Tough Talkers - 8

Hit this to Talk Tough Yourself or this for the The Current Tough Talk or this for the previous Tough Talk (7). Hit this for the first tough talkers, Tough Talk (1), or take the 'A' Train back to Johnny's Lounge, Part Eight or to Part Seven or to Part One or to Part Two. Maybe you want to look at The Jukebox or look down on the street or listen to some Table Talk or do some Table Talking Yourself

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A recitation. I don't fight that much. I was in Djibouti and onscreen for more than 16 minutes in the prize-winning 1999 Legion movie, Beau Travail.

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So what happened to the comments from Shad Roe, the ones that were in transit?

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Bobby Darin was a great performer, and if he hadn't died at 37 he would have a place in American history greater than Elvis or Frank Sinatra.

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[Comments in transit via Italia Globo-Nettini, Pomodoro: Barzini%Zb:_Tattaglia%3intl*_Fratangelo]

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It's Sergio Leone in August.

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That's right, these are the rules.

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Johnny has a monologue going in here.

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The Belmont Stakes -- Medaglia D'Oro, Perfect Drift, War Emblem third. No triple crown for War Emblem.

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This is for the Flaming Gay Man: I heard "I'm Bill's Wife" on the radio last night, and on the strength of it alone I'm willing to add them, but I can't find out who sings them or where to get them. My research has hit a dead end. Nobody knows anything.

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Mr. Robinson does not see. He has an inner blindness which will bring him to ruin if he does not submit to the discipline of a school and bring himself fully into balance. He is not arranged, and Chi Tsong Ping is the martial art of arrangement -- the arrangement of the forces that give you speed and power, of the blows you strike, of your posture, stance, and attitude for the strikes you must take, and of the imaginings. Send question.

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The be-boppin'est biography.

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I am very fond of a group of songs not on Johnny's jukebox, "Bill" and all the answer songs it inspired ... "Bill Goes Both Ways" ... "I'm Bill's Wife" ... "Can That Be Bill" ... "Bill in Cuffs" ... and the others.

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Those Asian moves, from Karatedo to Kung Fu to Ninjutsu to Chi Tsong Ping, including the mythical leaping and flying seen in "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" and the others, have nothing on me. I was born with it. I have it naturally and I don't need a school.

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Hot picks for the Preakness -- War Emblem to win again. I have the feel. War Emblem followed by the powerfully surging 40-1 longshot, Magic Weisner, and then Medaglia d'Oro to show. The bets are off at 6:00 PM EDT.

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That song is such a cliche. It's for 12-yr-old girls.

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You can't fight the moonlight (You can try to resist).

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Hot picks for the Derby: War Emblem by three lengths, followed by Medaglia d'Oro and then Perfect Drift. Horse Man has no horse mojo. And anyone who wants to bet on it has to get it in before 6:00 PM EDT. The bets are off at 6:00.

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I have powerful horse mojo, and for the Derby it will be Johannesburg. Harlan's Holiday to place, Saarland to show. Put the house on it, and your mama's house too.

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You've got to give a little, take a little, win a little, lose a little, and always have the blues a little, that's the story of, that's the glory of love (Your fine fine superfine career).

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Stagger Lee was a bad man, and he got his .44. He shot Billy Lyons dead. Stagger Lee. According to the white epic hero, Beowulf, it is best to be a man worthy of an enduring song.

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Full pink moon tonight.

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Too much signifyin', too. Every time she start to lovin', she bring eyesight to the blind.

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This guestbook is often tiresome, LSF. The posturing, the random information out of nowhere, the pronouncements and statements they make, the lurid confessions, the lowbrow tone.

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Now it's Adb el-Krim and Astro-Paola. Do any of these people have ordinary names?

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I rule the Rif and am beloved in the blue alleyways of Mazool.

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Extraordinary planetary events are approaching: mergings, equilateral star-triangles, the brightest pyramid-shaped specter of a lifetime, and a visible pathway of planets, a bright line across the sky, leading back to our origin from planetary dust. You'll be able to see the alignment for three weeks beginning near the end of this month, on Tuesday evening, April 23. Face south, look straight up, and turn your head slowly down to the west.

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I admire President Summers for driving Cornel West out of here and back into the black studies jungle at Princeton. They probably admire Cornel West down there. He Mau-Mau'd us for more than $200,000 a year, and he's a Don King professor, an Al Sharpton of academe. But I am here to mention the leitmotifs present in the story of Film Noir Johnny, Parts One through Eight.

