Title song for Joan Crawford's 1956 film.
Sunday, December 30, 2018
"Nature Boy" (Nat King Cole, 1950)
There was a boy
A very strange enchanted boy
They say he wandered very far
Very far
Over land and sea
A little shy and sad of eye
But very wise was he
And then one day
A magic day he passed my way
And while we spoke of many things
Fools and kings
This he said to me
"The greatest thing you'll ever learn
Is just to love and be loved in return"
A very strange enchanted boy
They say he wandered very far
Very far
Over land and sea
A little shy and sad of eye
But very wise was he
And then one day
A magic day he passed my way
And while we spoke of many things
Fools and kings
This he said to me
"The greatest thing you'll ever learn
Is just to love and be loved in return"
Thursday, December 27, 2018
Annie Lennox - A Whiter Shade of Pale (1995)
This song now makes me nauseous. Beautiful in 1995, when I was in the midst of constant angst and hurt; today, emotionally disgusting and threatening (a la attempting to listen to Pink Floyd's "The Wall" or Depeche Mode's "Violator" or Amy Winehouse---brilliant odes to sickness---how to escape and move beyond while still honoring...)
Eurythmics - I Need A Man
More than 15 years ago, I saw a show on cable about a female bounty
hunter. One thing I remembered was her statement re the job, "I just
need men for the physical part of it." She explained that she could do
all of the brain-work herself as a bounty hunter re finding the
fugitives, but, when it came down to it, she needed men on her team to
actually physically get the fugitives in custody.
That's probably indicative in many, many ways.
In my particular way today: I've got a new TV and Blu-ray player. Only... I can't figure out how to get them set up to coordinate with my current Spectrum cable box. I COULD possibly, but the idea of even trying makes me extremely tired and depressed, and I prefer not to. I need a man.
That's probably indicative in many, many ways.
In my particular way today: I've got a new TV and Blu-ray player. Only... I can't figure out how to get them set up to coordinate with my current Spectrum cable box. I COULD possibly, but the idea of even trying makes me extremely tired and depressed, and I prefer not to. I need a man.
Hooper
Back in the late '70s when I was a teen, Burt Reynolds and Jan Michael Vincent were both constantly touted in the media, even teen media like "Tiger Beat" and "16," as major hunks.
Burt Reynolds was clearly too old for me to "appreciate" --- by '76, he was already 40, and I was way too young to ever have seen any of his big movies like "Deliverance" ('72), "Smokey and the Bandit" ('77), or "Hooper" ('78).
I saw "Hooper" last night, though, on TCM, as part of a tribute evening to Reynolds. He was a charming rogue, a then-modern-day Clark Gable type. I liked him onscreen, and I liked the movie in a general way. But I couldn't help but edit as I watched.
Reynolds was an aging Hollywood stuntman, Sonny Hooper, still nominally at the top of his game but nonetheless feeling creaky and having constant doctor's appointments and knowing he was on the way out. Girlfriend was Sally Field, daughter of an even older, retired stuntman (Brian Keith)---a Hooper mentor who also couldn't quite give up his former glory days. The film focuses on Hooper on the set of an action film directed by a charmless, aggressive young director intent only on getting the best shot, regardless of the safety of the stunt crew. Newcomer Jan-Michael Vincent is the new hotshot stunt guy on the scene that Hooper realizes is the younger, more daring version of himself who could possibly replace him.
All of the above sounds like it could be a great, emotionally resonant film within all of the action shots. I had no idea what the movie was going to turn out to be, so watched innocently, and with some anticipation...
(1) The initial joke of Adam West (TV's "Batman") playing the star of the film that Hooper was doing the stunts for was interesting. West's character "Adam" was constantly walking around the set with multiple women draped around him and constantly thanking Hooper for making him look good.
(2) The girlfriend also having a stuntman for a father, and her concerns for both her father and lover, was interesting. Except that Sally Field's character was sorely generic: Either the girlfriend was eager for sex after Hooper's long day at work (most likely a stuntman wouldn't feel like having sex after such a day and his girlfriend would know that and have to deal with it), or, near the end of the film, she suddenly gave an ultimatum that she wouldn't be there when he got back... a brief scene based on nothing thus far in the film---thus far, she'd been nothing but supportive and sex-offering. Such a girlfriend would probably be tired of living a non-sexual life despite her boyfriend's overt public sexual image; she would have issues with her father's current physical detriments and her knowledge of her current boyfriend's path down the same road, etc. Not likely that she would all of a sudden threaten to break up without warning.
(3) The new young stuntman on the scene was interesting, of course, because his presence could have led to Hooper's reflections of his past (in contrast to the now-decrepit Brian Keith character --- obviously Hooper's future). Plus the new guy was clearly a present threat to Hooper's livelihood: He was young and fresh and willing to do the stunts on the film that Hooper was hesitant about doing (for both physical and moral reasons). Although, in this film's case, the new guy was immediately a sycophant of Hooper's, grinning and drinking with him --- no threat at all, as he should have been.
A buildup in the film was a spectacularly dangerous stunt that the obnoxious director insisted be done for the sake of his "art," regardless of the danger to the stuntmen. Hooper agonized over whether or not he should do it --- at first deciding against it, then agreeing once his salary was raised. Much better yet would have been the young guy glibly deciding to do the stunt once Hooper had gotten fired for refusing. Having not seen the film, I thought that's what would happen: The young guy would attempt it and get killed. Hooper would then chasten and/or punch the director and then walk away into the sunset with his girlfriend...
As it happened, Hooper accepted the money on behalf of himself and the new guy for the dangerous stunt. The two rode in a car together and whooped it up as they made the big jump successfully. Hooper did punch the director afterward, and he/girlfriend/her father/young sidekick then marched onward arm-and-arm, grinning. Cute. But I wanted the movie to be so much better.
Burt Reynolds was clearly too old for me to "appreciate" --- by '76, he was already 40, and I was way too young to ever have seen any of his big movies like "Deliverance" ('72), "Smokey and the Bandit" ('77), or "Hooper" ('78).
I saw "Hooper" last night, though, on TCM, as part of a tribute evening to Reynolds. He was a charming rogue, a then-modern-day Clark Gable type. I liked him onscreen, and I liked the movie in a general way. But I couldn't help but edit as I watched.
Reynolds was an aging Hollywood stuntman, Sonny Hooper, still nominally at the top of his game but nonetheless feeling creaky and having constant doctor's appointments and knowing he was on the way out. Girlfriend was Sally Field, daughter of an even older, retired stuntman (Brian Keith)---a Hooper mentor who also couldn't quite give up his former glory days. The film focuses on Hooper on the set of an action film directed by a charmless, aggressive young director intent only on getting the best shot, regardless of the safety of the stunt crew. Newcomer Jan-Michael Vincent is the new hotshot stunt guy on the scene that Hooper realizes is the younger, more daring version of himself who could possibly replace him.
All of the above sounds like it could be a great, emotionally resonant film within all of the action shots. I had no idea what the movie was going to turn out to be, so watched innocently, and with some anticipation...
(1) The initial joke of Adam West (TV's "Batman") playing the star of the film that Hooper was doing the stunts for was interesting. West's character "Adam" was constantly walking around the set with multiple women draped around him and constantly thanking Hooper for making him look good.
(2) The girlfriend also having a stuntman for a father, and her concerns for both her father and lover, was interesting. Except that Sally Field's character was sorely generic: Either the girlfriend was eager for sex after Hooper's long day at work (most likely a stuntman wouldn't feel like having sex after such a day and his girlfriend would know that and have to deal with it), or, near the end of the film, she suddenly gave an ultimatum that she wouldn't be there when he got back... a brief scene based on nothing thus far in the film---thus far, she'd been nothing but supportive and sex-offering. Such a girlfriend would probably be tired of living a non-sexual life despite her boyfriend's overt public sexual image; she would have issues with her father's current physical detriments and her knowledge of her current boyfriend's path down the same road, etc. Not likely that she would all of a sudden threaten to break up without warning.
(3) The new young stuntman on the scene was interesting, of course, because his presence could have led to Hooper's reflections of his past (in contrast to the now-decrepit Brian Keith character --- obviously Hooper's future). Plus the new guy was clearly a present threat to Hooper's livelihood: He was young and fresh and willing to do the stunts on the film that Hooper was hesitant about doing (for both physical and moral reasons). Although, in this film's case, the new guy was immediately a sycophant of Hooper's, grinning and drinking with him --- no threat at all, as he should have been.
A buildup in the film was a spectacularly dangerous stunt that the obnoxious director insisted be done for the sake of his "art," regardless of the danger to the stuntmen. Hooper agonized over whether or not he should do it --- at first deciding against it, then agreeing once his salary was raised. Much better yet would have been the young guy glibly deciding to do the stunt once Hooper had gotten fired for refusing. Having not seen the film, I thought that's what would happen: The young guy would attempt it and get killed. Hooper would then chasten and/or punch the director and then walk away into the sunset with his girlfriend...
As it happened, Hooper accepted the money on behalf of himself and the new guy for the dangerous stunt. The two rode in a car together and whooped it up as they made the big jump successfully. Hooper did punch the director afterward, and he/girlfriend/her father/young sidekick then marched onward arm-and-arm, grinning. Cute. But I wanted the movie to be so much better.
Wednesday, December 26, 2018
Derek & the Dominos - Bell Bottom Blues (1970)
Did I share this here already? It's great again and again and again...
Winter Break Progress
Saturday, December 22: Got all of my grocery shopping done for the next 2 weeks. Went in to work for a freelance project.
Sunday, December 23: Got all of my laundry done for the next 3 weeks, including changing out the sheets of my bed in anticipation of actually sleeping in my bed for the first time in months, since I now have a new TV to watch in my bedroom.
Monday, December 24: Hangover. Did nothing but lie on the couch and watch TV.
Tuesday, December 25: Went in to work for a freelance project.
Tomorrow: How to figure out the new TV, new Blu-ray, new Roku stick...
Sunday, December 23: Got all of my laundry done for the next 3 weeks, including changing out the sheets of my bed in anticipation of actually sleeping in my bed for the first time in months, since I now have a new TV to watch in my bedroom.
Monday, December 24: Hangover. Did nothing but lie on the couch and watch TV.
Tuesday, December 25: Went in to work for a freelance project.
Tomorrow: How to figure out the new TV, new Blu-ray, new Roku stick...
I made a hundred bucks today.
Not trying to be all sassy re not spending Christmas with family, as you're supposed to do, but... I spent Christmas at the office putting in 4 hours toward a freelance project, a book about African women's naked protests against the hierarchy. Made a hundred dollars.
Did I miss my family on Christmas? Actually, no.
My mother has always provided a great Christmas since I was a kid. Warm and nice. I miss that.
Lately, though... Christmas has been trying to coordinate with my brother's wife's family. They're nice enough. But I don't care about coordinating with them. They don't mean "Christmas" to me at all.
I haven't spent Christmas with my mother and brother/family for the past 3 years. 2016 was the first year apart, when I arrived at my mother's house with my bag o' presents and she immediately went on: "Where's your car? Where's your car? Where's your car?" (My new as-of-July 2016 car was parked down the street; when I said, "It's parked down the street," my mother still couldn't figure that out: "Where's your car? Where's your car? Where's your car?" I couldn't stand it for a second longer and left.)
2017 and 2018? Apart because my mother made the mistake last year of telling me that I wasn't going to be left 50% of her will (only 25%), which flashed me back to every shitty thing she'd ever done to me.
Truth is, though, my mother and brother haven't been very caring toward me... EVER. I don't miss them during the holidays at all. I do miss the nice Christmas atmosphere that my mother created all during my childhood, though.
Oh well. I made a hundred bucks today. And the lack of traffic in Austin on Christmas was very nice to drive around in. I appreciate "different sensations." And since I'm going nowhere, Austin during Christmas and Spring Break and Summer Break are apparently what I now have to look forward to each year. Oh, and new TVs.
Did I miss my family on Christmas? Actually, no.
