With Friends Like This….

With Friends Like This….

“Hey, do you remember that New Year’s Eve at the Matchbox way back when?”  I said to Phil, as we were tacking one on at the last true dive bar/liquor store remaining on Division Street.  I don’t know why this memory popped into my thoughts out of the blue so many yeas later, but it did.

“Yeah, the Matchbox on Milwaukee, that was one wild night.”  Phil said.

The Matchbox is a small upper-class dive that’s long and narrow with a bar running the length of it.  It must be around 6 feet wide from bar to wall and maybe 40-50 feet long.  I’m sure its max capacity is only around 30 people, sitting or standing single file along the bar.  There’s never any room to move when it’s crowded, which is often.  The night we had started reminiscing upon happened about twelve years earlier when I was visiting Chicago for the Christmas holidays.  I had called Phil to see what he was doing for New Year’s Eve.  He told me he was meeting his girlfriend at the bar and invited me to join.  He said his girlfriend could bring one of her friends along.  That sounded fine and we agreed to meet there at 9pm.

When I got to the bar, I was surprised at how small the place was.  I saw my group sitting about halfway down the rail.  They had seats when, by this time, it was already standing room only.  I started pushing through the crowd to get to them.

The girl Phil had arranged for me to meet wasn’t anything special at first glance.  He told me that she was a bit particular in the men she liked, but if you she liked you, she was quite aggressive in the physical sense.  I didn’t know what to make of that characterization, but it intrigued me.  He was right though, as she liked me and things got pretty wild and out of control in no time.

Now, years later, this crazy New Year’s Eve somehow made its way back into my consciousness.  “That was a crazy night.  I haven’t thought about it in a long time or been back to that place since.”  I said.

“Yeah.”  Phil added.  He was also clearly pulling dusty thoughts of the night out of his memory now.

“What was your girlfriend’s name?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Her friend was a real animal.  She took away a piece of my innocence that night.”  I then remembered another detail, “I’d still like you to give me the pictures you took that night.”

“What?!?  You still remember and want those?”

“Of course, I want them.  We’ve been through this before.”

“It’s crazy, that now, almost 12 years later, you’re still asking for those photos.”

“What’s crazy is that now, 12 years later, you still won’t give them to me.”

“Why do you want them so much?”

“I just don’t want them out there.  You never know when things like that will come to the surface and bite you in the ass.”

“Come to the surface?  You’re crazy to still be thinking about this.  Really, what’s the problem?”

“As I said, I just don’t want them out there and would appreciate it if you gave them and their negatives to me.  You were never authorized to bust into the room and take any photos in the first place.”

“Authorized?  Oh Jesus- really?  What the fuck?  As I told you, don’t worry about them.  They’re safe.  No one will ever see them.”

“Dude, it’s the principle.  I cannot for the life of me figure out why you won’t just hand them over.  I didn’t understand it when I asked for them in the past and I still don’t understand it now.  I mean, why would you even want them?”  He didn't answer, so I drained my beer and went to the toilet.  I was riled up now.  It’s funny how a random memory can ruin your mood out of the blue.  I got another beer on my way back and sat down.

“I don’t even know where they are.  They must be in storage somewhere.”  Phil said once I returned.  He was clearly thinking about it the whole time I was away and this was the best excuse he could come up with.

“Dude, you just moved into a new apartment.  I’m sure you went through all your stuff and must have an idea where they are.”

“Yes, I did do that.”

“So, why not hand them over?”

“Why do you want them so bad?  You’re worried about them getting out?  What does that even mean?”  He said again.  He was pulling my strings and it was working.

“What is this shit?!  I just don’t want them out there.”

“You know, Jennings said the same thing about some photos I have of him when we were in Mexico together.  Blah, blah, blah, my wife will find out about them and if she does I’m toast.  Well, his wife never saw or heard about them.  They’re safe in my custody and nothing’s ever happened.  Trust me, you’re fine.”

This last bit about Jennings was news to me and it hit an already tight nerve.  “What the fuck!?!?  There are other photos?  Is this your thing?  You take explicit photos of friends when they’re drunk and having a good time and then hold them over them for years and years?  What kind of bullshit is this?  This is fucking ridiculous!”

Phil went silent realizing his “Jennings defense” had backfired.  Bringing another set of photos into the discussion only further undermined his position.  Nevertheless, he wouldn’t budge and refused to hand them over. 

