            “You’re right,” Kyle said.  “We’ll just have to wait it out.”

            “Our dog is in the camper.  We’ve never left him for this long.  Can we call someone at the campground to take him out to pee?” Lee asked.

            “I’ll give Dave a call. I’m sure he won’t mind,” Kyle said.

            Sebby just sulked and tried to look captain-like. The tide sloshed against the sides of the boat and slowly lifted the Darling B.  It must have been three or four hours until the tide was high enough and the keel was free of the of the sandbar.  Sebby started the engine and put the boat in motion.  He slowly eased us into deeper waters and finally listened to some advice from Kyle and Lee about the best course to get back into the channel.  He did this to avoid a mutiny.

            We got into the open waters of the bay and headed toward Provincetown.  Pilgrim Monument, the tallest structure in Ptown was lit and visible.  Sebby headed toward it.  But Kyle reminded our illustrious “certified” Captain that Long Point, the narrow stretch of the peninsula that juts out into the bay and was between us and the harbor. “Sebby, if we head straight toward the Monument we’ll be beached on Long Point before we see the harbor.”

            Sebby, heeding Kyle's warning, successfully navigated around the point and into Provincetown harbor.  We moored the boat, took the dinghy back to the shore in front of the Boat Slip - the hotel and club noted for its daily T-Dance.  The place was quiet at twelve-thirty AM as we made our way back to camp.

            The next morning I went into town and found a place mat at one of the souvenir shops.  It depicted a navigation and ocean depth chart of Cape Cod Bay and Wellfleet Harbor.  I couldn’t resist.

            I presented the gift to Sebby and suggested that he put it on the dining table and study it each morning while sipping his coffee, so the his next “three hour tour” doesn’t get stranded for twelve.  Sebby was not amused.

Walkway To The Moorings Near The Boat Slip Hotel
Ptown

           

           

           

            

A Provincetown Story

A PROVINCETOWN STORY

(c) Frank DeFrancesco, 2012

(based on actual events - the names have been changed, etc....)

            Ronnie was not the sharpest blade in the kitchen – nor the gayest either. His unpredictable antics could irritate the hell out of you.  For example, if you asked him to check on your house while you were on vacation, you’d come home to find all the appliances unplugged including the ones like the VCR or coffee maker with clocks and timers. If you hadn’t noticed what he’d done you might wait twenty minutes for a piece of toast which would never pop up, then you’d take the name of the Lord in vain while you went around the house to reset and re-program all the various electronics that were now flashing “12:00 am”.

            Ronnie had a boyfriend for many years before I knew him but after the guy died suddenly Ronnie never really connected with anyone else.  He didn’t date guys and only rarely met guys for sex.  He always said he only liked to do it in the shower to make sure the other guy was clean.  

            Ronnie had a roommate when I knew him.  I don’t recall his roommate’s name, but Ronnie called him “Skank” because he supposedly never used soap to shower.  Ronnie refused to use the same washing machine as Skank so instead of washing clothes at home, Ronnie would go down to the strip mall to the Laundromat to do his clothes.  I guess he thought strangers were less “skanky” than Skank.

            I’d gone to Provincetown with my partner probably once or twice each summer when Ronnie was around so he’d heard me talk about the East Coast’s gayest town more than once.  He was just this side of forty but had never been there, even though he had a Lesbian cousin who lived in PTown with her girlfriend. 

            I guess Ronnie finally concluded it was time to see what Provincetown was all about and so one weekend he decided he would venture out on his own and visit his cousin Lu for an overnight stay. 

            Lu said, “See ya when you get here.”

            It’s about a five-hour drive by car from Ronnie’s house to Commercial Street but he wasn’t sure his old clunker would make the trip without breaking down again. It was always something with that old car – a fan belt, a muffler falling off, a clogged fuel filter, a burned out headlight.  Besides he wasn’t too good with maps and GPS hadn’t been invented yet. He decided to “leave the driving to bus”.

            So there was Ronnie, standing at the ticket window at the local Greyhound station at six-forty-five AM on a bright summer Saturday morning with an overnight bag hoping to catch an early bus to Provincetown.

