Retirement will slow a fella down, even Jack D'Mestiere who's slow as a slug anyway...

Ever since I went to part-time private-eying, me and Dolly-girl have been doing the rounds of movie parlours taking advantage of the fact that not many people go to the movies in the middle of the day and plus the seats are a little less pricey. Well, we've only upped our game since Dixie Devereaux hung up her stethoscope and told the last guy on the treadmill to "Keep it up 'til I get back..."

I yawned and stretched at the crack of nine this morning and Dolly-girl, already into her second cup of joe--still blond with sand-- and maybe a pastry on the side and said, "Remember Jack, we're picking Dixie up at 11:30 sharp to catch Just Mercy at noon.  I don't want to be late because that theater is likely to be full." "On it, DG. I'll just, oh never mind. I'll be ready to go.



Dixie was more than ready to go when we pulled the roadster up to where JB and her set the brake. She's got one of them fancy doorbells that's tryin' to do away with the likes of the former me--you know, the private eye. I've been reading about them but it seems like they're more of a public eye. Anyhoo, which happens to be a word in the NT Times Spellling Bea game that me and Dolly-girl have been playing (I specialize in the 4 letter words but a lot of 4 letter words I come up with aren't allowed...) Dixie hops aboard and we're off.

We parked and took shank's mare further than any retired folks like to go--must have been a hundred yards. Dixie thought I had her on a treadmill--"You're like to killing' me Jack. Don't they have valet?" Well, being as how Dolly-girl, or Fiora as Dixie likes to call her 'cause she's all southern formal, got the time wrong for the moving picture show, we were seated an hour before the ads even started. But Dixie pointed out that it wasn't exactly like our calendars were full and besides, she and Fiora could use a good gab. I went out to see if Trouble was hanging around the lobby, but the only thing hanging around the lobby was an old guy with white hair looking--wait, looking in a mirror? How the ravages of time do strike.

The movie was good. Wasn't a dry eye among the 6 of us in the house. I won't go into the merits of the film because they are many and deep. Suffice it to say, we needed a beer. Dixie suggested it and heads were moving up and down. "Maybe we can talk JB out of work and drag him along,' she suggested and the rest of us--that would be me and DG--were on board with that. Turns out it didn't take a tow truck to haul him out of gainful employment for the day and 10 minutes later he hopped in the roadster and we set sail for The Moon and Six Pence, a pub where I'm going to be setting the brake a lot more often now that I've been there. Good idea, Dixie!




Missy asked us in, settled us in a booth, and wasted no time getting beers down in front of four thirsty pilgrims. One of us--the working stiff--might have had a reason to be thirsty. The other three, me included, were dehydrated because of crying our eyes out in the film, the merits of which were many and deep. You know it was serious because Dolly-girl ordered a beer, and then another one. OK, they were half pints, but two half pints make a quart in Dolly-girl's book and that's more beer than she drinks in a month of Mondays, which is how we retired people like to think of how time goes by. You know, we don't mind Monday a bit...






Seeing how retirement is so exhausting, we needed food. JB, the working stiff, had had lunch, but the rest of us, 'cause of the whole time warp issue with DG and the hour at which some of us arise, had skipped a meal. I've logged that in my diary for Dr. Rachel S. Graves, MD who will say, "You know, Jack, you could never eat lunch again and you would have still have had too many lunches" except that she would have said it in a nice professional way. But lunch became dinner and dinner became, I guess, a snack as I had second something when I got home but doesn't writing this count for some sort of exercise? I didn't dictate it to Thelma!

What I'm supposed to be telling you is that Just Mercy is a film to see and The Moon and Six Pence is a good place to go anytime. Even if you aren't retired. Although being retired makes it better. Hell, it makes everything better. Well, maybe it doesn't make sending a working stiff off to work better.  But MAYbe better times are ahead...

CONFAB

I was lookin' in the really cold section of our Coldspot when my blower started buzzing in a way I had never felt before. "Good God, Jack, what in the name of Aunt Tillie's telephone is going on with that thing you call a 'blower'?" "How do I know, Dolly-girl," I said, looking at the screen, "it says 'LARD ALERT! You are looking longingly at something that shouldn't even be in your freezer, Jackie-boy!'" I had a good idea who was behind this new phone alert--Professor Javier Boleyn.

A disembodied voice spoke from the phone. "Yes, it is I, Jackie-boy, Professor Javier Boleyn. I was automatically notified when the LARD ALERT was issued. It's like an Amber alert for misplaced children, or a Silver Alert for misplaced geezers, I mean seniors, except it alerts those who subscribe to Boleyn Enterprises suite of technology services that they are threatened with LARD." "Hmmm, I always feel threatened by you Professor and I didn't sign up for any 'suite of technology services'." "Check your automatic payments to Apple Pay (© St. Steven of Silicon) Jackie-boy--you have been subscribed for some time."

