For My Good Friend Raymond

My very good friend and brother in arms, from Texas, Raymond, recently left a comment (well, actually two separate comments) on my Blogs from last week

I first met Raymond at Kagnew Station in Africa in 1967. He was a quiet person that didn’t hang out with the people in my coterie. We worked on the same shift (Trick) and saw one another on a daily basis. I found his Texas drawl and the colloquialisms that he used to be very amusing. I was a city boy from the North and was amused very easily with the language that southerners used.

Raymond was what we called a “ditty bopper” (Morse Intercept Operator) and I worked as a Non-Morse Communications Analyst. He spent seven eights of each work day listening to the high pitch sounds of Morse Code (He did the same while stationed in Viet Nam), I, on the other hand, wore headsets for about two hours per shift.

I have a little impaired hearing in my left ear. Raymond is on VA Disability with total hearing loss in his left ear and has to wear a hearing aid in his right ear. Others from our unit suffer the same problems, but to a lesser extent.

One of Raymond’s comments was “NOW this is the ZAZZ I love to read.”

For years Raymond has lived vicariously through some of my emails about the former loves of my life. Most of these stories are not exaggerated or embellished (maybe slightly to make my physical prowess look better than it actually was).

Therefore I will relate a story (on this Blog), for Raymond, that I have not previously told to anyone living or dead.

The Story!

It was in the spring of 1969 that I met a lovely young lady who worked for the Central Intelligence Agency at a party in a neighbor’s apartment in Laurel, Maryland. I was still serving in the Army at this time.

This girl, Nancy, was a Columbia graduate and had been recruited by the CIA in her senior year of college. She wanted to become a field agent but instead was put into an administrative position. She was not a happy camper! But the CIA kept leading her on and she continued to work for them.

She was from Glen Cove, Long Island but lived with her grandmother, just off New York Avenue, on 1st Street NW in Washington DC. Not one of nicest neighborhoods in DC.

Nancy and a few others of her female co-workers (as well as several young ladies that worked for the FBI and No Such Agency) would travel to Laurel, Maryland on the weekends to attend the bacchanalian parties that were held at a place simply referred to as T-2 (the apartment number). They came to drink, dance and find male companionship.

As I recall, there were usually more female guests at the party than male guests – this was good odds for me.

The night in question I was chasing after a blond named Dewey who worked for the FBI and lived in Arlington VA. The farther the distance from the party the better chance that you had with the young ladies spending the night. Plying them with alcoholic beverages also helped.

After drastically failing with my pursuit of Dewey, I moved on to Nancy. We danced and we drank. She was a nice girl and I was a bad guy. Opposites tend to attract.

At roughly one in the morning, I suggested that we adjourn to my apartment a short block away. She agreed.

When we arrived, we immediately headed for the bedroom (which I shared with a roommate - Marty). Much to my chagrin, Marty was laying planks with Dewey. I grabbed my pillows and a blanket and headed onto the living room floor with Nancy.

We made love for several hours (not an exaggeration), and then exhaustedly passed out. We lied naked on top of the blanket.

At the un-Godly hour of 9 in the morning there was a knock at the door. It was our upstairs neighbor, who also served in the same Army unit as I did. We never locked our door, so after a brief knock, he entered to find me and Nancy lying buck naked on the floor of the living room.

The funny thing was that he was more embarrassed than we were; we just laughed and covered up with the blanket.

Nancy went back to Glen Cove in early July; tired of the CIA feeding her Bullshit. We had three good months together; a lot of love making and mad passionate sex.

The Beach Bum

An Unsolved Mystery - Solved

Thanks to my friend Al (Alfredo) I have spared myself from an embarrassing moment (talking to the neighbor about his tropical birds). Al left a comment on my Wednesday Blog about the new bird that has been driving me to the brink of insanity (a short trip). Contrary to popular belief, I do read all of the comments that are posted on The Beach Bum Report.

In his comment Al posted links to MP3 files of bird songs. The first one was right on the money. This was the bird that I have been hearing for the past two weeks. It is not a tropical bird as I had suspected, but a bird indigenous to North America.

It’s a big Woodpecker called the Pileated Woodpecker. This particular Woodpecker has decided to take up residence in my neighbor’s tree that overhangs the wooden fence between the two properties. It, the bird, at times will visit the trees in our yard; I hear the pecking on the tree behind my office (The Shed).


I first noticed it about three weeks ago when I heard a rapping/tapping sound emanating from the rear of the shed. At first, I thought that it was my son-in-law doing yard work. I went out to investigate and saw the largest Woodpecker that I had ever seen. The bird took one look at me and fled the area immediately.

Obviously the bird was angered by me making it depart our yard and has decided to remind me that paybacks are hell. It laughs and cackles every morning and afternoon; and it will do so for hours.

