75 YEAR OLD WRITER TO NEW BEST SELLING AUTHOR

I am just another guy sitting in my kitchen chair trying to figure out how to become a successful author. I just read David Baldacci's autobiography who is the best selling author and he made writing seem so easy. He made it sound like just telling an interesting story to a friend was the trick.

I am a 75 year old male who is retired and disinterested in almost everything I have been doing lately besides talking to my family of kids and grandkids. Writing seems like the one way I can justify an admittedly indulged existence only because of the good fortune of a well endowed family and some lucky business success.
Otherwise, I feel very empty sitting out here in Florida far away from my roots in Chicago.

I never saw the point in going to school so I en1ded up graduating last in my class in both grade school and high school then got kicked out of 3 colleges and inducted into the army at the height of the Vietnam war. Being scared to death of actually being sent to fight I fooled the shrink at the induction center with an academy award performance of a neurotic, disturbed, terrified, bullied kid who said he could not urinate with other people around.

I did the whole interview head down and hardly ever looking up at the army shrink and  speaking creepy softly.. He bought my crazy act even though he still had me come back 3 months later. I  came back and performed the same act of being a man that was  potential total liability to the army. I was permanently rejected.
I headed straight to the local pool room where my friends were waiting for my results. I took them all out to dinner and we  got drunk to celebrate my good fortune not  to be drafted. My friends  were mostly nice boys who got deferments because they were in college studying to be doctors and lawyers. 

That was back in 1969.

In the ensuing years I have been the same lucky dope that I always was from grade school on.

I gambled, smoked dope, did a lot of coke and chased women all this time. I did get married to a wonderful woman and that union lasted from 1975 to 1989 although we were pretty done after 1982.

In fact, I just had a reunion with some guys I have been friends with for 69 years who are all friends from the old neighborhood who started school with me in 1953. 
It was great.

PISSED AT STARBUCKS

There ought to be a law against people who go to a Starbucks bathroom, flush the toilet, turn on the hand blower, and then do not immediately open the door and leave.

It’s so rude to Starbucks bathroom users who stand outside the toilet door listening to the hand dryer thinking they will be able to relieve themselves when the blower goes silent.

Just the other day I stopped at a new Starbucks which is in the center of Chicago. I had a fierce urge to take urinate. My old seventy one year old bladder was bursting.

 I entered and looked at the single bathroom door and there was no one waiting to go in. Relief, I felt happy for a second. Then, I turned the handle of the door and it was locked. “Crap,” I mumbled quietly.

I started swaying nervously waiting to hear the toilet flush. It did. Than, the hand blower started blasting away. The sure sign that the person inside was ready to exit.

Thank goodness, I thought. Relief was a few seconds away. I then heard the blower turn off and I already had my hand on my zipper in anticipation of  finally emptying my bursting bladder.

But, the door did not open. Another few moments went by and I was sweating and swaying  and jumping up and down. Another older guy with a bad prostate gland in peeing hell. 

I have already urinated in my pants a few times when I could not find a bathroom quickly enough. I even carry a big jug in my car just in case there is a urinating emergency in my travels.

I knew I was just a little bit away from peeing in my pants as I stood there. It had been about three long minutes which is brutal torture to a guy like me who has to go.

My bladder used to be made of steel. I could hold a ton of liquid for many hours with no problem. Usually all night.

Not anymore.

Now, I must have a ready supply of Depends diapers to wear.  I urinate every few hours around the clock. My bladder seems to be made of tissue paper.

The Dr. says I need surgery and I'm trying to get ready to have it but I'm still too chicken. It is not a cancerous prostate but it is what they call BPH which is a prostate gland which is too large.

It is an age related condition that occurs in many older males. Your age grows and the prostate gland follows. Than, urinary frequency and all kinds of other problems may start.

Another moment passed and I couldn’t take it. I snapped. I pounded hard on the door with both fists. Nothing happened. Then, I started kicking the door while still pounding away.
No dice.

I started screaming at the person in the john. “Come on, I gotta go bad.”

 Still, only the closed door.

My bladder was at its limit. The urine was just about to burst out.

This was very personal now. This anonymous person inside, whoever he or she was, was trying to torture me. I screamed “get out of there, I’m dying here.” I felt totally victimized.

The door finally opened and this little freckle faced kid with a baseball cap on emerged. He looked so innocent and all American but I was infuriated at him for the torture he had put me through.

This little kid brushed by me. He was about four and a half feet tall and maybe nine years old. He looked up at my six foot old mans frame.

 I yelled at him.

“Did you ever think someone was waiting to get in here?” He looked up at me surprised  that I had spoken to him so roughly. He mumbled “Sorry Mr.” in a scared little voice.

I emptied my tortured bladder, came out and started heading back to my car thinking it was over. It wasn't.

