Chamblee54

This is a repost from 2022. I got a TV, so watching the Super Bowl was easy … except when the niners scored a touchdown, and I said “go motherfucker” without muting my microphone. … This is the fifth, and final, installment of chamblee54’s revenge fantasy against Hollywood, by Charles Bukowski/Hank Chinaski. The book is an account of making the movie Barfly. Other chapters in this series are available. one two three four Pictures today are from The Library of Congress.
37 – Some photographer comes by. He wants to take photographs of Hank, and Francine Bowers/Faye Dunaway. Jack Bledsoe/Mickey Rourke also posed, but refused to sign a release. I went looking for the pictures online. I found a picture that Francine and Hank did after the movie has been released. I don’t know what happened to the glamor shots.
38 – The action starts at a party, after shooting for Barfly wrapped up. It’s at a club somewhere, rented only until midnight. Hank orders a drink after midnight. The bartender says she has to charge him. Tonight, because, she’s a fan, Hank won’t have to pay. The evening is a mixed blessing for Hank. Some guy comes up to him, and swears he got drunk with Hank at Barney’s Beanery. The fan is offended that Hank does not remember.
The Super Bowl turned into a disaster. I was at my online poetry reading, watching the game with the sound cut off. Channel 11 was not doing very good. It kept going into this video catastrophe. It was tolerable as long as the picture came back, and I could see most of the action. But then, just as the game was starting to get good, the video just completely went out. I’m probably not going to watch too much TV until football season starts again, so it might not be a problem.
I’m trying to pay attention to the game, and feeling terrible because I can’t. I get a phone call, pick up the phone, and push this button. It is supposed to turn on speaker phone, but, if the call is not fully connected, will decline the call. IOW, I hung up. The call was from “J,” who lives in Mexico. He can call me, but I cannot call him. After some facebook messaging buzzouts, we get to talk on the phone. “J” was carrying on about how he does not care about the super bowl, and I just zoned out and said yeah, yeah, yeah. Tomorrow is another day.
39 – Hank goes to the editing room, and asks John Pinchot about the producers. “They are like children, they have heart. Even when they are trying to cut your throat, there is a certain warmth about them. I’d much rather deal with them than with the corporate lawyers who run most of the business in Hollywood.”
There’s a tasty quote on page 200. Hank notices a shot in the movie where his alter ego is meeting a girl. He takes a beer that he’s halfway through, pushes it aside, and doesn’t finish it. Hank points out that no alcoholic would ever do that. “That’s what happens you have a director who isn’t an alcoholic, an actor who hated to drink, and an alcoholic writer who preferred to be at the racetrack.”
40 – Hank and Sarah go to a screening of the movie. They get to the screening place, and it’s been moved to another location. They have to drive over there, and Hank needs a bottle.
There is a rhetorical tactic called the Motte and Bailey. As I understand it, this strategy involves making a claim that no one could disagree. Later, you learn that the plan is for something treacherous. An example would be CRT in K-12 schools. Who could disagree with learning about racism in school? It seems reasonable enough. It is only when you bring in Robin DiAngelo that you learn the truth. “Its always something. If its not one thing its another.”
Motte and Bailey is based on a medieval castle. The motte is a ground in front, where people live their everyday lives. The Bailey is a fortified stone house behind a moat. When there is trouble, this is where people go to wait out the trouble.
41 – Well Hank is going good, now that he’s made it to the premiere. This chapter is pretty boring, except when Hank tells about the time he lived with Tully and Nadine. This is not the same Nadine that Chuck Berry wrote a song about. Nor is it about the facebook friend who lives in Florida with three cats, one of whom is named Nadine.
Hank was living with this lady named Tully, some sort of entertainment industry suit. Tully thought Hank was in a bad way, and needed to be cared for. Hank responded by staying drunk, insulting all her friends, and fornicating with Tully whenever appropriate. Tully had a housemate named Nadine, who was keeping a musician named Rich. One night Hank and Rich got drunk, and decided that this business of being a kept fuckboy was not working too good, even if Nadine was a nymphomaniac. Nadine was going around the house naked one time, when Tully was out. Hank was not amused, and said he didn’t want to see her p**** flapping around. Nadine replied that she wouldn’t screw him if he was the last man on Earth.
42 – Hank is hanging out at the house in Los Angeles, and takes a phone call from Jon Pinchot at the Cannes Film Festival. Mickey never showed up, and Francine is making a spectacle of herself. She’s the last great movie star. Meanwhile Hank is reading James Thurber, who he thought was pretty funny. It was a shame that Thurbur had such a upper-middle-class view point. “He would have made one hell of a badass coal miner.”
It’s time for another interlude from real life. I was at the gym, and Neil Young’s “Rockin in the free world” came over the noise box. It was so ironic to hear that old fuquad sing about freedom, when he is made taken it upon himself to censor Joe Rogan. I agree with Lynyrd Skynyrd about Neil Young.