Cazzo – please ship that rifle as soon as possible.

The Beach Bum

Trickling Up II - Addendum Part II

My world traveling friend Dave left a comment (I read it after posting my Addendum Blog) on my Trickling Up – Part II Blog. He puts forward some interesting questions about my proposed Economic Recovery Plan.

First he asks if “it would include well-off folks who can afford their mortgage payment with no problem?”

It depends on what is considered to be well-off.

Three years ago I considered myself to be well-off. I paid all of my bills (including rent) before the due date. I had no debt. I dined out at least once per week. I went to my favorite watering hole at least two nights per week. I could easily afford my bad habits (drinking and smoking). I was able to take a two week (unpaid) vacation every summer. My Medical costs were fully paid (Prescriptions, if any, cost me $7). I could lavishly entertain out of town guest when they came to visit me. Yet I was still able to put money into savings each month.

But there are millions of people that were far better-off than me. There are people who are able to pay their mortgages and bills with ease and yet put a good amount of money into savings. These same people were able to take two or three extended overseas vacations per year.

But since we are giving away the taxpayers money; let’s add Subsection A to Amendment #1 (People that own homes (outright) valued at $750,000 or less would get a one time cash payment of $10,000).

Subsection A, would give the above benefit to Homeowners (homes valued at $750,000 or less) that the people who own there homes outright get. With the stipulation that the money would be paid to them after they had spent the money on Durable Goods purchased in the USA (receipts required).

Dave then goes on to ask “And shouldn't it be considered an interest-free loan from the government (from the taxpayers, actually) that has to be repaid when the place is sold, at least to the extent there's a gain from that low market value?”

I though that this was implied in the original Blog. We are giving the money to the people rather than the Corporations and Banks. The Banks and Corporations would be getting it as a loan; therefore the people that we are bailing out of foreclosure would have to repay the loan when their property sold.


Dave then states “But more importantly, it ain't a stimulus if it goes in the bank, and as you pointed out, this money definitely goes in the bank.”

My point as well as Jon Stewart’s; was rather than give the money directly to the Banks and lending institutions, give it to the people, who will in turn give it to them. This way the Banks and lending institutions get their bailout money indirectly from the Government. The homeowners now have lower affordable mortgages. And with the extra money they are saving, on their mortgage, they spend it and therefore stimulate the Economy.

Thanks for your comments Brother Dave.

The Beach Bum

An Act of Kindness Never Goes Unpaid

The Curmudgeon at the Second Effort Blog has done it again. As he often does, he has evoked vivid memories of my youth. And as often is the case, my response to his Friday Blog would have been too long to post as a comment.

His story is very humorous, but at times it made me cry because it made me reminisce. It starts out with his working a cafeteria while in college. It ends with a moral that we should all pay heed to.

I have eaten in many different school cafeterias (the best food was at the Georgetown University teaching Hospital – no, I wasn’t a student), but I have never worked in one. Most of the food in school cafeterias is very nutritional but lacking in flavor.

The Curmudgeon tells us of his serving food to the other students, some of whom he knew. And what a thankless job it was; nobody acknowledged that they knew him. Subsequent to that experience, he made it a point to make eye contact (with the servers who were serving him) and greet them.

I had learned this lesson many years before he did. I was in a school cafeteria line and trying to decide which entrée to select. I heard a sharp voice boom out at me, “Watcha you waitin’ fo, can’t you see there be a line of students behind you.” I looked up and saw a heavy set Black Women with fire in her eyes. I saw her name tag (initially thinking that I should report her) and I said “Dorothy, I just can’t decide what will upset my stomach the least.” She laughed.

Later I would always go through her line and greet her by name. We would always have a short conversation and she would advise me on what to select (I’m sure that she had tasted everything). Each year I would give Dorothy a Christmas card with five dollars (back then $5 was a lot of money – you could buy a full tank of gasoline and still have some money left over).

Later in his Blog, The Curmudgeon states that he “learned a valuable lesson.” He applies the learned lesson to the beggars, bums and homeless people working the downtown streets of Chicago.

My Dad taught me a valuable lesson about beggars, bums and homeless people when I was 11 or 12 years old.

As we did almost every Sunday, we would walk two blocks to the News Stand to get the Sunday Newspapers. One day, on the way there, a Bum (my Dad called them Panhandlers) approached my Dad and asked for money. My Dad dug into his pocket and gave him three quarters. I was a bit perturbed at this because my allowance was only $1 per week and I had to do a myriad of chores to get it.

Waking back home I asked him why he did it and said that he could have increased my allowance instead. He told me "He needs it more than you do.” He then said that “Jesus smiles down on those that perform acts of charity.” In his lifetime my Dad preformed many acts of charity, including acts of charity to me.