My mother has always provided a great Christmas since I was a kid. Warm and nice. I miss that.
Lately, though... Christmas has been trying to coordinate with my brother's wife's family. They're nice enough. But I don't care about coordinating with them. They don't mean "Christmas" to me at all.
I haven't spent Christmas with my mother and brother/family for the past 3 years. 2016 was the first year apart, when I arrived at my mother's house with my bag o' presents and she immediately went on: "Where's your car? Where's your car? Where's your car?" (My new as-of-July 2016 car was parked down the street; when I said, "It's parked down the street," my mother still couldn't figure that out: "Where's your car? Where's your car? Where's your car?" I couldn't stand it for a second longer and left.)
2017 and 2018? Apart because my mother made the mistake last year of telling me that I wasn't going to be left 50% of her will (only 25%), which flashed me back to every shitty thing she'd ever done to me.
Truth is, though, my mother and brother haven't been very caring toward me... EVER. I don't miss them during the holidays at all. I do miss the nice Christmas atmosphere that my mother created all during my childhood, though.
Oh well. I made a hundred bucks today. And the lack of traffic in Austin on Christmas was very nice to drive around in. I appreciate "different sensations." And since I'm going nowhere, Austin during Christmas and Spring Break and Summer Break are apparently what I now have to look forward to each year. Oh, and new TVs.
Tuesday, December 25, 2018
Monday, December 24, 2018
I got called "ma'am" twice today.
I've got 11 days off work for Christmas, with a bunch of stuff to do.
Day One: Did grocery shopping for the next two weeks, including cigs for two weeks and champagne for New Year's.
Day Two: Did not just regular laundry but also sheets from a bed that has not been properly slept in for 6 months. I washed every single thing in my house that needed washing.
Today (Day Two), around 9am, I was out in my backyard beating my comforter, when a 20-something guy walked by with his dog. I said "Good morning." The guy said back, "Morning, ma'am."
An hour or so later, I was in the process of doing my 4 loads of laundry in the laundry room. As I entered, there was one guy there. I said "Good morning," and then saw a debit card sitting on one of the laundry machines. I asked the guy if the card was his: "Yes, ma'am."
I wasn't dressed in a muu-muu or anything. I appreciate the politeness of these young men, but...I used to think I was cute.
Now that I know I'm no longer cute... Perhaps best to "work it" when it comes to apartment living. When I want to criticize the next-door neighbors for their loud music, all I need to do is show up at their door with my glasses and sweatpants and they'll then feel bad for inconveniencing their elders.
Day One: Did grocery shopping for the next two weeks, including cigs for two weeks and champagne for New Year's.
Day Two: Did not just regular laundry but also sheets from a bed that has not been properly slept in for 6 months. I washed every single thing in my house that needed washing.
Today (Day Two), around 9am, I was out in my backyard beating my comforter, when a 20-something guy walked by with his dog. I said "Good morning." The guy said back, "Morning, ma'am."
An hour or so later, I was in the process of doing my 4 loads of laundry in the laundry room. As I entered, there was one guy there. I said "Good morning," and then saw a debit card sitting on one of the laundry machines. I asked the guy if the card was his: "Yes, ma'am."
I wasn't dressed in a muu-muu or anything. I appreciate the politeness of these young men, but...I used to think I was cute.
Now that I know I'm no longer cute... Perhaps best to "work it" when it comes to apartment living. When I want to criticize the next-door neighbors for their loud music, all I need to do is show up at their door with my glasses and sweatpants and they'll then feel bad for inconveniencing their elders.
Sunday, December 23, 2018
Merry Christmas to me!
After initially feeling woebegone about not being around my family
this Christmas, a week or so ago I decided to use my own income to buy
myself some stuff for my own Christmas: A 43-inch TV, a Blu-ray player,
and a Roku stick.
Family can be depressing, but buying yourself things is not. For example: Just a couple of years ago, my brother and I were at my mom's house during Thanksgiving and she asked both of us what we wanted for Christmas. I mentioned an electric toothbrush, but worried aloud to her that it might be too expensive.
Family can be depressing, but buying yourself things is not. For example: Just a couple of years ago, my brother and I were at my mom's house during Thanksgiving and she asked both of us what we wanted for Christmas. I mentioned an electric toothbrush, but worried aloud to her that it might be too expensive.
As the day wore on, I later accidentally came upon my mother and my
brother in her study, discussing the bookshelves she was going to buy
him for Christmas... ($30 toothbrush versus $800 shelves--and to think
that I was initially worried about the cost of the toothbrush, which my
mother did not assuage while she was planning for my brother's fancy
bookshelves!)
This shitty scene also flashed me back to one of the last times I talked to my father, over 10 years ago, during which he mentioned pride in his niece Jeanie for having married a lawyer. (No concern for his daughter with a Master's degree at that time living in a 400-sq-ft apartment, no pride in his daughter's previous achievements, no desire to help her out of her current rut...just pride in someone who'd married well.)
I remain constantly shocked by such blatant disregard for me as a person. This year, though, I move on in a small way: I can buy whatever I need myself. I don't have to ask anyone for a toothbrush or for anything. This year I've given myself a 43-inch TV and a new Blu-ray player and a Roku stick. Merry Christmas to me!
This shitty scene also flashed me back to one of the last times I talked to my father, over 10 years ago, during which he mentioned pride in his niece Jeanie for having married a lawyer. (No concern for his daughter with a Master's degree at that time living in a 400-sq-ft apartment, no pride in his daughter's previous achievements, no desire to help her out of her current rut...just pride in someone who'd married well.)
I remain constantly shocked by such blatant disregard for me as a person. This year, though, I move on in a small way: I can buy whatever I need myself. I don't have to ask anyone for a toothbrush or for anything. This year I've given myself a 43-inch TV and a new Blu-ray player and a Roku stick. Merry Christmas to me!
Friday, December 21, 2018
Thursday, December 20, 2018
Circa 1976. Me-maw and grandkids.
(I'm half-hidden behind cousin Randy Jean, who's in the blue halter top. My brother Thomas is up front.)
One of the Original 12 Minerals on Earth
Working around geologists, I just recently discovered that at the beginning of Earth's formation, there were only 12 minerals: "The earliest interstellar material, including diamond, graphite,
corundum [ruby, sapphire], and olivine [peridot]—a total of just 12
minerals."
http://earthdate.org/node/102
Today on Earth, there are over 4,000 minerals. Apparently, the minerals evolve and reproduce!
I was surprised to learn that one of the original 12, olivine, was currently available for purchase online. (How would something so rare be so available?) I bought some rough versions, for around $9 apiece. In their polished forms, they're "peridot," my August Leo birthstone. But I'm much more interested in knowing that, in whatever form, olivine was one of the first minerals, EVER, on Earth. The chunks, pictured below, that I bought for $9 apiece are over 4 million years old. I got a bargain!
http://earthdate.org/node/102
Today on Earth, there are over 4,000 minerals. Apparently, the minerals evolve and reproduce!
I was surprised to learn that one of the original 12, olivine, was currently available for purchase online. (How would something so rare be so available?) I bought some rough versions, for around $9 apiece. In their polished forms, they're "peridot," my August Leo birthstone. But I'm much more interested in knowing that, in whatever form, olivine was one of the first minerals, EVER, on Earth. The chunks, pictured below, that I bought for $9 apiece are over 4 million years old. I got a bargain!
Tuesday, December 18, 2018
1945: "Children of Paradise"
As I was going to sleep Monday night, checked on TCM, which was showing the French "Children of Paradise" from 1am to 5am. Four hours! I'd never heard of it, and thought a 4-hour-long film was odd, but tried to stay up as long as I could... As I initially started watching, I had the sound turned down on my TV and had on Disc 2 of the "Complete Eric Clapton" and, oddly, the songs seemed to mesh perfectly with the film, as if it were a Silent...
I had no clue what was going on onscreen, the visuals were so strange. I had to make a note to myself of the name of the film to look up the next day, because whatever was happening seemed significant. (It seemed more like an early silent film than a film from 1945.)
I was only able to watch 45 minutes or so before falling asleep. And here is my looking up the next day.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Children_of_Paradise
If you can't be with the one you luff...
...buy stuff!
I've lived in my current apartment for a year and a half. From the beginning, I had two TVs, one for the living room, one for the bedroom. But my cable provider Spectrum couldn't figure out my initial order of TWO boxes, one for each set. And so I lived with just the TV in the living room (the bedroom TV sitting there blankly). After a few months came a big electrical storm that killed my living room TV (the better one). I threw that one out, moved the smaller unused bedroom TV to my living room, which is what I've been living with ever since (no loss, since the bedroom TV had never been in use).
As of today... I finally got sick of always going to sleep on the living-room couch watching TV! I'm addicted to TV, and I need to go to sleep to it. But having no TV in the bedroom, despite having a great queen-sized bed, I could never just leave the living room to officially GO TO BED. Today, I finally made the move to try to adjust to an actual real sleeping schedule: I ordered another TV for the bedroom, along with a Roku stick, so I can still see my cable! (In other news, I also ordered a Blu-ray player for the living-room TV.)
Now, once all of this "fancy" stuff arrives, it's going to take me a while to get all of it figured out, what with all the passwords needed, etc. But STILL... I'm FINALLY going to be using my bedroom, with its very nice bed, to sleep in!!
All of this ordering is in anticipation of my upcoming 11 days off of work, during which I'll have time to work on stuff, re-adjust, get re-situated from a VERY crappy 2018 and perhaps start off 2019 in a better way, at least electronically, but also...getting to sleep in that nice, until-now-infrequently-used-queen-sized bed! (Which has had the same set of sheets on it for nearly a year! I can't wait to wash those and change 'em out! New Year!)
I've lived in my current apartment for a year and a half. From the beginning, I had two TVs, one for the living room, one for the bedroom. But my cable provider Spectrum couldn't figure out my initial order of TWO boxes, one for each set. And so I lived with just the TV in the living room (the bedroom TV sitting there blankly). After a few months came a big electrical storm that killed my living room TV (the better one). I threw that one out, moved the smaller unused bedroom TV to my living room, which is what I've been living with ever since (no loss, since the bedroom TV had never been in use).
As of today... I finally got sick of always going to sleep on the living-room couch watching TV! I'm addicted to TV, and I need to go to sleep to it. But having no TV in the bedroom, despite having a great queen-sized bed, I could never just leave the living room to officially GO TO BED. Today, I finally made the move to try to adjust to an actual real sleeping schedule: I ordered another TV for the bedroom, along with a Roku stick, so I can still see my cable! (In other news, I also ordered a Blu-ray player for the living-room TV.)
Now, once all of this "fancy" stuff arrives, it's going to take me a while to get all of it figured out, what with all the passwords needed, etc. But STILL... I'm FINALLY going to be using my bedroom, with its very nice bed, to sleep in!!
All of this ordering is in anticipation of my upcoming 11 days off of work, during which I'll have time to work on stuff, re-adjust, get re-situated from a VERY crappy 2018 and perhaps start off 2019 in a better way, at least electronically, but also...getting to sleep in that nice, until-now-infrequently-used-queen-sized bed! (Which has had the same set of sheets on it for nearly a year! I can't wait to wash those and change 'em out! New Year!)
Sunday, December 16, 2018
Event (Sylvia Plath, May 21, 1962)
How the elements solidify! ---
The moonlight, that chalk cliff
In whose rift we lie
Back to back. I hear an owl cry
From its cold indigo.
Intolerable vowels enter my heart.
The child in the white crib revolves and sighs,
Opens its mouth now, demanding.
His little face is carved in pained, red wood.
Then there are the stars --- ineradicable, hard.
One touch: it burns and sickens.
I cannot see your eyes.
Where apple bloom ices the night
I walk in a ring,
A groove of old faults, deep and bitter.
Love cannot come here.
A black gap discloses itself.
On the opposite lip
A small white soul is waving, a small white maggot.
My limbs, also, have left me.
Who has dismembered us?