            “One round-trip to PTown, please” Ronnie requested of the woman behind the glass.

            “So, where’s dat juh wanna go, hun?  I ani’t got no bus to no Pee-Town.”

            “Well.  My friends always call it PTown.  I think they call it PTown for short.  It’s like Providencetown or something. It’s near the ocean.”

            “We got a bus leaving for Providence at eleven - fifteen.  That’s the only thing I’s got listed here, hun.  You wanna ticket to Providence?

            “Yeah, thanks.  Sounds good.  What time does it get there?”

            “You got a few stops between here and there then a short lay up in Springfield and then on to Providence.  It should get you there around 1:35 this afternoon. Here you go.  That’ll be $30.  The bus starts boarding at eleven.  That’s about three hours from now hun, so relax on over to the snack bar.  Have a nice time, hun”. 

            Ronnie was disappointed about having to wait more than three hours, but he was committed and it was now or never.  He passed the time as the ticket lady said, “over to the snack bar” with the morning paper, a pack of Kools and a few cups of coffee.

            It was one of those spectacular New England summer days: the blue of the sky was deep and cloudless and the morning sun was gently warming up the day.  Ronnie was finally going to PTown. 

            The bus began boarding as scheduled but was more than half empty when it left the station. An older couple got on at the first stop, then a few guys boarded in Worcester and Ronnie thought they looked gay.  “Nice,” Ronnie thought as he admired the young men, then closed his eyes and enjoyed the soothing hum of the diesel engine and the highway.

            When the bus pulled into the Providence Rhode Island Bus Terminal, it was just past 1:35 PM and, Ronnie thought, still early enough to see this gay town and have some fun.

            Lu had told him that she lived on one of the side streets off Commercial.  He had it written down somewhere. Ronnie disembarked and looked around.  Somehow it wasn’t quite what he had expected, but “Well,” he thought, “nothing is ever how you expect it to be based on what people say.”  So Ronnie decided to wander around a bit and, if necessary, ask directions to 29 Mayflower Street.

            After nearly an hour, Ronnie began to feel lost and confused.  There was the bus station right off the highway, a huge cemetery and a baseball park and a neighborhood a little farther down.  He kept walking. He didn’t see many obviously gay men or Lesbians or many people other than those taking busses.  There were no T-shirt shops, or souvenir shops or people who looked like they might be going to the beach.  He didn’t see Commercial Street anywhere.  He got the feeling that maybe he was in the wrong place after all but decided to walk a little further.  Finally, he emerged from his state of denial and asked a passer-by “I’m looking for Mayflower Street, it’s off of Commercial Street. Can you tell me how to get there?

            The stranger replied with a mixture of amusement and pity, “Oh, buddy, I don’t think that’s anywhere around here.  There’s a Commercial Street way across town, and I think there’s a Mayflower Street around here somewhere, but are you sure that’s where you want to go? 

            “Well, is this, like, PTown, isn’t it? I came to visit my cousin in Ptown.”

            “Sorry fella, you’re not in PTown.  This is Providence, Rhode Island.  You want Provincetown, Massachusetts. It’s out on Cape Cod, you know.”

            “Yeah, yeah, thanks, guy. Yeah, Cape Cod, I know.”  But that was not exactly what he was thinking.  The day was slipping away.

            So it was a long walk back to the Providence Rhode Island Bus Terminal to hop a bus to Provincetown, Massachusetts. By now it was already nearly three o’clock.  Ronnie thought, “I won’t be coming back here, so I guess I should get a one-way ticket.”            Ronnie approached the ticket window.  “Could I get a one-way ticket on the next bus to Provincetown, Massachusetts, please?”

            “Our bus line doesn’t go to Provincetown, the best I can do is get you to Hyannis.  Too bad, the bus just pulled out.  There’s another one in two hours, leaving at four-fifty-five.  Arriving in Hyannis at six-fifty-five.  Is that OK?”

            Ronnie thought,  “I’ve come this far, why not?”  And to the ticket guy, “Yeah, that’ll be fine.”

            “Thirty dollars, please.”

