Thursday, January 24, 2013

My Parents' Crew In 1969

From left, My Dad, My Mom, my "Aunt" Joanne, Tommy Cahill, Tommy Ryan.  The rest I don't know.
My Dad with his hair greased and flatted out.  My Mom at like 20 years old.  1969, right before all
the styles got big and sloppy and gross looking.  I love 70's style, but it's disgusting.  My dad got
lost in the 70's and never really made it back.  These two kept the 60's going pretty hard until I
was born but the lapels and collars just killed my old man and he was in sweatpants by 1982.

Tommy Cahill on the left was my Dad's bookmaking partner.  They took local action in the South Bronx, and
did some work with some capo named Louie Dome up in Harlem.  By the time Atari came out, they were no
longer friends due to some large sum of money that got shifted around wrong.  I think my Dad blamed
Tommy, but I was never sure what had happened and I'm not gonna pretend that my Dad wasn't a fuck-up
in his own right.  There might have been a fight that needed to happen that never did, and instead of
resolving the issue my Dad sat on it.  Tommy Ryan on the other hand, was my Dad's friend from way
back in the day, an original goofball (you can see it), and a good times kinda guy.  I don't remember
him at all, but my dad talked about him all the time.  My dad's favorite pretzels were Rold Gold
Pretzel Logs and every 500th log would invariably be bent or twisted and my dad would always
say that these pretzels looked like Tommy Ryan's penis.  He said that Tommy Ryan had to pee
straight up in the air so he had to stand like 3 feet away from the urinal, which is how my dad
explained away seeing Tommy's you-know-what in the first place.


  1. Wait, did you actually write "I love 70s Style"?
    Talk about beating a dead horse!

    1. Sudsy loves to beat dead horses.
      Thinking about it, Mr. P does too... in his own way.

  2. Your old man was a handsome fella. I can see where you get it from.....
    (remember this when the Fresh Direct bill comes tomorrow OK pal?)

  3. I used to like Rold Gold pretzels too....


    1. My wife is one of the only people I ever met who actually says, "Sigh," out loud instead of sighing.
      Props to her, Charlie Shultz, and you.

      She also says, "Eek," like in Archie. Always.

    2. Eek is a good one to say. But I rarely have the chance to shriek it out. When it is appropriate to say, I usually forget to say it. When I realize later on that I missed a good opportunity I beat myself up the rest of the day. I then find myself trying to put myself in situations where I would naturally say Eek, but it's never as good as the real deal. -sigh

    3. Two more things.

      1. This comment, or reply to a comment, is a very good comment, and is sort of sad in that good rainy day way, when there's no one to play with, but your mom figures something out for you to do. She sort of saves it too late in the game, but by then you're so grateful that all seems right even though you know it isn't but maybe it is.
      2. Beating yourself up for the rest of the day is probably the #1 thing we like to do at Frankie's Apartment. Not only does it fill the great void (if you think about it, it can deter your mind from the great void even better than creative fulfillment, or love), it is also a lot more fun than beating a dead horse. Which everyone knows is terrific fun.

    4. Yes, there is a certain charm to being melancholy at times. Like the rainy day way. I will use that phrase now. "Sad in that good rainy day way." You should write a song!

      I have never beat on a dead horse, or a dead cow for that matter. I did run over a decomposing dog once. It was awful. Hot, creepy, maggots, galore! Imagine them getting stuck to my bicycle tire and being flung every which way. There were maggots on my legs and sleeves. There were maggots on the neighbors car. There were maggots thrown everywhere. Some bozo thought the best place to leave their dead dog was in a plastic bag in the middle of the sidewalk. Poor dog, poor me, and poor maggots. You should have seen them squirming on the hot concrete all by themselves, all alone, with no carcass to feed off of. Almost felt bad for them, knowing that they were going to dry out and die in the afternoon sun. Never got the chance to mature into flies and spread their wings.