Just as I was pulling open the Starbucks front door this huge, strong, heavily tattooed arm clamped around the my shoulder.

This scary looking guy growled “that’s my son creep” pointing down to the little kid who was now grinning widely at me. I stuttered “umm, ah, I”.

The tough looking angry man, obviously his father, cut me off.  He said, “He told me you scared him.”

“I had to go bad and I thought he was done. Bad prostate, you know.”

“I don't care about your prostate now, buddy.

You have three words to say to my little son Tommy.”

Repeat them back to him or say goodnight as he cocked his arm back ready to knock me out.”

“Say, I’m sorry Tommy.”

I looked down at this little brat, scared no more, who was now laughing his snotty head off.

I looked again at his scary father before I humiliated myself. Daddy was serious. I looked in his eyes. No way was I going to get my head knocked off over this trip to the bathroom just for pride. 

Besides, I respected him for standing up for his son. People don't usually stand up these days. How could the kid or the father know about my medical problem anyway I rationalized. It did not matter anyway.

I’m sorry Tommy, I gurgled out.” “Fine Mr.” little Tommy said.

Tough guy daddy looked at me as I opened the door walking away.

 “Learn some manners.”

“Here's my card.”

It said Dr. John Scott. Urologist.

University of Chicago Hospitals.

I  read it only could come up muttering “amazing.”

“I walked out to the street in disbelief.

“Go figure,” I said to myself and anyone else who would listen to my story that I'm still telling.

I gotta write about this sometime. I just did.

Hard to believe.

It happened.

WRITING A DOG TRUMP AND GAMBLERS ANONYMOUS

I have written a lot for a long time in my seventy one one plus years of existence. I have started novels, short stories, essays, autobiographies, screenplays. You name it. I have ground out a lot of words.

Unfortunately, all my words have gone in the junk heap. I do not know that I have ever written anything good. I really don't know yet if I can really write. My stuff has never being published other than on my pathetic blog.

I once owned a small business newspaper for which I wrote a weekly publishers opinion column, usually in the middle of the night some forty years ago.

Now, I am seventy one, divorced, with a big, loving family that is in great shape.  Fortunately, I have been very lucky so that in my twilight years I have ended up with almost no responsibilities other than walking my girlfriends little dog.

He is a five year old American Eski. I've fallen madly in love with him in the year he has been living with us in beautiful southern Florida. I never knew I could be so dedicated to a dog. He is my best friend. 

So, here I go. Rambling. I thought I would write something political or about the coronavirus, or maybe how I have also fallen in love with playing pickle ball everyday. 

Or, the many friends I have made since I moved here from Chicago.

But, I just listened to the CNN special on Trump and I am too aggravated to concentrate. So I am enjoying doing this stream of consciousness flash piece, or journal entry, or disconnected dialogue, or whatever it is. 

I can do these all day. Just writing thoughtlessly is so much fun. No extensive editing, rewriting, or the torture of making what I am writing perfect. 

Just writing perfectly imperfect for the joy is great. 

Ah!!

There is just something so easy about informal writing versus edited  writing and all that that entails. 

So, whoever you are out there let me know if you want to hear more from me.

Also, I am a compulsive gambler who has not gambled a penny for over eleven years. I would be dead, insane, or in jail if I did not stop.

Google Gamblers Anonymous. GA

Help is waiting 24/7

David

FREE TALENT WAITING TO WORK WITH YOU

Normally, I would take forever to start writing this article. I would check my blogger statistics, I would see if I earned any money in the last few days, (which I almost never do) I would jealously check out other successful blogs, or focus on anything other then getting to work and just writing. 

Kinda stupid cause I love to write. I wish I knew I had talent. I have this blog with several hundred articles, and stories. It makes me feel worthwhile as a contributing human being that the world can gain something constructive from. But, I get so little traffic it is pathetic.

However, I just do not understand how to build an audience because I am too old and not computer literate enough to apply the necessary skills to get a respectable following. It is not Googles fault. They are aware of my problems. I am worth money and readership to Google and their advertisers who run ads on my blog. They send me reports and technical information including steps regarding adding code, widgets, links and all kinds of other shit to my blog.

 I just cannot understand what Google AdSense tells me to do. I keep thinking that the sheer appeal of my blog will finally find an audience. So, I only write in this blog,  I go to tiny URL and make the headline small enough so I can put a teasing headline on Twitter to promote my latest blog article and then I post it on Twitter and hope some traffic will come charging to my blog. 

I focus lately almost exclusively on my horrible feelings toward Donald Trump. I am very active on Twitter in commenting on Trump. I do have about five hundred people following me? I always think that one of my followers who has their own gigantic following will go to my blog and see something interesting that they could use for a story, a screenplay, a book, or anything else that might make me successful.

