Entry 5025: The ‘T B Tabts’ New Playlist

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Ahhh, the legendary T B Tabts. A fictional character that I created in the late 1980s—loosely based on the experiences of my friends/fellow residents at the Fabulous Foothills in Tucson, AZ—it’s an anagram for the negative expression another resident (a Tucson firefighter, who shall remain anonymous) had of women: “The Bitches, They All Be The Same.”

My fictional character looked very much like the character played by Bruce McGill in the original 1985-1992 TV series “MacGyver” (the Richard Dean Anderson version. McGill, incidentally, most famously played “D-Day” in the 1978 film “Animal House”). He wore Hawaiian shirts and often smoked a cigar.

The legend I created was as follows: when you were talking to a girl and you started to smell cigar smoke, you knew he was near. He would use his supernatural powers to ruin and foul any chance you had with your desired target.

We ran with this as an inside joke for years. I had made a cassette tape (this was the early 90s after all) with various songs that exemplified my former relationships; of course I chose the T B Tabts name for it.

I have updated it over the past 30+ some years. After the passing of LC (see previous post), songs have been added (she already had a few, from the first go-round).

Here ya go. Feel free to look up the ones you don’t know. I might add YouTube links—but there are (at this writing) 62 tunes.

I’d like to add explanations to each, but that would entail making up aliases for these women. Yeah—probably not.

THE “T B TABTS’ ‘IN RETROSPECTION’ (1981-2024)” PLAYLIST, v3

Edited and rearranged 6/27/24
Proposed order:

1 More Than This–10,000 Maniacs
2 Sunrise–Simply Red
3 How It’s Gonna Be–Third Eye Blind
4 Almost Made You Smile–The Devlins
5 Wouldn’t It Be Good (Acoustic Version)–Nik Kershaw
6 I Want It Back–Shawn Colvin
7 It’s A Laugh–Hall and Oates
8 Necessary Evil–The Devlins
9 Soul Drifter–Lindsey Buckingham
10 Tenderness on the Block–Warren Zevon
11 You Can’t Make Love–Don Henley
12 Mixed Emotions–The Rolling Stones
13 Meanwhile–The Moody Blues
14 Knife Feels Like Justice–Brian Setzer
15 Current Stand–Kids In The Kitchen
16 No More I-Love-Yous–The Lover Speaks
17 I’ll Be Over You–Toto
18 Endless Nights–Eddie Money
19 Cross That Bridge–Ward Brothers
20 Tragic Comedy–Immaculate Fools
21 If It Makes You Happy–Sheryl Crow
22 Why–Annie Lennox
23 One–U2
24 Kiss This Thing Goodbye–Del Amitri
25 The Scientist–Coldplay
26 Goodbye To You–Michelle Branch
27 Grey Street–Dave Matthews Band
28 Come Back To Bed–John Mayer
29 Always the Last To Know–Del Amitri
30 You Don’t Know–Scarlett and Black
31 Painted Desert–10,000 Maniacs
32 To Each His Own–America
33 Do You Remember–Phil Collins
34 I’ll Be Alright Without You–Journey
35 Time–The Alan Parsons Project
36 Lifeline–10cc
37 Accidentally Like a Marytr–Warren Zevon
38 Please Be With Me–Eric Clapton
39 Back 2 Good–Matchbox 20
40 Me And My Big Ideas–Tears For Fears
41 The Same Old Tears (On a New Background)–
Stephen Bishop
42 Long Time Coming–Toni Childs
43 From The Ashes–Rosanne Cash
44 Hard Feelings–Fleetwood Mac
45 Don’t Shed A Tear–Paul Carrack
46 Somebody’s Leavin’–Little Feat
47 Don’t Break The Promises–10cc
48 When It Comes Down To It–Tasmin Archer
49 I Used To Be A King–Graham Nash
50 All of My Heart–ABC
51 11th Hour–Dionne Farris
52 You Do Or You Don’t–Lindsey Buckingham
53 I’m Not In Love–10cc
54 Blue Eyes Blue–Eric Clapton
55 Driftwood–The Moody Blues
56 Blue Eyes Blue–Eric Clapton
57 Throw the Roses Away–Hall and Oates
58 Dance With The Tiger–Rosanne Cash
59 More Than This–Roxy Music
60 Wouldn’t It Be Good (12″ version)–Nik Kershaw
61 This Nearly Was Mine–Lindsey Buckingham
62 Say We’ll Meet Again–Lindsey Buckingham

Entry 5020: A World Turned Upside Down, And A Life Almost Ended

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Yes, it has been a while since I have posted here. There has been a lot going on with me…but, unlike some others, every challenge in Life, every Problem, is not a reason to make an Entry here. But, recently, there have been two things that I MUST tell you about (“Dear Diary”!) 😉

First off, there is the girl/woman who is the subject of several entries here; most notably the “Flooded Basement” one. We’ll call her LC.

tl;dr:

We met in 1984, were together 2 1/2 years. We wanted to move to Arizona, after I had visited there twice and

she and I visited once, in 1986. When we had the financial opportunity to do so, in early 1987—she had a cancer scare. She stayed there—I moved to AZ. But, not before she broke my heart (the first time) by taking up with a guy she worked with whom she had little in common—WHILE I WAS STILL AROUND. (Her cancer scare was resolved with the removal of part of an ovary, as a precaution.)


I loved her so VERY much. We talked about wedding plans—had names for our children. I had wanted children with her, so VERY much.


I broke off our communication several months later when I learned she was now getting serious with this guy. I ended it. It was just too much heartbreak.


So MANY nights I waited for a knock on the door, living in Tucson, AZ—hoping it would be her.

 

SPOILER ALERT: IT NEVER CAME.