The dark is melting. We touch like cripples.
The moonlight, that chalk cliff
In whose rift we lie
Back to back. I hear an owl cry
From its cold indigo.
Intolerable vowels enter my heart.
The child in the white crib revolves and sighs,
Opens its mouth now, demanding.
His little face is carved in pained, red wood.
Then there are the stars --- ineradicable, hard.
One touch: it burns and sickens.
I cannot see your eyes.
Where apple bloom ices the night
I walk in a ring,
A groove of old faults, deep and bitter.
Love cannot come here.
A black gap discloses itself.
On the opposite lip
A small white soul is waving, a small white maggot.
My limbs, also, have left me.
Who has dismembered us?
The dark is melting. We touch like cripples.
Saturday, December 15, 2018
Wednesday, December 12, 2018
$600
In 2016, I started a stash of cash---money people seemed to be just giving me for various reasons. Initially, I was saving it all for mover's fees since I didn't like the new apartment that I'd just moved into and was planning for what it would cost me the next year to move out. But, as it turned out, my apartment is now fine. The trailer-park-like assholes with their chaos and "pool parties" and firecrackers and dogs running loose have been gone since last March. The two 20-something dudes next door have been quiet since August of this year (after my 5th complaint and the management's promise to tell them to shut up).
I currently don't feel like moving at all. And now I have $600 in cash sitting around! Where'd it come from? $100 was a birthday gift bill from my mother in 2016. $100 was a bill from a bet my brother lost on the Trump election (ha!!!!). $100 was a bill I just received today from a former professor where I work, for cleaning up his 92-year-old uncle's memoirs. The rest (in 20s and 10s) from random Chinese students/professors for editing their papers.
What to do with $600? It doesn't change my life. I make a decent monthly income; I usually always have extra petty cash to buy the used books and CDs and clothes that I want. I live in an apartment, and I will always live in an apartment --- the $600 doesn't change that, of course. It doesn't do any anything for me at all. The new phone, microwave, TV, chair that I mentioned having plans for buying over Christmas in an earlier post: I can buy all of that anyway, with no perceptible change to my life.
Still: I have a big chunk of money sitting around! As a former poor person: It's nice!
I currently don't feel like moving at all. And now I have $600 in cash sitting around! Where'd it come from? $100 was a birthday gift bill from my mother in 2016. $100 was a bill from a bet my brother lost on the Trump election (ha!!!!). $100 was a bill I just received today from a former professor where I work, for cleaning up his 92-year-old uncle's memoirs. The rest (in 20s and 10s) from random Chinese students/professors for editing their papers.
What to do with $600? It doesn't change my life. I make a decent monthly income; I usually always have extra petty cash to buy the used books and CDs and clothes that I want. I live in an apartment, and I will always live in an apartment --- the $600 doesn't change that, of course. It doesn't do any anything for me at all. The new phone, microwave, TV, chair that I mentioned having plans for buying over Christmas in an earlier post: I can buy all of that anyway, with no perceptible change to my life.
Still: I have a big chunk of money sitting around! As a former poor person: It's nice!
Tuesday, December 11, 2018
The Times Are Tidy (Sylvia Plath, 1958)
Unlucky the hero born
In this province of the stuck record
Where the most watchful cooks go jobless
And the mayor's rotisserie turns
Round of its own accord.
There's no career in the venture
Of riding against the lizard,
Himself withered these latter-days
To leaf-size from lack of action:
History's beaten the hazard.
The last crone got burnt up
More than eight decades back
With the love-hot herb, the talking cat,
But the children are better for it,
The cow milks cream an inch thick.
In this province of the stuck record
Where the most watchful cooks go jobless
And the mayor's rotisserie turns
Round of its own accord.
There's no career in the venture
Of riding against the lizard,
Himself withered these latter-days
To leaf-size from lack of action:
History's beaten the hazard.
The last crone got burnt up
More than eight decades back
With the love-hot herb, the talking cat,
But the children are better for it,
The cow milks cream an inch thick.
Monday, December 10, 2018
Last Days of Plath
For years through my teen and twenties, I used to keep Plath's "Collected Poems" by my bed. For the clarity of angst, anger, the purity of language amid such fierce emotions. In years since then, her words are sometimes the first coming to me upon waking nauseous from a hangover caused by both beer and emotional betrayal: "What have I eaten? Lies and smiles."
Plath's words were mine in my teens, before any real heartbreak or morning-after nausea. But when heartbreak, true heart sickness, came... she made things both better and worse. She lent a purity and starkness and historical backdrop to the suffering, a godsend. But then she also indicated that such pain could NOT be tolerated...
At 53, I'd like to tell the 30-year-old Plath: Sure it can. Give it a few years or decades. Assia Wevill is a thrice-married Skank. Ted Hughes is a lower-class whore himself who got lucky with you. Would it be so painful to go back to the States and have a pleasant life? I'm sure, at 30, it initially seemed tragic that your raw literarily-infused sexual fantasy didn't come true, but...given a decade or so, you would have recognized and more fully appreciated the value of the calm and lucidity that you so purely (and ironically and heroically, given the circumstances) displayed in your poems, even right up until the end. You saw the deeply flawed Ted and couldn't live with "it," or without it, at the moment. I think, though, given a decade or so, you could have come to peace with the "letting go" of his chaos. And sought peace.
I feel terrible for her. I've had a few people that I was in love with in my life, but nothing that approached a true physical/spiritual/mental union. Even these random people hurt me deeply. I can only barely imagine what Plath felt.
Mystic (February 1, 1963)
The air is a mill of hooks ---
Questions without answer,
Glittering and drunk as flies
Whose kiss stings unbearably
In the fetid wombs of black air under pines in summer.
I remember
The dead smell of sun on wood cabins,
The stiffness of sails, the long salt winding sheets.
Once one has seen God, what is the remedy?
Once one has been seized up
Without a part left over,
Not a toe, not a finger, and used,
Used utterly, in the sun's conflagrations, the stains
That lengthen from ancient cathedrals
What is the remedy?
The pill of the Communion tablet,
The walking beside water? Memory?
Or picking up the bright pieces
Of Christ in the faces of rodents,
The tame flower-nibblers, the ones
Whose hopes are so low they are comfortable ---
The humpback in his small, washed cottage
Under the spokes of the clematis.
Is there no great love, only tenderness?
Does the sea
Remember the walker upon it?
Meaning leaks from the molecules.
The chimneys of the city breathe, the window sweats,
The children leap in their cots.
The sun blooms, it is a geranium.
The heart has not stopped.
Plath's words were mine in my teens, before any real heartbreak or morning-after nausea. But when heartbreak, true heart sickness, came... she made things both better and worse. She lent a purity and starkness and historical backdrop to the suffering, a godsend. But then she also indicated that such pain could NOT be tolerated...
At 53, I'd like to tell the 30-year-old Plath: Sure it can. Give it a few years or decades. Assia Wevill is a thrice-married Skank. Ted Hughes is a lower-class whore himself who got lucky with you. Would it be so painful to go back to the States and have a pleasant life? I'm sure, at 30, it initially seemed tragic that your raw literarily-infused sexual fantasy didn't come true, but...given a decade or so, you would have recognized and more fully appreciated the value of the calm and lucidity that you so purely (and ironically and heroically, given the circumstances) displayed in your poems, even right up until the end. You saw the deeply flawed Ted and couldn't live with "it," or without it, at the moment. I think, though, given a decade or so, you could have come to peace with the "letting go" of his chaos. And sought peace.
I feel terrible for her. I've had a few people that I was in love with in my life, but nothing that approached a true physical/spiritual/mental union. Even these random people hurt me deeply. I can only barely imagine what Plath felt.
Mystic (February 1, 1963)
The air is a mill of hooks ---
Questions without answer,
Glittering and drunk as flies
Whose kiss stings unbearably
In the fetid wombs of black air under pines in summer.
I remember
The dead smell of sun on wood cabins,
The stiffness of sails, the long salt winding sheets.
Once one has seen God, what is the remedy?
Once one has been seized up
Without a part left over,
Not a toe, not a finger, and used,
Used utterly, in the sun's conflagrations, the stains
That lengthen from ancient cathedrals
What is the remedy?
The pill of the Communion tablet,
The walking beside water? Memory?
Or picking up the bright pieces
Of Christ in the faces of rodents,
The tame flower-nibblers, the ones
Whose hopes are so low they are comfortable ---
The humpback in his small, washed cottage
Under the spokes of the clematis.
Is there no great love, only tenderness?
Does the sea
Remember the walker upon it?
Meaning leaks from the molecules.
The chimneys of the city breathe, the window sweats,
The children leap in their cots.
The sun blooms, it is a geranium.
The heart has not stopped.
Saturday, December 08, 2018
Baby It's Cold Outside: Dean Martin (1959)
At a Christmas party about 10 years ago in Austin, an Irish guy first pointed out to me that this was actually a "date-rape" song. Whaaaaat? At the time, I laughed and somewhat agreed with his audacious argument: Yes, the guy in the song really was trying to talk the girl into staying... Little did I know that by 2018, the song would represent a ridiculous "anti-rape" social-media talking point for left-wing ideologues.
In my bisexual, feminist, politically independent opinion (from someone who has been actually raped): It's a cute, sexy song. I'd personally like to be talked into having sex with Dean Martin.
I'm sick to death of today's leftists crying wolf about rape, racism, dictators, etc. When the real thing actually does happen, no one's going to believe you idiots because you've been lying about the real threat for so long.
I'm sick to death of today's leftists crying wolf about rape, racism, dictators, etc. When the real thing actually does happen, no one's going to believe you idiots because you've been lying about the real threat for so long.
Ray Anthony: Christmas Trumpets/We Wish You A Merry Christmas (1966)
Have yourself a sassy little Christmas!
Friday, December 07, 2018
Excerpts from Plath
As a poet, I'm proud to say that at my best, I am better than Plath at her worst. (Most self-proclaimed "poets" can't say that at all.) However, when Plath is at her best, like in these excerpts, she's among the immortals like Shakespeare, Rilke, Eliot...
They enter as animals from the outer
Space of holly where spikes
Are not the thoughts I turn on, like a Yogi,
But greenness, darkness so pure
They freeze and are.
-----------------------------------
This is what it is like ---
A red burst and a cry
That splits from its ripped bag and does not stop
With the dead eye
And the stuffed expression, but goes on
Dyeing the air,
Telling the particles of the clouds, the leaves, the water
What immortality is. That it is immortal.
---------------------------------
They enter as animals from the outer
Space of holly where spikes
Are not the thoughts I turn on, like a Yogi,
But greenness, darkness so pure
They freeze and are.
-----------------------------------
This is what it is like ---
A red burst and a cry
That splits from its ripped bag and does not stop
With the dead eye
And the stuffed expression, but goes on
Dyeing the air,
Telling the particles of the clouds, the leaves, the water
What immortality is. That it is immortal.
---------------------------------
Thursday, December 06, 2018
Eric Clapton, Steve Winwood: Presence of the Lord (2007, from the 1969 Blind Faith original)
I have finally found a way to live
Just like I never could before.
I know that I don't have much to give,
But I can open any door.
Everybody knows the secret,
Everybody knows the score.
I have finally found a way to live
In the color of the Lord.
I have finally found a place to live
Just like I never could before.
And I know I don't have much to give,
But soon I'll open any door.
Everybody knows the secret,
Everybody knows the score.
I have finally found a place to live
In the presence of the Lord.
In the presence of the Lord.
I have finally found a way to live
Just like I never could before.
And I know I don't have much to give,
But I can open any door.
Everybody knows the secret,
I said everybody knows the score.
I have finally found a way to live
In the color of the Lord.
In the color of the Lord.
Just like I never could before.
I know that I don't have much to give,
But I can open any door.
Everybody knows the secret,
Everybody knows the score.
I have finally found a way to live
In the color of the Lord.
I have finally found a place to live
Just like I never could before.
And I know I don't have much to give,
But soon I'll open any door.