I slammed my new beer and walked out without saying another word.  There wasn’t even anything bad in the photos, just some partially naked chick all over me, but it was the principle of the whole thing that stuck in my craw.  It must have given him some strange satisfaction to have some leverage over his friends.  I felt like an idiot and walked up the street in a silent fury questioning why such people were still in my life.  Then it dawned on me, it was probably because of the fucking kompromat*!

*Kompromat is a Russian word that has recently been making its way into English usage.  It refers to “compromising materials” collected specifically for the purpose of blackmailing or influencing a person/target.

  

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Siddhartha Returns, India Journal vol. 2, part 3

Siddhartha Returns: India Journal, vol. 2, part 3

“He knew that what he was now doing marked a turning point in his life—it was out of line with everything that had preceded it.” F. Scott Fitzgerald

January 20-25, 2019

I finished my Ayurveda treatment a few days ago.  As I expected, the last days were a snap.  The detoxification program kept me indoors for a full day, but it was a necessary rocess.  The idea behind detoxing once a year is that you hold many of the impurities your body ingests in the colon until it can break them down over time, sometimes months.  Your body uses a large amount of its resources protecting you from these toxins, so if you flush them out of your system regularly, it allows the body to take a break and use that extra energy to rebuild other areas that need it.  After doing some form of detox for over the last 20 years, I am convinced that there is definitely something very beneficial by doing it.

There are many ways to detox, but here, you drink some warm coconut milk with some drops of a liquid in it that allows the colon to release these toxins.  During this process you slowly drink hot water and your body begins flushing out your system.  At first you feel very tired, as the toxins enter your bloodstream and your body goes into high alert fighting them, but after a couple hours, you feel a reawakening of both mind and body.  It’s quite therapeutic and once it is over, your energy is fully restored, your body and immune system has strengthened itself and your mind has clarity of thought.

After the detox, there was one more day of massages- both the foot and the oil massages and then it was over.  I feel rejuvenated and healthy as I write this.  While I didn’t “love” the treatment itself, I still recommend doing it for anyone visiting here and I will do it again on my next visit. 

I finished Tender is the Night and it had a most devastating ending.  It has stayed with me the last few days and I keep thinking about how its meaning is universal to so many people.  I love novels that scream at your soul to wake up and take life by the reins and this was one of them.  What a tragedy.  Another tragedy is I cannot find anyone who has read it to discuss it with…but, that is not unusual in the least, as my reading list is somehow, confusingly, sadly, way out of fashion these days. 

I find it interesting how so many novels written in that period (1920s/30s) have these fantastic “hit you in the gut” tragic endings.  Today, it seems like we mostly get a steady diet of redemption or save the world stories.  Why is that?  I recently met someone who has been involved in publishing for over thirty years and when I told him I was on my final lap of finishing my first novel he immediately asked, “is it a happy ending?  Does your protagonist find redemption?”  When I demurred, he immediately interrupted and said, “Trust me, I know all about getting published and if it’s not a redemption story you will never see it in print.”  After I began protesting the whole idea of what he just espoused, he shut me out and moved on.  I guess I can’t call him up for some literary agent references!

The historian Edith Hamilton said in referencing fiction, “A people’s literature is the great textbook for real knowledge of them.  The writings of the day show the quality of the people as no historical reconstruction can.”  When I look at the fiction books being written today, especially those that populate the New York Times bestseller list, I worry about where our culture is and represents.  I find most of today's novels superficial with shallow, predictable endings, which is why older, classic literature dominates my reading list.   

I haven’t seen much written over the last thirty years in the States besides Bukowski, Vonnegut, David Foster Wallace, and a few others that I believe will be read and talked about in 50-100 years.  I do believe Salinger was writing up the end, but we are still in the waiting game to see if we will ever be blessed to be able to read those sacred scripts.  (I am hopeful that they are coming and will start being published within the coming few years and it will be the literary event of my lifetime- fingers crossed.)

After Tender, I read Solzhenitsyn’s drama The Love Girl and the Innocent.  It’s a story about two prisoners in the gulag where the girl has to make her lover accept that moral integrity in the camps is a passport to death and that she must share herself sexually with the camp bosses or her lover will be killed or transferred to another camp.  It’s not a happy tale, but the writing didn’t pack the punch that Fitzgerald always does.  I’m happy I read it though, as I’d like to try to write a drama after I finish this last edit of my novel.  In this effort, I’m trying to read more of the genre to get a better feel for how to write it.