 

As the saying goes: When Life gives you Lemons, you make Lemonade. (Sorry, you know how I hate cliches.) I wanted a relationship more than just about anything else—but I could not have that if my life depended on it.


I tried online dating. That led to a relationship that turned complicated—and can be found elsewhere here.

Finally, years later—I gave up. I had had way too much lemonade.


By my count, I wandered around the The Woods (of Romance) almost 20 years. And I was still single.

.

Then, in 2008, LC’s father sent me an email—we had stayed close. Would it be okay if she sent me an email?


Sure, why not.  She had married that guy—what the Hell could happen. My mother worked in a local shopping mall, and saw her often—told me that she had gained a lot of weight. She always asked how I was—and always left in tears.


Not sure what would happen, I waited for that first email–first contact in 21 years.


Things moved quickly. We soon progressed from emails to texts to phone calls. It soon became obvious that 1) their marriage was one in name only—it had collapsed and they slept in separate rooms; 2) The feelings we had for each other were still very strong.


In early 2009 she came to visit, for 2 weeks. It was like Heaven. I cried so much when she was gone. She returned in July 2009; and in August I flew back to her, and we drove across the country together.


We settled in Phoenix. We had a great life for 3 years. Then, in June 2012, she had a stroke. Nothing was the same after that.


I took care of her, unselfishly, after her stroke. I don’t need to be praised or recognized for that–even though we weren’t married, it’s still right there: “In sickness and in health, for richer or poorer”. I would have hoped she would have done the same for me. And I loved her.


Gradually and eventually she became a completely different person that I knew. By the end she no longer had interest in much of anything, like cleaning the house (even when I offered to help). Toward the end she preferred to sit all day in her recliner chair and watch TikTok videos and play online games, day after day.


The house was filthy, dust and hair and “dust bunnies” everywhere. When I would start to do some dusting and cleaning, she would become angry at me, said it made her feel bad that she wasn’t doing it.


I could not understand this behavior. This was not at all the person I knew for all those years.


In October 2023—the 13th, to be exact—she told me she did not think she was in love with me any more.

 

To me, this was the equivalent of being told your birth parents—really, aren’t. Over the years, I have learned to anticipate a lot of bad news, but I never thought I would hear this from her—of all people. This was the Love of My Life, my Soul Mate. I had waited 21 years to finally have her back with me.

 

I wanted to go into the garage and start my car…and just—be done with it all, go to sleep painlessly. As the Steely Dan song goes: “Any world that I’m welcome to, is better than where I come from.”

 

(SPOILER ALERT: IT GETS MUCH WORSE.)

 

She lost interest in any physical contact with me. There were only “grandma kisses” (no open mouth)—no sexual contact at all.

 

She said she wanted to visit a high school friend, Casey (we’ll call her), who lived in Austin, TX. One day she became visibly angry about this planned visit. When I asked, she swore at lot and would not discuss it, warned me not to talk about it.


She started cursing A LOT. She threw things. She cursed out people for the slightest infraction.

 

She forgot some of the most basic memories she and we had. She scolded me many times for not sending in my Maricopa County Elections Early Mail Ballot sooner, bragging that she had sent in hers weeks ago; what was I waiting for?

 

Her behavior became even more and more erratic. She smiled and laughed at things I could not understand. She brought up important conversations she claimed we had that I could not recall, and did not remember ones that I actually had with her.

 

One Sunday morning at 7 am I checked on her whilst she slept. She looked to be sleeping peacefully. When I returned several hours later, her upper torso was slumped over the side of the bed. This in itself was not unusual, as she would sometimes drop her phone on the floor and fall asleep looking for it.

 

As I approached, I touched her leg, then her side. As I got closer I saw that her upper body was purple.

I thought, “This is really not good.”

 

I left the room and called 911. Within minutes they arrived. Upon entering the bedroom one of the EMTs said, “Oh, she’s cold.”

 

They asked me to leave the room. They connected an EKG machine to her. Soon, one of them came out and said, “Sorry for your loss.”

 

After what seemed like hours—eight, to be exact—the funeral home we contacted finally showed up to haul away the body. This removed any possibility of harvesting any donor organs, as by now they were certainly spoiled.

Instead, her body was given to scientific research; donated so that those studying to be doctors and surgeons would learn how to much better perform their work.

 

I wish the story ended there. I really do. Else, the LC we knew would have her memory preserved as a kind, generous and loving person—the person I thought I had known all these years. But–Life is often Dark and Mysterious and takes turns we could never anticipate.

 

About 2 weeks after she passed, on a Saturday night, I went through her emails, looking for people to contact about her passing—for example, this Casey person.

 

Despite my best efforts, I could not find a mention of anyone named “Casey”—not in Messages, not in emails, not in her Contacts.

 

What I did find made me sick to my stomach, made my blood run cold.

 

She had become involved in an online (scam) romance at the end of September, 2023. He (“Andrew”) apparently approached her on Facebook.

 

She must have been very unhappy. Eventually, his smooth talking and promises of romance led to him stealing $14,000 from her retirement and investment accounts—not directly, of course–she freely gave him the money: Western Union, Moneygram, etc.

 

In the 2000s her father fell for a Nigerian investment scam. It cost him $16,000. She helped him through that—so, she knew better.

 

This scammer claimed to be stranded on an oil rig in Russia. He needed money to get back to—guess where?—Austin, TX. Imagine that.

 

There was no Casey. There never was. She lied.

 

One of the most painful things about this whole experience was to see the messages, from her: 

“I will love you forever”;  “ I have been waiting all my life for you”; “I can’t wait until I can wake up with your arms around me”.

 

OUCH.

 

A few nights later, whilst going through the Burn Boxes (old documents found in her filing cabinet that I burned in the fire pit), I found the actual receipts from the wire transfers.

 

That hurt even more. It was all true, after all.

