Atchafalaya Swamp

Thursday, October 9, 2008

No Country for Old Men

Geezer #2 and #3 (sorry, didn't catch your blog, G3)

REGRETTABLY THIS ISN'T A MOVIE REVIEW starring Tommy Lee Jones or Josh Brolin or even directed by Ethal or Joel Coen.

Instead, it stars two old geezers. A
nd directed by me, Mat Salo.

They're tough sons of bitches too, I might add.

I bumped into them this morning, something I hadn't expected to happen in a minor fender-bender-kind-of-way.
Come on, would you rather bump into these old geezers . . . or some purty young thang with endless legs that will put a bounce to your step and a twinkle in your eye? Not too mention a longing, a stirring, in the --uh, never mind. Furthermore, the distinct possibility of these old timers having lost their marbles cannot be overlooked. But let's be fair: Chances are it's probably as strong the prosecution's case against Anwar or RPK. They haven't lost everything I don't think, oh no, not by a long shot. Least of all is their balls. Because they still talk about sex the way my seven-year old boy talks about video games.

One goes by the name of Zorro, and the other is Din Merican, who calls himself a 'once-reluctant blogger' who has re-muslimmed himself 'the Malaysian DJ blogger', whatever that means. He ain't an 'Merican in case you're wondering because his MyKad says he's as Malaysian as you and me. And to prove it he pulled his wallet out for my scrutiny. That's how bonkers he might appear to some.

Officially he is PKR's version of UMNO's Shabery Cheek, minus the drool trailing the sides of the cheek. His detractors might claim that if Anwar pulls it off, this is the man who might be Malaysia's next Information Minister. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. He needs to get elected or gets appointed senator first. All he and Zorro was guilty off this morning was to pounce on me, with no warrant or anything before
proceeding to 'torture' me with Nescafe tarik and chapati in front of Club Shabas...

Now sitting with these geriatric gentlemen got me thinking. What the hell are they doing? Shouldn't they be outside a kindergarten or primary school waiting to pick their grandchildren up or something?

Instead, these geezers took it upon themselves to declare 'war' against the establishment; righting wrongs and fighting injustices in the Malaysian political and civil arena. Plus being an icon and the object of womens fantasies helps. A female lawyer-blogger with a hot bod (you know who you are) once let a hot lovers breath brush my ear, 'We need these old timers to fight for us lah. We can't do it because we have everything to lose. ISA is not cool, okay? We got our kids to think about . . . for them their children already grown-up. They got nothing to lose.'

Coming from a 'hot bod' --lawyer I mean, her logic is hard to refute. But I disagree: there's always something to lose. Mind bending orgasms is one. But why has it got to be so? Why can't normal, clear and level-headed citizens be vocal too? Oh, OK, I get it. I.S.A., cat food and all that.

Think of your little ones and your rice bowl first, right? And the all time number one favorite: What good can one do if one is behind bars or rotting in Kamunting?

I think my friend Sheih Kickdefella has probably heard the same arguments but chose to do what's right. And yes, some pro-UMNO bloggers have accused both him and RPK as 'blogger whores' hired for the sole purpose of bringing down Mr. Rosmah at all cost. Maybe so but you know it ain't so? (Or Bob Dylan would sing: it's all true . . . everything you heard?)

But damn, whether passionately having a discourse about KJ or Mukhriz, or explaining to me the various convoluted conspiracy-tinged 'Get Anwar' or 'Get RPK' schemes, these senior citizens are apt to break into song, usually simultaneously, something even a self-proclaimed amateur musicologist like me find alarming. The tune? It's called 'When The Swallows Come Back to Capistrano'. Before I wrote this post up I was forced to google the song and discovered that:

A) It was a hit by The Ink Spots back in 1940 and went up as high # 4 in that years'
hit parade charts,


27 years later the same song was covered by Pat Boone who took it to # 80. I suppose this must be the version they were singing; and that version was in '67, folks. Remember, these are old geezers we're dealing with here.

Let me reproduce the lyrics and tell me what you read into it. Because I don't have a freakin' clue.

When The Swallows Come Back to Capistrano

Words & Music by Leon Rene
Recorded by The Ink Spots, 1940 (#4*)

D9 A7 D D7 D6 D9 G9 G G/F# E7
When the swallows come back to Cap - is - tra - no,

A Em7 D B7 E7 Edim A7
That's the day you promised to come back to me;

D9 A7 D D7 D6 D9 G9 G Gm
When you whispered, "Farewell" in Cap - is - tra - no,

A Em7 D B7 E7 D9 E7 A7 D Gm D
Twas the day the swallows flew out to the sea.


D7 G Em7 A7 D
All the mission bells will ring

A7 Edim Gdim D C#7
The chapel choir will sing

F#7 Bm Bm7/E
The happiness you'll bring

E7 Cdim E7 A7

Will live in my mem - o - ry

D9 A7 D D7 D6 D9 G9 G Gm
When the swallows come back to Cap - is - tra - no,

A Em7 D B7 E7 A7 Gdim D
That's the day I pray that you'll come back to me

(courtesy of the The Guitar Guy)

Tell me, have they lost their marbles? Or are we the ones that have lost ours, letting these geezers fight the good fight for us while we fear for our next paycheck?

You tell me.

No country for old men? Maybe it is.

These old geezers may have lost their marbles, but at least they're working hard to reclaim them via their consequences-be-damned blogs.

And for that they deserve our utmost respect.

Me and Geezer #1. Who forced me to don his PKR themed Timberland jacket for the photo opp. Does he strike you as someone who has lost his marbles?

*This post is also dedicated to the other tough sons of bitches like Chegu Nazir, Hantu Laut, Ancient Mariner, Bang Bakaq and Pak Zawi . I implore you to check them out in case you haven't. How old is 'old', you ask. Going by Soi Lek's performance, oldies are goodies. His bedroom skills can put men half his age to shame. But for our purposes, let's just say 50. Because that's when the usually start making E.P.F. withdrawals and look forward to playing with their grandkids. But instead, whacking errant politicians, stupid policy-makers and misguided civil servants have become their raison d'etre.