I then started Henry Miller’s The Air-Conditioned Nightmare, which was recommended to me by a friend.  I’m only about a third into it, but it is no Tropic of Cancer just yet.  It was written in 1941 and Miller has fled the war in his beloved France and returned to the States.  It is filled with melancholy and long diatribes about how bad U.S. society is.  I find the writing heavy and verbose, but I’m giving him some leeway and will push forward with it.  Some of the few strong passages in it do speak to me as a former expatriate.  Many of those observations he writes about ring true despite the almost 80 year difference in our timelines and his reminisces of France are well done.  

A typical view of Kerala's landscape

Some final words on India before I wrap this up.  I’ve never been a big fan of beach vacations and while that is a big part of the place I've called home these last weeks, it is also a small part.  The culture overrides just about everything here and despite staying in Kovalam for only two and a half weeks, it was enough to disconnect and take a nice step back.  I think the British colonization helped preserve a unique and positive culture while also adding a Western touch to it and when I mention this to Indians I meet, most of them agree with this idea in principle.  One of the great ironies of the present day is the country that colonized the world is now leaving the European Union because they don’t want immigrants in the U.K.  How ridiculous and petty are the British?  I guess I shouldn’t insult any country when I see what is happening in mine.  We still have the big T and his GOP lemmings ruining the U.S., though I still stand by my belief that 2019 will end this madness one way or another.

I wish I had another week to travel to a different region or two, but there aren’t many other places that I know of that can take you this far in such a short period of time.  I am tan, rested and ready to get back to the Polar Vortex coming to Chicago just after my arrival there.  Then, it’s time to tackle my novel over February.  I look forward to it.  Thanks for reading and keep pushing yourself forward- onward and upward!

Street Dog in Kovalam

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Siddhartha Returns: India Journal vol. 2, part 2

Siddhartha Returns: India Journal vol. 2, part 2

This is second part of a three part series on my trip to India.  If you haven't read the first part, I recommend starting there.  It can be found here:   

https://libertinereflections.blogspot.com/2019/01/siddhartha-returns-indian-travel.html

Part II: "Youth is the most precious thing...too bad it has to be wasted on young folks."  George Bernard Shaw

Just taking some eggs down to the beach...

Kovalam India, January 15-19, 2019

Anyone considering an Ayurveda treatment should not take my last blog’s description of it too seriously.  We have a large clan of Ukrainians here with us and they are all doing the same treatment I wrote about in my last post.  After casually canvassing many of them on the beach, they all think the treatment is “super” and “fantastic”.  They seriously love it.  Also, now that I’m five days into my treatment, I have to say, my mind is settled and focused and the treatments flow by like a breeze under a birds wings as it soars through the sky. 

I still have Babu doing the foot massage daily, but my mind has totally settled down and I get lost in the void or just relax while playing with a certain thought or idea in my head during the treatments.  Also, I moved on from the coarse hot oil bag rub and powder treatment and am now on what I call “oil boarding”.  I lay on a wooden board while two people pour little streams of hot oil all over my body for thirty minutes.  After the oil boarding, I have something reminiscent to the

The "Oil Board"

Chinese water torture, but it involves a small stream of hot oil constantly being poured across my forehead for thirty minutes –back and forth – back and forth – like a cylon’s eye in Battlestar Gallactica.  This treatment was tough the first day, but now that I have found some inner harmony, I now find it quite relaxing and I usually just tune out and before I know it, the treatment is over.  I only have a couple days of treatment left and after today, I think they’ll be a cakewalk, despite the fact the detoxification therapy is next. 

Besides the Ayurveda, my body is also benefitting from a much healthier diet.  I eat pineapple and mango for breakfast on the beach, then usually some fish for lunch and then seafood or chicken for dinner

Hot Chili Fish

.  Fried foods are few and far between out here, as are dairy products/cheese.  In Chicago, it’s not that I’m eating such terrible foods (though that is part of it), but the main issue is the quantity that is given to us in America.  A standard size plate of food in the States is at least double if not triple the size of what is served here (or in Europe).  It’s amazing how your caloric intake drops and your body feels energized when mass quantities aren’t shoved in your face and stomach. 