 

I also found her Mail-In Ballot—still in its sealed envelope—that she said she had already mailed.

 

*******

 

EPILOGUE:

 

I am not bitter. While I am certainly not happy with this experience—as I said before, she was obviously not the same person I knew for years.


As it happens, sad to say, it ended the only neat and clean way it could have. Had there BEEN an “Andrew”, she would have certainly left me for him. It would have all come out–there would have been yelling and screaming and crying and things thrown–and a lot of hurt. When she learned what was really going on, that would NOT have gone well, and eventually I would have found out the Truth–and there would have been yelling and screaming and crying and so on. Her passing ended her suffering, and although my suffering over her changing was ending, a new round of suffering would soon begin.

 

It is still, obviously, a “Jagged Little Pill” to have to consume. I have been made to question not only the post-stroke years, but even those before.

 

My thinking: “When someone lies to you repeatedly—and on a regular basis—isn’t it just easier to assume that EVERYTHING they tell you is a lie?” How much of what she told me, years ago, was a lie?

 

I never EVER, EVER thought I would have this experience with her. But—here it is.

 

She had always been the Best Person I Knew. I can no longer say that.

 

OH—and the initials? Lying. Cheating. LC. It seems appropriate.

 

I am not bitter. I know, I already said that. But, it bears repeating. Why?

 

Because, I STILL BELIEVE IN LOVE. I still think it’s there, that it does exist. I aim to find it.

 

And–I keep looking.

Entry 5013 The Jenna Experience

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(WARNING: ADULT THEMES!)

Late into the 1980s and flowing on through the early 1990s we had some laughs, my friends and I. There were times that our experiences rivaled those of characters on TV comedies (“Seinfeld”, “Friends”). It was mostly the nightlife that carried us…and, as experiences often do, these often became a part of our everyday living.

I have mentioned previously about how I did not actively seek this life, but was drawn to it and, inevitably it seems, championed it. I would have much preferred a steady relationship as I had had back home (as particularly noted in Entry 0002 Introduction; Entry 1987 Being An Allegory Of A Flooded Basement). But despite my best efforts it was not gonna happen, so—to use a well-worn cliche—when life gives you lemons you—well, you know. So it was lemonade that I had, in the form of seemingly (looking back now) endless one-night couplings with women willing to also have that same lemonade.

There seemed to be no end to the young women I could attract and do with as we both would. And, as I was funny and warm and personable I seemed to be very good at it, which wasn’t helping the argument that the tiny angel-winged me was nagging me about every time. I guess had I not had such success in this coupling, I would have sought some other way to seek companionship.

One of these young women in the early 1990s was named Jenna. No, that was not her real name,  and there are many reasons for that, but let’s just say that for the purpose of this Entry I believe she should remain anonymous.

I met Jenna through mutual friends that frequented the nightclubs and bars in Tucson, AZ, where we lived. There was a mutual attraction, conversations were had over the course of the next month and a half or so whenever we would encounter each other, all with my eventual goal to end up like nearly all of the others, naked and sweating and attempting to exhaust and extinguish our passions, satisfying our basest of curiosities. Still, that it took so long meant something I would only know later on.

(Sidebar: several years earlier I had met a girl I found attractive in a nearly-empty bar. After some conversation, it was clear that neither of us were overly ambitious to pursue a sexual encounter—until we learned that we lived a block or so apart. From my second floor apartment I could see her place, and she could see mine. Suddenly we couldn’t wait to get out of there and to her place where we had amazing sex, but that was only sustainable for one encore performance some time later. Funny how those things work out.)

So no—in a strict definition, this was not like the others. There was no drunken dancing, making out and inevitable disrobing—sometimes even just partially—over the course of the nighttime hours, the deed done, ending with a departure. This one smoldered on for weeks.

She was a bigger girl—not really full-figured but very much like Kate Upton. I am tempted to use the word “voluptuous”, except it has been overused to describe such women. She was in her mid- to late 20s, had large breasts, a slimmer waist and a nicely shaped butt, bigger but all perfectly proportioned. She drove a Jeep with a bumper sticker that said “Silly boys, Jeeps are for girls.” She had blond hair and was a tremendous flirt and could say things that made you think she couldn’t wait to get you alone.

A mutual friend noticed my interest and inquired. I said that I thought she was an interesting person and that yes, I would love to spend some time with her. I learned later on from this person that Jenna had always had bad luck with men, she was attracted to the wrong kind of men and always seemed to get hurt and/or the bad end of the relationship. I was encouraged to keep trying to win her over. I later learned that Jenna was also being encouraged to get to know me better, that I was a good person and that I would treat her well.

I don’t recall a lot of phone conversations, at least very long ones. I kept trying with little success to spend time with her outside of our group. Around this time some new music by a favorite artist leant material to this to-and-fro-ing thing that we were doing:

 “Living in exile ain’t no way to go

It’s just another way of dying

A whole lot of faces that you call your own

All those faces are crying

 

You either run or you hide

Now you slip now you slide

You say you will, but you won’t

You either do or you don’t

 

Living in exile, just gotta let it go

You know that it’s true

Just like a little child, you’ve got to crawl away

It’s the last chance for you

 

You either run or you hide

Now you slip now you slide

You say you will, but you won’t

You either do or you don’t

 

Somebody’s got to see this through

All the world is laughing at you

Somebody’s got to sacrifice

If this whole thing’s gonna turn out right

 

You either run or you hide

Now you slip now you slide

Now you will, now you won’t

You either do or you don’t

You either do or you don’t

You either do or you don’t.”

 

Eventually she relented and we did have some time together, several dates I guess you could call them. There were goodnight kisses and hand-holding and, much later on, mutual groping, but for a time it seemed like it would be true what Jerry once said in “Seinfeld” about George and his expected “consummation” of a dating relationship—to paraphrase, I didn’t know if I had enough material.