Everybody knows the secret,
Everybody knows the score.
I have finally found a place to live
In the presence of the Lord.
In the presence of the Lord.
I have finally found a way to live
Just like I never could before.
And I know I don't have much to give,
But I can open any door.
Everybody knows the secret,
I said everybody knows the score.
I have finally found a way to live
In the color of the Lord.
In the color of the Lord.
Things to be happy about
Though, for a second year, I probably won't be spending any Christmas time with my mother and brother/family (mildly depressing, but not completely, because they've been "blah" toward me for the past however-many years --- I'm finally just calling them on it), I am nonetheless looking forward to Christmas, as I usually do. While I don't have anyone to buy for this year (which I usually look forward to), I still like the crisp weather of the season, and the bright lights and cinnamony smells and Christmas music in stores. (RE the latter: Just found out the Austin Christmas-music station: 95.5, which I added to my car stereo.)
I'm also looking forward to 11 days off work --- only 2 more weeks of work left before the vacation. I have a very first-world goal during this time: To buy 3 out of these 4 things: (1) A new TV and Roku stick for my bedroom (because I'm tired of sleeping on the living room coach just so I can go to sleep watching TV). (2) A new microwave (because my current one is a 1985 hand-me-down from my mother). (3) A new phone (because my current phone is 1 x 3 inches, a freebie from T-Mobile given to me in 2007 when I first signed up for a cell phone before I moved to New York). (4) A black leather recliner-chair for my living room (because I'm tired of always immediately lying down on my couch when I get home).
I think I can psychologically do at least the new TV/Roku and microwave. But the concept of finally getting a smart phone seems hard to me, and I don't know if I really need a big ol' chair.
Of course, what makes all of this possible: My job! Did I mention already that I've been kicking ass at it? Thanks to my boss for giving me the raise a couple of years ago. I still can't afford to buy a house, but then, at 53, I don't know that I WANT a house and all of the payments and repair-costs that come along with it. With a mid-level income, the time to buy a house is in your 30s, when you have all of your future life and energy and money (and 30-year-mortgage) to put into it. At 53, my future work-life is only 15 years, and, as a single, middle-aged, non-handy woman, I certainly don't have/won't ever have the energy or know-how or extra money to do any repairs that may arise. So, I'm not so depressed about the idea of never being able to have a house.
I've reached the conclusion, though, that, going forward, I might just be OK with what I have. My current salary allows me things like regularly ordering books and CDs, as well as occasionally getting a new phone or TV or appliance or chair.
I'm also looking forward to 11 days off work --- only 2 more weeks of work left before the vacation. I have a very first-world goal during this time: To buy 3 out of these 4 things: (1) A new TV and Roku stick for my bedroom (because I'm tired of sleeping on the living room coach just so I can go to sleep watching TV). (2) A new microwave (because my current one is a 1985 hand-me-down from my mother). (3) A new phone (because my current phone is 1 x 3 inches, a freebie from T-Mobile given to me in 2007 when I first signed up for a cell phone before I moved to New York). (4) A black leather recliner-chair for my living room (because I'm tired of always immediately lying down on my couch when I get home).
I think I can psychologically do at least the new TV/Roku and microwave. But the concept of finally getting a smart phone seems hard to me, and I don't know if I really need a big ol' chair.
Of course, what makes all of this possible: My job! Did I mention already that I've been kicking ass at it? Thanks to my boss for giving me the raise a couple of years ago. I still can't afford to buy a house, but then, at 53, I don't know that I WANT a house and all of the payments and repair-costs that come along with it. With a mid-level income, the time to buy a house is in your 30s, when you have all of your future life and energy and money (and 30-year-mortgage) to put into it. At 53, my future work-life is only 15 years, and, as a single, middle-aged, non-handy woman, I certainly don't have/won't ever have the energy or know-how or extra money to do any repairs that may arise. So, I'm not so depressed about the idea of never being able to have a house.
I've reached the conclusion, though, that, going forward, I might just be OK with what I have. My current salary allows me things like regularly ordering books and CDs, as well as occasionally getting a new phone or TV or appliance or chair.
Tuesday, December 04, 2018
In for the Winter
The rickety table that once hosted me and my computer back when I lived in one room (2010 through 2015) is now a table for plants when I've brought them in from my backyard for the winter.
p.s. In Penny News: Of the four stray cats (Penny, Henny Penny, Papa Penny, L'il Penny) that I've been feeding since July --- L'il Penny has disappeared. Papa Penny and Penny show up maybe twice a week. The most constant is Henny (the one with the scar on his/her nose), who has now taken to waiting daily on my backyard fence for me to come home after work --- then meows dramatically as I get his/her food dish ready, even letting me pet her/him sometimes. I keep thinking of when my lease is up in April... What will happen to the Penny Family? If I stay, no problem, but if I leave...
Good Day
I've been especially kicking ass for the past two months at work: Report to the Governor, new radio show transcripts, Annual Report, plus keeping up with an 800-page book that's going to be published in 2019. I've been utterly on top of everything, and today I got some mild recognition for it. And it was a beautiful 60-degree, clean, crisp day outside. I felt glad to be alive.
Note to self: Don't ever let others bring you down (because they will, they will). Be true to yourself and what makes YOU happy (pre and post any lovers or would-be lovers --- you were always yourself before and after any of them).
Note to self: Don't ever let others bring you down (because they will, they will). Be true to yourself and what makes YOU happy (pre and post any lovers or would-be lovers --- you were always yourself before and after any of them).
Sunday, December 02, 2018
Amazing what you can get done when you get up at 5:45am!
Well, it wasn't that amazing, but still...
I hadn't done laundry in 4 weeks. I had organized piles in my bedroom (whites/jeans/blacks), but there they sat.
My two toilets were disgusting. (How did ONE person fuck up TWO toilets?)
I woke up Saturday with a hangover (as usual every other day). While watching the Longhorns game from my couch, got pumped up enough about the game (and disgusted with myself) to aggressively clean the fucking toilets during the ads.
Sunday was the 5:45am wakeup day, totally not hung over. A really pretty fall day in Austin, 70 degrees. Did the laundry, went and put in 4 hours of extra work, got gas in my car. Came home and then... the day was so beautiful and mellow, I felt like going back out again! Went and deposited 3-month-old checks for $51 (from an August towing refund and a candy-machine refund) that I couldn't quite figure out how to deposit before... Austin's great on a Sunday.
The only thing I regret is the shitty McDonald's "Egg McMuffin Meal" I got before going into work --- crummy sandwich/hashbrown wedge/watered-down orange juice for over $6.
I hadn't done laundry in 4 weeks. I had organized piles in my bedroom (whites/jeans/blacks), but there they sat.
My two toilets were disgusting. (How did ONE person fuck up TWO toilets?)
I woke up Saturday with a hangover (as usual every other day). While watching the Longhorns game from my couch, got pumped up enough about the game (and disgusted with myself) to aggressively clean the fucking toilets during the ads.
Sunday was the 5:45am wakeup day, totally not hung over. A really pretty fall day in Austin, 70 degrees. Did the laundry, went and put in 4 hours of extra work, got gas in my car. Came home and then... the day was so beautiful and mellow, I felt like going back out again! Went and deposited 3-month-old checks for $51 (from an August towing refund and a candy-machine refund) that I couldn't quite figure out how to deposit before... Austin's great on a Sunday.
The only thing I regret is the shitty McDonald's "Egg McMuffin Meal" I got before going into work --- crummy sandwich/hashbrown wedge/watered-down orange juice for over $6.
Saturday, December 01, 2018
Eric Clapton: Running On Faith (Unplugged) 1992
Lately I've been running on faith
What else can a poor boy do?
But my world will be right
When love comes over you
Lately I've been talking in my sleep
I can't imagine what I'd have to say
Except my world will be right
When love comes back your way
I've always been
One to take each and every day
Seems like by now
I'd find a love who cares just for me
Then we'd go running on faith
All of our dreams would come true
And our world will be right
When love comes over me and you
[Chorus]
Then we'd go running on faith
All of our dreams would come true
And our world will be right
When love comes over me and you
When love comes over you
Eric Clapton: Tears In Heaven (Unplugged) 1992
Would you know my name
If I saw you in heaven?
Would it be the same
If I saw you in heaven?
I must be strong
And carry on
'Cause I know I don't belong
Here in heaven
Would you hold my hand
If I saw you in heaven?
Would you help me stand
If I saw you in heaven?
I'll find my way
Through night and day
'Cause I know I just can't stay
Here in heaven
Time can bring you down
Time can bend your knees
Time can break your heart
Have you begging please, begging please
Beyond the door
There's peace I'm sure
And I know there'll be no more
Tears in heaven
Would you know my name
If I saw you in heaven?
Would you be the same
If I saw you in heaven?
I must be strong
And carry on
'Cause I know I don't belong
Here in heaven
'Cause I know I don't belong
Here in heaven
If I saw you in heaven?
Would it be the same
If I saw you in heaven?
I must be strong
And carry on
'Cause I know I don't belong
Here in heaven
Would you hold my hand
If I saw you in heaven?
Would you help me stand
If I saw you in heaven?
I'll find my way
Through night and day
'Cause I know I just can't stay
Here in heaven
Time can bring you down
Time can bend your knees
Time can break your heart
Have you begging please, begging please
Beyond the door
There's peace I'm sure
And I know there'll be no more
Tears in heaven
Would you know my name
If I saw you in heaven?
Would you be the same
If I saw you in heaven?
I must be strong
And carry on
'Cause I know I don't belong
Here in heaven
'Cause I know I don't belong
Here in heaven
Friday, November 30, 2018
Derek And The Dominos - Bell Bottom Blues (1970)
[Chorus:]
Bell bottom blues, you made me cry.
I don't want to lose this feeling.
And if I could choose a place to die
It would be in your arms.
Do you want to see me crawl across the floor to you?
Do you want to hear me beg you to take me back?
I'd gladly do it because
I don't want to fade away.
Give me one more day, please.
I don't want to fade away.
In your heart I want to stay.
It's all wrong, but it's all right.
The way that you treat me baby.
Once I was strong but I lost the fight.
You won't find a better loser.
[Chorus 2x]
Bell bottom blues, don't say goodbye.
I'm sure we're gonna meet again,
And if we do, don't you be surprised
If you find me with another lover.
[Chorus]
I don't want to fade away.
Give me one more day please.
I don't want to fade away.
In your heart I long to stay.
Wednesday, November 28, 2018
The Office - That One Night (Full Song)
I wish YouTube had a clip of the ending montage of the "Office" episode that played this song, how all of the couples ended the evening.
Tuesday, November 27, 2018
John Lennon: Going Down on Love (1974)
"Going Down On Love"
Got to get down, down on my knees
Got to get down, down on my knees
Going down on love
Going down on love
Going down, going down, going down
When the real thing goes wrong
And you can't get it on
And your love she has gone
And you got to carry on
And you shoot out the light
Ain't coming home for the night
You know you got to, got to, got to pay the price
Somebody please, please help me
You know I'm drowning in the sea of hatred
Got to get down, down on my knees
Got to get down, down on my knees
Going down on love
Going down on love
Going down, going down, going down
Something precious and rare
Disappears in thin air
And it seems so unfair
Nothing doin' nowhere
Well you burn all your boats
And you sow your wild oats
Well you know, you know, you know the price is right!
Got to get down, down on my knees
Got to get down, down on my knees
Got to get down, down on my knees
Got to get down, down on my knees
Got to get down, down on my knees
Going down on love
Going down on love
Going down, going down, going down
When the real thing goes wrong
And you can't get it on
And your love she has gone
And you got to carry on
And you shoot out the light
Ain't coming home for the night
You know you got to, got to, got to pay the price
Somebody please, please help me
You know I'm drowning in the sea of hatred
Got to get down, down on my knees
Got to get down, down on my knees
Going down on love
Going down on love
Going down, going down, going down
Something precious and rare
Disappears in thin air
And it seems so unfair
Nothing doin' nowhere
Well you burn all your boats
And you sow your wild oats
Well you know, you know, you know the price is right!
