The Americans

 When I was thinking of a title for my last post fuck the army came immediately to mind.  Contemplating it I realized that it came straight from my draft dodging days.  The rumor was that if you tattooed FTA across the heel of your right hand the army would reject you because those initials stood for Fuck the Army. and that's what would show when you saluted.  Pretty sure this was not true. 

I am glad to hear that Beagles concurs with me that we are tossing a whole lot of dough into a ditch by giving it to the army.

I've been watching an odd series lately called The Americans.  The Americans are a charming young couple with charming young kids who live in a nice suburb of DC, and are Russian spies.

They both grew up in Russia where they were recruited by the KGB to spy on the USA.  They had never seen each other before they were put together as a married couple.  Eventually they fell in love enough to have a couple clean cut American kids who have no idea that their parents are Russian spies.  They spy mostly on the FBI and the CIA, who in turn spy on them.  Shitloads of people are killed in the process, mostly, but not exclusively by the Russkies.  But it's also kind of a very dark comedy. because there are all these soap opera elements. 

Anyway the reason I bring it up is that it is set in the Reagan years with the cold war in full swing and Russia ass deep in Afghanistan.  These Russian spies, though they kill shitloads of people, believe 100 percent in what they are doing (well she more than he, another element of the romantic comedy). and one of them is bringing civilization to the Afghanis. and they are deeply disappointed with how the Afghanis don't appreciate it a bit.  This is just a tv show of course but if you think about it there is hardly any difference between what the Russkies and we were doing in Afghanistan.

It has been awhile since I regaled you with a story and I found this one in my archives yesterday.  It is a bit wordy and sometimes hard to follow, but if you just follow the words and don't worry overly about the plot I think you will get through it ok.  Here is the first part.

I – Before the Soul

"You have the soul of a waitress," he told her.

She had scarcely noticed, she had been talking to Deena, and there was just a bit of silence after she ended her sentence and then she realized that he had been talking to her, and she turned to him not knowing what she was going to say, but it came out smoothly enough, "You have the beard of a hobo."

And she was pleased enough with that, it took him aback, shut his big fat mouth.  It was like a gift she had, her whipstitch she liked to call it, hadn't she sewn his hairy lips together?  She had to smile.

But Deena wasn't smiling, oh poor sweet Deena, she just hated any unpleasantness, that's what she called it, unpleasantness.  "I don't see why we can't all get along," she would say with a sigh, that sigh like she was Jesus H Christ nailed up on a stick on a hill with all that lightning and thunder behind him and just sighing that beautiful sigh of forgiveness, but also a little bit of, I don't see why you guys can't be as good as me?

And see, there she was right now, sighing in Anne's direction, accompanying the sigh with that sad little shake of her ringletted head for emphasis, and then turning quickly, so that if her ringlets had been bells they would have chimed a sweet tone, towards Hairface and saying, "I think it's a very nice beard."

Childish it would have been indeed had Anne stuck her finger down her throat and goggled her eyes, and maybe even brought forth a thin trickle of vomit.  Well probably not the vomit, that would have been, well just not witty, not at all.  All in all, she was glad she hadn't done it.

Not that anybody would have noticed if she had.  Already Hairface was asking, "Do you think?" kind of beaming, but a little hesitant, a little afraid that he might be falling for sarcasm. 

Something about those sky-wide blue eyes, those ringlets clanging to beat the band, anybody with any sense right away sensed sarcasm.  Which had been Anne’s mistake her very first day at Carefree Car Rental.  Omigod Deena was putting down all these idiot customers and none of them even noticed.  At lunchtime Anne quickly introduced herself and happily tagged along to the Au Bon Pain and then to the picnic table in the park next to the college, and then halfway through their Harvest Rice Bowls, she realized that Deena was not sarcastic at all, that was just the way she was, and by then it was too late, and now she was stuck with Deena for every lunch.

And every lunch it was Au Bon Pain because Deena was fond of French cuisine, and it was always eaten in that same park, because she liked to make the acquaintance of college men.

“College men?” Anne had protested. “It’s a junior college.”

“Community college,” Deena corrected her, “A college in the community.”

 And frankly Anne had her doubts that Hairface was a member of the college in the community which arose from the fact that he was drinking his beverage out of a paper bag.  When those guys are hoisting their drinks, singing that Whiffle Poofle song there are no paper bags to be seen.