Ahhh, back to blowharding at Schooner’s in Cayucos

March 19, 2022

Editor’s Note: The following series, “Life in Radically Gentrifying Cayucos by the Sea,” to be posted biweekly includes the notes, thoughts, and opinions of an original American voice: author Dell Franklin. 

Franklin’s memoir, “Life On The Mississippi, 1969,” is currently on Amazon.

By DELL FRANKLIN

How sweet it is! Yeh! An almost two-year hiatus from the bar life caused me to appreciate just how valuable it is to partake with old friend boozers like Randy the Pirate, Tag Morely, young Levonius and those who for the past twenty years have haunted this watering hole; where T, the best bartender in the county, has pounded the boards and laughed and cringed along with us as we wobbled and warbled long into the night before stumbling or staggering home.

Now, ordinarily, at 78, I have reduced my outings to once every two weeks or even once a month because I can no longer hold it and recover as I once did, but I have been drunk in Schooner’s three nights out of the last 10 because my writing friend from Texas, John, who sounds like Bill Moyers if you close your eyes, is here with his wife on his annual two-week visit after missing a year due to the pandemic.

During that time, John, a highly educated man and published author who has an historical novel coming out later this year, “The Last Woman,” published my book, “Life on the Mississippi, 1969,” and our visits consist of nonstop blowharding about politics, literature, history, sports, current events, etc, as well as personal triumphs and losses in sports and fisticuffs—mostly triumphs!

So, we were at it on a packed Wednesday evening, ensconced on seats back from the bar because on these evenings nobody gives up a stool at the bar, and there are only seven last time I looked. And, since I am walking distance to the bar, I drank straight vodka on the rocks for an immediate boost as John drank beer. He is a bottomless pit.

As we jawed, we both noticed that the usual sports games were absent from one of the three TVs and was instead replaced by Fox News. As we watched Tucker Carlson’s stern, scolding, sanctimonious expression while reading his words blaming the insurrection on the capital on Jan. 6 as a false flag inside job by lib spies, John said, “I know I’m 76, but I bet I could kick his ass.”

“I could kick his ass, too, even without my left hand. He’s never been in a real fight.”

“That look on his face,” John mused, shaking his head. “One good punch…”

“John, he’s got the kind-a face you wanna hit.”

(I ceased watching all news programs and especially cable news–Fox, MSNBC and CNN–a year ago because of their miasma of poisonous sleep-depriving tribal insanity and only recently viewed the goings on in Ukraine for a couple nights before boycotting them again.)

Anyway, before we had allowed the constricted, aggrieved expression on Tucker’s face and his twisted words to distract us, we visited with a middle-aged couple to our right in the corner who were friendly and pleasant and discussed their delicious horseradish crusted Ahi, the beautiful evening, and what a great place Cayucos was. And when they left and  a new couple edged toward us we waved them to the table and even removed the glasses.

They thanked us and sat down beside us and the man asked if it was possible to be waited upon for dining, and we said of course. And then, as John resumed his attention to Fox News, Biden was up there and another scowling beady-eyed mush face was commenting, and the man who just sat down and must have been around my age, also eyeing the TV, a scowl on his face, asked, “Do you think Biden’s doing a good job?”

I shrugged. “He’s made some mistakes,” I said. “But he’s doing a great job on this Ukraine situation.”

He immediately became apoplectic about Biden’s gas prices. “He’s not doing anything about gas prices and we’re not fighting and we’re paying!”

“Gas prices?” I said. “People in the Ukraine are getting butchered and you’re whining about gas prices? How about a little sacrifice here?”

“We’re fighters!” he raved. “We fight in this country. I’ve fought. I’m a veteran… .”

“Oh, so what,” I said. “So am I. Three years in the damn army, and it’s no big deal, just something we had to do, part of the deal. You want another goddam war?”

The next exchange included my statement that America was the most spoiled country in the world, and by this time his pleasant wife pulled him away as I’d succeeded in compromising his health as well as my own.

