I seem to be in a reflective mood tonite and of late. Any such stories as this will not likely be shared by my survivors; they also have no clue. I will post no pictures here, I’ve never wished to embarrass anyone…but there are encounters and realities I choose to engage tonite, just because I think they reflect interesting human tendencies.

For years I’ve been a guest of numerous fundraisers, largely because of my “celebrity standing”.  Never an A lister, nor B lister. Perhaps a C lister on a good day and mostly a D lister, celebrity wise…yet there were many events to which I was invited. I love golf, was a pretty good golfer once and I will always show up for the fun and the hoorah and to support charitable intentions. I have been a public figure since the mid-70’s. Most of you don’t really know what that means. Essentially it means that when you walk down the street, whether in NYC or London or Paris or Sydney or Bucharest, people recognize you. That’s all…and you learn that it’s not really about YOU. It’s about the fact that they have seen your face before…and they react. So here’s the thing.

Other A/B/C/D list celebrities show up at these fundraisers, with their dates. Wives or lovers or friends. These women are largely white, largely hot, largely intent on finding some light of their own. Guess what? A shitload of these hotties would gravitate towards me, especially on the dance floor. Why? They wanted to be in the spotlight. Their male escorts weren’t interested in embarrassing themselves on the dance floor…and their women assumed that I (as the resident Black Celebrity) had the savoir faire to display their hottie-ness to its best advantage. Boy were most in for a surprise.

I was an exceptional dancer once, probably long before they were born. Gwen Verdan taught me to samba on the set of The Cotton Club. I won twist contests on the USS United States. TWIST CONTESTS, people! That was eons ago! I have no creditable dance skills anymore. Yet these women would come up to me and woo me and entice me to take them out there on the dance floor and show them off. Apart from a very small percentage that I did fool around with, I had no personal investment in them; I was totally clear I was being used. And imagine the varying degrees of resentment thrown my way by their husbands/escorts/beards. Serious shade! Which made later interactions with those guys uncomfortable, remembering how their ladies had fawned upon me the night before.

So yeah, I have numerous photos of me and an incredibly hot woman. She wasn’t mine…she just wanted attention…and she got it. As I’d mentioned, these women were pretty exclusively white. I’d grown up during our struggle for civil rights. Emmett Till wasn’t ancient history to me, he was murdered when I was a young man. These women didn’t know or even care about my own considerations…but I always knew the social impact and the subtext of our paired photographic depictions. When you judge and regard those who’ve achieved some measure of success, whether in sports or media or politics, bear in mind that the women drawn to them may be personally invested…and may as well be personally devoted to their own self-promotion. And therein may lie danger. Caveat emptor. Just sayin’


There is a fundamental lie in here somewhere and we need to pick at it until we resolve it.  This is where I call BULLSHIT. This is a google map of Palmyra, Syria. It was recently surrendered by Daesh to liberating forces…after they destroyed historic edifices and brutalized the population. Daesh fled, withdrew. To where? Observe the surrounding terrain. Theirs was an enemy force of considerable size, with weapons, fighters, support elements…a force we have asserted we intend to destroy. Not defeat, destroy.

During Desert Storm I saw many photographs of literally miles of burned out trucks, tanks, personnel. Why was not this withdrawing force savaged by our host of allied adversaries? There was no fucking place to hide, people! They were allowed to withdraw, without consequence or destruction.

I’m sorry, I don’t especially like this quality within me…but I am sick unto death from our casualties in these endless wars. You give me a couple of AC-130 Spectres, tactical air cover to counter any reaction forces(we DO still enjoy air superiority, yes?) and I would have reduced those roads out of Palmyra to a smoking, smoldering funeral pyre. That’s right, just me and my radio…with all the hellfire I could direct. This is THE LIE that troubles me. So apparently, we don’t really mean it “when we talk about destruction…” of Daesh. In Vietnam, Charlie often withdrew into the jungle after savaging our forces. What could we do? We could no longer find them. But THESE guys, Daesh were apparently allowed to simply drive away into the desert, unmolested to regroup somewhere else. WTF?

Do our news outlets think we’re stupid, that we don’t care or notice the evident physical realities? I’m pissed at this, I want others to be pissed about this, particularly our forces now on the ground who must find, reengage and kill these people. Many of us incountry had a simple adage: One in the head, just to make sure. I feel as tho I’m watching a video war game that isn’t intended to end, to simply go on and on and on…,38.287534,9555m/data=!3m1!1e3?hl=en


It’s been a tough day…so here’s a post for the child in us all. For as long as I can remember, I have found money lost by others. I look upon this event as a sign of good fortune…and I keep it. I can’t remember how long ago I last emptied this jar but it’s a been awhile. I’ve lived in LA since ’91, so the two NYC subway tokens might be a clue…tho I have been back several times. I’d thought the last time I emptied it, I’d placed a date and total at the bottom. No such luck.

Now there are rules. Any penny MUST be a head. Walk away from tails, children. Just walk the fuck away, don’t even touch it. Any other coin is fair game. I’ve never found a Kruggerand, a dollar coin or a half-dollar coin…but more than a few pence and assorted foreign bits. I log on my calendar the days of good fortune I’ve earned. A dime is ten days. A penny lasts til midnight. You’d be shocked how often momentous events in my life have happened during this window. Shocked, I tell you
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This total is $74 dollars…and change. In the past, I’d spend it on something I wouldn’t otherwise have indulged myself. Nowadays I have no such limitations. When you can buy anything, it becomes a lot less fun…cause really, it’s ALL just stuff.

And now I can begin the effort to fill this pickle jar once again. Now why, you might ask, do you find money, Tucker? Good question. Perhaps some of you see money on the ground and are just too flush or to cool to stoop. Not The Kid. I don’t give a fuck what you think; I will be picking up that penny, nickle, dime, quarter, bill.

I walk a lot but I don’t really ever look down. I look Everywhere. It’s part of my normal situational awareness. I take in everything, people. I can’t help myself…perhaps it’s some lingering hypervigilance, left over from a time when noticing or not noticing something was the difference between good and bad outcomes.

“Find a penny, pick it up. All the day, you’ll have good luck.”IMG_1755