New Year's Eve Day

I'd been sitting around the house doing nothing but watching TV for several days, and hadn't showered or changed out of sweats the whole time. (I'll just go ahead and blame it on the Cowboys. Oh, and my months-long unemployment.)

Today, New Year's Eve Day, though, I sprung off the couch at 10am, ready to get out there and do chores like buy fresh groceries (and beer, for earlier in the evening; already had the bottle of champagne ready for midnight and after), etc.

One problem, though. Turned out a boiler had gone out overnight and now half of my apartment complex was without hot water (back on sometime today, said the e-mail from the apartment office, but time unknown)... It wasn't like I had showered and washed my hair just the day before and could get away with going out in public: It had been 3 DAYS since I'd washed my hair! I HAD to get in that shower! I debated just hanging out all day at home, checking on the water every hour (more like every 10 minutes, getting angrier and angrier), but I REALLY had stuff I wanted to get done. Plus I halfway wanted to punish myself a little bit for allowing myself to get so decrepit!

I tried to mitigate how awful I knew it was going to be by sponge-bathing a few body parts first (the goal in the shower itself was just going to be the hair---get in/get out). Unpleasant. I then remembered from the olden days that sometimes women would just wash their hair over the sink. I suppose I could have heated some pots of water. But I only have 3 pots--small, medium, and large--which weren't going to be enough for all the rinsing. GEEZ. JUST GET IT OVER WITH.

I closed the outside of the two bathroom doors so I wouldn't scare the cats with all of my hollering. And there was HOLLERING! I have taken some luke-warm showers in winter before, if the hot water was simply running out, but nothing this icy! While I was yelping, I thought of Jack Nicholson jumping in the pool in "Terms of Endearment"; I thought of "Little House on the Prairie" and other pioneers with their Saturday-nights-only baths (although those were with HEATED water); I thought of those miserable-looking snow monkeys in water (but it was HEATED water despite the outside cold); I thought of all of the poor people in the world who might only have icy rivers to bathe in; I thought of those "Polar Bear Club" nuts in Finland or Russia or wherever who jump in icy waters for fun/stimulation; I thought of recommendations of cold showers for both horniness and drunkenness...

Gawd. I am STILL cold! And it wasn't stimulating! Afterwards, my ear hurt, I was dizzy, and my heart was beating fast enough that I also imagined the guilt my apartment manager would feel if several middle-aged or elderly residents died of heart attacks after their showers! (Ha! Probably no guilt at all!)

Anyway, as I said earlier: That's what I get for lying around and not showering for 3 days straight!  :)

Rest of the day: Paid every single bill I owe (January rent/phone/utilities/etc). Mailed an eBay George Jones sticker that I'd sold. Got my groceries/beer/fresh carton o' cigs. Got my to-go order of salsa/chips from my favorite Tex-Mex restaurant. Found a nearby drop-off box for a big bag of unwanted clothes/shoes. Washed all the cat dishes and cleaned the litter boxes. Took out all of my trash and recycling. Added new air filters to my two fresh-air devices (which had previously just been sitting there). Banged out the dirt from my bathroom rugs and hung them over my fence for fresh air. And, as of this moment, have cleaned about half of my bathroom (only the tub and mat so far...as the evening goes on, I'll get to the toilet and floor...).

Happy New Year to Me!

George Jones: Ain't Love a Lot Like That (1999)

Well, a twister tore the roof off a grocery store
Blew an Idaho potato through the hardwood floor
Twirled granny's apron up around her head
The cat's gone missin' and the dog is dead.

Well, ain't love a lot like that
Ain't love a lot like that
Unconditional, unpredictable
Ain't love a lot like that

Just like Moses and the Red Sea water
A little bit of faith and the ring I bought her
I hit my knees and she took my hand
And she led my heart to the promised land.

Ain't love a lot like that
Ain't love a lot like that
Unconditional, unpredictable
Ain't love a lot like that

Well, the honeymoon's over and the work begins
My baby says I'm gettin' on her nerves again
One false move and an angry shout
I'm sleepin' all alone on the fold-out couch.

Ain't love a lot like that
Ain't love a lot like that
Unconditional, unpredictable
Ain't love a lot like that

George Jones: Sinners & Saints (1999)

Warren for President

A neighbor in my apartment complex just posted a "Warren for President" card in her window. Good for her. But... if I proudly posted a "Trump for President" card in my own window, the window would soon be smashed. Which side is the fascist?

Reaching out...

A couple of days ago, I mailed two people in an attempt to keep in touch. To keep from isolating (which is supposed to be bad). No response.