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I like Helmut Newton's White Women.

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These people everywhere walking around talking into cell phones, smiling or frowning or straight-faced, yakking to their children, wives, husbands, boyfriends, girlfriends, or to their money-makers, jabbering about where they are and what they're doing. I have to listen to this babble and drivel on the street, in the market, inside buildings. Everywhere it's yak yak yak. I've started taking it personally, as a personal insult. It's public air, and these obnoxious people fill it with their yak-yak. Today I was standing in line at the market checkout, and a fat woman behind me was yakking with a friend of hers about where she was and then about food. I asked the fat woman if I could speak to her friend, and when I got the fat woman's friend on the line I told her they both needed to reduce. This got some laughs in the checkout line.

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I could drive all over Johnny's Guido Mustang in this Steppenwolf.

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I have returned to Johnny's with a confession. When I was 14, I began sneaking off into dark corners with boys to do shameful things, and now at 41 I am still sneaking off to do the same things. Nothing ordinary has much interest for me.

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Get in line, Lee.

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I too came to Johnny's via the Salon.com review, and am so glad that I did. It is far richer and more satisfying than nearly every film I have seen. I have friends in Los Angeles and New York who I'm sure would have a strong interest in producing it, along with me. Photos and text.

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I read the review of Film Noir Johnny's in Salon.com, and after visiting the site and staying for more than five hours (I read all eight parts, in order), I am compelled to agree with their five-star rating, both for the quality of the writing and for the unexpected and sometimes startling beauty of the links. It thrills me consistently, from beginning to end.

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The names of six James Brown moves: The One-Legged Skate, The Knee Drop, The Flying Split, The Spinning Top, The Hot Foot, The Cape Crawl, The Microphone Coochie.

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I have three witch hazels in the garden and they are in full bloom now. This unusual shrub (or tree) blooms in the middle of February, and its clove-like, medicinal fragrance fills the cold air. The flowers are scarlet and yellow, very small, but intense.

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The Evo-Biologist is corrupt from modern thinking. Jihad kohlrabi!

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The idea of the Devil developed as an explanation of behavior, beginning with the Zoroastrians and moving naturally into Christianity. The Devil could explain the compulsions that brought on shame, and violent acts that brought on shame, and the Devil created all the things we fear the most. It was a comforting idea for people who used their enlarged brains to delude themselves.

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The best movies of the Xmas season turn out to be two rentals (Bridget Jones' Diary and Legally Blonde), plus the early release of A Beautiful Mind.

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You got that?

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Where are the men of true character who are ready to die for honor, instead of these realistic, smiling compromisers I meet everywhere?

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Here's what I say.

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When I was a boy and got a soft drink, it was always a bottle of Grapette.

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Darrell Condit, the meth-charged younger brother, is Gary Condit's alter ego, doppelganger, dark self. The father and grandfather were both hardscrabble preachers.

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I was in the Tupinamba, having a bizcocho and coffee, when this girl came in. Everything about her said Indian, from the maroon rebozo to the black dress with purple flowers on it, to the swaying way she walked, that no woman ever got without carrying pots, bundles, and baskets on her head from the time she could crawl. But she wasn't any of the colors that Indians come in. She was almost white, with just the least dip of cafe con leche. Her shape was Indian, but not ugly. Most Indian women have a rope of muscle over their hips that give them a high-waisted mis-shapen look, thin, bunchy legs, and too much breast-works. She had plenty in that line, but her hips were round, and her legs had a soft line to them. She was slim, but there was something voluptuous about her, like in three or four years she would get fat. The eyes weren't dumb, with that shiny, shoe-button look. They were pretty big and black, but they leveled out straight, and had kind of a sleepy impudent look to them.

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Americans need more yoga, gingko biloba, gotu kola, high-potency grapine, mega chel, chromium GTF for blood sugar, una de gato, Siberian ginseng, magnesium, herbal infusions, and Mozambique Marula Fruit. Together they will bring serenity to your soul and vibrant health to your body.

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James M. Cain is a patronizing fuck.

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All Social Philosophers out.

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Some women I've known are like the electronic machine.

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So what about the Social Philosopher's pronouncements?

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Through increased one-on-one contact with machines, we become more like them. We take their prompts and directions. We adjust our rhythms and thought processes to the inner workings of the machine. We learn that often the best way to handle trouble with an electronic machine is to turn it off, allow it to reset, and then start it up again.

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What a sap this Social Philosopher is.

