So many years ago, I was into Poetry. Actually, decades ago.
Maybe for a year or so I was hooked on Poetry.
I took a Poetry class at Hunter College, during my BA classes (in the 70s).
The teacher was very positive, in a very positive way.
I got hooked, for a while.
Then, today (3/18/22), I found a poem that says, at the end: "Fated to take a chance. For this love I could adore. For this rare and precious moment. And a love forever more."
I don't know what that means.
I started watching a DVD of "Ali," starring Will Smith whom I thought was great.
In the beginning of the movie, Cassius Clay defeats Sonny Liston. During that fight (the first of two), a doctor examined Liston and found his left arm had been separated, at the shoulder, I think it was. And so Clay won after six rounds, as per doctor's rule that Liston could not go on.
Then I watched the real fight on youtube (link second below). The movie presentation looked very much like the real film.
Based on the second link below, clearly, to me, Liston wanted to beat Clay. But Liston couldn't figure out Clay.
Later, Muhammad Ali, assumed another name.
Ali is the greatest. He defeated the US Supreme Court. Here's one version:
As if no one reads what I say.
I can't blame anyone.
I am, out of scope.
No one reads what I write.
After I am dead, someone will appreciate what I have written. I hope they make money.
I was 13, maybe just 14, years of age. Some things, you never forget.
Recently, around that time, I had broken up with my very first girlfriend Eve (not her real name), who was a knockout. She was a few months older. But I was drawn to hotter and flashier girls who had spontaneously appeared in the Brooklyn neighborhood known as Sheepshead Bay.
Eve, a classmate, wanted me back, I was told by a third party.
Problem was, Eve and I never really communicated very well. A third party would often be involved in relaying messages back and forth to Eve and me.
Eve planned a party, allegedly to get us back together--or so I was told. I was not interested in resuming our past relationship. But I went to the party.
During the party, I made out with Eve and another girl (let's call her Kathy) to show to Eve that I did not want to be exclusive with Eve. I was sure that the message was accurately sent.
On the way home, two very older roughnecks attacked me and my friend. We escaped easily. They were drunk.
The next day, three tough and older guys approached me, in the Sheepshead Theater. One guy (Leo, not his name) smacked me in the back of the head and then landed two weak punches to the face. Originally, I felt I had done wrong by making out with Kathy, as Leo had stated. However, I wanted to kill Leo if he would hit me with one more punch. But there was no third puch.
Had there been a third punch, I felt for sure that I would have retaliated and beaten Leo. But, would the other two guys jump on me during the fight? Three vs. one? Unknown ending. Unknown future.
Leo's ire was that I had made out with Kathy the night before at Eve's party. Leo had been connected to Kathy, which I did not know.
Days later, Kathy made Leo apologize to me for attacking me. The apology happened at a confraternity dance. Bewildered, I accepted the apology. Kathy was in charge. I thanked her for that, in my heart, tho I was a bit confused.
Kathy was a pretty and powerful girl. I liked her a lot. But we never really dated, only kissing and hugging on the dance floor when the party lights went out. We had lost contact after Eve's party, as I recall.
That Sheepshead Bay Theater event haunted me for decades. I felt like a punk. That event still haunts me now. But not nearly as much.
It was December of 1968. At Shea Stadium, it was Jets vs Raiders. The winner would progress to the Super Bowl.
The Jets beat the Raiders in the 1968 AFL Championship.
I was there, at Shea Stadium. In the upper decks.
Namath was at the helm, and he was doing well.
But...every time I left the seats to smoke hash in the corridors, and warm up, the Raiders scored. Three times that happened, as I recall.
I was about to leave my seat the fourth time and the BIG tough guys surrounding me said, "Stay the fuck here. You ain't going nowhere. Stay the fuck here. Every time you leave, Oakland scores. Stay the fuck here."
I was ok with staying. I was pretty high anyway.
There was an open field to our left. I think it was third down. The quarterback didn't see the open man. Incomplete pass, in the other way.
Then the Raiders were on a comeback, but a lateral pass ended up in the Jets' hands.
Jets won.
I was congratulated for having stayed in the the seats that I had occupied during the end of the game.
Fans congratulated me, as if I were part of the Jet win scenario.
Jets went on to win the Super Bowl. Amazing!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KPTlkr2upTo
I like James Spader as an actor. He's the star in Boston Legal.
Spader was on Broadway. The show was dated. It was before 2013.
On the way out, with my then-girlfriend next to me (I can't recall if we were making physical contact), I saw Candice Bergen.
Candice smiled at me. Not sure why. Maybe I was hallucinating. But, I didn't think so.
I was shocked. And exhilarated. It was a reality to me.
I will always remember that smile.
I still wonder, was she smiling at me? I think she was.
I was emailing an old girlfriend some weeks ago. During the texted conversation, she said that my darkness had made her unhappy, when we were together (many years ago).
I never knew I was dark. And I certainly didn't realize that my "darkness" had made her unhappy.
I apologized for causing her unhappiness. Via my alleged darkness.
I think that I may have been dark, in retrospect, compared to her. She routinely listened to Public Radio. I could not stand the propaganda.
Clearly her opinion of me, as being dark, was a subjective opinion. But was I dark, objectively? I don't think I'll ever know.
I'm sure no one cares.
Life goes on.
Day by day.
[Could not make this URL link below work. Copy, paste, and listen; if you want to. The "Darkness, Darkness" lyrics are further below. The URL works now, as I type. Absence of automatic link may involve money, methinks.]
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ORSD_u2upP4
Recently, I have been watching the entire "Columbo" series via DVD's. Many of the actors in the early shows (in the 1970s) are dead. Oh well, we all die. Then, what happens? In any event...
