When you’re married, all guys will tell you, it’s the wife who rules.

Maybe. We lost two senior greyhounds, adopted as seniors, about a month apart, not long after we lost a Scotty, also adopted as a senior, and our menagerie was slashed in half.

“No more greyhounds,” she proclaimed. “No more seniors.” It’s all too much to bear.”

But things change. You’re allowed, even encouraged, to read aloud to her from your blogs and books about dogs and cats. You’re allowed to look over her shoulder when she starts visiting Scotty and greyhound rescue sites. When she says, “Just looking,” and goes shopping for shoes instead, you go, “Uh huh.”

Then comes the day when she tells you, out of the blue, “Black lives matter.” “Yes,” you say. “Sure thing.” And now you have two pickup dates in North Jersey parking lots.

Meet Bat.

He’s only 13.

Meet Rock.

He’s just 2. And an ex-con. Beat that.

“Everything’s going to be all right.” What I tell her because I love her and know we’ll survive whatever it is that happens next.

We will. With any luck, Bat comes home tomorrow and Rock comes home Sunday. Hallelujah. Don’t laugh. We’re just turning the page. Again.

Please, Bat. Come home.

Just a quick FB survey? Have you ever lost almost everything in the course of a few short years? Marriage, house, business and creative careers, a father, family and its heirlooms and photographs, and a huge war with the IRS? You don’t necessarily lose your friends, but they don’t want to be around your fall and are very slow to return your calls.

You find yourself looking up into the mocking face of the tempter, who has understanding eyes but no real sympathy.

“Get back up.” What every beaten fighter on the canvas has heard from his corner.

Can you?

Yeah, you can. But it takes more than the count of ten sometimes. You have to fool yourself into believing you have courage you know dribbled away long ago. You have to jeer yourself on with the same mocking voice that smirked at your losses and humiliations.

The good news. You don’t have to be a hero. You just have to keep getting back up, patching things up, and trying, regardless of your sinful nature, to do more good than bad, in the torrent of life.

And then, of course, every so often, there you are again, on the canvas.

Ever felt this way? Ain’t we a pair?

“Get up, Raggedy Man.”

And be advised, you may limp to the closing bell and lose. But it’s still somehow worth it.

Just a quick FB survey? Have you ever lost almost everything in the course of a few short years? Marriage, house, business and creative careers, a father, family and its heirlooms and photographs, and a huge war with the IRS? You don’t necessarily lose your friends, but they don’t want to be around your fall and are very slow to return your calls.

You find yourself looking up into the mocking face of the tempter, who has understanding eyes but no real sympathy.

“Get back up.” What every beaten fighter on the canvas has heard from his corner.

Can you?

Yeah, you can. But it takes more than the count of ten sometimes. You have to fool yourself into believing you have courage you know dribbled away long ago. You have to jeer yourself on with the same mocking voice that smirked at your losses and humiliations.

The good news. You don’t have to be hero. You just have to keep getting back up, patching things up, and trying, regardless of your sinful nature, to do more good than bad, in the torrent of life.

And then, of course, every so often, there you are again, on the canvas.

Ever felt this way? Aren’t we a pair?

“Get up, Raggedy Man.”

Elvis.

Roy.

Little Richard.

Chuck Berry.

Buddy Holly.

The Big Bopper.

Fats Domino.

Jerry Lee Lewis.

Tom Petty (Because he paid his dues trying to find and play and work with the Real Guys.)

And a whole bunch of Other Guys.

PLUS: the immortal twin pillars of kickass.

Ronnie

Don’t tell me who I am. I’m an American and all people are my people. Especially Ronnie Spector.

And so to bed.

Ronnie

Don’t tell me who I am. I’m an American and all people are my people. Especially Ronnie Spector.

And so to bed.

How we met her. On the side of the road after our honeymoon. She ran away from us into the wheels of an SUV. She was crazy.

After the operations, we had to teach her how to walk again.

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She did learn. But it cost a little piece of her heart.

Little piece of a huge heart.

Okay. She is really nuts. Out of control.

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And then there is one beautiful day…

Still loving me. Right?

Right. But life hurts all the time. Pugs are Chinese you know. Bred to take it on the chin and be beautiful throughout.

But a little back scratch doesn’t hurt nearly so much as life.

And so to bed.

Like it’s one word, the fans say “Fred’n’Ginger.” But it’s hardly the whole story. They made great movies together, and Ginger got a lot of mileage out of the line, “I did everything Fred did but backwards and in high heels.” Cute and memorable but not quite true.

Truth. Fred Astaire was a dancer of genius. Ginger Rogers was a hoofer. Thing is, he also worked with other very gifted dancers. The best are represented below.

Eleanor Powell.

Audrey Hepburn.

Cyd Charisse.

Leslie Caron.

Who wins? All of them.

AND A BONUS, COURTESY OF THE MAESTRO GEORGE GERSWIN:

Feeling better? I knowI am.

Mah Hazel

All right. Come Monday, I’m going to the plastic surgery shop to git me the face of an old old country singer. Then I’ll be eloping with mah true love Hazel Dickens. Don’t she just beat all?