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Excessive policing and surveillance feeds on itelf, and it encourages people with vulnerabilities of character to push the limits to get away with anything they can. It helps destroy the fragile codes of internal honor that we would rather see at work among people.

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You got a Lucas Jackson.

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Any man smoking in the prone positon in bed, night in the box. Any man loud-talkin', night in the box. Any man turns in the wrong sheet, night in the box. Any man playin' grabass or fighting, night in the box. Any man don't keep order, night in the box. You call the Captain "Captain," and you call the rest of us "Boss." You got that?

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Johnny is Foghorn Leghorn.

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Here in the hop joint behind Weng Fat's on Mott Street, I too have been overcome by summer torpor.

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This is a bulletin board of inanity.

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I prefer a window-shaker to mere rumbling.

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I've been spending more time at the supermarket lately, where I've been meeting black women of all ages. Some of them have three or four children and maybe a brother in the house. They never get a babysitter when they want to go out, it's the nearby sister or mother or both.

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I too have been in a torpor, it seems like weeks now. I should have one husband for business and children and one husband for fun.

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Who are these people? So what if she's in a torpor? It's a parade of narcissism and delusion.

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It's just the end of June, but I've been in an August-like torpor for three straight days.

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So what if they could barely contain themselves? All three of them tested out as morons.

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Jerry Lee Lewis and Little Richard and Cassius Clay could barely contain themselves.

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You got a horse name yourself.

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These men are vulgar and tiresome. Do any of them have ordinary names?

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I'm in town for the summer, and I am at Il Campanello two nights a week to dance.

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I got the moves! I got the high style! I got the attitude! I own this joint! Women squirm and faint!

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You take the backbone out and rub the chicken with olive oil. Then you rub it with rock salt and crushed pepper. After that, you drop the stone down on it from at least one foot in the air (high style) or smash it once holding the stone with both hands. You want a stone that's thick, and flat on one side, and weighs about 20 pounds. Indirect heat on the heavy-duty grill. Keep the stone on the chicken for 20 minutes, a little longer for a big chicken, and don't turn it. When you take it off, it has the sizzled black stripes and crispiness along the bottom, and it's juicy too. Maybe some crushed fresh herbs and mint. Or you can rub it with molasses and port, or with the spices of Morocco.

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Film Noir Johnny has what I would call a fixation. In addition, his stories all follow the same pattern: the setting of the scene, the cartoon posturing, the cartoon threat, the cartoon buildup to the cartoon battle, and the quick cartoon victory. The only variable is when Johnny will go off with the neurotic woman for cartoon romance.

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First-Time Visitora, turn around, face to the left, and I'll see if you should get the stinging nettles.

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I'm against the definition of hate used by enlightened people. They use hate as in "hate-crime," to describe the actions and beliefs of racists, homophobes,and misogynists. Hate is personal and has been earned one-on-one. This new definition is trendo and it cheapens the word.

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I'm thinking more about the stinging nettles than the solstice. Where can I find them? How much do they sting?

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Summer Solstice at 3:38 a.m. tomorrow.

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The Hip-Hop Summit Conference in Manhattan. Puffy sitting there at the table with the congresswomen and the citizens and Farrakhan. They all fluffed.

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I took a look at the line-up on his Summer 2001 CD, which he burned downstairs, and it's way too heavy on the afro folk and gospel. I prefer a Cole Porter feeling in the summertime instead of Mississippi back road. And bossa nova. There's no bossa nova.

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I need hot stuff. I want some hot stuff baby tonite.

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Johnny picked the Belmont Stakes perfectly and now he's throwing money around. He won a fortune on the Belmont Stakes.

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Tomorrow I'm taking the depressed woman to Animal Rescue.

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Long-Stride Filly should find some better company.

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What a group of posturers, preachers, pronouncers, proclaimers, pontificators, strutters, and vulgarians!

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Step back! Make way! My hot picks were presented to the world on June 2 (see below), long before any of these horselips said a word. I got a big wad of cash, and if anybody wants to put down some money instead of mouth off, let me know before post time, which is 6:04 Saturday afternoon.

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I've got some Voodoo Chicken that says Invisible Ink will beat Point Given in a photo-finish.

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The Belmont Stakes: Thunder Blitz will take it by a length, followed by Monarchos and Dollar Bill. You can watch it unfold on NBC as I have predicted.

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Anyone with a head for horses knows Point Given will win the Belmont. Only the blind cannot see it coming. He is too big and too strong and too forceful. The only real questions are about place and show, and you should bet your Mama's coochie on Thunder Blitz and Monarchos. I got inside info. Johnny and Horse-A-Lula can backstretch this.

