Sunday, May 3, 2009


Chuck Berry’s autograph. I has it. Somewhere. He gave it to me on the set of American Hot Wax, a 1978 movie about Alan Freed and the early days of Rock ‘N’ Roll. The problem is, I’ve moved that autograph around so many times that I can’t remember where I last put it.

In an (unsuccessful) attempt to locate the autograph a few weeks ago, I was looking through one of my Treasure Chests (cardboard filing boxes where I store articles from my past) and stumbled upon the diary I kept in 1970, when I was 10-years-old and in fifth grade. Reading through it again, I got the idea that this embarrassing stuffs would make a pretty embarrassing Blog Bit. And if you’ve read much of my Blog Stuffs, you know that I display my personal shame on a regular basis.

So, I’ve decided to post some of the highlights below. The diary was manufactured in 1969 by the Central company (no. 57; made in U.S.A.) It has a brown cover and it says “Five Year Diary” stamped in gold on the front. But since diaries are for girls and Real M-- …uhm, I mean Real Boys don’t keep diaries, we’re going to refer to this record as a “journal”, OK? OK!

I wrote in this journal daily from Tuesday, February 24, 1970 through Sunday, May 3, 1970. Then I abruptly stopped writing in it, but there was one final entry on my birthday, August 8, 1970.

I hope you enjoy reading these diar-- JOURNAL entries as much as I did. You can be sure that I wasn’t laughing WITH me; I was laughing AT me. I am reproducing the journal entries below in exactly the same form I find them in that old book. That means, I have left all of the bad grammar, the misspellings and the lack of punctuation unchanged. This is the genuine article, authentic stuffs: 5th grade maroonism from 1970. Journal o-- I mean, journey on…


I found a girl friend in third grade

she had a brother named Vencen in fifth grade
Mr. Kanters class

Pay no attention to that boy behind the diary: the girl’s brother was named VINCENT, not Vencen.

This exciting stuffs was occurring at Grant Elementary School in Santa Monica, California.

I saw my girl friend in the cafatera eating

she didn’t see me there.

My girlfriend failed to notice me only because she was still unaware that I was her boyfriend. Man, don’tcha just hate it when that happens?

I got in a game with my girl friend the game was hand ball.

Call it what you will, but the real name of the game is “Romance.”

I went on a feild trip so I couldn’t see my girl friend.

This was the only time in history that a little boy was sorry his class took a field trip.

I saw my girl friend at the drug store while looking for a diary.

OK, what kind of freak was I?
You’ve already GOT a diary! What the hell do you think you’ve been writing in for 4 days now?

Anyway, the drug store in question was located on the Southeast corner of Ocean Park Boulevard and 17th street in Santa Monica. It might still be there for all I know.

MARCH, 1970:

It was a bad day I had to go to bed after dinner.

Bad boy! Bad boy! Whatcha gonna do when they come for you? Well, now we know: yer gonna go straight to bed – no TV!

Eric said “Theres your girl friend when we where passing by her and she herd it.

What, was she a cowgirl? You s’pose she might have “heard” it too?

Well, here it comes, folks! Are you ready? Right here:

There it is! After 39 years, I’ve finally provided the missing quotation mark to close the deal on that sentence. Stick it between "FRIEND" and "WHEN." Ahhh. Maybe now I can get some sleep.

By the way, that was indeed the same “Eric” who took that picture of
Jack Daniels and me at the Statue Of Liberty in 1983, and who was later arrested while wearing my black leather jacket and went to jail in Mexico. (Except the last half of that sentence about Eric stealing my jacket and going to jail in Mexico is pure fabrication. In other words, I’m lying like a bad rug on a bald head.)

The regular thing but my girl friend is getting to like me better

Always a good sign when your “girl friend” begins to like you a little. It makes a romance oh, so much more romantic.

I saw my girl friend. and a friend of mine we got in a fake fight.

Ahhh, yes, the old fake fistfight. Nothing gets a girl’s attention and makes her heart flutter for you faster than the ol’ fake fight. Ya know, in the ol’ Romance game, the classic maneuvers just never go out of style.

I have gone sikike

i had a dream that my girl friend ___ [*Can’t read the word. It’s either “was” or “wasn’t”.] in the cafetiria (it came true)

Get this boy his own psychic hotline; there’s money to be made! We'll advertise it as "Stephen T. McCarthy's Sikike Connection."