One evening she came to the apartment that I shared with my close friend Thom and made us an amazing spaghetti dinner. Alone in the kitchen with her, I could not make the move I wanted. While she was standing at the stove stirring her homemade sauce I came up behind her and kissed her softly on the neck several times, she moved in a pleasured way and cooed that she liked that. More than anything else then I wanted to get my hands around for a couple of handfuls of those magnificent large breasts and some gentle massaging, but someone walked in before I could.

As for those breasts—she was quite proud of them. She said they were all natural; she claimed that they passed the “pencil test”, which I had not heard of but involved putting a pencil directly underneath each one. If they are firm enough, there will be no sag and the pencil will fall away. I was anxious to obtain my own results.

Despite how it might have appeared, she was not a bimbo, a stupid girl. She was more than capable of intelligent discourse. Our conversations, while admittedly not frequent enough for my liking, might not have been of great depth but were enough to sustain my interest, at least.

My mother and I were planning a Saturday visit to Jerome, AZ, which for me is a magical and favorite place. I asked if she wanted to come along, and she squealed with delight. It was a pleasurable day and we all had a great time, but my most vivid memory of that day was when she saw the sign for the Jerome exit—State Route 69–and she giggled and laughed at that number’s sexual meaning.

My mom was often very outspoken, and she said, “So you like that, do you?” Jenna nodded enthusiastically.

“But what I really like is sex”, she said, matter-of-factly. “Really?” I asked.

“What’s it like to have sex with you? I mean, other than the obvious reasons, what in particular makes it so great?”

“It’s like driving a Ferrari”, she said.

My mother was amused.

Eventually, as fate and whatever cosmic force you want to name would have it, one night we ended up together, just the two of us, going from bar to bar, drinking, dancing and flirting—teasing and tempting me. The sexual tension was at a particularly high pitch, and if I had anything at all to say about it, this was going to be the night when my Material would be put to the test.

At one point our lips were locked together in the front seat of my car and I was finally able to explore those wonderful globes. It was okay and they felt nice and all, but it was not quite the glorious experience I was expecting. She had bragged before that she was very sensitive to touch in her lady parts and that she could climax quite easily, and having what I considered a certain mastery of that I moved in. Soon clothes were loosened and I was at it. I was enjoying myself and she certainly was, but again there was something…missing. I pulled her together afterwards and we went into the bar where we were parked to visit a friend that worked there.

Inside, she was very touchy, very affectionate, very sexual. After a few minutes it was obvious she could not wait to get me out of there and into someplace private. So, in a manner that I can only describe now as moving with the careening force of something like a roller coaster headed for a deliberate destination, we drove to my apartment and my room.

I vaguely recall much of what happened there. I’m certain alcohol played a part, as well as my anxiety to Finally Get This Thing Done. I recall an actual demonstration of the Pencil Test, but I don’t recall having any feelings about it and even just the barest memory, which is surprising considering how much I really had wanted to see them exposed. I recall clothes coming off, and wanting to demonstrate my half of the 69 performance, but she declined because she wasn’t “fresh” (yes she said that), so instead I used my fingers to satisfy her, as before. Afterwards I asked her to get on top for sex so I could have another go at those Pencil Droppers, but she had fallen earlier in the evening whilst dancing and said she hurt her knee, so she couldn’t bend it very well.

She assumed her part of the Missionary Position and so did I, but we had a problem.

She was as dry as, well, sand. She wasn’t like that a few minutes ago, at least where my fingers were…but lower down where I really wanted to go, she was.

The Ferrari had developed an Oil Pump problem. Obviously I would have to repair it if I wanted my Test Drive.

Meanwhile, alcohol having the effect it does on men, my flag was at half-mast, so I asked if she’d perform on me to get things awake and alert again.

Now, I have had many experiences receiving oral sex, but none like this. She was sucking so hard that it was—no joke—as if she was trying to pull my insides through my urethra. While at first that was pleasurable for a bit, after awhile I honestly began to fear for my safety. AND, her head was rocketing up and down, like a mechanical bull that was on 10, broken and could not be shut off.

I didn’t want her to stop because after all this was flirtatious Jenna starting to make good on all the fantasies I had, and it did feel pretty good—especially her great and obvious enthusiasm for the task—but I recall thinking “Who was it that told her this was enjoyable?” I gently asked her to please slow down and go a little easier.

I talked to her while she was pleasuring me, told her how hot I thought she was, how pretty she was, how I really wanted her. Whatever I could think of to get her juices flowing again.

She moved her lower half up the bed toward me. My talk must have worked because I reached down to gauge the situation and VOILA! Get in the car and let’s hit the track!

Because I always practiced safe sex, I prepared myself while she got on her hands and knees. I guess the knee injury wasn’t so bad after all.

I got behind her and initiated the Dance of Love, which is really just Sex. I recall at one point almost losing consciousness, but fighting it off. I was able to close the sale.

By all indications, a splendid time was had by all.

Afterwards there is often that awkward moment when you must own up to what you’ve just done, individually and collectively. This isn’t made any easier when the individual that is the guest suddenly feels like there must be an immediate departure, as if a bank robbery has just been committed.

This was one time when I would have wanted more time…to appreciate what happened, show some tenderness, if just for a few minutes, and then we could leave if we must. But she was rapidly getting dressed and so I had to do the same.

My friend Bram was staying with us that weekend. He was aware of the Jenna situation, as he was often present when we were all out together. What he was NOT expecting was Jenna and I to emerge from my room, obvious in what had just happened.