Well, Professor, now that you've killed my appetite..." "Wait, Jackie-boy, while I have you here, it seems like a good time to confer with the three of you who have made application for a 2-Step CONFAB ( ©Boleyn Enterpries). Hold the line while I engage the others. Ms. D'Mestiere?" "Yes, I'm here," I heard Dolly-girl on the blower in the other room. "Ms. Devereaux? "Present." What the? Dixie was on the call too? "Very well."

I told him I didn't know anything about any confab other that the confabs I have with clients when I'm on a case and that ain't happened much recently. "A 2-Step CONFAB--Collaborative Opportunities to Neutralize Flab and Booze, Jackie-boy. I describe it in my latest book, 2 Steps to Neutralizing Flab and Booze, which will be billed to your account--expect it in the mail soon, or download the Kindle version at 2stepconfab.com."

"You see, Jackie-boy, Both Ms. D'Mestiere and Ms. Devereaux have expressed interest in trimming a few pounds off and Lord knows, you need to trim more than a few. They petitioned me to initiate a CONFAB shortly after the Nacho-Cam caught Ms. Devereaux eyeing a plate at a local brew-pub. I might add, Jackie-boy, that the Tap-Cam at the same establishment recorded your presence later in the day." "Wait, how come they are called Ms. and I'm Jackie-boy?" "Simple Jackie-boy, they are refined gentlewomen and you are refined sugar."





"Although she was able to resist, it was dangerously close. And I know from the Appalachian Brewing Company's Gravy-Cam that you were unable to resist either the Poutine or the Mile-High Meatloaf. So, Ms. Devereaux, after a conversation with Ms. D'Mestiere, proposed a CONFAB--a 2-Step mutual support group. The first step is to set up a meeting place and time." After a period of reflection of about one second, I suggested Radio Room--that Shamble sandwich and a couple beers, it don't get better than that--and the others gave that the Okie Dokie. Dolly-girl, in particular, because the fish tacos ring her dinner bell. Professor Boleyn intoned, "Radio Room is fine, however, remember that fish taco is singular." Dolly-girl said, "Only one a piece would work" and Dixie agreed.

"I'm afraid you misunderstand. One taco serves the three of you, split in inverse proportion to your weights. Jackie-boy, that means you get the aroma and that's it. And even looking at the Shamble on the menu will trigger a LARD Alert! You may each have a beverage--the ladies may have a taster glass of wine and Jack, you get a full pint glass...of air...or water, your choice. Enjoy your CONFAB!"

A chorus of Whoans was coincided with the click on the line of the 2-Step Taskmaster

Late Night Phone Call

 Me and Dolly-girl had settled in to watch a coupla episodes of Deadwood (© HBO) 'cause we needed something light and fluffy to take the edge off the day, what with ships being covered up, Mexicans being tariffed, Great Britons preparing to be mangoed, and a member of the Royal Family being called nasty by none other than the nastiest human alive. My blower sparked. "It's probably a robo-call, Jack--they are coming in all times of the day now." "It's a crank call, alright, but one I have to answer..."



"Hello, Professor." "Yes, Jackie-boy, it is I, Professor Javier Boleyn, creator of the 2-Step Duh! Diet, author of 30 books and inventor of god-knows how many surveillance devices to assist those who are PAMs." "PAMs?" "Persons of Mass Accumulation, speaking of which, that's quite a mass of LARD! that you've accumulated recently!" "Well, Professor, you may know by reading my recent blog post that I have committed to resuming the War on LARD!" "Jackie-boy, here's what I know."








"Yesterday, you did go for a walk--not of the mileage that you've been known to put up in the past, but still, better than nothing. On that walk you came up with the brilliant idea of walking in a half squat to fool your cardiologist into thinking you had lost weight. That does not sound like commitment to me, Jack. Furthermore, I hope that your cardiologist has at least one functioning brain cell, which is what it would take to see through your pitiful scam."




Based on a back calculation of your trajectory, the Boleyn AI YIYI (Artificial Intelligence Yardage Indicator of Yaw and Inclination © Boleyn Enterpries) suggests that you left home, stopped at your garden--good job there, by the way--and proceeded on to not one, but two grocery stores." "Yes, I needed a few items."







You were observed passing the Peninsula Park Rose Garden--the original Portland Rose Garden, if I'm not mistaken. From photographic evidence, it was a beautiful day.








"It appears as though your were making something white in color for your evening repast." "That's correct. I made a Fetticcini Alfredo with a few improvements on the recipe--I added just a bit of meat to the sauce..." "Jackie-boy! Stop with the 'just a bit stuff'! The evidence points to a least one-third of a pound of bacon which is four-ninths of a pound more than your BSA!" "BSA, Boy Scouts?" "Boleyn Suggested Allowance." "Oh..."