A few minutes later, I stood and flagged down a waitress and asked her to take good care of my new friends. The old goat, stunned, thanked me.

“Just having Tucker up there is a threat to our normal blowharding,” John said. “Get that goddam asshole off-a there. He’s stirring up trouble, ruining our night.”

I screamed at T, who was extremely busy and told him to get Fox News off the tube, and get the goddam hoop game up. He quickly did, as we all breathed a sigh of relief and went back to our imbibing and blowharding, both John and I eating to fuel up for the grind, for no seasoned boozer drinks on an empty stomach.

Meanwhile, the couple beside us received excellent service, and the fellow with whom I’d previously exchanged venom thanked John for recommending the halibut and chips (If you can afford halibut you can afford expensive gas.) which he thoroughly enjoyed and told us they were from Sacramento and loved Cayucos. It was at this time that two stools at the bar opened up and John and I jumped on them and began serious drinking and uninterrupted blowharding that included our dysfunctional and wayward teenage years of miraculous survival!

It went on and on. In time, as I became drunker and happier, people came over, young and old, and there were sturdy handshakes and back slaps and hugs and increasing exaggeration and emotional idiocy, all good therapy for a two-year absence of regular attendance to one’s neighborhood bar.

Before he left, the man enraged over Biden’s gas prices tapped me on the shoulder and bid a pleasant goodbye. We’re not all bad.


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skidmark

Maybe if you listened to what Tucker was talking about you would have the same “constricted aggrieved” expression on your face. Obviously, as you said, you stopped paying attention to what is going on in the world. Otherwise you would know that Biden is not doing a good job in any aspect of his presidency. You can’t tell me that we would be in this situation if we had a strong leader in office. We are on the cusp of World War 3 and that responsibility is on Biden and his flawed ideology. People are dying because this man was elected to office and I fear more will die because of his ineptitude.

Like you, at times I need a break from the politics. Thats why I enjoy your articles, I enjoy the tales of the seaside town, the taxi rides and your life. I used to be able to tune into sports to get a breather from the worlds events but alas, that is no longer the case. I read your story tonight to get a reprieve from the news but there it is again, like an ugly baby a politician is forced to kiss, thrust back into my face.

Please tell your stories without the politics, we need it. Be our ” basketball game “.


Camus Redux

We all know what Tucker Carlson is saying, on a nightly basis, because unlike true news journalists (which he pretends to be) he does not report news, he IS the news. So Tucker is telling you that we are on the cusp of WWIII because of Biden? I’m pretty sure I already know the answer because you see, like I just mentioned – Tucker IS the news. The news I watch reports this – they don’t even really report it – they just hit a “play” button most of the time. Tucker is really giving you the shaft and if you weren’t such a threat to the health and future of this country, I would feel sorry for you. You are a grown person and it is your responsibility to know the difference between fantasy and reality. Look at how much this article has upset you. A simple story about an evening in a local bar! Within this story, there is something on a television screen (any cable news channel on the TV in any public establishment is horrible business) that is causing conflict and tension (necessary components of any good story). One or more of the individuals in the story has a point of view that offends your sensitivities and because of that you want to take your newspaper and go home and turn on Tucky and forget about all the harsh realities out of here, such as that Tucker Carlson has become a tool of Vladimir Putin and that Trump was Russia’s most useful president ever. You are on that side, you are a part of that. You are implicit now and you should at least be forced to own it. That carnage that is taking place in Ukraine – schools and hospitals, maternity wards getting leveled with newborns in them – that is you. That is the kind of information you would get if you climbed out of your rabbit hole and popped your bubble.


Camus Redux

“complicit” not “implicit”


clairedunphey

I love that we’re not supposed to criticize gas prices and we are told to stop whining. It’s not just the soaring gas prices. The gas prices effect absolutely every industry in this country and the people that occupy this country. Try thinking about the single parent struggling daily and those on minimum wage. They are suffering.


Camus Redux

You can. You’re doing it right now.