Da Dos

Category: Life, Quotes, Literature, History, Pop Culture

  • She Walks in Beauty

    She Walks in Beauty

    Arguably the main poet who got a young HS Butch into poetry, and as such, literature, art and the humanities at large.

    George Gordon Byron’s [Lord Byron] life and writing inspired me. Handsome, talented, dashing. Despite clubfoot, he ran off to join the Greek War for Independence; this would be the equivalent of running off to Ukraine to combat the Russians. To this day Greece reveres him as a national hero.

    A true Romantic in every sense of the word and a reminder of what it truly means to live.

    So, as it being Valentine’s weekend, here’s a cool remake of his poem “She Walks in Beauty”


    I.
    She walks in beauty, like the night

    Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

    And all that’s best of dark and bright

    Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

    Thus mellowed to that tender light

    Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

    II.

    One shade the more, one ray the less,

    Had half impaired the nameless grace

    Which waves in every raven tress,

    Or softly lightens o’er her face;

    Where thoughts serenely sweet express,

    How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

    III.

    And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,

    So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

    The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

    But tell of days in goodness spent,

    A mind at peace with all below,

    A heart whose love is innocent!

  • Butch Bday!

    Butch Bday!

    Well, another revolution around the sun, so can’t complain. I was listening to Matt Forte yesterday. Apparently, Forte owns horses, and expressed that every so often he would love to race one except he doesn’t want to tear a hamstring. I can relate!

    Sometimes when you visit an E.R., or your Dr. informs that you’re at risk of a heart attack, stroke, degenerative neurological disease, or worse – it has a way of sobering you up. It’s like you’re gliding through life in a charmed stupor. Then your head is dunked in icy water.

    Everything suddenly clears and one starts truly rejoicing in the simple act of waking up, taking a walk, laughing with friends and family, sipping tea, listening to moving music.

    Heck, even trivialities. Like, according to Biggsy, these Bears are only the 4rth team in a decade + to force 15 takeaways in a 4 game span. Chicago specifically hasn’t achieved that feat since ’04. As such, no matter how ‘sloppy’ it’s all been, we should savor it.

    So with that in mind, it’s a celebration!

    A study asked a bunch dying people in hospices what they regret most; a majority confessed that they regret what they did NOT do more than what they actually did.

    Roughly – Sins of omission not commission

    So if you always wanted to play the violin, learn French, go surfing, run a marathon, attend a certain concert or travel to Japan, it’s never too late.

    Here’s some late-blooming authors:

    Toni Morrison (Age 40)

    Mark Twain (Age 41)

    Marcel Proust (Age 43)

    Henry Miller (Age 44)

    J.R.R. Tolkien (Age 45)

    Julius Caesar in his mid-30s came across a statue of Alexander the Great and experienced a mini-mental breakdown, weeping, lamenting that Alexander the Great had conquered the world by 32 while he was but a governor of some lowly outpost.

    Oh, and did you know that King Leonidas, yes, that one

    was actually SIXTY years old when he helped fend off a million Persians!

    So compared to that, maybe finally writing again, fixing up that rusting classic car or connecting with a long lost love is a little more feasible.

    Carpe diem, baby!

  • The most bad-ass WW2 General you never heard of: Terrible Terry Allen

    The most bad-ass WW2 General you never heard of: Terrible Terry Allen

    When you dig through WW2,Terry de la Mesa Allen Sr’s name will pop up from time to time, and it’s usually with reverence, or ‘bad-ass’ or ‘best WW2 general’. Considering the competition, that last one is a hell of a statement.

    I won’t pretend to be qualified enough to rank best WW2 Generals – I always thought Marshal Georgy Zhukov may have earned that title, but I can see arguments for others.

    Regardless, this isn’t a tier list. It’s a ‘if you haven’t heard of Terrible Terry before, you gotta check this mofo out’ piece.

    His life is legendary, and TBH, I don’t know how a movie isn’t made about him every 20 years.

    Quick run down.

    – Kicked out of West Point for being too rough around the edges
    – Served in WW1 AND WW2. Some of his medals include: Service Medal (with an Oak Leaf Cluster), Silver Star, Legion of Merit, and Purple Heart (with an Oak Leaf Cluster), among other campaign medals and service awards. He also earned the Croix de Guerre.
    – Terrible Terry stuttered, but getting shot in the face somehow cured him of it!
    – He was cav and wanted to go to the front lines, so he had to become an infantryman.

    According to rumour,[10] Allen showed up at a school for infantry officers the day before a class graduation. When the commandant of the school began to hand out certificates to the graduates, Allen lined up with them. When confronted with him, the commandant said, “I don’t remember you in this class.” “I’m Allen. Why don’t you?” was his reply.[3] Without further ado, Allen was given the certificate and became a temporary major.[11]

    – Patton went over to purposefully piss in Allen’s foxhole, until he heard the safeties click from various guns. Patton left mid-stream!