Got to get down, down on my knees
Got to get down, down on my knees
Got to get down, down on my knees
Got to get down, down on my knees
"INSTANT KARMA" John Lennon
I heard this 1970 song for the first time in the summer of 1980 on the radio, when I was guilted into visiting my divorced father in South Dakota. I was 15; my father, living in Air Force baracks, spent my entire visit from Texas haranguing me about whatever, then drunkenly jacking off in the next room. I don't think much of John Lennon now, but at the time, when I was 15, I thought he was bold and mighty. I was thrilled when I heard this song.
After Lennon had been shot to death the following December of that year, my father made yet another call to my mother's house (part of a continual series of traumatic calls to the house post their 1977 divorce). This time, to neurotically question me: "You wouldn't care if I were dead." I didn't say it at the time because I was a scared, puzzled kid, but today I don't think I would be so polite: No, I really wouldn't give a shit. Lennon was never mean to me, you asshole.
Monday, November 26, 2018
Jack Webb: Try a Little Tenderness (1958)
From the album "You're My Girl: Romantic Reflections by Jack Webb"
For Sandra
For Sandra
Sunday, November 25, 2018
Clint Holmes - Playground In My Mind (1972)
From the '70s Party Classics CD that I've been listening to all night:
Saturday Notes
Four-day holiday from work:
Thursday: Ate my own Thanksgiving meal. Mildly depressed about not being with family, as I have been up until last year. But then: In the past, I was usually kind of the adjunct and I felt it. Time to move on and do my own thing, however lonely.
Friday: Stayed on the couch all day with a hangover, watching the UT Longhorns victory on TV, then other random TV for the rest of the hours in the day.
Saturday: A couple of hours of driving errands. Returned a sweater to The Gap; shopped unsuccessfully for bargains at Sue Patrick (tried to equal the exuberant greeting upon my entrance to this upscale Texas store); went to the Dollar Store and got cheap lighters and cheap cat dishes; went to Target trying to find a new microwave (my mother's hand-me-down from 1985 is about to give out) --- all the microwaves were cheap and horrible, but I did find three cheap shirts and some sweatpants; at the end got my favorite KFC three-strips meal and went home to watch horrible tales of serial killers on the REELZ network. Was happily surprised by how empty and relaxed the stores were on Saturday. Because the huge sales took place on Black Friday, I suppose, and everyone was tapped out the day after? Traffic was nice; The Gap and Target were mostly empty, with relaxed and helpful staff...
In Penny Family News:
OK, recap: There's Penny (the original cat hanging around), Henny Penny (looks just like Penny except a scarred nose and shorter tail), Papa Penny, and L'il Penny. Papa Penny scares Penny and Henny. Often, he sits on my back step both in the mornings, and in the evenings ahead of feeding time (when I get home after 5pm): If he's there, Penny and Henny might be in the vicinity watching, but they won't actually come into the fenced area. Friday, Penny and Henny got there first and were eating... Then Papa Penny started approaching from outside the fence... Penny and Henny spotted him and both immediately stopped eating and started backing off from their food dishes in literal slow motion. (Papa Penny is old and fat and can't see that well. For instance, he can be sitting right outside my sliding glass door, but when I open the blinds, he doesn't move. And when I lightly tap on the glass, he looks up vaguely, but not directly at me. That's why I think Henny/Penny move so slowly when they see him coming --- they know he can't see them exactly!) Henny and Penny can take turns sharing one dish between them without getting overly aggressive with each other (I've seen each bop the other on top of the head sans claws, but that's all), so I can tell they were born at the same time, but they're both scared of Papa. p.s. Thursday eve, I included some Thanksgiving turkey meat for Henny and Penny, which FINALLY got an anticipatory MEOW out of Henny! (I'd never heard any of the Family talk before!)
Thursday: Ate my own Thanksgiving meal. Mildly depressed about not being with family, as I have been up until last year. But then: In the past, I was usually kind of the adjunct and I felt it. Time to move on and do my own thing, however lonely.
Friday: Stayed on the couch all day with a hangover, watching the UT Longhorns victory on TV, then other random TV for the rest of the hours in the day.
Saturday: A couple of hours of driving errands. Returned a sweater to The Gap; shopped unsuccessfully for bargains at Sue Patrick (tried to equal the exuberant greeting upon my entrance to this upscale Texas store); went to the Dollar Store and got cheap lighters and cheap cat dishes; went to Target trying to find a new microwave (my mother's hand-me-down from 1985 is about to give out) --- all the microwaves were cheap and horrible, but I did find three cheap shirts and some sweatpants; at the end got my favorite KFC three-strips meal and went home to watch horrible tales of serial killers on the REELZ network. Was happily surprised by how empty and relaxed the stores were on Saturday. Because the huge sales took place on Black Friday, I suppose, and everyone was tapped out the day after? Traffic was nice; The Gap and Target were mostly empty, with relaxed and helpful staff...
In Penny Family News:
OK, recap: There's Penny (the original cat hanging around), Henny Penny (looks just like Penny except a scarred nose and shorter tail), Papa Penny, and L'il Penny. Papa Penny scares Penny and Henny. Often, he sits on my back step both in the mornings, and in the evenings ahead of feeding time (when I get home after 5pm): If he's there, Penny and Henny might be in the vicinity watching, but they won't actually come into the fenced area. Friday, Penny and Henny got there first and were eating... Then Papa Penny started approaching from outside the fence... Penny and Henny spotted him and both immediately stopped eating and started backing off from their food dishes in literal slow motion. (Papa Penny is old and fat and can't see that well. For instance, he can be sitting right outside my sliding glass door, but when I open the blinds, he doesn't move. And when I lightly tap on the glass, he looks up vaguely, but not directly at me. That's why I think Henny/Penny move so slowly when they see him coming --- they know he can't see them exactly!) Henny and Penny can take turns sharing one dish between them without getting overly aggressive with each other (I've seen each bop the other on top of the head sans claws, but that's all), so I can tell they were born at the same time, but they're both scared of Papa. p.s. Thursday eve, I included some Thanksgiving turkey meat for Henny and Penny, which FINALLY got an anticipatory MEOW out of Henny! (I'd never heard any of the Family talk before!)
Friday, November 23, 2018
What to do with $30,000?
I'm not clever enough to invest $30,000 and make any money out of it.
To (legally) avoid taxes, my mother started a fund for me a decade ago. Now up to $30,000.
It's now in my hands. I can withdraw the money at any time, or let it sit and increase. What should I do with it? Down payment on a house in Austin (I first moved to Austin in 1983 and liked it then; today, "tech Austin" is NOTHING like where I'd want to live). Save it for after I retire? Take it and move back to NYC (really, Weehawken, which is where I really want to go back to)?
I'm 53. Were I in my early 30s or early 40s, I'd take back off for NYC in a second. I hate myself for being such a coward now.
To (legally) avoid taxes, my mother started a fund for me a decade ago. Now up to $30,000.
It's now in my hands. I can withdraw the money at any time, or let it sit and increase. What should I do with it? Down payment on a house in Austin (I first moved to Austin in 1983 and liked it then; today, "tech Austin" is NOTHING like where I'd want to live). Save it for after I retire? Take it and move back to NYC (really, Weehawken, which is where I really want to go back to)?
I'm 53. Were I in my early 30s or early 40s, I'd take back off for NYC in a second. I hate myself for being such a coward now.
My Solo Thanksgiving went fine...
I cooked every pre-cooked and canned thing within a half-hour while watching the Cowboys. Have leftovers for the next week. And The Penny Family (Penny, Henny Penny, Papa Penny, L'il Penny) has plenty o' scraps waiting.
Tuesday, November 20, 2018
Obnoxious/"Evil" Postal Worker
Since I tend to order stuff online, a big pile of packages built up, which I didn't check. Finally, last week, I started to open smaller packages that might be that bumpersticker. Didn't find it. A tracking check said that a notice had been left with me October 9 (no, I received nothing), and that the package would be sent back to Russia if I didn't claim it (and probably had already been sent back).
I went to my post office today, with print-outs of the tracking number, etc. I expected nothing.
The guy at the "non-monetary" window of the PO took my info, confirmed my address, asked if I hadn't received that pink-slip notification, etc. No, I hadn't.
A few minutes later, he returned:
PO GUY: I don't know if you'll like this...
ME: Aaah. I didn't think it would be here.
PO GUY: Well, I have some news for you...Here it is.
ME: Oh my god! THANK YOU!
PO GUY: Usually people have a fit and get mad. Then when I tell them the package is here after all, they act all humble and have to explain themselves.
ME: I love you! You're EVIL but I love you!
PO GUY: It's the holidays, I like to amuse myself.
ME: 'Tis the season for amusement!
All of the back-and-forth was only just mildly amusing... I was VERY glad to find out that the sticker was indeed here and hadn't been sent back to Russia (never to be seen again). And the guy was funny --- but was he right in doing psychological tests on post office patrons?
Sunday, November 18, 2018
What Makes You Feel Good
For the past two weeks at work, I've had three projects that had to get done and were in danger of not getting done unless I BUSTED MY ASS.
As we all head into the Thanksgiving week, I have, indeed, busted said ass. I go into Monday with the great majority of my work done.
This is the first job I've had where I was actually responsible for something. Where it mattered if I did a good job or came in on weekends to work extra.
People feel good about different things. I feel good about having an intellectually satisfying job. Were I given a choice: Allegedly soulful lover or intellectually satisfying job... THE JOB. Without question. (The former is utterly a facade.)
As we all head into the Thanksgiving week, I have, indeed, busted said ass. I go into Monday with the great majority of my work done.
This is the first job I've had where I was actually responsible for something. Where it mattered if I did a good job or came in on weekends to work extra.
People feel good about different things. I feel good about having an intellectually satisfying job. Were I given a choice: Allegedly soulful lover or intellectually satisfying job... THE JOB. Without question. (The former is utterly a facade.)
Ready for My Own Thanksgiving
Went grocery shopping today to prepare for my own Thanksgiving on Thursday.
Back in the '90s, I worked with a couple of women around my age, all single in our early 30s. One of them was bragging about planning on going out to a bar on Thanksgiving and having a hamburger. At the time, I was going out a lot myself, but I countered her with: "I go out to bars and have hamburgers all the time. On THANKSGIVING I want my mother's cooking!" (At that time, I had my mom's house to go to in San Antonio.)
I haven't spoken to my mother since August of last year (2017), so this will be the second Thanksgiving on my own (well, aside from 1994 in grad school in San Francisco and 2007 thru 2009, when I was in NYC --- but I don't really count those since it was just a geographic, not psychological separation).
This Thursday, the Cowboys are playing the Redskins. It's very important for the NFC East. I'll make my own (to me) delicious dinner and enjoy the exciting game and the day.
Friday, November 16, 2018
12 minerals at the beginning of the world
I just learned today, at my geological job: At the creation of Earth, there were only 12 minerals, which, over billions of years until today, evolved into 5,000 minerals. One of the 12 originals is olivine. I started ordering olivine chunks from eBay.
Monday, November 12, 2018
Squirrels
1987: My high school love Ginny, who was in '87 (unbeknownst to me) dying of a heart problem and who had abandoned me completely in '83 when I went off to college, called me in Austin in 1987 to see if I could come live with her in Georgia, where she'd had to move with her parents --- with no choice, because she was sick. She mistakenly thought that because I'd started college in the fall of '83, that I'd be automatically finished 4 years later, by the fall of '87. The girl she'd dumped me for in the fall of '83 (a mere couple of months after I'd left for college) was currently stuck in Azle attending to her own dying mother and so couldn't move to Georgia.
I wasn't finished with college, and told her so. The other girl's mother eventually died and the girl went to Georgia. Ginny died in early 1988. (I recently contacted the woman on Facebook, who, like me, said that Ginny was "the love of her life." Didn't tell her about this phone call.)