"The Garbage CanCam (© Boleyn Enterpries) recorded the following image:"


"Jackie-boy, heavy cream, bacon, and butter have a place in your life, but it's not in the kitchen and certainly not in your mouth. I suggest you read my latest book, which I've written whilst taking with you, Cream, Bacon, and Butter: A 3-Step Challenge for a 2-Step Dieter. Let me give you the executive summary--take 3 giant steps and put the ingredients in the trash!

"Whoan..."

Getting Thinner By Getting Shorter

"What in the name of Aunt Nicki's knee bends are you doin, Jack?" "I'm practicing walking in a half squat, Dolly-girl." "And I presume you are going to tell me why?" A shot though the wave accompanied that question/plea/afraid to ask. "Wednesday is my cardiology appointment." "Yes, and..." "And when I left her office last year I said, "You'll see less of me next year! You see, I was absolutely dedicated to getting back to the War on LARD!" "How'd that work out for you?" "That why I'm walking in a squat--the only way she is going to see less of me is if I pretend to be shorter. Clever, eh?" "What about the scale, Jack?" "Dang it, Dolly-girl, I forgot all about that. Maybe in my new crouched over position I can surreptitiously keep one foot on the floor..." "Oh, just blame it on something. I blame Trump. He causes Trubber--Trump Blubber!" "Professor Javier Boleyn won't buy that. I've been reading his latest books."



It's true, Professor Javier Boleyn won't buy lame excuses although Trump Related Ultra-large Meal Portions (TRUMP) are real. But the good professor covers it all in his latest tomes Failed and Flabby: 2 Steps to Accepting Blame and Not My Fault!: Retirement and Aging in the Twenty-teens.












"See, Dolly-girl, Professor Boleyn offers a concise 300 page diagnosis in Failed and Flabby. Step 1: It's all my fault and Step 2: Do something about it." "Jack, do you mean to tell me that it takes the great Professor Javier Boleyn, one of the most prolific authors in the world today, 300 pages to get to those two steps? That could be on an index card." "Well, it's true that the message is clear and concise, but he also supplies about 180 pages of humiliating name-calling to make me feel like that oak toad, one of the smallest in the world. And then there's 119 pages of reviewing his accomplishments."


"What about that other book? I assumed that it was written by some white, male baby-boomer whining about how they aren't listened to. Did you ever meet one who would trade places with a young poor person?" "Well, no, but that's not what the book is about. It's about LARD! It has an equally concise message, and it's also in two steps. The author argues that my weight and aching bones aren't his fault--as in That isn't my fault, Jack-- and that I should just get over it and find a simple diet and exercise program like that described in Leave the LARD! Behind: 2 Steps to A Happy and Healthy Retirement in the Twenty-teens, coincidently, a book by Professor Boleyn." "Who wrote Not My Fault, Jack?" "Dr. J. Avi Erboleyn--I've never heard of him..." "Just keep reading, Jack..."

Dispatch from London: What kinda circus is this?

Fiora D'Mestiere: Yawn. What's this? A note from Jack. "Headed out on a waddle to see the circus. I know you don't like that sorta thing, so I'll hoof it there myself. XO"

Fiora: Oh, Boy...

Jack (texting Fiora): What the heck is the Piccadilly Circus? There's no animals at all. No acrobats. No clowns. Look at this picture! It's just a big circle!

Fiora (through the wave): Well, there's ONE clown in that circus...

Dispatch from Cymru: Help for a 2-Stepper

Professor Javier Boleyn: Jackie-boy, I'm afraid you have passed 3 standard deviations from the mean of lapsed 2-Steppers.

Jack D'Mestiere: Impossible, Professor! 3 standard deviations is past 99.73%! No way!

Fiora D'Mestiere: I'm afraid I have to agree with the Professor, Jack. Even in the land of Bill Nighy, you have ignored "Lard is All Around You!"

Jack: Whoan!

Professor JB: I have enrolled you in a support group, Jack...

Dispatch from Youghal: Floating down memory lane

“Dolly-girl, I’d like to head over to You-gal for a quick gape at something.”

“It’s pronounced Y’all, Jack, like Dixie Devereaux says it. What’s up over there?”







“Well, in the summer of 1956, Moby Dick, starring Gregory Peck and Richard Basehart, was released. I went to see it with Bill and Pete, my friends. We spent the rest of the summer either pretending we were Cleveland Indians on our way to the World Series or the crew of the Pequod. We weren’t either, of course, but it was fun. So I want to go to Youghal because that’s where the scenes on shore were filmed.” 

“Well, what lad wouldn’t, Jack? That’s sweet!” 





“And it inspired my art work in the fall of ‘56...”

Dispatch from Killimer: Adaptive expression of genetic traits

"Jack, I'm old for me age, amn't I? I mean I got silver threads in me coppertop, and me clackers tain't what they used to was."