 I do believe that life can change in a heartbeat. I used to gamble so I love the action and rush that writing in my blog can potentially create. Meanwhile, its Sunday morning in Chicago.  I sit in my little high rise apartment all alone. Not even a dog or goldfish. I am retired with very little money. I have wonderful kids and friends who are usually unavailable cause they are busy or married, or something. 

So, I'm lonely, depressed, and  pretty much alone since I dumped my last girlfriend who I just could not get comfortable with and settle down with even after living together for several months. I am 70 and play senior softball several days a week in the summer which I love but now it's winter so I have been trying to find an airbandb in Florida where some of my softball  guys go to play in the winter. Discover me one of you people out there that see talent in me.
check out kingdavidsplace.blogspot.com
Thanks.
David

Chicago Cab Driver Beats Up Dope Dealer

This punk called for a ride in my cab. He gets in the car after making me wait for about 15 minutes while he walked down into the street from his garbage can of an apartment building. He got in the cab and I asked "where would you like to go, sir"? This gross looking little asshole immediately buried his face in his cell phone. He answers me, "just drive straight ahead'. I'll tell you where to go".

He  is immediately very absorbed in an obviously shady conversation about where to meet someone to make a drop off. That is what I can interpret. Seems like a dope deal getting set up

 I didn't care but I still wanted to know what part of town we were going to. It is Chicago after all.. I drive another couple blocks and then he says "turn here". It was into a street that goes right to the most dangerous ghetto  in Chicago. I got even more concerned when he mumbled that we have to make more stops along the way after the first one.

 I  decided I was not going to be his escort  driving him to lethal destinations and sit there waiting for him to take care of his customers. I was scared shitless of sitting  in my cab and standing out like a neon sign, a whiter then rice looking older guy being a sitting duck for any low life who targeted me. I knew I was in trouble and that I was on my own to get out of it..There was no time for cell phone calls to the police and something in me would just not let me drive away.

 He directs me to the first address and there are some gang bangers out on a lawn. That told me the story for sure.. They all recognize this guy. One screams "where you been?" "No worries my brothers" " When the Dr. says he's coming he's coming".

The rat gets out of the cab and goes off to a semi-sheltered spot by the house with one guy and I see a fast exchange of a bag going out and a wad of money going into the dealers hands..The dealer. counts the wad and salutes goodbye to his customers..He then looks back a me and signals he will be right back. I'm shaking now because I know what I have to do..

Th dealer.engages in a little more small talk and walks back toward my cab. He then gets in and says" now we're going a few blocks away." I spoke as forcefully as I could. . "How many spots we got to hit"? I asked.hoping he would say  one or two more and Iwould  not have to act.. I didn't want a confrontation with this thug.

 I'll tell you later" he snaps.You just drive" "We got a bunch of things to do" Now, I am getting pissed besides being just plain scared. Again, someone had made me a victim. Just like in the schoolyard I think to myself.  Here's another bully who will abuse me until I won't take it anymore.

I stop the cab and turn around and look at this scum. "Hey man, why you stop? he asks. I opened my door and jumped out of the cab and went to his door. I was petrified. I am  no match for almost. I also thought he
 may have a gun or knife. But, I had made my decision..

 I open his door. "Would you step out sir, this ride is over" " I do not have to drive anyone who I feel unsafe with and I feel unsafe with you". Motherfucker" he screams in my face with a stinky breath and gleaming yellow teeth. "You ain't throwing me out" I'm not done here"

He starts  trying to get out of the car and go for  me. I hold his door closed for a second. Then I backed up and let him out. He came at me. I pivoted on the curb, and then I smashed him in the face as hard as I could as he got out of the door..

My right fist connected hard.. Blood shot out of his nose which cracked like a tree branch.. I put my knee in his chest as he fell and held my hand around his neck as he hit the ground..

"More"? I said " with a cocked fist above his busted face.."Your crazy man" he said.. I'll find you and hurt you bad"
 "No you won't asshole" "You have better things to do" And, I'll get you busted" "

The fare is on me I said as I stood up and walked back into my cab".
He was on the ground holding his busted nose as I drove away..

"Take the bus next time".I yelled..

Brazzaz Brazilian Steakhouse on Dearborn St in Chicago Great Place

I recently ate dinner with a friend at Brazzaz  Brazilian Steakhouse. I had purchased a Groupon for $25.00 providing $50.00 of food. Unfortunately, I printed out the receipt instead of the actual coupon. When it came time to pay the bill the people at Brazzaz could not accept the receipt. They said I needed the actual coupon.
So, I was stuck. Two people on the staff, Carlos and Samra were amazingly sympathetic. They tried to print the coupon and tried to figure out whatever else anyone could think of . No luck.