1995: I ran into my first sexual partner Mollie, whom I was with from 1989 to 1991, and with whom I would ultimately be obsessed until 2000, in a club. She acted strangely nice to me, asked me to call her. When I called, turned out she wanted me to pay back $100 from way back in 1990 when she'd given me her credit card and told me to go buy a dress for some club event we were supposed to go to. (I couldn't find a dress that I liked and instead used the money for a car repair.) My grief was too heavy for the indoors. I went outside and sat on the back bumper of my car and wept for hours when I found out that she had only wanted me to call her because of a credit card bill of 5 years earlier.
1997: I'd been infatuated with a local roots-rock musician for years, seeing him weekly in concert since the early '90s. At one point we agreed to meet up at a local club that often featured his band. I arrived and paid my own cover. He arrived a few minutes later... I'd thought that, for sure, he could get in for free, but no, I had to pay his cover! We roamed around the club and ultimately sat a table together, where he told another girl that they would "make beautiful babies together." He then said he was bored and asked to borrow $10. When I said no, he disappeared. (The same year, I remember he asked me to tape one of his performances on a local cable station: While I was doing so on August 31, Princess Diana was simultaneously dying in a French tunnel. I erased him.)
Today: No, Sandra (whom I first fell in love with in a poetry class in '86 or so). Listening to you, and offering a place to live and help with a resume, yes. Paying your cover? No.
I wasn't finished with college, and told her so. The other girl's mother eventually died and the girl went to Georgia. Ginny died in early 1988. (I recently contacted the woman on Facebook, who, like me, said that Ginny was "the love of her life." Didn't tell her about this phone call.)
1995: I ran into my first sexual partner Mollie, whom I was with from 1989 to 1991, and with whom I would ultimately be obsessed until 2000, in a club. She acted strangely nice to me, asked me to call her. When I called, turned out she wanted me to pay back $100 from way back in 1990 when she'd given me her credit card and told me to go buy a dress for some club event we were supposed to go to. (I couldn't find a dress that I liked and instead used the money for a car repair.) My grief was too heavy for the indoors. I went outside and sat on the back bumper of my car and wept for hours when I found out that she had only wanted me to call her because of a credit card bill of 5 years earlier.
1997: I'd been infatuated with a local roots-rock musician for years, seeing him weekly in concert since the early '90s. At one point we agreed to meet up at a local club that often featured his band. I arrived and paid my own cover. He arrived a few minutes later... I'd thought that, for sure, he could get in for free, but no, I had to pay his cover! We roamed around the club and ultimately sat a table together, where he told another girl that they would "make beautiful babies together." He then said he was bored and asked to borrow $10. When I said no, he disappeared. (The same year, I remember he asked me to tape one of his performances on a local cable station: While I was doing so on August 31, Princess Diana was simultaneously dying in a French tunnel. I erased him.)
Today: No, Sandra (whom I first fell in love with in a poetry class in '86 or so). Listening to you, and offering a place to live and help with a resume, yes. Paying your cover? No.
2008 and 2016: Clinton in the Democrat Primaries
I didn't realize this until now: In the 2008 Democrat primaries between Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama, Clinton actually won more of the total popular vote:
Clinton: 17,822,145
Obama: 17,535,458
But near the end, the "Superdelegates" (party regulars) turned on Clinton and gave their votes to Obama, giving him the victory. She, not wanting to appear "racist," caved, despite her greater popular vote.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Democratic_Party_presidential_primaries,_2008
In 2016, Clinton made sure the Superdelegates were hers. AND she also won the final popular vote:
Clinton: 16,914,722
Sanders: 13,206,428
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Democratic_Party_presidential_primaries,_2016
In 2008, she actually won fair and square in the primaries, yet in the end gave in to her Superdelegate colleagues who crossed over to Obama, deeming him the "Golden Child" that she would just look petty if she opposed.
In 2016, she, ironically, legitimately won the popular vote against Sanders... yet still got crap for somehow being "an insider who STOLE the vote."
In fact, in 2008, Clinton bowed to the leftists in her party and LET her Dem nomination be stolen via Superdelegate lest she be decried as "racist." While in 2016, she legitimately won the nomination but was STILL denigrated by her party's Bernie Bros/Gals.
In the 2016 Presidential election, Clinton also won the popular vote. HOWEVER, the US system has always, since its founding, been based on Electoral College votes, not on popular votes. Trump won legitimately.
Trump: Popular: 62,984,828 Electoral College: 304
Clinton: Popular: 65,853,514 Electoral College: 227
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States_presidential_election,_2016
I understand that Hillary is disturbed by how things have gone. But what I think she should be most disturbed about is the 2008 Democrat primary contest. In which she won the most votes and initially had the most Superdelegates, yet her party "encouraged" her to hand over Superdelegates to Obama... because it was (ha!) the "right thing to do." THAT is where the screwing occurred.
Hillary's loss in the primary of 2008 reminds me of the one time I have been called to appear on a jury. In San Francisco in '94 or so. A new mailman was bitten by a dog at a home. And he was subsequently suing the people at the home. But, as it turned out, San Fran had a coding system in their headquarters for houses with dogs. A red flag indicated not to go up to the door but just to leave mail outside a gate. On this particular day, headquarters messed up and didn't leave a flag. So the new mailman walked on up to the house... and got bit. Now, I saw this as the post office's fault for failing to flag the address, as they always had, for the new mailman. But what was the guy going to do, sue his employer?
What was Hillary supposed to do in 2008? She'd been screwed but couldn't say anything.
Clinton: 17,822,145
Obama: 17,535,458
But near the end, the "Superdelegates" (party regulars) turned on Clinton and gave their votes to Obama, giving him the victory. She, not wanting to appear "racist," caved, despite her greater popular vote.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Democratic_Party_presidential_primaries,_2008
In 2016, Clinton made sure the Superdelegates were hers. AND she also won the final popular vote:
Clinton: 16,914,722
Sanders: 13,206,428
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Democratic_Party_presidential_primaries,_2016
In 2008, she actually won fair and square in the primaries, yet in the end gave in to her Superdelegate colleagues who crossed over to Obama, deeming him the "Golden Child" that she would just look petty if she opposed.
In 2016, she, ironically, legitimately won the popular vote against Sanders... yet still got crap for somehow being "an insider who STOLE the vote."
In fact, in 2008, Clinton bowed to the leftists in her party and LET her Dem nomination be stolen via Superdelegate lest she be decried as "racist." While in 2016, she legitimately won the nomination but was STILL denigrated by her party's Bernie Bros/Gals.
In the 2016 Presidential election, Clinton also won the popular vote. HOWEVER, the US system has always, since its founding, been based on Electoral College votes, not on popular votes. Trump won legitimately.
Trump: Popular: 62,984,828 Electoral College: 304
Clinton: Popular: 65,853,514 Electoral College: 227
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States_presidential_election,_2016
I understand that Hillary is disturbed by how things have gone. But what I think she should be most disturbed about is the 2008 Democrat primary contest. In which she won the most votes and initially had the most Superdelegates, yet her party "encouraged" her to hand over Superdelegates to Obama... because it was (ha!) the "right thing to do." THAT is where the screwing occurred.
Hillary's loss in the primary of 2008 reminds me of the one time I have been called to appear on a jury. In San Francisco in '94 or so. A new mailman was bitten by a dog at a home. And he was subsequently suing the people at the home. But, as it turned out, San Fran had a coding system in their headquarters for houses with dogs. A red flag indicated not to go up to the door but just to leave mail outside a gate. On this particular day, headquarters messed up and didn't leave a flag. So the new mailman walked on up to the house... and got bit. Now, I saw this as the post office's fault for failing to flag the address, as they always had, for the new mailman. But what was the guy going to do, sue his employer?
What was Hillary supposed to do in 2008? She'd been screwed but couldn't say anything.
Saturday, November 10, 2018
Letter from San Francisco (1995)
Re-reading 1993's "The Truth the Dead Know, and Don't" (below entry) gave me insight into my self 25 years ago, when I was passionate about a deep loss, passionate about poetry, trying to figure out my mental state with words that I was still good at.
At 53 today, I'm not so passionate about anyone or about poetry. I only partially regret my loss of wanting others, although I fully regret my current lack of good eyesight and good hair. (I keep taking vitamins, and keep hoping that in doing so, all lost faculties will come back.) I'd forgotten how much I missed poetry.
Here's another poem, this one from 1995, written when I was in grad school in San Francisco, missing an older man, my former boss, whom I'd been sleeping with back home in Austin. Not that good as a poem at all, like I think "The Truth" is, but still. I miss feeling like that and being able to write anything, however bad, about it.
Letter from San Francisco
(60 Degrees and Raining on a Football Night in Texas)
What I've lost looks drastic from this end.
More in moments of beer, I admit, but still.
In your absence I've crashed, flashed back to every bad teacher, bad parent
I've ever had. And I'm thirty, thirsty, not dead yet, like every idol: but tired.
(And alone, having voted with my feet, cast things off, as required.)
Here, the uniform comes in all colors.
My South = Slaves. My Germany, Nazis all.
Solo-Nazi, I sleep alone, persecute Jews and everyone
with my absence, watch skin shrivel, warts grow, wrinkles crease
former sex places (eyes especially). Open borders age me, rage
and boredom, heartland bomb-blasts, but no earthquakes to brag of back home.
And it's one, and I'm sleepy but shouldn't sleep yet --- quiet hour precious,
neighborless, breathless, beery. Brand new CDs keep me company,
last 'til three at least, maybe four, maybe
eight more months, count this down, say "'bye"
to this town, all million sloe-eyed stacked heels (and no soul).
What I miss is kissing ---
you, specifically, your mouth, your hands, your
bravado, cowboy in Switzer ways the Sieferts here would mock.
Where you are, it's "60 degrees and raining on a football night in Texas" ---
Your phone-voice so pure. Here, boys don't wear boots, or open doors, nothing lit,
but still ads for bigger dicks in the Sports pages.
At 53 today, I'm not so passionate about anyone or about poetry. I only partially regret my loss of wanting others, although I fully regret my current lack of good eyesight and good hair. (I keep taking vitamins, and keep hoping that in doing so, all lost faculties will come back.) I'd forgotten how much I missed poetry.
Here's another poem, this one from 1995, written when I was in grad school in San Francisco, missing an older man, my former boss, whom I'd been sleeping with back home in Austin. Not that good as a poem at all, like I think "The Truth" is, but still. I miss feeling like that and being able to write anything, however bad, about it.
Letter from San Francisco
(60 Degrees and Raining on a Football Night in Texas)
What I've lost looks drastic from this end.
More in moments of beer, I admit, but still.
In your absence I've crashed, flashed back to every bad teacher, bad parent
I've ever had. And I'm thirty, thirsty, not dead yet, like every idol: but tired.
(And alone, having voted with my feet, cast things off, as required.)
Here, the uniform comes in all colors.
My South = Slaves. My Germany, Nazis all.
Solo-Nazi, I sleep alone, persecute Jews and everyone
with my absence, watch skin shrivel, warts grow, wrinkles crease
former sex places (eyes especially). Open borders age me, rage
and boredom, heartland bomb-blasts, but no earthquakes to brag of back home.
And it's one, and I'm sleepy but shouldn't sleep yet --- quiet hour precious,
neighborless, breathless, beery. Brand new CDs keep me company,
last 'til three at least, maybe four, maybe
eight more months, count this down, say "'bye"
to this town, all million sloe-eyed stacked heels (and no soul).
What I miss is kissing ---
you, specifically, your mouth, your hands, your
bravado, cowboy in Switzer ways the Sieferts here would mock.
Where you are, it's "60 degrees and raining on a football night in Texas" ---
Your phone-voice so pure. Here, boys don't wear boots, or open doors, nothing lit,
but still ads for bigger dicks in the Sports pages.
The Truth the Dead Know, and Don't
Whatever minor charm I have, I often intentionally, stubbornly shut off in the face of any scenario that, in my mind, ASKS for me to turn on charm, even when the situation only requires simple human friendliness.