"Gee, Dolly-girl, I think yourself looks just fine! Just go back to thinking about that orange marmalade you don't like—you know, the one with the golf course we passed this morning."

"You got a couple gargles on Jack? No more Guinness for you. I'm not slagging over a few jars with yourself about that guy. If he had one more wit he'd be a half-wit. Save yer breath for cooling yer porridge!"

I was worried, so I gave Professor Javier Boleyn a call. "Yes, Jack, you did the right thing as I AM an expert on everything. I suggest you consult my book, "Two Steps to Understanding Genetic Expression: When your lass goes all Irishy on you."

"I skimmed it...".

"Well, read the whole thing. That latent DNA that Fiora carries is in full expression. You're in for a long row of potatoes to hoe..."

Whoan.

Dispatch from Crossmolina: Cuairt chuig an tír dúchais

Fiora: Here we are, Jack. Crossmolina, County Mayo, where my great-great grandfather was born!

Jack: Hey, there's a brewery in town! It's called Reel Deel!

Fiora: Crossmolina is on the Deel river, Jack. And Reel is spelled like a fishing...

Jack: I get it Dolly-girl. Look what the name of the beer is!

Fiora: Home Sweet Home, Jack!

Dispatch from Bushmills, Northern Ireland: Where red sweaters come from

Jack: Look Dolly-girl, sheep with red wool. I guess that's where red sweaters come from. Sure would take a lot of them critters to make a sweater!

Fiora: Not even you, Jack, not even you...

Dispatch from Knowth

Jack: these mounds are pretty cool, Dolly-girl. It must have taken quite the earth moving equipment to make them.

Fiora: Jack, these are from the Stone Age. They didnt have " equipment" in those days. Honestly, didn't you read any of the information in the Visitor Centre? These are perhaps the best examples of Megalithic art in the world!

Ailbha (the archeological interpreter): Think of it this way, sir, they're big, they're old, and there are dead people inside...

Fiora: The perfect Jack D'Mestiere take-away! Thanks Ailbha!

Dispatch from Liverpool: Don’t play favorites

”So this is where it all happened—Liverpool, eh, Dolly-girl?”










“Jack, what happened in Liverpool is a chapter in the history of rock and roll—an important one, I’ll grant you—but a chapter. Why even John said, ‘If you had to give Rock ‘n Roll another name you might call it Chuck Berry’.”

“John, who?” Wave-shot.  A Waveshot is sort of Dolly-girl’s take on a mic drop...

“Who was your favorite, Dolly-girl?”









“My fav was John...”

“Why, Dolly-girl, you haven’t called me that in years...”
Rimshot. Mic drop. Out.

Dispatch from Notting Hill: Who doesn’t like a rubbish movie?

After a day of wandering Londontown—I think Professor Javier Boleyn calls it that—I said, "Dolly-girl, howsabout you and me go put the feedbag on, and maybe the drinkbag too." "Good idea, Jack. I've got my eye on an osteria up on Notting Hill!" "Isn't that where they made the movie? I want to go to the bookstore cause maybe Julia Roberts will be there!" "Jack, don't make me go RT on you—it was a movie!




We found the joint. It was Eye-talian alright. Tia Tilly’s apron if they didn’t have some good grub! As were were walking back to the subway (“Remember, it’s called The Tube, Jack...”. “Oh yeah, it’s tubular, like those pasta thingys. That got me a shot through the wave...) I spied it!

The house with the blue door, Dolly-girl!  I told you!” “They all have blue doors, Jack. Look around, look around...oops, slipping into another production.” “I know Dolly-girl, it’s that play you like about the sawbuck guy...” Waveshot. 



Ok, most of the doors were blue, but then I detected, ‘cause that’s what I do, this:













And this:

“Ok, Jack, so a MOVIE was made here. That doesn’t make it a true story. 

"Look here, here’s a place called the Blue Door and it’s green!”

“Looks blue to me, Jack...” 

“Well, it’s not.”


So we kept walking to get back to the TWOOBE—I notised that the coulourful Brits spell things wrong so I’d fit right in—and we came upon a shoppe that Dolly-girl needed to stop at.

“I guess Londontown’s gone all Green Cross too.”
“It’s a pharmacy and an apothecary , Jack. Jeesh.”

I followed her in. As usual, she’d struck up a conversation and was learning from the druggist that he met his wife in that shop. And proposed to her there. “Like the movie, only real,” he said. “Just a boy, standing in front of a girl...”

“Shut it, Jack. We got a train to catch!” But I say a secret smile under the wave. “Ok, we want the train towards Bromley-by-Bow. Sure hope the professor wasn’t watchin’ my dinner tonight...”

“Jackie-boy, about that Tagliolini con Gamberetti, Zucchine, Prosciutto Crudo e Pachino...

“Whoan...”