The dawn was minutes away when we got in my car and I drove her to her Jeep, in the parking lot of one of the bars we’d visited. There was a deep kiss of good night, a mutual thank you for a great evening, and a farewell. And then she drove away and this song started playing in my mind, then just like it does now:


“Just say we’ll meet again

When the sunset spell is gone in the wind

Please say we’ll meet again

 

Everyone sees the tear in the seam

But talks about the weather

Everyone pays a price for these dreams

So why not dream these dreams together

 

Just say we’ll meet again

When the sunset spell is gone in the wind

Please say we’ll meet again

 

That was a dream, that was a time

But nothing lasts forever

Sooner or later we all must go blind

But we can dream these dreams together

 

Just say we’ll meet again

When the sunset spell is gone in the wind

Please say we’ll meet again.”

 

 

That was our last communication. Phone calls were made but not returned. Some months later I saw her driving on the street, but she did not see me.

I have spent some time thinking about this over the years for an explanation of what happened and how it affected me. There have been other girls I’ve kind of obsessed over before when I was younger, but this one was different, perhaps because it seemed mutual. Most obsessions for me aren’t—or they probably wouldn’t be obsessions.

In the retrospect of the nearly 30 years many things have occurred to me. That here were two people high on a sugar rush of sexual excitement, with no plan for what happened when that was over—instead of trying to make a foundation for a real relationship, if that’s what each really wanted.

That it was a clear case of overpromising and underdelivering, of two people trying to make something work that could not and would not exist on its own volition. It was not sustainable. Sadly: it was like trying to keep a fire in the pouring rain.

I would continue to drink the lemonade I was forced to make for about a year, when I met a girl who we will call Kasey. Again, that is not her real name. We were together for just over five years, in a relationship that too often was as sour as lemonade.

But these are stories for another time.

***

“You Do or You Don’t” and “Say We’ll Meet Again” from the 1992 “Out of the Cradle” release by Lindsey Buckingham.

Entry 5000 A Deeper Understanding of What Was, and Was Not To Be

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The other night I had a revelation. In this case it was more like a different way of looking at things, in a way that made great sense; like looking through a lens and suddenly have a different image come into focus.

Much has been written before about the previous Great Relationship–that started in 1984, continued until 1987 when I relocated to Arizona—and then restarted miraculously 22 years later. Entries on this very site that describe a “Flooded Basement”, for example. In recollection it’s as if I was sent off to “wander around in the woods” during this time, emerging just before the reuniting.

One of the experiences/relationships I had during this period was for the most part based on the belief that, for something big to happen, there had to be a good reason–i.e. something better was on the way. After all, why else would such a perfect pairing as the Great Relationship have to end, if not for something better?

Here is some necessary background: growing up in the 1960s, one of my favorite television shows was the original “Hawaii Five-O”. I watched it for years. It wasn’t the Hawaiian locale I enjoyed as much as it was the excellent writing and superb performances.

Fast forward to the mid-90s. Television commercial for a company that manufactures air conditioning & heating equipment features a silent pitchman. In one ad he dons a grass hula skirt and does a hula dance to a catchy traditional Hawaiian tune called “The Hukilau Song”. I thought the ad was funny, but I really liked that song. So much so that I searched and found it on a 45 rpm record, which I played often. And, also in the mid 90s, there was a TV channel that offered reruns of “Hawaii Five-O”, which I was able to enjoy again for the first time in years.

Fast forward now to March 1999. Online dating is in its infancy, and has a certain appeal. Like many then–and since–I met my share of odd and offbeat characters, both online and in person. Many of these possessed some socially unacceptable quality that made it easy to understand why they were still–or at least presently–Unattached.

Also, few looked like the picture they chose to upload. Some were so bad it was almost comical.

And, in the midst of all this, a girl with a smile so brilliant that it literally seemed to light up her face.

There was some back-and-forth emailing, much flirtaciousness. She was clever with her words and phrases, the banter between us was light and airy…and, most of all, FUN. I soon learned that she was Filipino/Japanese….

And, she was from Hawaii.

The start of this relationship–at least–was the most intoxicating I had ever experienced. It was the circumstances: different culture, which was new to me; the timing–it was like a breath of clean sweet air, so different than the stagnation I had felt just a few months before in my previous relationship; and she was SO physically appealing to me. It all seemed, at first, to be just so right.

And suddenly, it all appeared to make sense. Certainly, THIS was the reason the Great Relationship had to end…? This was to be the Something Better, foreshadowed 30 years before during the Walk On The Beach at Ocean City? (See Entry 0002.)

I was smitten, and I allowed myself to fall–hard. Much of the emotion that I still had from the Great Relationship was still bottled up inside. I allowed it to flow freely out and into most of the empty lonely rooms within that had been that way for so long.

Years later, when this once-magical relationship that had apparently been doomed from the start eventually fell apart, as it had to, I was devastated. How could this have happened? Wasn’t this THE ONE? Didn’t all signs point to it?

It was twice as hard as just suffering through a breakup. I had attached all the “junk” to it that did not belong there. Like a bad detective, I had pulled together clues that had meaning only to me to make a case, and had made the facts fit it, instead of the other way around. The Hukilau Song. The feeling that it was all leading up to This Moment. And, worst of all, my boyhood attachment to “Hawaii Five-O” in the 60s, and its reruns in the 90s.

It all HAD to mean something, I thought. It was bad enough to have the relatonship over, althought it was clear that it had run its course. The worst part was what I had built it up to be.

It took a long time to get over all of that. It’s difficult to accept a reality different than the one you have custom-made. But, the years went by and as it happened, the Great Relationship returned–at least, its participants did. We were older and the world had colored and changed us, but we still loved each other, which is what really matters.

CBS All-Access offers many television shows, including some classics, like Star Trek in all its forms, and Twilight Zone in its, as well. And the original Hawaii Five-O. We often would watch those old shows, many of which I still could recall.