I s
[t]ayed on the play ground and followed my girl friend then i saw a show with a person that looked like her

Oh, yes! You go, boy! Hone those stalking skills now while you’re young, so that when you get older, you will be a proficient stalker and able to stay half a step behind your prey but two steps ahead of the law.

I found out that my girl friend is in my brothers room in school

Mrs. Owens

Ah-ha! Perhaps you can exploit this situation somehow! Maybe give your brother notes before school starts, which he can then pass to your girl friend during class.

I got to carried away with my girl friend because i haven’t had one in a long time.

Oh, yeah. I hadn’t had a girlfriend since at least second grade, when I had a crush on that little girl in kindergarten who kept wetting herself every time the school bell rang.

OK, seriously, when I was in fourth grade, I did have the hots for another fourth-grader named Mary Ellen. I used to kiss her whenever she was defenselessly hanging upside down on the monkey bars. As I said, the classic maneuvers never go out of style, and I was well-trained in all of ‘em.

Yeah, I was always girl crazy. I remember a family vacation we took with my cousins when I was just a little lad and I overheard my Uncle-In-Law (I guess that’s what he is) say to my parents about me: “You’ll need to watch that one; he really likes the girls and that could spell early trouble.” Bearing that in mind, who could have ever imagined that I would wind up ‘Sweet 49 And Never Been Kissed’? Although I have been screwed a few times by auto mechanics.

I was all upset because of my Girl friend.

You’ll find as you get older, boy, that women often have that effect on men. However, there’s a medicine for it called a martini. Four or five of those’ll fix you right up, son.

she wore a skirt that made her look skineer

What’s skinny is your spelling skills!

To day i don’t know why but i felt like seeing my girl friend a thousand times.

Oh, crap! The boy’s in love! And as we all know… LOVE STINKS!

I stayed after school hopeing my girl friend would but she didn’t.

The first time a woman ever disappointed me. There would be more disappointments to come.

I stayed after school and made friends with Vencen my girl friends brother.

Why you sneaky little devil you.

I was obviously willing to employ every tactic in ‘The Book Of Love And War.’ Now I’m using the girl’s brother to get closer to the girl. That’s the way ya do it! Money for nothing and yer chicks for free. You work that thang, Stephen!

I made friends with Ulanda my girl friend and played with her.

A major breakthrough! My girl friend finally has a name. And I’ve played with her. Let’s just hope I don’t have to marry her now!

By the way, just as the girl’s brother was not named “Vencen”, I also had the girl's name wrong. It was actually YOLANDA.

If I could own the oeuvre of only one musician in history, I would probably choose the recordings of Pat Metheny. Metheny is a great Jazz guitarist/composer. The second track on his album THE FIRST CIRCLE (1984) is a terrific instrumental titled “Yolanda, You Learn.” To this day, sometimes I still think back to that little girl Yolanda when I put that Metheny disc into my player.

I went to Vensins house to play but he couldnt play.

Oh, yeah, I’m sure it was “Vensin” you were really interested in playing with. Serves you right, you manipulative little bastard.

To day we went to the hills and wadded in a swimming hole and i saw a rabbit.

Wadded ya do then?

It was a bore exsept we went to Disneland

What kind of 10-year-old boy goes to Disneyland but pronounces the day a “bore”? Get this kid a doctor, he’s “exseptionally” ill.

Today i didn’t get lucky because i didn’t see Yulanda

Well, you’re still misspelling your girlfriend’s name, but you’re right about one thing: you can’t get “lucky” without seeing the girl. Ya oughta hit— ah say, ya oughta hit the bars, son; you’ll get lucky there. (Boy’s about as bright as a Pet Rock.)

Today we didn’t have much excitment but we went fishing and i caught a fish.

Nothing excites this kid. Not Disneyland, not fishing, not nuffin’. Well, I guess there’s one little 8-year-old girl that excites him. But not much else.

Today is easter i had a lot of fun and tommorow i will get to see Yulanda again.

OK, so it seems colored eggs and chocolate bunnies aren’t a “bore.”

Oh boy today was a day in café. at school my girl friend kept waching me.

Eye contact: one of the essential food groups in ‘The Cookbook Of Love.’

Today was a good day in the cafe Yulanda was waching me and she liked my bike to.

