Hey Timmy,
I agree that one lamprey for dinner is one too many... I just googled lamprey and there was a video showing a huge sea lamprey that was found upstream. Apparently as dams are being demolished one of the unintended consequences is the migration of the sea lamprey. It kind of looks like the description of the slime eel, rendered so lyrically by our friend Martin Cruz-Smith in Polar Star (ha ha Timmy...italics again. Did you ever find your secret style cache?) Keep looking. Such a writer as your esteemed self should have all the tools of the trade made available to you. Anyway, the lamprey is kind of like an eel but it doesn't appear to have eyes. It has a round mouth filled with sharp teeth arrayed in a radial pattern. Perfect for a horror movie. THRILL TO THE SIGHT OF THE GIANT MAN EATING NUKULER LAMPREY !!!! I wonder if Roger Corman is still available to direct...
I just forwarded you an update on Dave's condition written by his Lady, Anna, yesterday at 5:22 PM. I think the planned visit with Nicole for Friday is out as Dave himself is pretty much out-to-lunch for awhile. As Anna keeps me updated I'll forward the news along to those who knew Dave. He is at the VA hospital in SF. His nine years in the navy have accorded him free medical and dental. Can you imagine what the out-of-pocket for a quadruple by-pass surgery would be, plus the extended hospital stay? Might even be as high as the $ 750,000 I incurred from Marin General! Curiously, I got one last bill from them the other day. It was for $ 75. It was so nice of them to drop the last four zeros...
Thanks for your encouragement on the blog. As an unsophisticate in the social media realm, I don't know how to go about promoting it. I'm thinking maybe I wear a sandwich board with an ad for my blog on it. I'll wander around in the parking lots of shopping malls. "Titter and guffaw your way through the misadventures of our sad-sack hero, Mickey da Mayor of Happy Acres and, occasionally, his brother." If anyone stops and asks, I'll hand them a card with my link on it...
I'm off this afternoon to get my cardio vest strapped on for 24 hours. You'll recall I was supposed to do that the day after I came back from visiting you down in Pacific Grove. Speaking of PG, Matt was in Whole Foods yesterday, as he is everyday, and he ran in to a guy named Eddie Green (not his real name). Who apparently runs a successful restaurant in your neck of the woods. I met Eddie when he was working with my contractor on securing the permit for the cottage. We became friendly and he eventually moved one of those small humpbacked trailers onto the horse pasture (we had four horses sharing the pasture then). Because he was compensated so poorly by the (evil) contractor he worked for, he didn't have much money. What money he had he mostly drank.
He was a good cook who had formerly been employed in reputable dining establishments in SF. He probably lost those jobs because of the drinking. Anyway, in lieu of rent, Eddie became my PMS (personal man servant). Every night, when he was staying in the trailer, he would cook dinner for me. Because of his indigent circumstances, he knew where to score free food. There was a food bank in Marin City and a church in Sausalito, and on certain days, at the most opportune hours, I would drive MB to these sources of sustenance and he would come back with a box or a bag of charity food; three day old bread; produce too long in the tooth to interest regular shoppers; boxes of dried soup mix; cans of government surplus cheese, etc. I would supplement this by buying a nice cut of meat or fish from the market and Michael would whip up a toothsome meal for the two of us.
Some nights when he came up to the house to perform his PMS duties he was already in the bag. Amazingly, he could still cook while inebriated. One night he brought our plates into the living room where I was sitting. He handed me my plate then, as he was seating himself in the chair next to me he knocked his plate against the table and it ended up (upside-down, of course) on the floor. "Oh God Eddie! Look at that mess! Go back to the kitchen and get something to clean that up with!" But it was too late; he was already passed out in his chair.
He was a good cook who had formerly been employed in reputable dining establishments in SF. He probably lost those jobs because of the drinking. Anyway, in lieu of rent, Eddie became my PMS (personal man servant). Every night, when he was staying in the trailer, he would cook dinner for me. Because of his indigent circumstances, he knew where to score free food. There was a food bank in Marin City and a church in Sausalito, and on certain days, at the most opportune hours, I would drive MB to these sources of sustenance and he would come back with a box or a bag of charity food; three day old bread; produce too long in the tooth to interest regular shoppers; boxes of dried soup mix; cans of government surplus cheese, etc. I would supplement this by buying a nice cut of meat or fish from the market and Michael would whip up a toothsome meal for the two of us.
Some nights when he came up to the house to perform his PMS duties he was already in the bag. Amazingly, he could still cook while inebriated. One night he brought our plates into the living room where I was sitting. He handed me my plate then, as he was seating himself in the chair next to me he knocked his plate against the table and it ended up (upside-down, of course) on the floor. "Oh God Eddie! Look at that mess! Go back to the kitchen and get something to clean that up with!" But it was too late; he was already passed out in his chair.