So much more of the show made sense, now that I had been exposed to and lived it for 5 years–the culture, the food, the language. I don’t recall the word “haolie” from before, but I certainly knew what it meant now. Other words, like “pao” and “da kine” made sense now too. I watched with a sort of longing, as even though the relationship had grown to be be frequently unpleasant, the time spent with the family had been okay for the most part.

We watched episodes off and on for several months, then one night it occurred to me. It was like a flash of great insight, almost like an epiphany. Once I had it, it was quite clear, and somehow now it all made sense.

I had it all backwards. The relationship was not caused, prophesied, by “Hawaii Five-O” and all that other stuff at all.

It came to me that, thanks TO the relationship, I now had a better understanding of one of my favorite experiences growing up—enjoying the characters and dialogue and plot lines of that show. And, The Hukilau. And all the other connections.

Perhaps THAT was one of the purposes of the relationship after all, trivial as it sounds. But—had it not been for that relationship, the meaning of it all–my appreciation–my understanding–would be much much less.

So that is how I have come to see it. Like a sore tooth, my consciousness no longer prods and pokes at those memories, bitter reminders of what was—with no understanding of how it all should have been, by my reckoning. A sense of peace has settled in. The square peg fits into the square hole. I believe this is the way it was and is supposed to be.

Entry 4077 The Milestone of Three Decades

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A personal milestone is on the horizon…every day brings it closer to reality.

I’ve known of its approach for some time; and when it arrives, I suspect nothing will–for all attempts and purposes–be any different. Well, not in a physical, palpable sense.

It was on June 22, 1987 that I departed Western PA–the only home I had ever known–for the Great Southwest and my adopted new home of Tucson, AZ.

I arrived there on June 26, around 3 pm. This was the start of the second portion of my life, I suppose you could call it, although at the time I didn’t necessarily feel that way.

However, as it has turned out, that was exactly what it was.

So the milestone that will occur in 2017–next year–presumably on June 26, will mean that I will have been relocated in Arizona for as long as I had been my entire life in Pennsylvania.

This might not mean much on the surface to many or even most people. But it gives me cause to reflect.

It will have been 30 years since I arrived here…and, I left PA when I was 30 years old.

As you can probably imagine, I have two sets of memories. One, from the first 30 years…and, one set since June 26, 1987. The two don’t overlap, because even when I would return to PA to visit it was with a different mindset–it was always a place that I USED to live.

Because of the person that I am, given to reflect and re-reflect on the passage of these last 29 years…I will revisit memories, thoughts, ideas; and likely more tangible things like places, music, photographs, and so on.

I have not written much on James Anonymous these last few years. Most of my prior entries had to do with the struggle to find romance and/or some sort of contentment. Well, as I have said before, that thankfully has taken care of itself. And, in 2012 I started a more “current events” weblog called Brood Coffee Talk that I had devoted much time to. In fact, I posted something there every day for about three quarters of a year. There were posts on current news events, some on sports, my favorite music videos…and tech. There were lots and lots of posts on the then-upcoming Windows 8 release, the latest on the Android OS, and the like.

Around that time I was also ghost-writing for a tech blog and getting paid very little for it…and, someone close to me suffered a life-changing injury…and, I finally found something similar to what I used to do for work.

The end result of this is that I suddenly had a lot less free time; and going right along with that, also got kind of burned out over the whole thing. While I wrote a couple of things there in the past few years, for the most part I had largely put that aside. (I did recently add a new entry, but it’s based on previous ones.)

‘James Anonymous’, on the other hand, has been redesigned. As I mention in the “Introduction” sidebar, Xanga has pretty much gone under. I was able to download my JA content in 2014…about a month ago I brought it here to Blogger (Brood Coffee Talk is on WordPress). It’s been restored with all its entries intact.

Of course, this all intersects with my opening premise. In the course of the next few months I’ll be relating stories and recollections here of the last 30 years, if for no other reason than to preserve them.

There are memories that, despite the passage of time, are still rich and detailed. Saturday nights spent sitting having drinks with friends at the (Fabulous) Foothills pool in Tucson…early dawns spent driving in the winters of Northern Arizona…investigating new towns and locales.

I’m looking forward to sharing it all with you.

Entry 4061 More on “Exile on Main Street” (Entry 4057)

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Here’s a sort of validation for anyone who really needs it…”Rolling Stone” magazine just published a “Special Collector’s Issue”, “The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time.” The Rolling Stones’ “Exile on Main Street” ranks 7th in this poll.
(The albums ahead of it: 1–Sgt Pepper’s; 2–Pet Sounds; 3–Revolver; 4–Highway 61 Revisited; 5–Rubber Soul; 6–What’s Going On.)
(I’m a big fan of the Fab Four…still, while I certainly agree that “Pet Sounds” should be at least in the Top 5, and so should “What’s Going On,” I’m not certain that I’d put 3 Beatles records before “Exile.”)

Anyway–open that book and right there on Page 3, the Introduction, by Elton John–he says it. “‘Exile on Main Street’ is the finest rock and roll album ever made.”

Say what you want about Sir Elton, but there’s no denying the man knows music. I’m not particularly a Stones fan, but it’s been what some of us have been saying all along.

Entry 4075 Mr Scooterpants!