Another breakthrough. When a chick digs yer wheels, that’s half the battle right there. Now put a sissy bar on that thing and stick some Mickey Mantle rookie cards in the spokes and she will be completely under yer spell.

APRIL, 1970:

Today wasn’t a perfect day because i didn’t see you know Who? in the cafateria

No, we don’t know who. But do tell!
And how many ways are there to misspell cafeteria??!!

Today Yulanda was sick from school today so i didn’t be able to see her.

Awww, don’tcha just hate it when you don’t be able to see your girlfriend?

It wouldn’t be until I got into the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth grades that I myself was being made “sick from school.” I guess Yolanda just burned out on it sooner than I did.

Today was a good day because Yulanda was waching me in the café a[nd] sat behind me.

That’s right, if you can’t spell cafeteria correctly, just abbreviate it and no one will be the wiser.

So, we see The Dance Of Love being played out here, and Yolanda and I both knew all the steps: I watch you from a distance; you watch me from a distance. You sit behind me in the kafatearia; I sit behind you in the calfitiria. Pretty soon we’ll both have our straws in the same carton of chocolate milk. A little further on down the road, the chocolate milk is turned into wine (thank you, Jeezus!) and then comes… a baby in the baby carriage.

Today i talked to Yulanda and doug addmited that Yulanda likes me.

Well, of course she liked me. Hispanic women have always liked me… don’t ask me why. No other womens would ever give me the time of day, but the Hispanic gals – for some odd reason I seemed to be the ole! in their frijoles. But now, in my ugly old age, I find that it’s just female Chihuahuas following me around. It’s the damnedest thing!

Doug is my brother. You know him on this Blog as “Nappy” (or, “Napoleon” for long.)

Today something happened about Yulanda but ill just keep you gussing.

Oh, isn’t that why everyone purchases a diary? To keep the pages “gussing” about what’s going on in their life?

Today we had a practice game in baseball at Sunset Park on the second field

My brother and I were both playing for the Little League Braves. Unbeknownst to Nappy and I at that time, our manager was a bigot. He didn’t like Blacks or Mexicans. The fact that there was only one or two Black boys on the Braves and no Hispanics, in a league that had at least as many Black and Hispanic boys enrolled as White boys may have been a clue.

Although The Braves were a good baseball team, our manager’s mismanagement riled my parents and compelled them to get involved in the League. Consequently, within just two or three years, my family had nearly taken over the entire Sunset Little League: My Grandpa went from managing a team to becoming the League president; Grandma was the League secretary and a team mother. My Ma was the League’s chief scorekeeper who taught all the other scorekeepers in the official Major League method (she once worked for both the Los Angeles Dodgers and the California Angels). My Pa was the manager of The Machinists, a team that, one year after our family left the League, went on to utterly annihilate everybody else with the talent that my Pa had drafted and trained. After my playing days had ended, I went on to coach The Machinists for my Pa, and Nappy was our All-Star shortstop.

You didn’t want to get on the wrong side of The Family or you’d wake up with your best pitcher’s head in your bed!

This reminds me of a story which you might not recall because I’ve never told it before: A few years after I kept this dia— er, this journal, my Pa was managing the Machinists and I was his coach, while Doug (Nappy) was our All-Star shortstop who sometimes pitched.

One game in particular, Nappy was pitching, and although he threw hard, on this day he was also getting hit hard. The other team was knocking him around pretty good and he became more and more red-faced as his frustration mounted. And it all went completely to pieces when the opposing team’s pitcher hit a three-run home run off Nappy. We finally managed to get the third out in the inning and Nappy stormed off the mound, mad as hell.

As fate would have it, Nappy was our first batter due up that inning, so he slammed his baseball glove against the dugout wall, snatched his batting helmet, grabbed his bat and stomped out to the on-deck circle to wait while the other pitcher finished his warm-up tosses.

Although Nappy was a dangerous hitter, oddly enough, he wasn’t a power hitter. In fact, even though he regularly hit for extra bases, he had never hit a home run in all his years of playing Little League baseball.

While Doug still had steam coming out of his ears in the on-deck circle, the other players on our team were fooling around in our dugout so I hollered at them: “Sit down, shut up, and watch Doug hit this home run!”