    – He outdrank a Russian general!

    – He outraced a cowboy!

    – He somehow became friends with Ike, Teddy Roosevelt Jr, and Edward VIII [the future king of England before he abdicated]

    – Terry innovated night fighting. Patton showed up one morning idignant that the battle hadn’t started yet. Well, that’s because Terrible Terry decided to get the party started the night before, and the battle was over already.

    Patton demanded to know why he attacked prematurely at night.

    Allen’s response?

    ‘So you know who Knute Rockne is? He invented the forward pass. Why would I beat my brains out for a yard-and-a-half when I can just pass the ball for 40 yards’

    Terrible Terry had many other exploits, too many to post here, so just check out this vid about him. Totally worth it.

  • Doubles Troubles (The Year of the Tiger, Part 1) by guest writer IBNO

    Doubles Troubles (The Year of the Tiger, Part 1) by guest writer IBNO


    SETTING:

    A late-1980s football practice field, next to a Frankenstein high school patched together with multiple annexes over multiple decades. The school sits near the center of a conservative former farm town, now wealthy western suburb of Chicago. In the distance behind the field is a small Jewel grocery store. Above the Jewel sign, the town clocktower can be seen. The clock gongs 8 o’clock on a dewy August morning that promises to turn the dirt-spotted practice field into a brick oven well before noon.

    CHARACTERS:

    John Towne, Chemistry teacher and Head Coach of the varsity football team. Short of stature and stern, unless actively smiling he appears quietly furious–with the pent-up rage of a church pastor who found out his daughter enjoys servicing the basketball team under the bleachers. JT’s close-set eyes are piercingly blue, and he wears his ballcap pulled low to shade his eyes from the morning sun.

    Ross Horn, Athletic Director, Offensive Line and Assistant Head Coach of the varsity football team. With a haircut that only recently graduated from a Beatles Bowl, and a mustache that would do Ron Jeremy proud, his deep baritone is incapable of anything below “too loud for a small room.” The team will soon come to fear three simple words spoken from the man in charge of their conditioning: “On the ball.”

    Ron McTavish, P.E. teacher and Defensive Coordinator. A young Mike Ditka–minus a neck–he is plain-spoken and an extremely effective communicator to young men. A graduate of the Christian college across the train tracks from the high school, he neither wears his faith on his sleeve, nor judges his players by theirs–but the strongest epithet he is ever heard to utter is “gosh darn it!” And even then, he blushes.

    Billy “Sky” Walker, Defensive backfield coach. The most junior of the coaches. When not wearing mirrored aviators, he appears to be staring off at clouds. No one is entirely sure what he teaches at the high school.

    THE BACKGROUND:
    The school has legendary graduates, including football luminaries, but the football program has fallen on hard times. Last year’s Varsity team had great potential scuttled by a teachers’ strike (and resulting forfeited games) and reckless personalities. During the prior school year, an alcohol-fueled party resulted in several seniors and then-juniors getting caught with or near alcohol–a violation of the school’s rigid Athletic Code. Several of this year’s seniors were banned from sport, and several more were allowed on the team only on the strictest probation. It is suspected that even more seniors–including football players–were at the party and escaped Athletic Code justice.

    THE SCENE:

    Somewhere around 80 varsity recruits are lined up in rows, facing the four captains. The first day of practice, every player is in helmet and practice jersey color-coded for offense and defense–and for many, late-80s neon shorts. The captains call out the order of warm-up stretches and calisthenics. Jumping jacks. Hamstring stretches. Then push-ups. Captain Dan calls out “down!” and “up!” and the team counts each push-up until they reach 20.

    COACH JOHN TOWNE [Loudly]: That was awful! Out of synch. Do it again!

    [The captains look at each other, mentally hit rewind, and call out the instructions. Captain Dan again calls out “down!” and “up!” and the team again counts out 20 push-ups.]

    JT [Louder]: Those aren’t push-ups! Jurgens isn’t even going all the way down! Do them again!

    [Jurgens, a hulking sophomore defensive lineman elevated to varsity during equipment pickup the prior day, starts to protest, but thinks better of it after immediately being shushed by the teammates near him.]

    JT: Start over! All the way down, all the way up, as a team!

    [The captains call out the cadence for another 20 push-ups. After 20, some players put their knees down to rest or to stand up. John Towne calls out:]

    JT: Still out of synch. Sloppy! A bunch of individuals! Do it again–as a team!

    [The captains look at each other again, wordlessly converging on the realization that their first day of leadership will cast them as the soldiers guarding the trains going to Auschwitz. The fourth set of push-ups begins, this time the count stopping at 10.]

