Tuesday, April 14, 2015


My 9-year-old nephew was over a few months ago, and saw a postcard propped up on my bookshelf that he didn't approve of, because of a naked lady. He actually said (via the PC terminology of his educator mother), "That's inappropriate."

I had to be polite: "It's not appropriate for you 'cause you're 9, but when you're 49, like me, it's appropriate."

And now look at how fucking great and sexy the huge print of said inappropriate naked lady looks above my bed!! :)  If I went over to anyone's house and they had a huge Klimt print up, I'd probably sleep with them in a second. Klimt's appropriately sexy like that.

Full disclosure: Back in '89, when I went to my first not-yet-girlfriend's apartment the day after I had met her and made out with her, I had kind of forgotten what she looked like the night before, and I seemed to remember that she was a little weird. But when I saw her the day after, her living room furniture was circa-'60 turquoise-and-black leather, and her bedroom had a king-size bed with a red-velvet bedspread (which I found out later her mother had given her on her 16th birthday!! How cool was that! I, on the other hand, had, until I went off to college, slept in a single white/gold princess bed bought for me at age 5). I had been on the fence about sleeping with her, but her choices in furniture pushed me over in her favor.

Monday, April 13, 2015

In Passing

Crossing a very busy intersection today while walking to a fast-food restaurant for lunch, a man in a blazer passed me in the intersection and said, "You're looking very attractive today."


I haven't felt for years now that anyone has noticed how I looked!

Back when I briefly lived in New Jersey 'til 2010, on a Sunday game day hours before my Cowboys were playing the Jets, a teen-aged boy in a Jets jersey passed me, wearing a Dallas Cowboys sweatshirt, on the sidewalk, then turned back: "Your eyes are so green, I know you're really for the Jets."

The kid could not have been more than 16! (And how the hell did he see the color of my eyes??) But... what an utterly charming thing to say! :)

Some guys just have it.


Of the presidential candidates announced so far, here're my current preferences, in order:

(1) Rand Paul
(2) Hillary Clinton
(3) Marco Rubio
(4) Ted Cruz (prejudiced, pseudo-"Constitutionalist," uber-religious asshole / NEVER)

When Jeb Bush enters, he's going to be tied with Rubio (and I'm sure, many others) in the "generic nothingness" category.

What I hope for Rand Paul is that he maintains his principled anti-interventionist stance and his principled libertarian, laissez-faire stance on social issues. If he swerves hard right, then there's no point to him.

Saturday, April 11, 2015

Comfort Music: McCartney

Paul McCartney is Comfort Music. Kind of like the filling chowder I ate today at my work cafeteria: Perhaps doubted beforehand, but ultimately VERY GOOD.  I listened to McCartney's 1971 album "Ram" twice tonight, and then 1997's "Flaming Pie." The below song, "Souvenir," is from "Flaming Pie."

Thursday, April 09, 2015

I wish I could say that I spent the evening...

... reading the biography of Thomas Hardy that I just bought for $2 from the library re-sale store a few weeks ago, but, alas, I did not.

I also wish I could say that I spent the evening fucking someone wildly in defiance of all the hatred I've been feeling in the past few weeks for my parents and for Sandra.

Nah. Just came home from work today and worked on my Joan Crawford website, which 90% of the time brings me great peace of mind. I consider this a good day.

Tuesday, April 07, 2015

Here's what I think it is.

(1) I was not exposed to any loving relationships at all while I was a kid. (My parents' dislike for each other, and dislike for me, permeated the various houses we lived in up until I was 12, when they divorced.)

(2) Deprived of any positive (or even kindly neutral) emotional interactions with my parents, I turned to books and movies and pop music for some/any kind of sustenance.

(3) Having the dichotomy of witnessing, on the one hand, a real-life almost-always-hate-filled relationship between my parents and, on the other hand, a falsely "pure" love/hate reconstruction in art and literature, I didn't get any sense of the "everyday" flow of energy, of mild irritation, of mild affection, of casual conversations about things. My real life at home was almost always dark, and my fantasy life via art was almost always swinging between extremes of agony and ecstasy.

Thus, chaos feels natural. And an even keel feels strange, dull, lifeless. That, I've since read, is a typical feeling among adults raised in abusive, emotionally or otherwise, households. I've also read from psychiatric (and animal) studies that a child/adolescent exposed to constant stress in formative years develops an ingrained physiological "flight or fight" response.

On a note that I haven't read about before, but that I'm sure is/will be later proven true: The utter lack of human kindness as a youth has led me to later accept any kind crumb thrown my way and latch onto it, despite all of the subsequent rejection. I'm a human, after all: I fall for that initial crumb. Only, most healthy (straight) people expressing interest in another perhaps MEAN it: They want to get to know the other, they want to spend time with them.

I have a different experience. When, for the sake of honesty, I've told some women that I'm gay, they have then inexplicably gone into "seductress" mode with me, claiming to be bisexual, claiming to be unhappy with their current male lover, even going so far as to say they "love" me, etc. When I've responded (as I think anyone would), they have completely backed off, suddenly declaring their utter heterosexuality, their distaste for women, their wonderment on why I was now calling...


I think my "sickness" is that I keep trying to go back to a well that is now dry. I may be a naif in that I don't comprehend why the well is suddenly dry when it was flowing before... I should not be such a purist. (The same thing happens in straight relationships, of course. But a break-up is harder when one of the two is gay --- the straight person faking bisexuality can easily meld back into the 90% straight world, meeting people at grocery stores, etc., but the gay person is suddenly tossed back into the 10% pool wondering what the hell just happened and forced to go back to gay hang-outs to meet potential mates that she's already figured out she doesn't have anything in common with other than the fact she's gay.)

Right-wing Republicans go on about the "gay lifestyle": There's no "lifestyle." If Ginny had wanted me when I was 18 and she was 17, I'd probably have never had a sad club story or sad lover story or sad parent story to tell here. At nearly 50, I would have been bitching about Georgia property taxes and not giving a fuck what my non-caring blood relations and old school-mates were doing back in Texas.

But then that's "fantasy" acting up again.