And within a minute, Nappy had indeed drilled the ball over the outfield fence and circled the bases. It was to be Nappy’s first and only Little League home run. And like Babe Ruth, I had called the shot. Hmmm... Maybe I really AM sikike.

That other team’s pitcher learned a valuble lesson that day: You don’t tug on Superman’s cape; you don’t spit into the wind; you don’t pull the mask off the ol’ Lone Ranger; and you don’t humiliate Nappy on the pitcher’s mound.

OK, let’s get back to the d— er… journal.

Today i didn’t do any thing except play and work.

Some days are like that - you just can’t find the time to do all those many things that fall between work and play.

But, say, I noticed that you spelled “except” correctly this time. Looks like all that time spent in a classroom is really beginning to pay dividends!

Today we had a little League game and we won but we had to play a friend of mine.

There is no such thing as a “friend” in another uniform. If he ain’t with ya, he’s against ya. A line drive off his noggin is the friendliest gesture he should expect from ya. But just relax and have fun out there; it’s not about whether you win or lose, but HOW you play the game.

Today I didn’t do any thing except at P.E. (Pysecail Education) I did 2 hundred and 25 sit-ups

Well, we seem to have mastered the word “except.” Let’s see if we can’t work on “physical” now, eh?

Although I do recall that I was a Sit-Up Machine as a youngster, I think we need to take that 225 figure with a grain of salt because my atrocious math skills are still whispered about today all across the globe. Although my spelling improved over the years, my math never did. I still walk into liquor stores, plunk down a handful of change and ask the clerk, “Is this enough for the small bottle of Thunderbird?”

Today we went down to Sunset and got our Braves uniform.

OK, the preseason games have ended. Bring on the real stuffs… and my Ma, the chief scorekeeper. *Wink!-Wink!*

Nah, just kidding. The Family was still just watching from the sidelines in this, our first year of Santa Monica Little League.

Today we had the first game of baseball. The score was 6-4 We lost.

Oh, some pitcher’s head is gonna roll for this next year!

Today wasen’t a good day because every thing i did was wrong

I had no way of knowing that in the future I was going to have years like that.

Today we played a game and won 12-3 Against the Giants.

This was before Barry Bonds had discovered steroids, so he wasn’t much help to the Giants. Besides, we probably pitched around him. Damned if our manager was going to let a Black kid beat us!

Today I missed practice so that wasen’t so good.

No, it “wasen’t.” And neither was your spelling.

Today i earned more money than ever in this thing i earned 50 cents & a nickel

I believe people with good math skills refer to that as “fifty-five cents.”

And I think “this thing” I won the money in was some sort of coin-operated machine, like a gumball machine, but it had little plastic containers that occasionally contained money rather than cheap, plastic toys. Knowing me, I probably put seventy-five cents in that “thing” and thought I was a big winner when I walked away with “50 cents & a nickel.”

Incidentally, I’ll make an embarrassing confession here: I still have trouble spelling the word “nickel.” I can never remember if it ends el or le. I’ll still be looking up the spelling of that word in the dictionary when a nickel isn’t even worth a penny. (Actually, that could be just later this year.)

Yulandas a crep! Today i was mad at Vencen and don’t like Yulanda anymore.

That’s it, it’s all over. The end of a sad affair. And another one bites the dust. I’m pretty sure I meant that Yolanda was a “creep” because I don’t recall ever thinking of her as a crinkled fabric or a French dish. A dish, yes, but Hispanic, not French.

No explanation about what soured me on Yolanda was ever recorded, and all these decades later, I haven’t the slightest idea what it could have been. Absolutely no clue. All I know is that Yolanda was now a “crep” and I was undoubtedly going to spend that “50 cents & a nickel” on myself instead of her. A little black licorice, an ice cream sandwich and a bottle of RC cola ought to heal my tender young heart.

MAY, 1970:

Today i had fun with my friend

were going to form a club.

I’ll bet I named it “The He-Man Woman-Hater’s Club.”

today we had a game and won 22-1.

Oooh, a real nail-biter there. Our opponents had some serious self-esteem issues after that beating.

Today i went to a major League game

the dogers won 15-1.

Hmmm… Looks to me like even my Little League Braves could have whupped the Montreal Expos in 1970. And how was YOUR self-esteem Montreal?!