One of my favorite things about having a beach vacation is the time it gives you to catch up on reading.  I arrived here well into Seymour Hersh’s new memoir Reporter and finished it within the first two days.  Hersh recently came to Prague and did a reading at my bookstore/café there.  It was a great success and his new book, which he gifted me, didn’t disappoint in the least.  It was a great read and I strongly recommend it for anyone interested in investigative journalism and an on the ground account of some important events in U.S. history since the 60s.  His behind the scenes stories on the My Lai massacre in Vietnam, Sidney Korshak and the mob, JFK and the unknown story about what really happened when we hunted down and killed Osama Bin Laden were just a few of the fascinating stories that he’s uncovered and discussed in the memoir. 

After Reporter, it was time to switch gears into fiction, so I jumped into Fitzgerald’s Tender is the Night.  Tender has been on my reading list for far too long and I wasn’t going to let another vacation pass without reading it.  In fact, I was actually planning on reading this one last year when I first came here, but I absentmindedly left the book back in Chicago, so it didn’t happen.  By a strange bit of Fate, I hadn’t read much Fitzgerald beyond Gatsby and his short stories until recently. 

Last year, after realizing I didn’t take Tender with me, I miraculously found a copy of The Beautiful and the Damned at the Trivandrum airport when traveling up to Delhi.  I really loved that one, so this year, Tender is the Night was back at the top of my India reading list.  Reading a Fitzgerald novel each year is a gift to any literature lover.  He is truly one of America’s best.   

I’m already about halfway into it and one thing that stands out when reading this novel is how the young were so much more mature and developed back then.  I guess with shorter life expectancy, the constant European/Western wars, and the hardships that came along with them, people just grew up so much faster than today.  One of the main women characters in Tender, an American named Rosemary, is introduced to us when she is about to turn 18 and is traveling around Europe and holding company with middle aged adults in a very mature and poised way and no one thinks twice about the age difference.

Also, I recently read Nabokov’s Laughter in the Dark, which is about a man in his forties who is contently married, but wants a mistress and then falls in love with an 18 year old that is able to handle herself among the man’s mature and erudite circle of friends.  Of course, once this relationship moves forward, the man’s life falls spectacularly apart, but that is classic Nabokov and has nothing to do with the age of the vixen at the center of the mess and more about the nature of man in general. 

Both novels take place in Europe at roughly the same time (1920s-1930s), but when we read them today, it is pretty much impossible to think of an American or European under 20 years old being as mature and worldly as the young characters in these novels.  Today, even when I meet someone in the States closer to 30 years old, most of them them have no idea about history, literature/arts, geography, politics or just about anything else that is outside of their myopic view of the world seen through Instagram and other social media. 

Has the extended peace in the West since the end of WWII delayed the development of our youth to such an extent that our young adults lack the tools necessary to survive in a more hostile and uncertain world?  I don’t think this is such a rhetorical question these days, as with the rise of Trump and populism/nationalism in Europe and the States, the current world order is not looking anywhere near as stable as it was only ten years ago.  Talk of the U.S. leaving NATO, tariff wars, a rising China and unchecked adversarial Russia are just a few warning signals on the horizon that could greatly undermine global stability and if that indeed does happen, will the backbone of our society- young adults from 18-30- be ready to carry the necessary load to see us through as our forefathers did the last time nationalism/Fascism rose up in Europe and threatened our freedoms and way of life?

I’m not so sure where we are headed, but enough of these far too serious (and depressing) thoughts.  I must be one of the only people around that goes on holidays and once he’s able to kick back a bit, starts working himself into a mental crisis about the current state of the world and U.S. culture.  Thus, I’m ending this post here and heading off to the beach to relax, take a swim and continue reading about a blossoming love affair against the backdrop of coming tragedy between an 18 year old and a middle aged married man in France during the heyday of the Jazz Age. 

 

Kovalam Beach from the top of the Lighthouse

I’ll update one last blog as the trip wraps up, but I’ve turned the corner on the Ayurveda and am very happy to be back in the land of curry, masala and purple togas/diapers.

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If you want to read more about India and my thoughts on it, you can find my original India Travelogue, that was published last year, here:  

https://libertinereflections.blogspot.com/2018/02/india-journal-part-i.html