One scene during my college years that I still feel bad about to this day:
1980s: Late night, after club hours, and my dorm-room party friend had delivered us (me and her) to the home of a Middle Eastern guy (grad student) and his friends. (In the '80s in college, I was around a lot of Middle Eastern grad and doctoral students --- they were all thoughtful and intelligent and polite...and very interested in American girls. I liked talking to them, but I wasn't particularly interested in dating or having sex with them. I was still a closeted lesbian and a virgin. My "dorm-room party friend," though, was constantly sleeping with these innocent guys. Since she was my primary partying companion, she often led me into similar situations.)
We all sat in this young man's backyard in a circle, drinking and talking. Then someone brought a puppy out to play... I don't know why, but... I remember initially thinking, like any normal person would: "That puppy is SO cute! I want to pet it!" But instead, I decided mentally to do a stupid "experiment": "I really like that puppy and think it's cute, but what if I give it no reaction at all --- what if I just give it mental good vibes that I like it but don't make any motion to pet it whatsoever..."
Predictably, the puppy ran happily around the circle, stopping to be petted by all of the normal affectionate people... I sat there like a stone, and when the puppy briefly stopped at me, I only stared at it, WILLING my "good feelings" but not making any physical motion toward it... The puppy stared briefly back at me, then ran on to others who were eager to pet a cute puppy.
A man next to me in the circle said quietly, "He doesn't like you." I had no answer for that. I felt ashamed for how I'd acted, for intentionally removing myself from good feelings for no reason.
Later, in 1993, I wrote a poem about what had happened, addressed to Sylvia Plath, and including an incident with my first girlfriend:
The Truth the Dead Know, and Don't
Sylvia, it's not just the truth, the core
that counts, though you knew it was so, and I know.
It's like the time I sat, part of a circle,
with a puppy in the middle, leaping to greet all who called it.
I sat quiet and still, waiting
for it to come to me, for our minds to meet,
although I made no move, trying to prove
my worth in puppy eyes, which would see inside me,
to where I loved it best. A test. And it did not come,
but jumped and ran to each in the circle, one by one,
but not me. And a friend turned and said sadly:
"He doesn't like you."
Where my haughtiness got me:
alone in lieu of dog's blessing, which I wanted
but could not beg.
Or you, what you said, you and Ted
opening the door together, but them
"stepping across me like a mat, straight into his heart."
I know that hate. I know
your pretty face, and smile, and good thoughts,
and I see the happy hope-bud shyly peek and
seek to bloom --- new friends! --- and just as quickly
sicken at the sight of each grin to him and not you,
each fatuous lapping at the steaming dish of fame
promised by the presence of your hunk of man,
the hunk of words defining him.
And I know, too, the two rainbows she and I
saw that day --- driving, driving on the day
that branches fell and I sat pale with fear
as water swelled the streets and my ears
pounded with sounds of rain washing and
my own blood rushing, clutching her thigh as I
muttered "drive, drive," a dash from death.
We pretended to head to the store instead, guided
by the goodness of the sky we chose to see.
And once home, strangely safe: Our neighbor,
until then only a nod over the fence, now
with her notebook and pen in hand, knowing
my love from her last show...oh, their smiles
glowing and false as the two
shimmering strips outshining the sky.
Maybe truth is the last refuge for the uncharming,
uncharmed, unlike the ones smooth enough
to find their own worth
in the wag of a puppy's tail, another's smile, anything a mirror.
As for me and you, no proof will do ---
Only the one Truth --- hard and cool and grand ---
and it towers past time, banishing rainbows,
ignoring their last stand.
One scene during my college years that I still feel bad about to this day:
1980s: Late night, after club hours, and my dorm-room party friend had delivered us (me and her) to the home of a Middle Eastern guy (grad student) and his friends. (In the '80s in college, I was around a lot of Middle Eastern grad and doctoral students --- they were all thoughtful and intelligent and polite...and very interested in American girls. I liked talking to them, but I wasn't particularly interested in dating or having sex with them. I was still a closeted lesbian and a virgin. My "dorm-room party friend," though, was constantly sleeping with these innocent guys. Since she was my primary partying companion, she often led me into similar situations.)
We all sat in this young man's backyard in a circle, drinking and talking. Then someone brought a puppy out to play... I don't know why, but... I remember initially thinking, like any normal person would: "That puppy is SO cute! I want to pet it!" But instead, I decided mentally to do a stupid "experiment": "I really like that puppy and think it's cute, but what if I give it no reaction at all --- what if I just give it mental good vibes that I like it but don't make any motion to pet it whatsoever..."
Predictably, the puppy ran happily around the circle, stopping to be petted by all of the normal affectionate people... I sat there like a stone, and when the puppy briefly stopped at me, I only stared at it, WILLING my "good feelings" but not making any physical motion toward it... The puppy stared briefly back at me, then ran on to others who were eager to pet a cute puppy.
A man next to me in the circle said quietly, "He doesn't like you." I had no answer for that. I felt ashamed for how I'd acted, for intentionally removing myself from good feelings for no reason.
Later, in 1993, I wrote a poem about what had happened, addressed to Sylvia Plath, and including an incident with my first girlfriend:
The Truth the Dead Know, and Don't
Sylvia, it's not just the truth, the core
that counts, though you knew it was so, and I know.
It's like the time I sat, part of a circle,
with a puppy in the middle, leaping to greet all who called it.
I sat quiet and still, waiting
for it to come to me, for our minds to meet,
although I made no move, trying to prove
my worth in puppy eyes, which would see inside me,
to where I loved it best. A test. And it did not come,
but jumped and ran to each in the circle, one by one,
but not me. And a friend turned and said sadly:
"He doesn't like you."
Where my haughtiness got me:
alone in lieu of dog's blessing, which I wanted
but could not beg.
Or you, what you said, you and Ted
opening the door together, but them
"stepping across me like a mat, straight into his heart."
I know that hate. I know
your pretty face, and smile, and good thoughts,
and I see the happy hope-bud shyly peek and
seek to bloom --- new friends! --- and just as quickly
sicken at the sight of each grin to him and not you,
each fatuous lapping at the steaming dish of fame
promised by the presence of your hunk of man,
the hunk of words defining him.
And I know, too, the two rainbows she and I
saw that day --- driving, driving on the day
that branches fell and I sat pale with fear
as water swelled the streets and my ears
pounded with sounds of rain washing and
my own blood rushing, clutching her thigh as I
muttered "drive, drive," a dash from death.
We pretended to head to the store instead, guided
by the goodness of the sky we chose to see.
And once home, strangely safe: Our neighbor,
until then only a nod over the fence, now
with her notebook and pen in hand, knowing
my love from her last show...oh, their smiles
glowing and false as the two
shimmering strips outshining the sky.
Maybe truth is the last refuge for the uncharming,
uncharmed, unlike the ones smooth enough
to find their own worth
in the wag of a puppy's tail, another's smile, anything a mirror.
As for me and you, no proof will do ---
Only the one Truth --- hard and cool and grand ---
and it towers past time, banishing rainbows,
ignoring their last stand.
Thursday, November 08, 2018
Justice Ginsburg sleeping 2015
Age 81 at Obama's State of the Union address in this 2015 photo. Age 85 today. Should anyone this decrepit have any say whatsoever over our country's policies?
Jim Acosta and Trump
I've been watching Presidential press conferences since I was 4 years old. (I was born in '65; my Democrat mother once told me that when Richard Nixon would come on TV, I would stop playing and sit in front of the TV to watch him.) That said: Jim Acosta is a disrespectful idiot. I've never seen any member of the mainstream press corps act like this. He gets his question, he gets his answer, he gets his follow-up question, and yet... the showboat STILL CANNOT SIT DOWN after his turn. Acosta has been acting like this since 2016, and I think Trump has been VERY patient with his ongoing overt antagonism. Acosta's White House credentials were pulled after his hotdogging in the below clip. And rightly so. CNN should send a more controlled, fair reporter to cover the White House. Acosta has proven that he is incapable of reporting in an unbiased fashion. (I think "unbiased" is still the goal of the press? Is it really?)
Tuesday, November 06, 2018
Bye Bye Beto
Sorry, trust-fund kid, that we all missed out on your NYC "manny," punk band, and drunk-driving skills. (Nice dress, though.)
Friday, November 02, 2018
The Jailer (Sylvia Plath, October 17, 1962)
My night sweats grease his breakfast plate.
The same placard of blue fog is wheeled into position
With the same trees and headstones.
Is that all he can come up with,
The rattler of keys?
I have been drugged and raped.
Seven hours knocked out of my right mind
Into a black sack
Where I relax, foetus or cat,
Lever of his wet dreams.
Something is gone.
My sleeping capsule, my red and blue zeppelin
Drops me from a terrible altitude.
Carapace smashed,
I spread to the beaks of birds.
O little gimlets ---
What holes this papery day is already full of!
He has been burning me with cigarettes,
Pretending I am a negress with pink paws.
I am myself. That is not enough.
The fever trickles and stiffens in my hair.
My ribs show. What have I eaten?
Lies and smiles.
Surely the sky is not that color,
Surely the grass should be rippling.
All day, gluing my church of burnt matchsticks,
I dream of someone else entirely.
And he, for this subversion,
Hurts me, he
With his armor of fakery,
His high cold masks of amnesia.
How did I get here?
Indeterminate criminal,
I die with variety ---
Hung, starved, burned, hooked.
I imagine him
Impotent as distant thunder,
In whose shadow I have eaten my ghost ration.
I wish him dead or away.
That, it seems, is the impossibility.
That being free. What would the dark
Do without fevers to eat?
What would the light
Do without eyes to knife, what would he
Do, do, do without me?
The same placard of blue fog is wheeled into position
With the same trees and headstones.
Is that all he can come up with,
The rattler of keys?
I have been drugged and raped.
Seven hours knocked out of my right mind
Into a black sack
Where I relax, foetus or cat,
Lever of his wet dreams.
Something is gone.
My sleeping capsule, my red and blue zeppelin
Drops me from a terrible altitude.
Carapace smashed,
I spread to the beaks of birds.
O little gimlets ---
What holes this papery day is already full of!
He has been burning me with cigarettes,
Pretending I am a negress with pink paws.
I am myself. That is not enough.
The fever trickles and stiffens in my hair.
My ribs show. What have I eaten?
Lies and smiles.
Surely the sky is not that color,
Surely the grass should be rippling.
All day, gluing my church of burnt matchsticks,
I dream of someone else entirely.
And he, for this subversion,
Hurts me, he
With his armor of fakery,
His high cold masks of amnesia.
How did I get here?
Indeterminate criminal,
I die with variety ---
Hung, starved, burned, hooked.
I imagine him
Impotent as distant thunder,
In whose shadow I have eaten my ghost ration.
I wish him dead or away.
That, it seems, is the impossibility.
That being free. What would the dark
Do without fevers to eat?
What would the light
Do without eyes to knife, what would he
Do, do, do without me?
Mystic (Sylvia Plath, February 1, 1963)
The air is a mill of hooks ---
Questions without answer,
Glittering and drunk as flies
Whose kiss stings unbearably
In the fetid wombs of black air under pines in summer.
I remember
The dead smell of sun on wood cabins,
The stiffness of sails, the long salt winding sheets.
Once one has seen God, what is the remedy?
Once one has been seized up
Without a part left over,
Not a toe, not a finger, and used,
Used utterly, in the sun's conflagrations, the stains
That lengthen from ancient cathedrals
What is the remedy?
The pill of the Communion tablet,
The walking beside still water? Memory?
Or picking up the bright pieces
Of Christ in the faces of rodents,
The tame flower-nibblers, the ones
Whose hopes are so low they are comfortable ---
The humpback in his small, washed cottage
Under the spokes of the clematis.
Is there no great love, only tenderness?
Does the sea
Remember the walker upon it?
Meaning leaks from the molecules.
The chimneys of the city breathe, the window sweats,
The children leap in their cots.