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Invisible Ink, Point Given, Balto Star. Take it to the bank, chumps.

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Moon this has been.

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Saturday night in a corner of the third-level lobby during the show. Behind a stack of tables and chairs. A few people were walking past, toward the restrooms, and one or two of them noticed us. He had me bent over a table, face down, with my skirt pushed up around my waist, and when I would open my eyes I could see them through staggered chrome legs.

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After sunset a long pastel break in the charcoal sky.

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Anthony Quinn was an hombre.

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Dropping down on LaGuardia in the rain, after dark.

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Unruly Point Given will take the lead in the backstretch, extend it through the turn, and then break loose in the stretch for a finish never before witnessed in the history of the Belmont Stakes. AP Valentine and Monarchos, out of camera range, to place and show.

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Point Given may be the favorite for the Belmont Stakes one week from today, but Balto Star will rocket to victory, followed by Monarchos and Dollar Bill. I have very powerful horse mojo and I encourage you to bet heavily on my x-treme high-quality hot tip.

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Sunny morning with a full tank of gas and a long highway east-northeast from Thibodeaux.

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The cover of "Angel of the Morning" is the goofiest song on the radio. Shaggy the Brooklyn Reggae-Mon calls his baby "Shorty." He says, "Shorty, you're my angel."

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Straight up, am I caught in hit-and-run?

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Timothy McVeigh is disturbing because he is so All-American. In many ways he is for real. To me he seems ready to die, and he's right -- the government did overreach at Waco and Ruby Ridge and by withholding more than 4500 pages of documents from the defense. Do we really want our government operating this way? How can you make them stop? Bad publicity is probably the only thing that will work, and they're going to get the bad publicity they deserve. They're out of control, and when called on it they play dumb or lie. The biggest question about Timothy McVeigh is why he decided to bomb a building. It was a horrible thing. Everything else about him is understandable.

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There's something in the air that makes them feel that way. Smoky Joe's so happy he can hardly wait. You better come on down, down to Chinatown, let me take you down, just to see the cokies kick the gong around. The King and Queen of every nation were glad to get an invitation. The King of Spain is gonna give the bride away. The Prince of Wales said he would get away. Better come on down, down to Chinatown..

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Men's hats, 1963 American blonde, eyes, firing the uppercut.

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Voodoo Chicken braised with peaches and apricots and plums will make you roll your eyes. I eat Cast-Iron Pan Chicken too.

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When the oysters came, he was like a fox on chicken.

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I went over to his apartment last night about 9:45 and he turned me on.

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GQ may describe Chuck Kinder's new novel, Honeymooners, as " . . . squalid pig life," but it's clear that the reviewer knows Kinder is poised on the edge of American Summertime Literary Fame.

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West Coast Literati is a bottle of herbal tonic.

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Bring back Jungle Johnny. Garden Johnny doesn't measure up.

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You beat the chicken with the bottom of the cast-iron pan on the heavy-duty grill. You slam the chicken flat with it.

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At RAWA we are not about propaganda.

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Johnny is getting better on the horses.

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America is a nation of rubberneckers. They drive around rubbernecking. And they walk around the same way. They are the Duck People.

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Secretariat was a once-in-a-lifetime thing.

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AP Valentine, Point Given, Congaree, and I predict that the favorite, Monarchos, will finish back in the pack. Point Given won't have his day until the Belmont in three weeks. And the strong blood-forces give Hotspur the dumb imaginings. Even Johnny's beats that.

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Charlotte Rampling then. She has heavy lids.

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Sometimes it's got to be pure intuition, and strong blood-forces are sending me the feeling that the 2001 Preakness will be All Dark Horses. I've got the feel, and it will be the flashing Italian horse Marciano by a neck. Richly Blended there at Marciano's neck, and Mister John to show.

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Charlotte Rampling now.

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Johnny got big monkey, maybe. It will be Monarchos for the second jewel of the triple crown, Dollar Bill a close second and Point Given to show. Johnny is out of his head.

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Unruly Point Given will burst from the outside to a quick lead and extend it for the entire race. It will be a performance never matched in Preakness history and it will break Secretariat's record time of 1:53.2. Followed by a fading AP Valentine and Monarchos a distant third. I got big money on this race.

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Where are the horse men and their predictions for the Preakness?

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Yo mama on Mother's Day. Yamama.

