Wednesday, September 28, 2016

a-ha -- Take On Me (1985)

Muscato on Twitter:
Hearing a-ha's "Take on Me" on a gray rainy Wednesday morning while riding on a shuttle bus = unreasonably exhilarating...

When I heard the same song coming home from lunch a couple of weeks ago, I noted it as "stupidly exhilarating."

(Why "unreasonably" or "stupidly"? Maybe because some of us are now middle-aged and long-time cynics... What a thrill to FEEL something by accident...What a thrill to have possibilities...)

Goosebump-raising for me, like hearing early Beatles.

Tuesday, September 27, 2016

All In The Family: Edith's Problem

I first watched this when I was kid, little knowing... it would be my ONE guide to menopause 40 years later! :)

Monday, September 26, 2016


Throughout my life, I've been cursed with no one to talk to about anything. And so have learned a bit of stoicism. Earlier tonight, though, I broke down and asked someone that I've known for 8 years about the menopause that I'm now going through, that I had no one else to talk to about. At the end of the below is her one line of response.

At 51, I am used to this. But, nonetheless, I am still rather shocked by the utter nothingness.

On Sep 25, 2016, at 10:29 PM, SJ wrote:
In May (when I was 50), I went to my mother's house to pay my respects for Mother's Day. I hadn't had my period for 3 months, thought menopause was underway. The next day I got my period.

Haven't had my period since May. In June, I started having "hot flashes," but put them off as "oh, it's hot in Texas in the summer."

Said "hot flashes" have been really intense since June, not just based on the weather. (I haven't had another period since May.)

And not just hot flashes; I've been feeling low for months since the summer. Not just psychologically, but physically LOW, where I didn't feel like doing anything or thinking anything, where I felt physically weak.

What's going on? I asked my mom, but got only vagueness.

How long will this go on? Will my energy ever come back?

Is it low-energy for the rest of my life?


SSB response:  Menopause darling. Read about heat intolerance and stress on Internet.  It's   Hideous

Sunday, September 25, 2016

A nice Saturday

A big block on North Lamar in Austin: Book shopping at Half-Price, a visit to the Goodwill next door, and then taking home KFC at the end.

(Before I got my car in July, I had no easy access to anything on this block; my car has definitely improved my life.)

Friday, September 23, 2016

The Story of My White-Woman Police Stops

(1) Mid 1980s: In Austin, on Guadalupe, for driving a cheesy Ford Pinto and changing lanes too quickly. (The officer let me off with a warning.)

(2) Mid 1980s: In Austin, out wading in a lake after doing mushrooms with a couple of Middle Eastern guys that my friend had picked up. (I don't remember what I said; something about enjoying the night and the lake. The officers let all of us go.)

(3) Late '80s: In Austin, after an evening of partying at my own home with lesbian friends, I drove a couple of these friends home after one butch friend had said she couldn't drive because she would get stopped for how she looked. I was drunk myself and went the wrong way down a one-way street. When the cop stopped me, I honestly don't remember what I told him. (He let me go.)

(4) Late '80s: In Austin, I was driving a carload of straight friends home and didn't obey whatever traffic law. The cop that pulled me over asked where we were going. I responded that we were going home to play a board game, which we were. (He let me/us go.)

(5) Early 1990s: In Austin, on loop 183, I was driving too fast and changing lanes too quickly and not stopping quickly enough. (I had a new stereo in my car and had been listening to Doris Day too loudly and so didn't hear or see the officer behind me. When the officer came to my window, he wasn't old enough to understand the appeal of "Doris Day," but he let me off anyway after I explained.)

(6) Early 1990s: I'd been at a party in the western hills of Austin and didn't quite know how to get back to town. At a stoplight near town, I was finally feeling my oats and got into a "drag race" with a guy next to me. That guy got stopped, and then I got stopped. (I didn't get off. I passed the drunk-driving tests on the side of the road, but ended up getting fined over $300 for speeding.)

The point being not a Confessional but rather: White people get into scuffs with police all the time, just as black people do. What, though, turns minor "scuffs" into major confrontations is people like Sandra Bland, for instance, freaking out and cursing at police; people refusing to get out of the car; people with actual guns in their cars making shady moves; people running, etc.

Some of us get stopped by police on occasion. 99.9% of us don't get shot.

Wednesday, September 21, 2016

Police use of force protests: Charlotte, Tulsa

Terrence Crutcher in Tulsa, who stopped his car in the middle of the street, was drunk and on PCP (found in his vehicle), and Keith Lamont Scott in Charlotte pulled a gun on police. Why are there riots when sleazy guys like this get shot? (BTW: The police officer in Charlotte who shot Scott was black.)

Perhaps riots would be better directed at Chicago, where 500 black men have been shot by black men in 2016 alone. 500 blacks shot by blacks in Chicago this year. Where are THOSE riots?

I have been "socially aware" since the age of 15. Today, at 50, I see that today's black protests are painfully "straining for meaning" and thus ridiculous. There's no real discrimination in American society in 2016, yet blacks stretch for something, anything, to blame why, in 2016, they're still behind every other segment of American society. Take a look in the mirror instead: Take a look at your crime rates, your out-of-wedlock births, etc.

When blacks were being hosed on the streets and forced to ride on the back of the bus, I had sympathy. I had sympathy with the "Black Power" fists-raised protests at the '68 Olympics.

Today, I have no sympathy. I have no sympathy for SF 49ers backup quarterback Colin Kaepernick, who was raised as a baby by upper-middle-class WHITE parents and who makes millions per year, yet now pretends to be uber-black. I have no sympathy for black people who protest when criminals are shot by police, usually only because they have provoked police. 

Monday, September 19, 2016

Bombs Away

Up until this past weekend, I'd never, in the past, been on the spot of a terrorist attack. The Islamic terrorist this weekend, though, planted a bomb that went off on W. 23rd Street between 6th and 7th Avenues of New York City. 29 people were injured by the shrapnel.

When I lived in NYC, from 2007 to 2010, some of my regular places to go were the Chelsea Cinema (23rd between 7th and 8th), where I saw at least 5 Joan Crawford films. The famous Chelsea Hotel was on the same block. The place I got my hair cut ("Chelsea Styles") was directly across the street from the Chelsea Hotel. More mundanely, there was a GAP a block away where I bought a few basic sweaters that I could barely afford at the time (I was very poor).

It was a beautiful, interesting neighborhood to walk around. I, as an implant from Austin, felt honored and excited to be there. I'd had a sense of the place from movies and literature ahead of time, and being there in person didn't disappoint.

And then this shitty guy, whose Afghan family was let into the country as refugees in 1995, chooses to bomb the country that took him in. His family had a food joint in Elizabeth, New Jersey, where another bomb was discovered.

All to say: Appreciation should probably be organic. This piece of shit and his family took their safe haven for granted. The family actually filed a lawsuit against the police for "discrimination" after their food store got cited for staying open after hours. The son ended up radicalized after several visits back home to Afghanistan.

Getting to come to America isn't a "right," it's a "privilege." If you don't understand what you've just received, then... go the hell home (of course, you can't --- get it? see how nice the US has been to take you in?). How DARE you spit in the face (and worse) of the country that rescued you?