    JT: Carpenter’s back isn’t straight! He’s got his butt in the air. You guys expect to play football when you can’t even do 20 push-ups? Everyone straighten out your backs! All of you!

    [The team holds a plank through a minute or more of denigration from the head coach before…]

    JT: Start over!

    [The count makes it to 15 before John Towne again interrupts with a shout. Players freeze in the plank position, many with arms shaking already. Ross Horn looks on, his jaw clenched. Ron McTavish keeps his head down, and continues scuffing a hole in the dirt with his cleats. Billy Walker stares off into the distance.]

    JT: You have to decide–right here, right now, if you want to be a football team. Or if you want to be Mr. Hot Shot, star of your own show. To be on this team, you don’t have to be the fastest, or the strongest–Lord knows, just about the only guys who passed qualifications are your captains–but you do have to put the team before yourself and give 100 per cent every day. That’s the rule. And you have to follow the rules! Start again!

    [The captains call out the instructions and start the cadence. Again, the count gets to 10 before interruption. The team again holds a plank. Most players are breathing hard. Some are gasping.]

    JT: Weller isn’t going down all the way, start over!

    [A pattern seems to be emerging, with Head Coach John Towne singling out the younger players as failing. The seniors avoid critique. The captains start the count over.]

    JT: Stop! Half the receivers don’t have their backs straight. Maybe it’s because none of you made qualifications in bench press…

    [Sweat streams liberally from player’s faces while they hold planks and attempt more sets. Gasping and grunting and coughing comes from most players; some sound like they’re beginning to retch. No one knows the total count for certain, but somewhere north of 180 push-ups, Ross Horn’s stoic mask cracks.]

    ROSS HORN [muttering loudly]: Jesus, John, I think they get the point.

    [John Towne glares daggers at Ross Horn, who returns the stare without flinching. Ron McTavish suddenly looks up from the ground and shouts.]

    RON MCTAVISH: OK, we’ll save the rest for the afternoon! Let’s break into position groups. Front seven, on me! D-backs, follow Coach Walker to the south fence. Offensive line, with Coach Horn at the sled. Backs and receivers, with Coach Towne…

    [The players get to their feet, shakily, and head towards their coaches. Joe Fisher, a junior tight end, is the first to vomit that day, noisily through his face mask.]

  • Ghassan the Nut-man by Guest Reg IBNO

    Ghassan the Nut-man by Guest Reg IBNO

    In grad school I had a fellowship to study Arabic in Syria. Even for a seasoned Middle East scholar like myself, it was an eye-opening experience.

    I lived near a couple little corner shops–basically Syrian bodegas–right next to each other. For some reason, I mostly patronized the shop owned and run by Ghassan, who was one of the nicest people I’d ever met – not just in Syria. Snow-white hair combed straight back, with a charcoal grey mustache; he was a gentle grandpa type. His shop was in the Christian quarter, but I wasn’t sure if he was Christian or Muslim, and he didn’t give hints one way or the other. He always had a smile, and and displayed Jobian patience even with my stumbling Arabic.

    Ghassan’s shop had bins by the counter filled with various roasted nuts, and my colleagues and I had fallen into a routine of climbing up to the roof of our building in the evenings, having a beer and snacking on nuts. So most days included a stop to buy from Ghassan the Nut-man.

    One day I walked into Ghassan’s shop to buy something small, but I didn’t have enough coinage while my next-smallest denomination was a bill worth about $40. Ghassan couldn’t (or wouldn’t) break the large bill for such a small purchase, and instead he told me to go ahead and take the goods–maybe a dollar’s worth – and I could pay “next time.”

    “Tomorrow,” I agreed, thanking him, and left.

    The next day I was in, again buying something small, and as I put my money down on the counter for him, I added in the amount I owed him. He pushed those coins back at me, smiling shyly, repeating the price for today’s purchase. I reminded him I owed him from yesterday, thinking maybe he had forgotten. He smiled kindly and just replied, “Next time.”

    This ritual continued for a few weeks. I’d come in and buy something, try to give him what I owed, and he’d just smile and shake his head, “next time.”

    The summer didn’t last. Israel started bombing Lebanon and Syria. Everything exploded. Ghassan, ever the smiling cipher, had a Hizbullah flag hanging outside his window – as did most of the businesses and some of the homes in the Christian quarter. A photography studio across the street exhibited big pictures of Bashar al-Assad and Hasan Nusrullah (the leader of Hizbullah) in the window as well.