Many of the alleged murderers in the show had incriminated themselves, but had not been warned of their right to be silent. Specifically, Columbo never told suspects that "You have a right to be silent..." etc.
Thus, the alleged perpetrators' statements, triggered by Columbo's conversations and accusations, could possibly be eliminated from trial. And so, some of the guilty persons Columbo arrested could go free. Depends on the evidence, of course.
There should be a TV program about what happens after Columbo arrested the alleged murderers, and the trial begins. That could be a show, some guilty, some not guilty.
In any event, if the show I postulated would occur, we'd need a new Columbo, as Peter Falk died over ten years ago. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peter_Falk
Wondering what the years of trial would be? Would need legal experts. I believe all of the murders occurred in LosAngeles, in CA. So CA State (and LA City?) rules would prevail.
Artists can avoid reality, of course.
I follow and support the Children's Life Fund, run by Robert F. Kennedy (RFK), Jr. His father RFK and his uncle, JFK, had great speaking voices. Tonally. RFK, Jr. has some sort of weakness in his voice. Still, he speaks out.
RFK, Jr. has a book about The Real Tony Fauci. I haven't read it yet, but I bought the book. I support the Children's Life Fund.
Sadly, Tony Fauci, of whom I have been disgusted, was born and raised in Brooklyn, NYC, where I still reside. Embarrassing.
See and hear, https://www.corbettreport.com/fauci/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email
How long has Mick Jagger been wearing a wig? Anyone know?
Great comedians like George Burns and Jack Benny and others before and after, wore a hair piece, from my perception. Had they been bald, they would not have succeeded, methinks.
But I don't think the Old Time comedians talked about hair-pieces. As I recall.
Recently, some comedians allegedly used a "weave," whatever that is. Seinfeld? He looks bald lately. Not very pretty. I'd go back to the "weave," if I were he.
I've heard so many people say, "Be in the moment." In other words, don't focus on the past or the future. Focus on NOW. In other words, "Be in the present."
Now, that may be a favorable approach in a number of instances. However, while drinking too much alcohol may be enjoyable "in the moment," excess drinking could have an impact on the next day, or even immediately.
So, while it may feel great to have more alcohol today so as to "be in the moment," there may be a price to pay, tomorrow, in terms of a hangover.
Or maybe sooner.
Suggestion: Do think about drinking too much "in the moment," given the future.
I grew up Catholic. Went to St. Mark's grammar school in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn NYC.
The nuns taught us the sign of the cross. What the sign of the cross involves is using your right hand to touch your forehead, then your heart area, then your left shoulder, and then your right shoulder. It was a sign that indicated we believed in God the Father, his son Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost.
Many decades ago, I was playing baseball in a league and decided to make the sign of the cross when stepping into the batter's box. I'm not sure where I got that idea. But the ritual made me feel much more confident at the plate.
However, my manager said back then, "Don't do that sign of the cross. I'll tell you why."
He never told me why or why not. But I stopped using the sign of the cross as per the manager's directive. Truly, I had felt better using the sign of the cross when I was up to bat. Like God was on my side.
Decades later, now (August 2021), when I watch Major League Baseball (Mets mostly), so many players use the sign of the cross before they are at bat, and especially after getting a hit. Or, after getting a big hit, they might do some sort of gesture that symbolizes thanks to Heaven. OK. Up to them.
But let's say I'm pitching and I give up the winning home run to a batter who uses the sign of the cross, and he crosses home plate while using the sign of the cross or some other sort of thanks to Heaven.
As the pitcher who gave up the home run, I would use a Brooklyn hand sign towards the Heavens, and ask, "WTF? Why did you let him hit a home run off me? WTF?"
Previous paragraph would be a good skit, methinks.
Well, the Dodgers had abandoned Brooklyn and gone to LA, after the 1957 baseball season.
That year, in October, I played in Ebbets Field, as part of a Gravesend Youth Center (GYC) program event. (I can't confirm the date. But it happened.)
I was on the Bantam Team. Ten years old. We played the GYC Grasshopper team which was, on average, one or two years older than us. Big difference. We felt that we were doomed to lose. And we lost.
During the middle of the game, I was sent out to play centerfield. I was not a centerfielder, but there I went. Duke Snider, Willie Mays, and Mickey Mantle all played there. And so many others.
When I arrived in center field, the Ebbets Field grass was half-way up to my knees. I almost cried. Ebbets Field had been neglected.
Someone hit a shot to center. I did not see the ball until it had risen above the top of the stadium grandstand. When I saw the ball, I could see that it would be way over my head. A big double.
Later, when I got up, I grounded out to short. I hustled hard to first but was out by a stride. 0 for 1.
It was not a good day. But I got to play in Ebbets Field before they destroyed that "blessed" Brooklyn structure, two years later, in 1960.
As a kid, I thought I'd be a Brooklyn Dodger one day. It was a dream that did not manifest. But I did get to play in Ebbets Field.
When the Brooklyn Dodgers abandoned Brooklyn, NYC, I started to root for the NY Yankees. But my heart was not into it, until came Roger Maris.
Back then, there were Mickey Mantle vs Roger Maris fans. I liked them both.
Maris hit 61 homers but in a 162 game season, vs Babe Ruth's 60 homers in a 154 game season. Thus, Mr. Maris received an asterisk re the 162 game schedule.
Later, in 1962, the NY Mets began. I predicted that it would take 8 years for the Mets to be competitive. That turned out to be true.
In 1969, during the 8th season of the Mets, the Mets won the World Series on my birthday. How gratifying that was.
I read this article by Craig McKee. I think the article is very good. You can link to it -->
Here are my comments in reply, published on Facebook. Dennis P. McMahon