I will give Neil Young credit for one thing. One afternoon in 1978 I went over to see someone. He told me that 96 Rock was giving away tickets to see Neil Young. 96 Rock was in that triangle building on Clairmont Road. There was a man out in front, with a shoebox full of tickets for Neil Young at the Omni. You could have taken you could have asked him for 15 tickets, and he would have happily given them to you. The seats were in the upper level, at the back of the hall. The band was so loud you could hear them clear as day. Even though I think Neil Young is a pretentious, half-crazy fuquad, he puts on a damn good show. He was doing the Rust Never Sleeps show. The roadies were dressed up like Star Wars characters. Neil tore the place up, so you have to give a man credit, even if he has way too many opinions for his own good, and is ugly is boiled over sin.
The only Neil that’s uglier than Neil Young is Neal Boortz. I would hate to be the judge of that beauty contest. I saw Mr. Boortz give a show, at the CNN Center, one time. They had an on camera talk show, with Neal as the host. It is a cliche that Neal has a face for radio, but there is another reason he never made it on tv. When he talked that day, you could see the disdain for the audience in his face. You can just look at him, and tell that he’s a lying a*******. He thinks you’re an idiot for paying attention to him, which many of his followers are … this robo secretary rant is being edited on the day after Russia invaded Ukraine. It is amazing how last week’s concerns are now obsolete.
43 – At first, there was not going to be a premiere for Barfly. Then Hank insisted that he wanted one. He wanted to have a white limousine take him to this premiere. On the night of the premiere, this gentleman named Frank picks him up. Frank was sort of an a******, but then very few people got along with Hank. They made it to the premiere without breaking down in Hollywood traffic.
There used to be a dirt road in Chamblee, where a bunch of limousines were parked. I just rode my bike by there, and I saw them. There’s another place down on Whitehall Street, just south of downtown. They kept horses that used to pull buggies for the tourists . I don’t go downtown anymore, so I don’t know if it is still there.
44 – So the premiere happened. Hank and Sarah showed up, and had to have some wine brought in for them. They sat on the front row, where all he could see was these huge figures towering above. He realized that one day he was going to watch it all on videocassette, so he could actually see it.
After the premiere Hank is in the men’s room. There’s this drunk at the urinal next to him. He says “hey you’re hanging trying to ski.” Hank says “no, I’m his brother Danny.” “why don’t you talk to him” “because I used to beat him up every time I could and that’s why we don’t get along. I don’t know why I came to this premiere, I hate his guts, but that’s how life goes”
There were a bunch of hippies at Cross Keys who thought forty four was a magic number. It was Hank Aaron’s jersey number. Forty four has a certain synchronicity, with the multiplication of two times two times eleven. Eleven is two ones to that, so there is a sequence of two ones multiplied by two twos. There’s a certain fibonaccian synchronicity afoot. Two is a fibonacci number, as is thirteen, which is two plus eleven. Thirteen is also considered unlucky.
45 – I am starting to run out of things to say. The story is over, but Hank might be getting paid by the word. I did enjoy this adventure. The next book is The Santa Suit, by Mary Kay Andrews. TSS is off to a slow start, and seems a touch boring, after the antics of Hank Chinaski. An Amazon one-star review gets to the inner truth: “The book is ripped and dirty. I can’t give this to a patient for christmas! If I could give it zero stars I would”
The one-star review did not have a period at the end. When you write stuff, you notice details like that. God is in the details. I always think I am going to have a red-pencil happy english teacher going over my text. Like my butch tenth grade teacher. She was married at the time, to a greasy haired man with two packs of cigarettes in his shirt pocket.
46 – This is the last chapter. This has been a fun series. It was my first production written, in part, by the google robo secretary. While it requires a lot of editing after the fact, it does have its applications. It is good for reading text from a book, like this cable tv movie show review of The Dance of Jim Beam, which is what Hank calls Barfly. The next paragraph was borrowed, and not written by me.
“Selby shook his head, and limp-wristed the movie away. Awful, terrible. This has to be the worst movie of the year. Here we have this bum, with his pants down around his ankles. He’s filthy, uncaring, obnoxious. All he wants to do is beat up the bartender. From time to time he writes poems on torn pieces of paper, but mostly we see this scumbag sucking on bottles of wine, or begging for drinks at the bar. In one bar scene, we see two ladies fighting to their very death over him. Impossible. Nobody nobody would ever care for this man. Who could care for him. We rate movies from 1 to 10 here. Is there anyway I can give this a -1?”
From what I remember of my bar-room days, there’s a lot of characters like that. I’ve always felt that Hank Chinaski is the one person who actually created something, instead of just feeding a urinal. Drunks are generally useless people.
One morning, a friend and I had been up all night tripping. We wound up in the blue room, a beer joint across the street from the bus station. There was this guy in there named Hawaiian Eddie. He was insisting that we stay, and let him buy us another beer. We had to lie to him, and tell him we had to go to work, so we could leave without drinking more beer. Life was fun in those days.