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I mentioned–in Entry 3911 A Prior Love of Travel–that one of the reasons I did not want to be away from home any more was the new kitten we had found, on April 14, 2010, just two weeks old (and let me say that she has grown up to be quite the pretty young lady!) Sadly however, last April–within a two week span–we had to put down the two cats I had had for what was then 14 years, Lowell and Goldwater. There are pictures of them mixed in with other photos from my home in Latrobe, PA…and later on in Tucson, AZ here.
This left Miercoles with no play partners…she seemed okay with that, for a while. I soon noticed that she depended more on us for playtime, which was okay except we weren’t here much during the day. So, In September of last year, we adopted a partner for her…we went to the Arizona Animal Welfare League and picked out Cashew (as he was known then), an adorable two month old male kitten whose markings were so similar, you would think he was either her brother or that she gave birth to him.
The poor little guy had a very rough start…while at first he was fine, after a day or so we noticed he was having real trouble chewing his food…and he made small whimpering noises while he slept. He had lost almost all of his energy…though we had kept the two of them separated for the first few days, they were soon playing energetically with each other. That is, until he got sick…then she kind of turned on him when he didn’t feel like playing back. It turned out that he had Calicivirus, and from what we read on the Internet, he likely had it when we got him at the AAWL.
I was furious…while it cost us almost $800 (not including his adoption cost), I was more concerned that the poor kitty was suffering greatly…he had an ulcer on his tongue that must have been very painful, making it very hard for him to eat. Additionally, his system was weakened enough that he also developed a bad respiratory infection, which also attacked Miercoles, resulting in another large vet bill to treat her.
How could he have been allowed to come home with us, with this condition?


Supposedly all animals are examined before they are released…certainly there had to have been some indications that he wasn’t well! I expressed my concern by a telephone call to the AAWL…which was not returned. I sent several emails, finally receiving a response that, essentially, the AAWL was not and could not be held responsible for Cashew’s condition, that Calicivirus was common in shelter animals, and there was no indication that he had it when we got him. There were many stories on the Internet about entire shelters that became infected with Calicivirus, and all the animals had to be put down. This can be serious business.
I was furious…all I wanted was a simple apology: “Yes, we’re very sorry that this has happened. Perhaps we need to be more careful in our screening and release procedures. Please accept our apologies.” What if a little boy or girl had been given a pet like him as a gift? Imagine their disappoinment! Imagine the family who has no patience and simply returns him, which is bound to be more traumatic to him.
Eventually, after several emails in which I threatened to not only withdraw our financial support but also refuse to give them a good reference (we had already made several good-sized donations in the past few years), I got an apology…well, sort of. It was worded close to the way I had wished for…and it only took three emails back and forth to receive it!
My official position regarding this matter is as follows: in 1998 my then-girlfriend and I visited the AAWL and adopted Lowell and Maynard, a several-month-old kitten that she took with her a year or so later when we broke up. I have never had any complaints about any part of that adoption experience, and indeed went back with my fiancee last September to choose Miercoles’ new companion.
Will we still support them with donations? Yes–the service they provide as a no-kill shelter is invaluable. Will we recommend them to others looking for a new pet? Yes…providing that you INSIST that the animal be THOROUGHLY examined (or, as thorough as the AAWL is in their examination). Ask many questions! Maybe, take a look at the prospective pet yourself, learn the signs and indications of possible illnesses, and choose accordingly.
Recently Cashew has gotten a new name, which was pretty hard to finally come up with. I believe that while you can name a pet whatever you want, it’s their traits and characteristics that really should determine its name…and the one that finally evolved for him is R J Scooterpants.
The “R J” comes from Robert John, who scored a hit record in the 70s with “Sad Eyes”. Our little guy has eyes that are never completely wide open–his eyelids droop down a bit at the top, making him appear sad. It also can stand for Running and Jumping, which he does a lot, and the reason why he got the name Scooter. (He also got it after the sick rabbit in an old Minute Maid TV commercial). The “-pants” part is because when he runs, his gait is such that he looks like he’s wearing a pair of pants that are too big for him (if that were even possible!).

There are pictures of Miercoles here…as well as those of Mr Scooterpants.

Entry 4057 Rock and Roll Like It Was (And Is)

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I just finished listening to “Exile on Main Street”, the total number of times which must be in the high hundreds–which doesn’t sound like a lot but really is, unless it’s the total number of times you’ve told someone who’s very special to you that you love them. You can’t do that nearly often enough.
This is–in my humble opinion–the finest rock and roll album ever made…and yes, believe me, I know that takes in a lot of ground (but there are some close seconds). It’s got blues, soul, gospel, a bit of country–the mix of which is what started rock and roll in the first place. Not completely polished at times (or at least, that’s how Jagger and Richards wanted it to sound), the urgency of the music and sheer GET OUT is one of the things that really makes this recording stand out.
The other thing can be summed up with six words: Venetta Fields, Clydie King and Sherlie Matthews. The superb blending of their voices’ rich soulful and gospel tones really helps push this album to the top. The three can also be found on other recordings, such as Steely Dan’s “Can’t Buy A Thrill” and Graham Nash’s “Songs For Beginners”.
They started a singing group called The Blackberries in 1973 and recorded an unreleased album. Since then they have mostly appeared separately on many and varied recordings. For example: on a recent VH-1 retrospective on Pink Floyd, Ms. Fields talked about being a part of the first “Dark Side of the Moon” tour in 1973 and her contributions to the 1975 record “Wish You Were Here”.
These three women–collectively and individually–have done much to shape the music we know and love.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sherlie_Matthews

Entry 3911 A Prior Love of Travel

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I’ve said on here before about how I’ve traveled…how it’s been a huge part of my life for 20 years now. The excitement of every day being different…starting the day in one small town and often ending it in another.

A life in hotel rooms, and dinners in–and from–restaurants. While others might find it tedious or lonely, for me it was just the thing.

It’s easy to have such a life when you’re alone, with no family or relationship or children at home. I once worked for a boss who kept wanting me to work just in my local area…I told him that he should take advantage of my situation while I was still by myself and could travel, because once that ended so would my traveling.
And, eventually, that is what happened.
A few entries ago I wrote about the great relationship I rediscovered…unlike previous ones in which I was often gone, traveling for my work, I would not want to be away for four days at a time like I always used to be.
And, there’s another thing: this adorable kitten that was found last April in the parking/carport area where we live. She was just two weeks old, eyes barely even open.
I’ll write more on this later on, in more detail, and with pictures as well. For now, let’s just say I have fallen completely in love with this wondrous, precious and adorable little kitty.
Beyond just missing her–if something happened to her while I was gone, I could never forgive myself for not being there. It’s very different–for me, anyway. It’s almost like she’s our little girl, but in a kitten’s body.
It’s like we now have the child we always wanted–when before we didn’t get that chance, and thought it was gone forever.