    Damascus was still relatively safe even as refugees poured in from Lebanon; nevertheless our program managers and bosses recommended we all leave, and offered to pay our bills to get home early. The nascent war had jammed up flights going West, so for me and my colleagues, this meant we could get paid to take the Long Way Home. A couple guys went to Cairo for a few weeks. My office-mate went to the Gulf to get a head start on some dissertation research. I was going to take the train to Istanbul and hang out for a while before flying home.
    So on my last day in Damascus, I stopped in Ghassan’s shop to buy some almonds for the bus ride to Aleppo, where I’d pick up the train to Istanbul. Again we did our routine.

    I put extra money on the counter, and he pushed it back to me, refraining, “Next time.”

    “I owe you this money, but you keep saying ‘next time,’ “ I replied.

    “Yes, and you keep coming back? I’m a smart businessman, no?” he laughed.

    I laughed, too, and pushed the money back across the counter. “But I’m leaving tomorrow because of the war, and I owe you this.”

    His smile fell, but he pushed the money back to me, saying, “Next time, God willing.” He put his hand on his heart, adding, “Safe journey, my friend.”

    “God willing,” I repeated, with a lump in my throat, taking my almonds and Ghassan’s money, and left.

  • Rock, Flag and Eagle! [2025]

    Rock, Flag and Eagle! [2025]

    Right about now most are experiencing an onslaught of emotions, but I surmise the main one is American angst

    It doesn’t even matter where you align. If you’re a fiscal conservative you might be stressing about the trillion dollar deficits we keep increasing. If you’re pro-2nd amendment you’re worried about dem taking away your guns. If you lean the other way, you’re dreading the next cuck blasting away kids with an AR. You’re brooding about the borders, wars in the middle east, neo- robber barons suckering the poor, work, values…

    Even if you’re totally a-political, I bet you’re on some level dealing with shit costing too much, the education of your children or medical care of yourself or a loved one.

    Then throw all that into a 24-hr news cycle blender of CNN, FOX, Youtube, Twitter, and voila:

    American Angst

    It’s no wonder we come across stories of seemingly random violence. It’s a minor miracle it actually doesn’t occur more often TBH

    Then every 4rth of July we sorta agree on collective amnesia for a day, bbq, and blow shit up.

    With that in mind, I’d like to share some “4rth of July” movies, music and quotes.

    “Dazed and Confused” often gets discarded as merely a “stoner movie.” However, it’s much more. It’s not a “4rth of July” movie per se, but it covers a lot – from absurd HS rituals, politics, coming of age, small town football culture, and yes, sex, drugs and rock-n-roll. It’s also car-porn!

    To boot, it has one of my favorite lines from any movie:

    “Well, all I’m saying is that I want to look back and say that I did I the best I could while I was stuck in this place. Had as much fun as I could while I was stuck in this place. Played as hard as I could while I was stuck in this place… Dogged as many girls as I could while I was stuck in this place.”
    If you want a fun, semi-deep, 4rth of July flick with cool soundtrack, throw on some “Dazed and Confused.”

    It’s hard to imagine the liberal teacher in Dazed sharing anything with Jackie Cogan [played by Brad Pitt], an ‘entrepreneurial ‘ contract killer in “Killing Them Softly,” but both actually express similar cynicism on the “American Dream.” The difference is that Jackie Cogan doesn’t try to change the system – he embraces it.

    “Jackie Cogan: My friend, Jefferson’s an American saint because he wrote the words, “All men are created equal.” Words he clearly didn’t believe, since he allowed his own children to live in slavery. He was a rich wine snob who was sick of paying taxes to the Brits. So yeah, he wrote some lovely words and aroused the rabble, and they went out and died for those words, while he sat back and drank his wine and fucked his slave girl. This guy wants to tell me we’re living in a community. Don’t make me laugh. I’m living in America, and in America, you’re on your own. America’s not a country. It’s just a business. Now fucking pay me.”

    “Killing Them Softly” is a bit more grim, a slow-paced vignette of post-recession U.S. , but an interesting watch nonetheless.

    On that note, here are three 4rth of July protest jams.

    Butch, you’re killing my buzz, scro!

    Alright alright.

    On a more positive vibe, here’s two great quotes from the immortal Thomas Paine:

    “Every age and generation must be as free to act for itself in all cases as the age and generations which preceded it.”

    “Those who expect to reap the blessings of freedom, must, like men, undergo the fatigues of supporting it.”

    Some other non-sensical 4rth of July clips for shits and giggles.

    In the end, “South Park” sums it up best:

    So get in your shorts, sandals, wife-beater, fire up the grill, knock back some beers while the neighbors try to blow up the block with highly illegal fireworks.

    Enjoy.

    ‘Merica!

  • Quotes 1

    Quotes 1

    Good thoughts. Good words. Good Deeds.
    – Zoroaster

    Bonus round – “Bohemian Rhapsody” not just a great song but also a poignant movie.