This is a repost from March 12, 2020. This is the day the stock market fell 2400 points. There was  snowjam-style panic buying at Kroger. The lockdown had arrived. America has never been the same. … Pretty Monsters is a work of speculative fiction. You visit a world created by the author’s imagination. If you make enough predictions, some are going to come true. This happens in The Surfer.
Adorno, aka Dorn, is a soccer goalie. He thinks he is pretty good. His father is a Philadelphia doctor, who brought Dorn to Costa Rica on a moments notice. “Dorn is here with his father because of Hans Bliss and the aliens. Because, you know, Hans Bliss said that the aliens are going to show up again real soon and this time he knows what he’s talking about. Not like all those other times when he said the aliens were coming back.”
Hans Bliss is some kind of hippie utopia-grifter dude. Before the end of the story, Mr. Bliss is dead. There is some kind of virus going around, killing a bunch of people. In Costa Rica, all the visitors are quarantined in a gym. They spend their days playing soccer, looking at “googlies,” and getting in arguments. Meanwhile, the virus is busy in the outside world.
“It was the hardest thing I ever had to do, telling my father when he finally came home. And we haven’t talked about it much since then. I don’t know why it’s easier for some people to talk about aliens than to talk about death. Aliens only happen to some people. Death happens to everyone.”
The quarantine continues. Dorn has a soccer match. A guard makes a fool out of Dorn. It turns out the guard was a professional player. Dorn decides to quit playing, or maybe not. Dorn doesn’t quite know what he wants to do.
The aliens really do arrive. Dorn is out of quarantine, so he can see them. “Dad,” I said. “Dad! Everyone! The aliens! They’re here. They’re just outside! Lots of them!” But I stood there feeling empty and lost and ashamed and alone until I heard my father’s voice. He was saying, “Dorn! Adorno, where are you? Adorno, get out here! They’re beautiful, they’re even more beautiful than that idiot said. Come on out, come and see!”
Is a visit from aliens going to coincide with COVID-19? Or maybe a gang of murderous con-women, like Zilla and Ozma in The Constable of Abal. “Zilla was not greedy. She was a scrupulous blackmailer. She did not bleed her clients dry; she milked them. You could even say she did it out of kindness. What good is a secret without someone to know it? When one cannot afford a scandal, a blackmailer is an excellent bargain. Ozma and Zilla assembled the evidence of love affairs, ill-considered attachments, stillbirths, stolen inheritances, and murders. They were as vigilant as any biographer, solicitous as any confidante. Zilla fed gobbets of tragedy, romance, comedy to the ghosts who dangled so hungrily at the end of their ribbons. One has to feed a ghost something delicious, and there is only so much blood a grown woman and a smallish girl have to spare.”
“the ghosts who dangled so hungrily at the end of their ribbons.” The titular Constable was one of these ghosts. When Zilla was not looking, the Constable and Ozma got to be pals. Ozma was developing into a young women, which was not convenient to Zilla. “It isn’t your fault, Ozma. My magic can only do so much. Everyone gets older, no matter how much magic their mothers have. A young woman is trouble, though, and we have no time for trouble. Perhaps you should be a boy. I’ll cut your hair.” Ozma backed away. She was proud of her hair. “Come here, Ozma,” Zilla said. She had a knife in her hand. “It will grow back, I promise.”
“I took a position in service,” Zilla said. “You are my son, and your name is Eren. Your father is dead, and we have come here from Nablos. We are respectable people. I’m to cook and keep house.” “I thought we were going home,” Ozma said. “This isn’t home.” “Leave your ghosts here,” Zilla said. “Decent people like we are going to be have nothing to do with ghosts. … This did not sound at all like Zilla. Ozma was beginning to grow tired of this new Zilla. It was one thing to pretend to be respectable; it was another entirely to be respectable.”
The new employer, Lady Fralix, is not with the program. Or maybe she is, and Zilla is out to lunch, with Ozma caught is trans-respectability purgatory. “The pink dressing gown,” Lady Fralix said. “If you let me keep your ghost in my pocket today, I’ll give you one of my dresses. Any dress you like.” “Zilla would take it away and give it to the poor,” Ozma said. Then: “How did you know I’m a girl?” “I’m old but I’m not blind,” Lady Fralix said. “I see all sorts of things. … You shouldn’t keep dressing as a boy, my dear. Someone as shifty as you needs some truth now and then.”
“It’s a good thing,” Lady Fralix said, “that most people can’t see or talk to ghosts. Watching them scurry around, it makes you dread the thought of death, and yet what else is there to do when you die? Will some careless child carry me around in her pocket? … Your mother is a goddess,” Lady Fralix said. “My mother is a liar and a thief and a murderer,” Ozma said. “Yes,” Lady Fralix said. “She was all of those things and worse. Gods don’t make very good people. They get bored too easily. And they’re cruel when they’re bored.”
There is more action, but in an effort to maintain a spoiler free blog, you will have to read the story. Pictures today are from The Library of Congress. Quotes are from the .pdf. Previous episodes of this series are available. (part one part two part three part five)