Finally, my friend made a plea to these two concerned people to give us a break and just give us a reduction on the bill. They did!! Just because they cared. So, hats off to you Brazzaz at 539 N. Dearborn St. in Chicago, Il. # 312-595-9000 email info@brazzaz.com

You have wonderful employees especially the two who went above and beyond the call of duty to relieve our stress. We will be back for more of your wonderful food that I could not get enough of.  I must have gained 3 lbs at one sitting. It was a great time..
David Stein

This Home Depot Is Really Customer Friendly

Here's some good information about a Home Depot store located at 2655 N. Halsted in Chicago.This is not a paid plug but comes from the bottom of my heart.

 I went to this store on December 2, 2013 just as they had closed. I walked up 3 flights of stairs because the elevators were off. I was determined to buy a kitchen fire extinguisher. The lights were being shut off as I yelled to a man who looked like a manager.

 I told him I had to buy the extinguisher and and asked if he would  help me? He smiled, walked me over to the fire extinguishers, put the one I was looking for in my hand, and had a cashier open her register and check me out. He then got the elevator working so I would not have to walk back down the steps. Now, mind you, I'm am not sickly or handicapped. I don't look like a guy who needs any special treatment. He was just a good employee and a good human being..

I just called the store and spoke to Erin who gave me the name of Joe who  was the man who she thought helped me. Erin was very nice even though she had to do some extra work to help me figure out who  would have been the manager that night. She then said that she was also a manager.

I never felt one way or another about The Home Depot. Now, I think they are special.at least at that store.

Go To Lincoln Station Bar and Restaurant in Chicago

Lincoln Station  773-472-8100

Lincoln Park's Favorite Neighborhood Bar & Grill

 This is one fine sports bar and restaurant. A friendly atmosphere, lots of T.V's  great food with economical daily specials, a big, comfortable bar with a huge selection of beer and wine. It's located at 2432 N. Lincoln Ave. in Chicago right next to the hot intersection of Lincoln, Fullerton, and Halsted. 

 It is popular and they do get busy but never too busy to give their customers TLC. I have alway felt comfortable there and I'm a little older then most of the regulars and new customers.

Try their dynamite chicken wings or hamburgers. They also deliver. Check out this fun, relaxing establishment. You will be happy you did.

http://lincolnstation.com/

A Great Date

It was another match.com date with a 65 year old man and a 62year old woman. Except this is the date that I did not want to ever end. It started innocently enough, after a few online misfires, with lunch at a Greek restaurant in Chicago. It ended several hours later with a connection that I am overwhelmed by. She is magnificent in her sensitivity, intellect and rare, unaffected beauty. We found that certain indefinable common ground quickly as we had a drink and ordered some food. After she spoke a few words I knew she was a rarity. A non-egocentric, kind, classy, intellectual strong and sensual woman of great experience and insight. Only she did not come off as anything but a very sweet lady who knew her way around. I looked at her and immediately was swept away. After lunch, which lasted a long time I blurted out "do you want to go play?" and she said "sure." My heart skipped a beat. Maybe she liked me? We walked around this big food market tourist attraction in the Northwestern train station after getting lost a few times. No one cared. We walked and walked around for hours and finally sat down for some coffee. We exchanged intimate affections and sat for a while still getting acquainted but with more touching and light kisses. Her lips were sensitive but she kissed mine softly and passionately and touched my face. It was heaven. Finally, we walked back toward the restaurant we met at which is located close to her apartment. I asked hopefully if we could just keep this date going by going to a movie or doing anything at all. She said that she was tired and had just taken a flu shot and that that would be all for now. The words came with a hint of more good things to come soon. It has been all I could do to keep myself from calling her tonight but I'm still a guy that lives by the old male code so I didn't. Besides, I thought that I did the best I could to show my captivation with her. Being a good man and sitting tight was the right move. Then, I thought of this essay as a healthy release. I will email it to her. What I felt being with her was the thing I have always held out for and why I decided never to settle for less in a woman then I wanted. I want the real deal, the whole enchilada and nothing less. The feeling that there isn't anyone in the whole world to be with but that special person is the only feeling to make me really happy and fulfilled. That's how I feel. I must be crazy writing this after one date but who cares. It's who I am.

Rocky Roads Rahm

Driving through some Chicago streets is like riding a jeep in the mountains. Take Pratt Blvd. between Sheridan Rd. and Western Av. It's like riding through a mine field. You have these crews fixing roads all over the city. That's good. But, how about a few crews assigned to some torn up areas on the north side?

Someone take a tour between Foster Av on the south, Devon Av on the north, Sheridan Rd. on the east and Western av on the west. You'll be so shaken up after that ride you may hurl you last meal. How about some prudent evaluation by Streets and Sanitation about the condition of many streets? Some simple patchwork might help a lot. Listening Mayor Rahm Emanuel