Well, that was the last dia-- journal entry in the book until my birthday. On August 8th, I recorded my final notes in the book, scrawling them in pencil and taking up all five years’ worth of space for that particular date. Here’s what I wrote:

AUGUST, 1970:

Today was my Birthday i had fun and my favorite present was a photograph of my favorite baseball player Von Johia and wild ___ [*Not sure about the word but I think it’s supposed to be “clothes”.] and my birthday was a smash and a beauteful day.

I can actually remember part of that day. First of all, the player in question was Von Joshua. (At 49 years of age, my spelling is much improved.)

My Grandpa had Los Angeles Dodger season tickets and he had taken me to a game earlier in the year where I saw Von Joshua go from first to third base on a passed ball. His speedy feet so impressed me that he instantly became my favorite player.

That may or may not have been the same game I attended with my Grandpa when I set the all-time major league record of 12 Coca-Colas consumed in a nine inning game. A record that still stands, by the way. It wasn’t until years later that I also set the record for most cups of beer consumed in a nine inning game. Unfortunately, I don’t know what that number is because I lost count after getting into double digits. All I know is that when I awoke underneath my seat at Dodger Stadium, the ballpark was empty and the Dodgers were in the middle of the second game of a three-game series against the Cubs in Chicago.

Anyway, on my birthday, my Ma had taken me and my friend Eric to the Dodger game, and she had contacted an old friend with the Dodger organization to get an 8x10 photograph of Von Joshua autographed to me personally. She presented the gift to me at Dodger Stadium, and I remember that I was so happy I started to cry. I turned and walked away so that Eric and my Ma wouldn’t see the tears.

I was a sweet kid. And I had absolutely terrific parents! (I’m not sure where Nappy came from, but the story is that he was raised by wolves and later adopted by my folks.)

That Von Joshua autograph. I still has it. Somewhere. It’s probably hanging out with my Chuck Berry autograph, and they’re both stealing bases and raising hell with their amplifiers turned up to eleven.

Anyhow, since rediscovering my old journal, I’ve decided to start jotting down my thoughts in it again. On
April 7th, 2009, I wrote the following in that ancient, brown book:

HA! After 39 years, I’ve returned! We’ll see how long I last this time. Yolanda, where are you? Yesterday, I celebrated Jesus coming into my life 15 years ago (4-6-1994) by going to the Claim Jumper restaurant here in Phoenix, AZ. Had traditional birthday lunch: Calif. Quesadilla & Carrot Cake.

Plenty has happened to me over the last four decades. For one thing, a lot of my hair is grey now. Also, I have arthritis and I wear glasses. My baseball glove never sees the light of day and I’m no longer girl crazy.

Nevertheless, true love experiences no entropy (and you can quote me on that). If you thought April 29, 1970 spelled the end for Yolanda and me, you thought wrong. One year later, when I was pitching for the Little League Yankees, I quickly dispatched three hapless hitters who stood between me and my true love. I relate that story in my review of the book DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER.

Furthermore, I’ll have you know that it seems I have never fully gotten Yolanda out of my system.
If I only knew where she was living today, I would take one of my old, grey-headed friends with me and stage a fake fistfight on her front lawn.

~ Stephen T. McCarthy



Anonymous said...

Hey, Pal:

Hilarious Blog entry. In the words of the great Pepe Le Pew, "C'est L'amour."

Have you ever thought of Googling Yolanda's name (do you remember her last name)? She might even have a FaceBook Page. It would be interesting to find out if she remembers your brief but torrid
5th grade affair of the heart.

~The Aard~

Stephen T. McCarthy said...

Thanks, AARD. Glad ya enjoyed it.

C'est L'amour? Is that what Pepe Le Pew said? I thought it was, "Love STINKS!"

I do indeed remember Yolanda's last name. In fact, I was originally planning to include it in this Blog Bit but feared it might cause someone somewhere some embarrassment. (Although in truth, I'm the only someone who should be embarrassed by this stuffs.)

Hadn't ever even considered Googling her name, but maybe I'll give it a try. But OF COURSE she would remember our brief but torrid 3rd/5th grade affair of the heart. Me she might not recall, but my bicycle was COOL!

Thanks for your comment, Aard. I always like it when you fly into Blogland.

<"As a dog returns to his own vomit,
so a fool repeats his folly."
~ Proverbs 26:11>

Anonymous said...