What? My wife just told she’s been done dead for a year or three. Or five. She shouldn’ be snickerin’ like that. Joke’s on her ain’t? Now she’ll have to fix on some other ways of gittin’ me gone. Dayumm.

 

I guess there’s a hormone called Endofthelineagen that explains why broads who are no longer young feel compelled to show off their T&A&P to the whole wide world. If you have a better explanation, let me know.

Is Rachel Milo?

Or is Milo Rachel?

The easy answer. I do it for her. To tame the animal heart in me. But not really true. My animal heart is who I really am.

There’s a category called “Rough with the smooth.”

We are together. Thing is, without the wicked drink, we wouldn’t be. We split, so many years and years ago. All not gonna happen. Then, one night, decades later, I mean DECADES, I got drunk, called her up, I mean actually hounded a 411 operator half to death to get that number, and I found a woman who was still in love with me. So she wants me to stop drinking. So do I. I just can’t. It’s the disease called life. A thing in me I can’t kill without killing me. Youngest admitted to Harvard, youngest to graduate. So here I am. Alive because I’m too mean not to be.

I love the TV shows that fret and fume about drinking, and I love those innumerable friends of Bill. I was born an alcoholic. 16 years old and done for. Really. Truly. Honestly. Alky, alky, alky. And still I do not die. THAT’s the miracle if you ask me.

So I do this instead. Melatonin. Use it as a sedative. I think it’s hurting my eyes. But it calms me down. I don’t look like I’m drinking as much.

But here’s the thing. So. I did this.

Books.

And this.

A Half-Dozen Astounding Things I Did on One Page Each.

* And why the MSM will never show it to you.

WOW. South Philly rules.

Classical music radio station WFLN said, “The greatest voice of them all, bar none. A shame what Hollywood did to him. They killed him, plain and simple.”

Number 20.

Dawkins. The one and only.

Finalists for 2017 Hall of Fame class include LaDainian Tomlinson, Jason Taylor, Brian Dawkins via @ESPN App

I’ve got a Dawkins jersey. My all time favorite Eagle. But safeties never ever ever get into the Hall of Fame.

Forget the naked stuff. Substitute instead a dinner at Ralph’s and we’re way way good.

Christians are to blame for Islamic violence:

Obama references crusades, slavery at Prayer Breakfast.

“President Obama has never been one to go easy on America.

“As a new president, he dismissed the idea of American exceptionalism, noting that Greeks think their country is special, too. He labeled the Bush-era interrogation practices, euphemistically called “harsh” for years, as torture. America, he has suggested, has much to answer given its history in Latin America and the Middle East.

“His latest challenge came Thursday at the National Prayer Breakfast. At a time of global anxiety over Islamist terrorism, Obama noted pointedly that his fellow Christians, who make up a vast majority of Americans, should perhaps not be the ones who cast the first stone.

“‘Humanity has been grappling with these questions throughout human history,” he told the group, speaking of the tension between the compassionate and murderous acts religion can inspire. “And lest we get on our high horse and think this is unique to some other place, remember that during the Crusades and the Inquisition, people committed terrible deeds in the name of Christ. In our home country, slavery and Jim Crow all too often was justified in the name of Christ.'”

99 percent of muslims are peace loving sweeties.

Ahem.

You’ll be Shocked by How Many American Muslims WANT to be ruled by Shariah Law!!!

“More than half (51%) of U.S. Muslims polled also believe either that they should have the choice of American or shariah courts, or that they should have their own tribunals to apply shariah. Only 39% of those polled said that Muslims in the U.S. should be subject to American courts…

“Even more troubling, is the fact that nearly a quarter of the Muslims polled believed that, “It is legitimate to use violence to punish those who give offense to Islam by, for example, portraying the prophet Mohammed.”

Ring wraiths are all basically good at heart.

If there’s anything wrong with Dementors, it’s that they just love people too much.

Ninjas aren’t really violent. They just think black is a powerful fashion statement, and they’re embarrassed about their teeth. A sad thing. More to be pitied than censured.

Once you get past the invincible exo-skeletons and glaring red eyes, Terminators are exactly like Aunt Bea. Off duty, they knit, listen to Hazel Dickens, and fry chicken.

And ISIS is really just the militant wing of overall Islamic pacifism.

Here. Ask their women. They’ll tell you what nice guys they all are when they come home after a long day’s work on behalf of Muhammad. You should see their undies.

Oops. How did that get in here? Well, she’s obviously one of those evil Christian Crusaders. Just unsee it. You never saw this, right? Right? Right? Right?

Feast your eyes on this instead. Repeat after me: Islam means peace, peace, peace, peace, peace. Right?


Always win. I know I do.

* What you really truly cannot unsee.

Jagger was always a star.

So cool.

Bianca just WAS.

And then Bianca got old.

Yes, she did.


While Mick got iconic.

Go figure. Why men are still The Man.

And then she got old.

Which David never did. The thing about rock stars.

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