            Four fifty-five. Another two hour wait.  Ronnie’s second bus trip today would put him in Hyannis, Massachusetts at almost seven PM.

            The trip out to Hyannis was uneventful but boring.  The bus stopped at various non-descript “bus stations” - town greens, donut shops, strip malls to pick up or drop off passengers along the way.  Driving would have been quicker, even if he got lost.

            When Ronnie arrived in Hyannis he realized he hadn’t considered how he would get to PTown from there.  “Now, how do I get to Provincetown from here?” Ronnie asked himself.  “Well, it can’t be that far.  I’ll just call Lu and have her pick me up.”  He found the nearest pay phone and dialed Lu’s number.

            The phone rang and rang.  No answer.  He hung up.  He couldn’t come up with another plan.  He dialed Lu’s number again.  He let the phone ring longer this time.  Finally he heard someone pick up on the other end.

            “Hello, what daya want? and why ya calling this late?”  Ronnie looked at his watch.  It was just past seven.  It was Dandi, Lu’s handicapped, or disabled, or physically challenged partner, Ronnie wasn’t sure which adjective to use, on the line, not Lu. 

            “Dandi, it’s Ronnie, is Lu there?”

            “Where else would she be, stupid?  Of course she’s here.”  Dandi was not in a good mood.  Dandi was hardly ever in a good mood.

            “Well, can I speak to Lu, please?”

            “Probably not.  She was really feeling shitty today, so she took a couple of sleeping pills and went to bed early.”

            “Could you please try to wake her?  Please, Dandi, I’m kind of stranded here, in Hyannis.”

            “Hang on to your shorts, shorty.  I’ll see if I can get her to the phone.”

            Minutes passed.  The operator demanded “another ninety-five cents, please.”  Ronnie fumbled through his jeans pocket.  Luckily, every time he’d bought a coffee or a pack of cigarettes earlier that day, he’d paid with dollar bills and had a pocket full of change.  He put three quarters and two dimes into the slot.

            “Hey, Ronnie?  What’s the problem?  It was a very groggy Lu on the other end. “I just took some pills to help me sleep.  Jeeze, couldn’t you have called earlier? 

            “Lu, I’m in Hyannis.  It took me all day to get here.  There is no bus out of here tonight.  I can’t get there and I can’t go home. Can you come, pick me up?”

            “Jeeze, Ronnie.  You haven’t changed a bit since we were kids.  Still needing me to get your ass out of the campfire.  Do you know how far it is to Hyannis from here?  On a good day, it would take me an hour.  And that’s without Dandi yelling at me to slow down.  You know Dandi can’t drive, but she’s going to have to come with me, to keep me awake.  I’m going to have to fight off the pills to bail your ass out of Hyannis.  Where exactly are you, anyway?”

            “I’m on Route 28, at a strip mall near where the bus dropped me off.  There’s a Shell Gas Station and across the street there’s a coffee and donut shop.  That’s where I’m at now.”

            “OK.  I’ve been through there many times.  I know the Shell Station and that donut shop.  Sit tight.  I’ll come get you.”

            “Thanks, Lu.”  Ronnie knew not to say much more at that point.

            “Yeah, no sweat.  What I don’t do for family.  If you weren’t gay, I’d just tell you to go fuck off.”

            By the time the two Lesbians had filled a thermos with hot coffee and gotten Dandi’s wheelchair into the van – Dandi refused to go anywhere without her chair - it was almost eight o’clock. Lu helped Dandi into the van and Dandi kept shaking Lu to be sure she was awake enough to drive.

            “I’m OK.  I can drive.”  Lu was barely convincing. 

            Halfway to Wellfleet, Lu began to nod off.  Dandi screamed, “Wake up.”

            “I can’t.  I’m going to pull over and take a rest.”  Lu wisely decided.

            Thirty minutes later, Dandi grabbed Lu’s arm and shook her hard.  “LuLu, can you drive now?”

            Lu came to - enough to shake off sleep for a minute and start the engine.  They pulled out onto Route 6 again and headed for Orleans.  At the Orleans traffic circle, Lu missed the off ramp for 28.  She had to go around the round-about again.