The sun blooms, it is a geranium.
The heart has not stopped.
Questions without answer,
Glittering and drunk as flies
Whose kiss stings unbearably
In the fetid wombs of black air under pines in summer.
I remember
The dead smell of sun on wood cabins,
The stiffness of sails, the long salt winding sheets.
Once one has seen God, what is the remedy?
Once one has been seized up
Without a part left over,
Not a toe, not a finger, and used,
Used utterly, in the sun's conflagrations, the stains
That lengthen from ancient cathedrals
What is the remedy?
The pill of the Communion tablet,
The walking beside still water? Memory?
Or picking up the bright pieces
Of Christ in the faces of rodents,
The tame flower-nibblers, the ones
Whose hopes are so low they are comfortable ---
The humpback in his small, washed cottage
Under the spokes of the clematis.
Is there no great love, only tenderness?
Does the sea
Remember the walker upon it?
Meaning leaks from the molecules.
The chimneys of the city breathe, the window sweats,
The children leap in their cots.
The sun blooms, it is a geranium.
The heart has not stopped.
Totem (Sylvia Plath, January 28, 1963)
...Shall the hood of the cobra appall me ---
The loneliness of its eye, the eye of the mountains
Through which the sky eternally threads itself?
The world is blood-hot and personal
Dawn says, with its blood-flush.
There is no terminus, only suitcases
Out of which the same self unfolds like a suit
Bald and shiny, with pockets of wishes,
Notions and tickets, short circuits and folding mirrors.
I am mad, calls the spider, waving its many arms.
And in truth it is terrible,
Multiplied in the eyes of the flies.
They buzz like blue children
In nets of the infinite,
Roped in at the end by the one
Death with its many sticks.
The loneliness of its eye, the eye of the mountains
Through which the sky eternally threads itself?
The world is blood-hot and personal
Dawn says, with its blood-flush.
There is no terminus, only suitcases
Out of which the same self unfolds like a suit
Bald and shiny, with pockets of wishes,
Notions and tickets, short circuits and folding mirrors.
I am mad, calls the spider, waving its many arms.
And in truth it is terrible,
Multiplied in the eyes of the flies.
They buzz like blue children
In nets of the infinite,
Roped in at the end by the one
Death with its many sticks.
Burning the Letters (Sylvia Plath, August 13, 1962)
...Warm rain greases my hair, extinguishes nothing.
My veins glow like trees.
The dogs are tearing a fox. This is what it is like ---
A red burst and a cry
That splits from its ripped bag and does not stop
With the dead eye
And the stuffed expression, but goes on
Dyeing the air,
Telling the particles of the clouds, the leaves, the water
What immortality is. That it is immortal.
My veins glow like trees.
The dogs are tearing a fox. This is what it is like ---
A red burst and a cry
That splits from its ripped bag and does not stop
With the dead eye
And the stuffed expression, but goes on
Dyeing the air,
Telling the particles of the clouds, the leaves, the water
What immortality is. That it is immortal.
Years (Sylvia Plath, November 16, 1962)
They enter as animals from the outer
Space of holly where spikes
Are not the thoughts I turn on, like a Yogi,
But greenness, darkness so pure
They freeze and are.
O God, I am not like you
In your vacuous black,
Stars stuck all over, bright stupid confetti.
Eternity bored me,
I never wanted it.
What I love is
The piston in motion ---
My soul dies before it.
And the hooves of the horses,
Their merciless churn.
And you, great Stasis ---
What is so great in that!
Is it a tiger this year, this roar at the door?
Is it a Christus,
The awful
God-bit in him
Dying to fly and be done with it?
The blood berries are themselves. They are very still.
The hooves will not have it,
In blue distance the pistons hiss.
Tuesday, October 30, 2018
My inner voice has told me two things:
(1) At age 12 or so, re my parents: "They're not on your side." (A very clear voice that popped up in my head after a minor conflict when I was 12---at 12, who was I to know whether or not this was true, or whether I was just a kid feeling momentarily angry... but "the message" later helped me to understand why they were so constantly nasty to me. When you're a kid, you don't know why. Today, at 53, looking back at everything, I've discovered that the message was true.)
(2) Not so much a voice, but a gut reaction with physical goosebumps: Sandra loves me. (This one is rather ridiculous on the surface, based on the majority of her behavior. But, hey, who am I to argue with goosebumps...)
(3) Oh, yeah... Since 1987, Joan Crawford has never let me down. Three things.
(2) Not so much a voice, but a gut reaction with physical goosebumps: Sandra loves me. (This one is rather ridiculous on the surface, based on the majority of her behavior. But, hey, who am I to argue with goosebumps...)
(3) Oh, yeah... Since 1987, Joan Crawford has never let me down. Three things.
Monday, October 29, 2018
Sunday, October 28, 2018
The Penny Family Update
OK, I've explained here before:
I started out feeding one stray cat back in July. I named him "Penny."
Shortly after, I spotted THREE cats lying around my patio.
And then after that, a total of FOUR cats were showing up:
Papa Penny (white with tiger-striped face and tail, ear partially sliced off; big, solid cat with flies buzzing around him; he likes to show up in the morning, when I've never put food out; he also shows up in the rain; not so afraid of people; he's either very old or retarded, because he never can focus on me when I open my back door to feed him).
Penny and Henny Penny (apparently siblings; Penny has a longer, smoother tail and Henny Penny has a short, bushier tail and a scar on his nose; both are afraid of people/me).
L'il Penny (smooth, young-looking cat, calm like Papa Penny --- these two will sit in front of my sliding-glass door and look at me, then not go very far when I come out with food. Whereas Penny and Henny Penny RUN when they see me).
I've never seen any of them fight over the food. Though the four of them all seem to know that the food will be put out around 6pm.
Tonight was interesting: Papa Penny showed up first, and helped himself to the dish of food. While he was doing so, Penny and Henny Penny showed up... but didn't initially approach my small yard. They both sat at a distance. Finally Papa Penny quit eating...there was still food left in the dish, but he parked himself a foot away and just sat there. Penny and Henny both sat at a distance outside my yard. Finally, Henny jumped over the low fence and sat in the yard, but didn't approach the food. While Papa was sitting there (well-fed), and Henny was sitting there (hungry), Penny snuck around the edges and started eating the left-overs from the food dish. Papa didn't do anything aggressive, just kept sitting there.
Finally, Papa moved on. And Penny and Henny Penny were both now sitting across from my yard staring at the food dish... Normally, I just put out a certain amount of food, and whoever gets it, gets it. But since I'd witnessed all of earlier drama, I felt bad and went back outside and poured more food... Specifically for Penny and Henny Penny.
But then Papa Penny showed up again and chased the others off and started eating again!
I started out feeding one stray cat back in July. I named him "Penny."
Shortly after, I spotted THREE cats lying around my patio.
And then after that, a total of FOUR cats were showing up:
Papa Penny (white with tiger-striped face and tail, ear partially sliced off; big, solid cat with flies buzzing around him; he likes to show up in the morning, when I've never put food out; he also shows up in the rain; not so afraid of people; he's either very old or retarded, because he never can focus on me when I open my back door to feed him).
Penny and Henny Penny (apparently siblings; Penny has a longer, smoother tail and Henny Penny has a short, bushier tail and a scar on his nose; both are afraid of people/me).
L'il Penny (smooth, young-looking cat, calm like Papa Penny --- these two will sit in front of my sliding-glass door and look at me, then not go very far when I come out with food. Whereas Penny and Henny Penny RUN when they see me).
I've never seen any of them fight over the food. Though the four of them all seem to know that the food will be put out around 6pm.
Tonight was interesting: Papa Penny showed up first, and helped himself to the dish of food. While he was doing so, Penny and Henny Penny showed up... but didn't initially approach my small yard. They both sat at a distance. Finally Papa Penny quit eating...there was still food left in the dish, but he parked himself a foot away and just sat there. Penny and Henny both sat at a distance outside my yard. Finally, Henny jumped over the low fence and sat in the yard, but didn't approach the food. While Papa was sitting there (well-fed), and Henny was sitting there (hungry), Penny snuck around the edges and started eating the left-overs from the food dish. Papa didn't do anything aggressive, just kept sitting there.
Finally, Papa moved on. And Penny and Henny Penny were both now sitting across from my yard staring at the food dish... Normally, I just put out a certain amount of food, and whoever gets it, gets it. But since I'd witnessed all of earlier drama, I felt bad and went back outside and poured more food... Specifically for Penny and Henny Penny.
But then Papa Penny showed up again and chased the others off and started eating again!
What does it all mean??
(1) I really like how Skechers and (2nd from left) Sloggers look aesthetically.
(2) I'm planning on working out a lot more.
(3) I have too much spare cash on-hand for random stuff.
(4) I'm stockpiling the shoes I'll be wearing in my old age.
(1) The black ones look stupid here in the photo, but I actually do like how Skechers look. RE the Sloggers: I have a greenish pair and a solid black pair. It's been raining in Austin for 2 solid months. I got sick of wearing the same 2 pairs of rain shoes all the time.
(2) Walking a mile a day. Yes, I would like to do this. (From NYC in 2007 until I got my car in Austin in 2016, I walked over 2 miles a day. Since 2016 and the car, I've put on 15 lbs. I look like shit.)
(3) Yeah. They were all on sale, but I could have just bought two instead of four.
(4) They are all super-comfortable. Yes, since they won't be getting much wear from me "working out," I'm sure they'll all last for decades and come in quite handy in my old age.
Saturday, October 27, 2018
February 11, 1963
Sylvia Plath killed herself in London in the early morning hours of February 11, 1963. A few miles away, and only a few hours later, the Beatles entered Abbey Road studios to record their very first album. Life goes on.
Friday, October 26, 2018
Happy Birthday to Sylvia Plath (October 27, 1932)
Poppies in October (written 10/27/62)
Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts.
Nor the woman in the ambulance
Whose red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly ---
A gift, a love gift
Utterly unasked for
By a sky
Palely and flamily
Igniting its carbon monoxides, by eyes
Dulled to a halt under bowlers.
O my God, what am I
That these late mouths should cry open
In a forest of frost, in a dawn of cornflowers.
Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts.
Nor the woman in the ambulance
Whose red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly ---
A gift, a love gift
Utterly unasked for
By a sky
Palely and flamily
Igniting its carbon monoxides, by eyes
Dulled to a halt under bowlers.
O my God, what am I
That these late mouths should cry open
In a forest of frost, in a dawn of cornflowers.
Austin Water Mild Drama
Haven't been able to drink tap water in Austin for the past week because of rains and flooding and subsequent "silt alert." (Tap-water ban for the first time in Austin's history.) It's annoying but not crazy. Oh, unless you're one of the folks desperate to get to the supermarket to buy bottled water (see video).
I've been dutifully boiling two pots of water each day after returning from work, then filling up my several water bottles and refrigerating them to use the next day. I think I'll be OK. (Shocker: I accidentally used said bad water when I brushed my teeth, and then later drank a few swallows --- I lived!)
The worst part has been: One of the 3 pots that I own and that I use to boil water in, I also always use to make popcorn. Apparently, the oil has soaked into the pot lining. And my subsequent boiled water has a mildly nasty oil aftertaste. Sigh. I mildly miss my tap water.
Thursday, October 25, 2018
Blackface/Womanface
Ru
Paul is not a woman. He likes to represent sometimes as a woman, but
he has not undergone transgender surgery. Yet he constantly represents
himself as a woman. Is The Orwellian Left now going to vilify him for
falsely presenting himself as a woman? (As they vilify someone like
Megyn Kelly for "daring" to say that dressing as a black person -- Diana
Ross -- for Halloween is acceptable.)
Why not vilify Ru Paul according the The Left's Puritanical standards? According to The Left, no one should ever dare to pose as someone other than themselves.
Why not vilify Ru Paul according the The Left's Puritanical standards? According to The Left, no one should ever dare to pose as someone other than themselves.
Do
you see how ridiculous The Left is?
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