–Sent from my Newton MessagePad 2100

Entry 3908 Welcome to the Modern Era!

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The day I’ve been waiting for since June 11, 2007 has arrived…I am now the proud owner of an iPhone…an iPhone 4 16GB with AT&T as a carrier, to be exact.
I chose AT&T (amongst many other reasons) at least partly because I heard a few kind of unsettling reports about some unannounced changes planned by Verizon, seemingly timed to coincide with the official iPhone launch on February 3, 2011. Things like, well, this, from ARSTechnica, January 14, 2011:
“It’s official: Verizon is ditching its “New Every Two” program and changing its early upgrade policy. Rumors began spreading earlier this week that Verizon had told sales reps to stop pushing the services, and Verizon has now confirmed with SmartMoney that this is indeed the case, and it will affect both new and old customers.”
I worked for Verizon Wireless–first in Customer Care and then Technical Support. You know what they say about working at a restaurant–many times, with the things you see, you wouldn’t want to eat there.
Another reason I chose AT&T was that Verizon’s CDMA network doesn’t allow simultaneous voice calls and data transfer (AT&T’s GSM network does)–from ARSTechnica, January 10:

“This is obviously a personal usage scenario, and many people who already use Verizon seem to have no problem with this limitation. There are some ways in which this roadblock can get annoying, though. For one, Verizon execs confirmed that the iPhone won’t be able to get push notifications while you’re on a call, so even if you’re not surfing the Web, nothing that uses data will be able to notify you of anything until you hang up.“Secondly, the voice calls will interrupt anything you’re doing over the data connection. So, if you happen to be downloading an app or using Verizon’s personal hotspot feature to share the 3G connection over WiFi, receiving a phone call will mean that you’ll have to choose between interrupting everyone’s WiFi connections or simply ignoring the call.”

I got my iPhone on Thursday, January 20, 2011…since then, I’ve been busy with daily life occurrences, work, that kind of stuff. Plus, I wanted to spend a week with it and get a better feel for what it’s like to…well, to have an iPhone.
How is it? Well, it’s pretty much great. There’s nothing bad about the experience (at least so far), except unlearning how to do things the BlackBerry way, and learning to do them more intuitively with the iPhone. It loads web pages much faster, makes it much easier to read email, and is just all-around more of a pleasure to use. No longer do I have to put up with the awful trackball experience like my BlackBerry 8500 Curve had–there aren’t many things more frustrating than a broken mouse/trackpad on your computer…or when you try and move the Curve’s trackball and…nothing happens. Without that trackball–like without a mouse or trackpad on your laptop–you’re dead in the water.
Prior to the Curve, for several years I’d had a touchscreen Windows Mobile phone …so when I got the BlackBerry in August 2008 I wondered how I would adjust to using a pointing device instead of just touching the screen. I reasoned that my laptops weren’t touchscreen, and I’ve their trackpads for years, so what’s the difference?
As I found out with that frequently broken trackball, a lot. I tried the fixes on the web…soon I grew tired of those repair attempts and would just drag an alcohol-soaked Q-tip over the trackball in the direction that it failed to work…eventually it would start up again. But of course, I don’t carry alcohol-soaked Q-tips around with me, so there would be times I’d be somewhere and it would fail to work. That would mean, no email…no way to return a call…no way to access most of the phone’s features. You see the problem.
Due to service contracts over the last few years with my wireless provider (Sprint), I’ve been unable to purchase an iPhone…either a new model had just been introduced (and I’m a believer of the philosophy “don’t buy version 1.0!”), or I was in the middle of a contract. So I waited (often not very patiently) for the right time to come.
Of course, there was always the hope that Sprint would pick up the iPhone…after all, the Verizon rumors had been in existence from the day the first iPhone was announced, and there has always been a feeling that once the exclusivity agreement with AT&T ended, all sorts of additional carriers might get involved. (We’ve since learned that Apple anticipates shortages of the Verizon iPhone–on top on its existing struggles to keep up with its current AT&T demand–so there will likely not be any new carriers announced at least until they’re able to get ahead of that supply curve.)
I’d like to take this moment to dispel the rumor that I only wanted an iPhone because it was from Apple. I wanted it because it’s a well-functioning machine, brilliantly thought out and engineered. It does what it’s supposed to do–you decide whatever that function is–and then does it better and more intuitively. Hmmpf–well, that sounds like most Apple products for the past 30-some years.
Was it like I expected it would be? Well, since my only prior experience was a few minutes with showroom models at the Apple Store…I suppose that answer is: yes. I know for example that something as simple as the iPhone’s really genius voicemail setup has been one of the many joys of this experience. One thing I haven’t had is any of the infamous AT&T “spotty service coverage” problems…no dropped calls, no poor signal…at least, not as yet. Looking at the AT&T Coverage Map, I can see there’s likely some areas that will be problems here…I just haven’t gone there yet, apparently. Possibly, even…I won’t.
Except for the daily use of text messaging, email and phone calls, I haven’t played around with the iPhone all that much. Finally the other evening I was able to take the time and find, evaluate and download/install a few apps from the Apple Store. I’m not a person who plays a lot of video games, but I’ve been told that there’s at least a few game apps that I’ll *have* to try on here…I won’t be able to put the phone down, I’ve been told.

As someone who fourteen years ago spent nearly all his leisure waking hours playing “SimCity 2000” on the first Sony PlayStation for months.

I fear that addiction.