Eight years later I was interning (working for less pay – for doing the same job as my co-workers) at a downtown Chicago Bank. The Bank had a cafeteria but I would usually walk 3 blocks to a Coffee Shop in the building where my girlfriend worked, and we would have lunch together.

One day, a half block away from the Coffee Shop, I was approached by a Bum wearing a raggedy plaid long sleeve shirt (it was August), a Native American, who asked me for a quarter for a cup of coffee (back then you could get a cup of coffee for 15 cents). I told him to come with me and that I would buy him the coffee and a sandwich too. He reluctantly came with me; I’m not sure if it was because of the way that he was dressed or that he rather have had the quarter to buy some cheap wine.

When I walked into the Coffee Shop with him, my girlfriend was already there. Both she and the waitress gave me an icy stare.

After lunch, I walked him out and give him a five dollar bill and said “Now you can get your wine.” His eyes lit up like silver dollars and he thanked me profusely. In return I got a very warm feeling in my heart.

I'll never forget Dorothy or the Bum. Thanks Curmudgeon for rekindling these precious memories.

The Beach Bum

To Evict or not To Evict

An anonymous commenter posted a comment to my last Blog about Cook County Sheriff Dart and the eviction process. I will assume that, he or she lives in Cook County, Illinois and understands the eviction process by either being a tenant, landlord or an attorney.

The comment was: “There is also a law that requires the renter to be given 120 days notice before being evicted.”

I don’t know beans about Cook County or Illinois laws, but I have seen the eviction process in action here in Florida (Pinellas County) twice. Both evictions were for non-payment of rent.

The first case involved a friend (the landlord) and the second involved a neighbor (the tenant). In both cases the process took nearly 90 days.

First the landlord must file papers with the intention to evict (best done by a Lawyer). The tenants are then offered the option to pay what they owe to the landlord or appear in court to explain why they shouldn’t be evicted. Most tenants do not appear. The court then orders an eviction notice for 30 days of evacuation of premises. The Sheriff then posts an eviction notice on their door.

But if the Cook County law is 120 days, a non-rent paying tenant could virtually stay for 6 to 7 months rent free before being evicted.

Sheriff Dart’s point was that he was not going to evict renters that were not delinquent in their rent. These were people whose landlords hadn’t paid their mortgages and subsequently went into foreclosure. They were unaware tenants, who had no idea and no warning that their landlord was in default on his mortgage. Innocent victims!

When the Banks take over the property (due to mortgage default), does the standard eviction process still apply. I don’t know. But like Sheriff Dart, I feel sorry for these people. Personally, I couldn’t evict them, but I’m not the Sheriff.

But back to the original point of my previous Blog; Sheriff Dart took an oath to uphold the law in Cook County; he’s not doing his job.

The Beach Bum

Clicking for Dollars

The other day I read a comment that was placed on one of my favorite Blogs. The comment was concerning the Google Ads on the top of the opening page of his Blog. The commenter cited the three Ads and asked the Blogger how much was he getting paid by Google to have these Ads placed on his Blog.

The commenter is a regular visitor to the Blog and probably was just being facetious. The relevancy of the Ads was far off the nature and general topics of the Blog. Google takes pride in their bots ability to place relevant Ads on Websites and Blogs. But on occasion the bots screw up.


According to Google’s Ad Sense Terms of Service (TOS – you know, those things that you never read and just click on “I Agree”) he is not allowed to answer the commenter's question.

I’ve been barred from Google Ads. I wrote a Blog about this in December 2006.

Why? Because. I inadvertently violated the terms of service that I had never read.

How did I do this unforgivable act?

First, even before I let them put the Ads on my Blog, I made mention in a Blog that I was placing them there and that I would be making money by readers clicking on these Ads. (Big TOS Violation)

Then in another Blog I suggested that people who were reading the Blog (at the time mostly my friends and family) check out the Google Ads. (Bigger TOS Violation).

The last straw for Google was that I had a 48% click rate (a very good click rate is between 5 and 8%). This was unfair to their advertisers. However, (in their cancellation notice) they neglected to mention that I had a good conversation rate.

My Amazon Link on the Right Side Bar has a 63% conversion rate. Why? I occasionally promote it and all my friends and relatives use it for their Amazon purchases.

Why? Because. They know that I am making a few cents off of every one of the purchases that they would be making nevertheless.

Now, here’s what I do.

On the Major sites (including Google and Yahoo) that I visit, I click often. This helps to keep them free. I actually read the ads (they know if you are just clicking and leaving), but I rarely buy. On the Blogs that I enjoy, I click their Ads at least twice per week and I try to pick the Ads that will give them the most revenue per click.

Everyone should do the same. It doesn’t cost you but a few minutes of your precious time per week. You will be keeping the free sites free and putting a few cents in some blogger's pocket.