This was a total S-C-R-E-A-M! Love it, absolutely love it. I'd say more, but I wouldn't know where to begin.

I laughed out loud. It really made my day.


Stephen T. McCarthy said...

OL' WP ~

I have no idea why your second comment about yer Pa didn't post here as well. I told the danged system to post 'em both but I guess a BIG BUG ate your second comment while it was winging its way to my Blog Bit (very disappointing!)

Anyway, God Bless yer Pa and my Pa, too. I'll bet they're both together right now, sitting at the bar in Le Club Golden Harp, watching the Angels run up the score on the Demons, drinking Divine Beer ('cause they don't serve Duff in Heaven), smoking Lucky Strikes (Jesus-filtered, naturally), and laughing at what maroons you and I are.

Green-O, I'll tell ya the honest truth (Huh? As opposed to the Dishonest Truth?)... Several times while I was putting this Blog Bit together it occurred to me that of ALL my friends - (ya like how I make it sound as if there's lots of 'em?) - you, WP-O, would probably enjoy this particular Blog Bit the best. And that's the reason I alluded to it in our recent comment exchange on the Fidrych bit.

Why was I so sure you were going to appreciate this one? Well, two reasons: #1) I took into consideration that you are such an athletic ladies' man. Little League baseball and a schoolyard romance - how could YOU not embrace those subjects? And #2) Well, I'm sikike, of course!

VERY PLEASED ya dug it, Brother!

Dogs, Vomit, Fools, Folly.

Anonymous said...

Hey, Stephen:

Trying this again as my 2nd one didn’t seem to post. .

[C'est L'amour? Is that what Pepe Le Pew said? I thought it was, "Love STINKS!".]

Ha!-Ha! No, I think that’s what the little cat which Pepe so ardently pursued said. Pepe was a relentless and single-minded romantic. He was probably the original model for stalker behavior. I always felt so sorry for that scrawny little cat who clawed so desperately to get away from him and his ‘parfum de amour.’

[Hadn't ever even considered Googling her name, but maybe I'll give it a try. But OF COURSE she would remember our brief but torrid 3rd/5th grade affair of the heart. Me she might not recall, but my bicycle was COOL!]

If you are able to track her down, I am sure that she will remember you, Stephen. I certainly remember the names of my first crushes – while I would be hard-pressed to remember most of the names of the men I dated as an adult.

~The Aard~

Stephen T. McCarthy said...

AardPal ~

>>[Trying this again as my 2nd one didn’t seem to post.]<<

OL' WP had the same problem. He submitted a second comment, a real nice bit about his Dad, but it disappeared somehow.

In the year that I've been posting here at Blogspot, I've noticed that as the site continues to add more whistles and bells, it seems to also develop more bugs. I wish they'd just leave well enough alone or this place will eventually become as buggy as And that's when I'll move my Blogs over to WordPress.

>>[Pepe was a relentless and single-minded romantic. He was probably the original model for stalker behavior.]<<

Ya know, that's a good point. What was once considered a virtue called "Stick-to-it-iveness" is now considered a vice called "stalking." For old coots like me, this modern world is so confusing. ...And modern.

>>[I certainly remember the names of my first crushes – while I would be hard-pressed to remember most of the names of the men I dated as an adult.]<<

Oh, really? Gee, I can remember ALL of my relationships, and in chronological order, too: Sandy, Mary Ellen, Yolanda, Manny, Moe, and Jack. (Those last three were the auto mechanics.)

Dogs, Vomit, Fools, Folly.
~ Ol' Stephen

TN Kat said...

I don't get to visit yer blog as often as I would like...but it's always worth it when I do! Too bad about 'Yulanda' she didn't know what she was missing, I bet she still thinks about you to this day..."the boy who fights good with the cool bike".
Thanks for bringing a smile to my face. You never fail to make my day brighter!
~ the Countess

Stephen T. McCarthy said...

Ha! More likely she thinks: That wimpy kid who couldn't even win a FAKE fight, whose cool bicycle my brother Vincent stole.

But say, what a treat to find you've checked in and made yer presence known. Now, how 'bout making yer presents known, too? Gimme an autographed photograph of Jeanne Moreau and Gene Tierney wearing Victoria's Secret. (The young and beautiful Gene Tierney, of course; not the old hag version.)