We also used to get fresh fish from our next door neighbor Lee Parsons a very jolly and funny purveyor of men's haberdashery. Lee used to go fishing with his buddy Ralfie and they always scored big, it seems. (When Ralfie got married, Lee was the best man. While they were standing there at the altar waiting for the tardy bride to show up, Lee leans over and whispers in Ralfie's ear: "You know, Ralphie... she's not coming". That Lee...what a kidder---I don't know if she ever did show up...) For awhile, during one of our el Nino years, we were getting fish that were usually found off the shores, incredibly, of Central America. Lee would give me part of his catch in exchange for fruits and veggies from my garden.
One day he brought over three freshly caught Rock Cod and tossed them in the kitchen sink. "Here you go, Stevens. It doesn't get any fresher than this!" He exclaimed and he was right. When Eddie. turned on the hot water to clean and gut them, they started flopping around in the sink. Yeah, Lee, you're right; it doesn't get any fresher than that. Boy did we have some great cuts of Salmon in those days too. Free fresh fish, fruits and veggies from the garden and starches and other sundries from the food bank; and a chef to cook it for me. Those were some halcyon days at Happy Acres. In addition, I can't forget the wonderful musical company of master guitar player Dave Weeks and piano wizard John Rosenberg, both of whom were also in residence here. All this took place fifteen years ago as I was turning fifty. Nicole was still my inamorata then, and we used to have wonderful parties. Nicole and her Thelma-and-Louise buddy Pammie (now known more formally as the Duchess of Berserkely...) would attend and entertain with chick duets of doo wop songs. Maestro Dave Weeks knew all the tunes. We could never stump him. It seems he could play and sing all the songs that we loved.
One day he brought over three freshly caught Rock Cod and tossed them in the kitchen sink. "Here you go, Stevens. It doesn't get any fresher than this!" He exclaimed and he was right. When Eddie. turned on the hot water to clean and gut them, they started flopping around in the sink. Yeah, Lee, you're right; it doesn't get any fresher than that. Boy did we have some great cuts of Salmon in those days too. Free fresh fish, fruits and veggies from the garden and starches and other sundries from the food bank; and a chef to cook it for me. Those were some halcyon days at Happy Acres. In addition, I can't forget the wonderful musical company of master guitar player Dave Weeks and piano wizard John Rosenberg, both of whom were also in residence here. All this took place fifteen years ago as I was turning fifty. Nicole was still my inamorata then, and we used to have wonderful parties. Nicole and her Thelma-and-Louise buddy Pammie (now known more formally as the Duchess of Berserkely...) would attend and entertain with chick duets of doo wop songs. Maestro Dave Weeks knew all the tunes. We could never stump him. It seems he could play and sing all the songs that we loved.
We threw me a big fiftieth birthday party and Eddie Green performed the 'chef-ing' duties. It was quite a to-do. I rented tables and chairs from a party store and we had over seventy people situated in the back yard. That was back when I had a lot of friends; before people really got to know me... Anyway, as I mentioned, Eddie Green had quite a drinking problem. I found that out the next morning when I heard a thump on the living room floor above me. I got out of bed and went upstairs to find Eddie lying on the carpet with half a bottle of rot gut vodka beside him. He had taken my truck and gone down the street to the local liquor store. I told him to go down to his trailer and get sobered up. Others were also encouraging him to sober up which he did.
He went into a program in the city. I've seen him a few times since then, some years ago, and he has done a splendid job of cleaning up his act and, as far as I can tell, is now a sober and virtuous human being. As I mentioned, he had a solid background as a restaurant cook before becoming my contractor's step-n-fetch-it boy and falling to the temptation of John Barleycorn. I hope he has a long successful career in the restaurant biz. Timmy, if you do run in to him, tell him the mayor remembers him fondly. Oh...and tell him to come up to Happy Acres and pick up his raggedy rusted swing chair that's sitting in the back yard.
He went into a program in the city. I've seen him a few times since then, some years ago, and he has done a splendid job of cleaning up his act and, as far as I can tell, is now a sober and virtuous human being. As I mentioned, he had a solid background as a restaurant cook before becoming my contractor's step-n-fetch-it boy and falling to the temptation of John Barleycorn. I hope he has a long successful career in the restaurant biz. Timmy, if you do run in to him, tell him the mayor remembers him fondly. Oh...and tell him to come up to Happy Acres and pick up his raggedy rusted swing chair that's sitting in the back yard.
Love and kisses, Mickey da Mayor
50th b'day party in back yard
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