Sunday, February 9, 2020

12,543. RUDIMENTS, pt. 958

RUDIMENTS, pt. 958
(calling edsel ford wong)
I guess a part of me realized
immediately that I was out of
my element in San Francisco;
or perhaps it could have worked
had the effort been made. The
idea of Guerneville, by itself,
however, at Freeze Out and at
the Russian River, well I don't
think that would ever have
worked. It's a part of life I
don't think I would have
ever understood. To add
to the complications of the
moment, I had to contend
with my friend's crazy
girlfriend making a play
for me. That was very
foreign territory, apparently
not so foreign as 1976
California went, but for me
I was feeling flogged. We'd
rented a car, some sort of
fat, rounded Chevelle of
that year, and getting into
the rear seat was kind of just
a low thump, as you sunk down
to an almost subterranean seat.
She was wearing nothing
underneath her skirt, and, this
day, as she plopped down in
the seat, facing me entering
the passenger front, holding
the 2-door fold seat down for
her, she wide-opened her legs,
in my face. Hello! And with
a big grin, muttered surreptitiously,
uttered a very ungracious thing.
How'd that old song go? 'California
here I come, right back where I
started from?' This had never
happened to me before, not even
among my wonderfully, naked,
Digger-girl cohorts, and I was
for sure taken aback, not the
least because she was also my
friend's live-in girlfriend.
Whatever any of that portended,
I pretended it didn't portend.
I felt like an idiot too, (but
she had a nice grin, flashing
that smile). I never did find
out how the California protocol
went for stuff like that. No one
seemed to mind anything.
It didn't stop there, but,
no matter now.
-
I took the boat tour out to
Alcatraz and was sort of
just bored. Everyone in
the little tour group then
wanted to see all that
'Birdman of Alcatraz' stuff
-  some Burt Lancaster movie
about a lifer there who raised
canaries or something. It's
such an apparent allegory for
flight and freedom versus
captivity and care that even
the idea bored me. It was
like cardboard thinking
before they even got started.
They had his supposed cell,
and some little exhibit about
him. Actually praising him,
which was weird. And then
there were a few stories about
the attempted escapes, of
which it seemed none ever
were successful  -  the treacherous
waters and all that island and
harbor/moat stuff. There's
really little except vicarious
interest, in my view, to relive
someone else's prison ordeals
or days. I immediately feel
sorry for the person and fearful
for myself too, ever being put
in that situation. One can
tourist-up all this crap all you
want, but it's not cool to peer
onto other people's anguish.
-
On the whole, the length and
breadth of this California trip
and time showed me a lot of
things. I always got amazed,
do so to this day, by how the
entangling arms of 'Military'
are mostly everywhere  -  those
first incursions into alien ports,
firing and fighting the natives
and locals, the old forts and
pathways, now all revered and
sacred (like the Presidio at the
Golden Gate Bridge underplay).
It's all so unnecessary but was
necessary then, because 'we'
were the interlopers and the
conquerors, usurping and taking.
But you'd never know any of that
stuff, because  - even way out there
at the westernmost fringes - they
simply don't say. Everything is
encoded, into law and order, rights
and privileges, economics and
prosperity. And of course they
leave out the millions of deaths
that this grand culture has granted
us : lung cancer, asbestos death,
alcohol, drugs, violence, anguish,
and all the other rotting formats
of'modern death by which we've
improved the land. Yesiree Bob,
'Chief What-The-Hell' of the
Sierra-Nevadas. Take two hits
and call me in the morning.
-
I've written before of the NY
Chinatown I'd spend time in,
at the Mayflower Tea House,
as it was officially referred to,
and the rich dark coffee and the
endless hours and Ginsberg and
those guys floating in and out.
In San Francisco proper I was
coaxed into the strangest Chinese
restaurant I've ever seen; in their
Chinatown. It was a place called
Sam Wo, and it had this Chinese
waiter guy who, in 1976, was
already a legend. Edsel Ford Wong.
That was his name, and there was
some reason behind it, but I forget.
The place itself was very cool;
each dining party got its own
wooden, dark and almost formal,
cubicle to eat in; perhaps 10
or 12 of them around the floor.
This Edsel Ford Wong guy, his
specialty was insulting customers,
kind of like a Don Rickles of
waiter-service. Of course I didn't 
know that, and I became the
selected abusee of our party.
Edsel was rough, and non-stop.
He'd throw a damp rag at you
(me), and make you clean your
own table, from the previous
diners. He'd hand you a metal
cruet of leftover tea, and that
was the 'water' with which you
cleaned the table. He'd have
you just pour it out and swab. 
And, all the while, as much
as he was able to, he'd be 
watching, calling you out, 
commenting, ridiculing and
cat-calling the chosen one (me).
There was nothing really to be
done about it, but as sport; ride
it out. I'd imagine there must
have always been some thin
skin who gave him pushback,
but I don't know. He was a
legend : abusive, loud, and
in your face. I got stuck with
him this one time and it was
barely manageable. But, I
survived. And I got the full
lecture about the varied kinds
of Chinese noodles, what
the dish called 'Chow Fun'
meant (a 'Fun' noodle; nothing 
to do with American laughter.
It's a broad, wide noodle, as
I recall, sort of the opposite of
the normal lo mein noodle).
But, at the same time, who
really cares, and this guy,
in a short while, really wore
out his welcome and just
became a pest. Plus, it wasn't
so cheap, and you ended up 
paying for the floor show too,
at your own expense, in my 
case. You can look him up,
actually. Edsel Ford Wong.
-
Mostly, I just always wished
to be left alone, just like now.
Everything bothers me, all
this pretense about things
meaning stuff, and the 
symbolism of this or that.
It's all crap, and it's all a
made-up symptom, too. 
Of emptiness and vapidity.
As I said in the previous,
 this tragic nation is so f'd up
with all its own crap it's a 
wonder the Gods haven't
already obliterated it. Putting
up with all this crud is the 
most'difficult part : midget
Mexicans defoliating our
lands, and happily too, without
a brain in their little midget 
heads. Towns themselves
doing the same thing, on their
own agendas, with moronic 
crews of town workers, at 60
bucks an hour and using the
endlessly available and costly
town equipment to do the
same things as the Mexi-killers.
There's no respect for anything,
and there's no mind in anyone's
head either. Parasitic crumb-buns
playing at Council and Mayor.
Diseased losers teaching and
enforcing rules and laws for
what they deem as 'education'
for kids of little value anyway.
I probably should just have
let Edsel Ford Wong kill me.





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