Tell that Stinky Chicken that Muddy says: "Yo, BirdDogg!"

~ Ol' STM

mousiemarc said...


Stephen T. McCarthy said...

Uhp! I'm an idiot!

Dogs, Vomit, Fools, Folly...

Anonymous said...

You have to express more your opinion to attract more readers, because just a video or plain text without any personal approach is not that valuable. But it is just form my point of view

Stephen T. McCarthy said...

Good advice, ANONYMOUS. I thank you form the bottom of my heart! I will try to follow your suggestion and attempt a more "personal approach" next time because I see what you're saying - this Blog Bit was far too impersonal.

~ "Lonesome Dogg" McMe

Arlee Bird said...

That was like a Deja Vu of your Deja Vu--or something like that.

I could relate to the lovesick part of this. I never kept a dia-- er, journal back then, but I can remember being so in love with certain little girls and never getting a second look from them. Although my sister told me years later about her various friends who had a thing for me. Why didn't she tell me back then when I needed to know?

I was like Vencen. There were always guys trying to be my friend because they wanted to be around my sister. I know how that one goes and it never worked well for them, but I ended up with a lot of friends that I might not have had otherwise.

A fun look back for sure.

Tossing It Out

Karen Peterson said...

This was so hilarious! Part of me wants to look back at my old diaries, and part of me is really afraid to remember what I wrote back then!

Stephen T. McCarthy said...

>>...That was like a Deja Vu of your Deja Vu--or something like that.

Dang! You're right, man! That hadn't even occurred to me, but it's kind of like a "Double Look Back".

Somewhere on my blog is a post about receiving an invitation to my graduating class’ 30-year high school reunion. I spoke with one of the women who was organizing it and found out from her that a couple of her girl friends had a crush on me back in those days. And like I said to her: Well, they sure did a good job of keeping it a secret from me.

Why didn’t the girls send stronger signals that we slow, dense, dim-witted boys could have picked up on?

Thanks so much!
And, hey, look back at ‘em. Ya GOTTA look back at ‘em. Believe me, it is so much FUN! I so much enjoyed the stupidity I found in that old dia— er, JOURNAL of mine, that it inspired THIS – what I still think is probably my funniest blog bit.

I know it’s just not “right” and kinda “uncool” for a person to laugh at their own writing, but there are a couple of segments in this blog bit that make me laugh out loud every time I read them. Dang, did I ever give me the business in this thing!

Look back, Karen. It’s really fun!

~ D-FensDogg
‘Loyal American Underground’

Arlee Bird said...

Why didn’t the girls send stronger signals that we slow, dense, dim-witted boys could have picked up on?

And I'm still a bit slow about catching signals and do it all the time. My wife will say something and I totally miss what she was trying to say and she'll get mad, or sad, or something. I keep telling her not to just give me hints, but just come out and say what she wants to say. It's all about communicating and I'm no mind reader, but I guess I should be learning how to be by now.

Tossing It Out

Stephen T. McCarthy said...

Dude, that is EXACTLY what this Christian minister/marriage counselor is talking about in some videos I posted on this blog awhile back.

The blog bit was titled "Why Men And Women Can't Understand Each Other (Or, Wossamotta U?)".

If you haven't seen it before, then when you have the time, I heartily recommend you watch it. Maybe ask your wife to watch it with you. It's fun for boys AND girls!

The minister/counselor who conducts these seminars (I can't remember his name but it's in the blog bit) is really, really funny.

And he is not only extremely entertaining but he ABSOLUTELY NAILS DOWN the differences in the way men's and women's brains approach life's situations.

It's truly a blast. Here's the URL:

~ D-FensDogg
'Loyal American Underground'

Hold my hand: a social worker's blog said...

HAHAHA I've laughed out loud...seriously. Too funny.

Good luck with your google search... "Ulanda, mi amor, donde estás?" :-D))


Stephen T. McCarthy said...


>>..."Ulanda, mi amor, donde estás?"

"Yolanda, my love, where are you?"

Not bad for a gringo, eh? I didn't have to look any of it up or nuffin'.

I still remember a wee tiny bit from my high school Spanish lessons... even if I did have to make an oil painting of a bullfight for enough extra credit to prevent me from getting an "F" in the class.

Glad ya liked this. What a love-sick knucklehead I was!

~ D-FensDogg
'Loyal American Underground'