            “I’d better pull off and take another break before I kill us both.”  Lu declared with somewhat slurred speech.  She pulled into Frankie’s Fish and Chips and parked as far from the restaurant as she could.  Her head went limp and Dandi put her head back and closed her eyes.  It was after nine.

            The flashlight through the driver’s side window woke Dandi first.  She elbowed Lu hard.  “Lu, wake up.  Get it together quick, it’s a cop.” 

            Lu, struggled to wake up.  Everything was a blur.  Dandi repeated, “It’s a cop, wake up.”  Something about the word “cop” counteracted the effect of the drugs Lu took earlier.

            “Yeah, I’m here!” she declared as she hit the down button for van window.”

            “Are you ladies OK?” the Officer Murphy inquired,  “You can’t park here when the establishment is closed.”

            “Oh, sorry.  We just pulled in here earlier to grab a bite to eat, then decided to just shut my eyes for a few minutes,” Lu fabricated.  What time IS it anyway?”

            “It’s ten-thirty, ladies.  The restaurant closed at nine-thirty.  I should do a sobriety test, but you didn’t break any laws as far as I can tell, and I’m not smelling alcohol, so I’ll just let you be on your way.  I’m going to follow you up the road for a few miles to be sure your driving is up to snuff.”

            “Oh, thanks officer, sorry about troubling you.”  Lu said.  She drove off, slowly but soberly enough to satisfy Officer Murphy.

            It took Lu another forty-five minutes to get to Hyannis and by some miracle, Lu found the Shell gas station, and the coffee shop, which was just about to close for the night, and her cousin Ronnie who had gotten tanked up on caffeine over the best part of four hours. 

           

            Ronnie offered to drive as he was now more awake than Lu had been all day.  Lu passed out in the back.  Unfortunately, Ronnie didn’t know where he was headed and Dandi was no help.  By the time Ronnie found Route 6 East – the "fast" way back to Provincetown - he had toured a good part of the mid-Cape and chalked up about an hour of extra driving. They pulled into Mayflower Street just after one AM.

            Dandi was grouchy and exhausted and insisted that Lu help her get ready for bed.  Lu, who hadn’t completely metabolized the sleeping pills she took earlier that evening, wasn’t far behind. 

           

            Lu came out of the bathroom, pointed to a ratty couch and said, “You can sleep there, cuzin.  Just don’t go out or the door will lock behind you.  And I’m NOT getting out of bed to let you in.”

            When Lu finally rolled out of bed in the morning it was almost eleven o’clock.  The sun was heating up the day quickly and townies ands tourists alike had already been spilling onto Commercial Street in search of breakfast and t-shirts.  Ronnie was hungry too, but had been too afraid of going out and being locked out of the apartment.

            All Lu could manage to say was, “Ronnie, if you walk down Mayflower you’ll come to Commercial.  You can get yourself breakfast.  And you should stop at the bus station on the wharf to check the bus schedule.  I don’t think there are too many outgoing on Sunday as most of the weekly tourists leave on Saturdays.  Hope you had a good time.”

            Ronnie hardly had time to grab a coffee and check the bus schedule before he was boarding the Transit Authority bus for Boston where he would get a whistle-stop excursion home.  If he was lucky, it would still be Sunday and daylight when he arrived.  

American Accents - A Little Humor

My buddy Russ at Blue Truck Red State recently posted a comedy sketch about Southern accents vs Northern accents.  Apparently Southerners think the comedy routine was hilarious.  I didn't get it.  But it made me think of Greg and Donny who do comedy sketches about the Piksberg accent.

For Northerners, there is but one Southern accent - most of us can't readily tell the difference between a Texas twang and a Mississippi drawl.   Or is it a Texas drawl and a Tennessee twang?

Up north, especially in the Northeast, there are almost as many accents are there are neighborhoods.  Lung I-land, Brwooklyn, Bahston, New Yawk, Na Hamsha, Haaartferd, etc.

Now here are Greg and Donny.  I don't know why I think they are a stitch, perhaps because they're just so real - and Donny is SO cute.



 And one more.

 Go to YouTube to see more.