The Beach Bum

La Dolce Vita

Yesterday I received the following comment on my post about property taxes here in Florida:

“Don't be depressed, the people like yourself that live the good life in Florida looking at the woman and eating grouper can thank the people of Venazulala al ala for the gas and ass we pay for.” Anonymous

First of all, I dislike anonymous comments and wish that Blogger would do away with that option. Also the comment box has a spell check feature so there is no excuse, except for drunkenness, for the misspelling of Venezuela. However with the al ala written after it, it may have been intentional. Your guess is as good as mine.

I do not pay taxes, I do not own property nor had an income for the past two years. And let me state, for the record, that I would love to be paying taxes, own a home and making an income.

“Don’t be depressed.” The depression that I was writing about was an economic depression. However what depresses me personally is the fact that my children and grandchildren are going through hard times. Because of my current situation, I am unable to help them. As I see it, it will only get worse.

“Live the good life in Florida.” It depends on what you call the good life. It also depends on where you live in Florida. When I first moved to Florida I decided to live on the beach. The cost of housing was higher than in the city but benefits were much greater. The warm salt water in the Gulf of Mexico had a therapeutic effect on my arthritic knees (I could walk without a limp) and the lack of pollen bearing trees helped my allergies (I could breathe in the springtime without taking Claritin D).

Besides the health issues, there were other factors. My place of employment was slightly more than a half mile away. There was a Grocery store, a Liquor store, a Walgreens and several Bars and Restaurants within a half mile (comfortable walking distance) of my residence. Plus with the exception of the Cucaracha Grande (Palmetto Bug) and seasonal Love Bugs, there were very few flying insects.

The drawback of living on the beach is there are very few jobs available outside of the service industry.

For eight years I did live what I considered to be the good life. After being unable to work two years ago, it was no longer the good life.

“Looking at the women.” As far as I know Florida does not have a monopoly on women. They are everywhere. However, if you are referring to women over 55 with sagging breasts, varicose veined legs and pot bellies; The Gulf Coast of Florida seems to excel in this category.

“Eating grouper.” I like Grouper. But I also like Cod, Pompano, Salmon and many other mild tasting fish. In 2000 I could get a Grouper Sandwich (5 ounces with fries and coleslaw) for $5.49. A seven to eight ounce Grouper Filet dinner was just $9.95 with salad and potato.

Last summer I paid $8.95 for a skimpy four ounce sandwich. That’s when marine fuel was under $3 per gallon. Marine fuel is currently more than $4 per gallon and it takes a lot of fuel to find the “happy fishing grounds”.

That brings us to “Venazulala al ala.” As far as I know Venezuela doesn’t set the price on crude oil, OPEC does. The leading producer of crude oil is Saudi Arabia; I believe that Venezuela is fifth or sixth down the line. Besides, Venezuela has given us more good Baseball players than any other OPEC country.

The Beach Bum

The State of the Unions

I recently received a comment on one of my posts that disturbed me. It did not anger me but it disturbed me. What disturbed me was that the person, who posted the comment, did not seemingly really read the entire post or perhaps did not fully understand the gist of the Blog. One of my first statements was that I was siding with the Writers Guild of America Union.

The Anonymous Comment was “You obviously have spent most of your life kissing ass and therefore didn't need a union. Look where you are now, Nowhereville.” And signed “from The Hoffa society for ass kissers.”

RE: “You obviously have spent most of your life kissing ass.” Not to defend myself, which I am probably doing now; but I have never been an ass kisser, a brown nose or a sycophant. People who know me will agree with me on this point. They will say that I am an opinionated asshole. Opinionated Asshole, Yes - Ass Kisser, NO! I can except this because I realize who and what I am.

Please note that the signature is “The Hoffa society for ass kissers”. Therefore I will assume that the person who made this comment is a member of this society. What does this mean? Is he or she an ass kisser? Was Jimmy Hoffa an ass kisser? Maybe his son and current Teamster Union President is an ass kisser. Or does it mean that this society is a group of people that have kissed a Hoffa’s ass.

In my blog I stated that I was basically against Unions. This is not the total truth. I should have said that I was against the Unions that attempt to justify their existence by demanding outrageous pay and benefits for their members. This subsequently raises the prices of goods and services for the average person. They are really not hurting the management that they work for; they are in essence hurting themselves. When one large union gets increased pay and benefits, other large union members say “hey these guys got this or that, we should be getting the same if not more”. This is human nature.

I also stated “Not to say that unions are not a good thing.” The key words here are “Not to say”. My implied meaning here is that Unions are an important factor to workers when they are fighting for better working conditions, fair benefits and a reasonable rate of pay.

But what are fair benefits and a reasonable rate of pay. Should a senior UAW worker be making more money and have greater benefits than a Resident MD at a small Hospital? And some UAW members do. I don’t know the answer, but it just doesn’t seem fair and reasonable to me!

The Beach Bum