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George Lenker
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George Lenker
@GeoLenk
Wannabe monk, failed songwriter, hack poet, unhealthy vegan, dog pal, misses his beloved TJ. 🐾 🐾
Massachusetts Katılım Mart 2009
1.5K Takip Edilen1.1K Takipçiler
@RadioFreeTom As your self-appointed vocabulary editor (SAVE), I suggest you change to “With *verve* and panache.”
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Competently and with panache
Sir Thomas Drake 🇺🇸@sirthomasdrake
@RadioFreeTom @BrianHatano @romanhelmetguy I’ve had professors who constantly injected their personal opinions into the subject matter, so this isn’t really a flex of your credentials here without us knowing how you instructed the course.
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@RadioFreeTom SO YOU’RE ACTUALLY AND TECHNICALLY A NATIVE ‘YOKER????
I HAVE NO SON! (Rends garment)
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@GeoLenk Hey, you gotta take that up with the US government. (Although my parents did live in a crummy apartment on Dwight Street until I was almost 1.)
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@RadioFreeTom
Dude, I know this is probably bc you were born at Holyoke Hospital, but it kind of diminishes you as a towering intellectual #chicopeerules
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@LaineyRubin @RadioFreeTom For the record, I *did* say “the Tom Nichols who is really smart and who writes books.” I didn’t know Elmo
was on Twitter.
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@RadioFreeTom So my friend George and I were driving in Holyoke discussing current events and he mentioned his friend Tom Nichols.
I said, Wait, THE Tom Nichols?
He said, well he's A Tom Nichols. I'll send you a photo.
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President Homelander can do anything he wants
theatlantic.com/newsletters/ar…
The Bulwark@BulwarkOnline
Trump: "I am allowed to cut off any and all trade…I can destroy the trade, I can destroy the country, I'm even allowed to impose a foreign country destroying embargo…I can do anything I want to do to them…I'm allowed to destroy the country, but I can't charge a little fee."
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Four Old Men. Two Wheelchairs. One Beach. Alan Alda’s 90th Birthday
January 28, 2026.
Alan Alda turned 90.
His family planned a safe celebration at home.
Cake. Balloons. Grandkids.
Alan said no.
“I don’t want a party,” he said.
His daughter frowned.
“Dad… you’re turning ninety. This is a big deal.”
“I know,” Alan said.
“But I don’t want to celebrate here.”
“Then where?”
Alan didn’t hesitate.
“I want to go to the beach.”
The room went still.
“The beach?”
“Dad, you’re in a wheelchair.”
“You can barely stand.”
Alan smiled.
That smile.
The Hawkeye Pierce smile — the one that always meant something stubborn was coming.
“So?”
By that afternoon, he had already decided who was coming.
“The four of us,” he said.
“The last four.”
Gary Burghoff.
Jamie Farr.
Mike Farrell.
And himself.
The final survivors of the 4077th.
“No cameras. No interviews. No speeches,” Alan said.
“Just us.”
The phone calls began.
Gary answered first.
“Happy birthday, old man! Ninety!”
“Thanks. I need you to drive.”
“Drive where?”
“To the beach.”
A pause.
“Alan… you’re in a wheelchair.”
“So are facts. They don’t stop me either.”
Gary laughed.
That Radar laugh Alan had known for over fifty years.
“Fine. But I’m not pushing you through sand.”
“I’ll crawl if I have to.”
“You’re insane.”
“I’m Hawkeye. Same thing.”
Jamie Farr was next.
“The beach?” Jamie said.
“I’m ninety-one and in a wheelchair.”
“Then we’ll have two wheelchairs at the beach.”
“Like a parade?”
“Like a victory lap.”
Jamie laughed until his voice cracked.
“You haven’t changed since 1972.”
“And you’re still Klinger.”
“Fine. I’m in.”
Mike Farrell sighed the moment he answered.
“Let me guess,” he said.
“You want me to push your wheelchair.”
“Yes.”
“I’m eighty-six. I use a cane.”
“BJ Hunnicutt once saved a man with dental floss,” Alan said.
“You’ll manage.”
Long pause.
“…Fine.”
January 28. 6:00 a.m.
Gary arrived in a rented van.
Two wheelchair spaces.
He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt.
At Alan’s house, his daughter hovered.
“Dad, are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
“What if something happens?”
“Something is always about to happen at ninety,” Alan said.
“Might as well happen at the beach.”
Jamie was waiting outside his house.
Wheelchair. Sunglasses.
Hawaiian shirt.
“You coordinated outfits?” Gary asked.
“It’s tradition,” Jamie said.
“The 4077th always matched.”
Mike showed up next.
Also in a Hawaiian shirt.
Four old men.
One van.
Heading west.
On the drive, memories filled the air.
Harry driving too fast.
Larry bringing his own wine.
Radar making everyone cry.
Klinger never sleeping.
When the MASH* theme song came on, no one spoke.
After it ended, Alan said quietly,
“That song used to annoy me.”
“Now?”
“Now it just reminds me how lucky we were.”
At Malibu, reality hit.
Wheelchairs don’t work on sand.
Jamie grumbled.
Mike rubbed his back.
Alan stared at the ocean.
Gary disappeared.
Fifteen minutes later, he returned with two lifeguards and two beach wheelchairs.
One lifeguard whispered,
“My grandmother watched MASH* every night.”
It took time.
Transfers were slow.
Hands trembled.
Bones protested.
But they made it.
To the water.
Alan closed his eyes.
The sound of waves.
Salt in the air.
Sun on his face.
“I forgot what this felt like,” he said.
They talked about the ones who weren’t there.
McLean.
Wayne.
Larry.
Harry.
Bill.
David.
Loretta.
Jamie finally broke the silence.
“Let’s race.”
Two wheelchairs.
Two pushers.
One rock.
They raced.
They tied.
People on the beach stared.
A teenager asked, “What are those old guys doing?”
His mother said, “Living.”
As the sun set, Alan spoke.
“This might be the last time.”
No one argued.
“That’s why it matters,” he said.
“Because we know.”
He made a wish.
“One more year.”
“One more adventure.”
“Korea. Together.”
They promised.
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@ThatEricAlper The The
or
I Love You But I’ve Chosen Darkness (which was also the name of a book)
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What's the coolest name you've ever heard for a band?
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Noted cat lover @RadioFreeTom gets credit for giving this track its title. From my “If Dogs Could Sing” album. This should have been a techno dog-dance floor hit of 2012.
on.soundcloud.com/MdcqMQQiNIGfOr…
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@pursuedbytruth Sister Theresa,
Thank you for your ongoing efforts to shine a beacon of true love & compassion. I may waver in my commitment to the institutional church (because of people like Bishop Barron), but it’s folks like you that keep me at least somewhat tethered to the mystical body
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“Helping the poor is a matter of justice before a question of charity.” — Pope Leo XIV
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Greatest male rock and roll names...not many can top
MICK JONES
SYLVAIN SYLVAIN
JOHNNY THUNDERS
DEE DEE RAMONE
and an appreciation too of the unlikely but magnificent
ELVIS PRESLEY
Reply if you think you got one as good as these. If I agree I'll retweet. If I don't, I won't 😎
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