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Tear the roof off the mutha! Give up the funk! We want the funk!

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I live in the city. Where can I find poison ivy? I want a bad case. I want to give in.

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The poison ivy rash spreads and swells and reddens and you cannot help but scratch it, even if it means breaking the blisters. Sometimes I scratch until it bleeds.

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Don't scratch your poison ivy!

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Poison ivy is insistent and unforgiving, it's maddening, but it feels so good to go ahead and scratch it, to dig at it sharply with your fingernails and keep doing it, even though you know this will make it worse. The sensations produced by fast, hard scratching are similar to moments of ecstatic religious experience and to those seconds just before orgasm. They are excruciating and sinful. Ivy-Dry cream or calamine lotion might provide some temporary relief, but poison ivy will run its one-week course no matter what you do, and it will make you itch.

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Of the three racing fans who made predictions, Johnny was by far the worst. He didn't even pick one of the first three. This also says something about the meandering and unfocused quality of the story being told.

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Johnny and Hotspur can forget it. I've had the winner for six straight years, and for 2001 it's Monarchos, the King, followed by Dollar Bill, then the hard-charging Point Given. Point Given will win big at the Belmont Stakes, but his only distinction is as the best long-haul horse of the field. Point Given is no Secretariat and no Triple Crown horse either.

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Hot Derby prediction -- unruly Point Given, from the extreme outside post, will take the lead early and win pulling away from second-place finisher Jamaican Rum in a tremendous Secretariat-style victory. The son of Thunder Gulch will take it by at least five lengths, and if you bet any other way you're a chump. For show, it's Balto Star. The triple crown for Point Given.

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The Kentucky Derby on Saturday. Win: Congaree. Place: dark horse Invisible Ink. Show: Dollar Bill. You can put the house on it.

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The Night Porter.

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Now Johnny's a gardener.

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A feature titled "The Defining Websites Of Our Era", in the March issue of Wired reads, "Film Noir Johnny's has nuance and edge. They pack heat, they're dangerous, the women smoke and cross their legs, and it's a Fosse-dancing pleasure to behold each time I visit."

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To become The Poet of the Tango, the Tanguero must know the sadness and pain of life and be seasoned by both.

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The Tango Boss of Buenos A. swells and reddens with the poetry of the tango.

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The tango is a dance of stimulus-response, ritual, and secret pleasures. The swell of the violin, the piano, the bass, the bandoneon. The woman who is there to do ochos, gauchos, and boleos while being bossed.

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"White Slavery on the Barbary Coast" has hit the charts.

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I rule the Rif and am beloved in the blue alleyways of Mazool, in the Kasbah of Al-Harresh, and all through the mountains of my country.

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The Spanish and the French fight with neither honor, nor style, nor conviction. It is not over.

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For our second date, I cooked at his apartment. He has a wood-fueled Moroccan sauna and a man from the Rif who comes in and works you over. It's more like wrestling than a massage and I've never felt anything like it. The sinewy Kabyle from the Rif with one tooth missing would slide down behind me and hook his ankles around mine and stretch me there on the stone floor. He wrestles you into stretching every muscle of your body and he goes on as long as you want. I wore a pair of cotton shorts, and a crop top which I wanted to take off for the maximum skin contact but didn't.

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It's Friday night and I got a pocket full of cash. Music, whiskey, reefers and smiling women.

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I'm mad! Don't start me talkin', I'll tell everything I know. I'm gonna break up this signifyin', somebody's got to go.

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Too much Euro and South American.

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In the tango, the woman is never on two feet, and the lead must keep her that way. You maintain the frame, and although you use the chest, the real movement is in the hips and legs and feet. It is a dance of engagement and it is not a monologue. You handle her with your frame as the lever.

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Americans such as Beth Roberts from Ohio and Helen Greer of Seattle have a severely limited aesthetic and a bourgeois concept of what is Art. The article describing Film Noir Johnny's as Art in Slate would be a good place for both of them to begin their educations.

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Johnny just keeps getting dumber and dumber. He's in a spin.

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I too read about this site in Salon.com, but I am unimpressed. I agree with Elatu Melani and the others who find its posturing tiresome and its sensibility sophomoric and probably racist. Johnny Himself and Motorhead Art are its least attractive features. The jukebox is good, but Film Noir Johnny's is not art. I'm sorry.

Hit this to Talk Tough Yourself or this for Tough Talk (1) or this for Johnny's, Part Eight or hit this for the previous Tough Talk (7)