Reminded of something I read 20 years ago in a book about gays and suicide: One thing that I always remembered: A young man was quoted within: "If only one person smiles at me today, I won't kill myself." (No one did; he killed himself.) This kid's plaintive wish reminded me of when I first came to college at UT in 1983: Being from a small town, I was all smiles for everyone who passed my way. Not reciprocated. I felt low-level awful for a very long time because of this. Until I realized that this was the norm and learned to deal with it.

I was only a kid then. As an adult, things are pretty much exactly the same. Except now, when I pass people on the sidewalk/street, I do still smile/nod --- in remembrance of my teenaged self and my small-town self---politeness and friendliness still a "thing."

As for "killing oneself": I wouldn't give anyone the satisfaction. My advice to more sensitive people: Don't EVER base your life on someone else's random smile.

As for those do-gooders who espouse suicide prevention: It's all an individual thing. 95% of people don't actually give a shit but pretend to. If the depressed person you know doesn't kill themselves, it's most likely because of something within themselves; you were no help at all.

Fixing A Hole: Paul McCartney (1967)

Marry: Paul McCartney.

George Jones: Walk Through This World With Me (1967)

George Jones: Things Have Gone To Pieces

Marry/shag/kill: I'd definitely kill Keith Urban and Vince Gill 'cause their music is so terrible. I'd "shag" George Jones in a heartbeat (those eyes, that voice!). (And WANT to marry him, but it, of course, wouldn't work out.)

George Jones: Choices (1999)

At what point...

...do you give up on Life?

When I was temp-proofing on the midnight shift at Morgan-Stanley in NYC back in 2009/10, there was a full-time proofer who worked there, a middle-aged lady like I am now. I only worked with her occasionally, but one night I tried to strike up a conversation, something innocuous like how long she'd worked there... She grunted and turned her back to me. She literally could not have a conversation.

She got fired a couple of weeks later, don't know why.

What if I, via isolation, turn into that? (I once could not figure out why in the world anyone would have multiple cats... I also, as a young woman, could not figure out why some office women had "bad hair" or why they stayed at jobs they hated.)

Kind of like Santa, except dirty and worse...

Nowhere for Christmas

Only semi-surprisingly, I'm not THAT sad about being alone for Christmas. I haven't spoken to my mother since August 2017 (will issues that triggered longtime childhood issues), and so haven't spent Christmases of 2017, 2018, and now 2019 with my mother/brother and his family.

I do miss a nice-smelling, clean, decorated house with good food for Christmas. My mother has always kept a good home, and I always had a nice Christmas growing up. That part I miss. However, I don't miss being around people who don't give a damn if I'm there or not. I don't miss my mother blatantly going around shooting pictures of everyone BUT me. I don't miss my mother and brother getting me gift certificates or sweatshirts when I've gone out of my way to buy thoughtful presents. (Home from NYC, for instance, I gave my mom a $300 silver bracelet from Tiffany's; got a sweatshirt. A couple of years ago in Austin, I gave my mom a framed collection of postcards from various decades from her hometown in Germany; she looked at them and said--in front of other guests--"I already have these.")

I guess my dream is to have somewhere to go on Christmas that is nice-smelling, clean, decorated, with good food... but with people who want to be around me and care about me. Not this year, but maybe one year before I die.

Sassy Cinco

New stray baby Cinco invited inside for the first time (after weeks of peering in back and front windows) on December 20 has been hissed at by Mama and Pete, but has also made him/herself at home in some ways up until tonight: lying on the couch (when I'm not there; I still am not allowed to pet), batting balls around, eating at the same time as others. No other cat will yet lie with him/her and groom, but, aside from the occasional hissing, the others have not been too mean. (Letting Cinco eat right next to them has been a great sign.)

While writing on the computer a few minutes ago, I looked up to see Cinco perched right next to the semi-sleeping Mama Hennessy at the top of the couch cushions! I KNOW Hennessy knows this newby is right there...and she let Cinco stay without fussing! What a great Christmas spirit! :)

Cinco and Mama Hennessy.

Immortality

I've been reading "The Beatles in Dream and History" (2003) by Devin McKinney. At the end, McKinney quotes Milan Kundera in an attempt to define immortality: "And the thought went through his mind that beauty is a spark which flares up when two ages meet across the distance of time, that beauty is a clean sweep of chronology, a rebellion against time."

There IS such a thing as "immortality"!

Cinco

I live in an apartment complex that has a plethora of stray cats. That's how I got Hennessy and her kittens back in April.

After I adopted Hennessy and babies in April, a few other regular cats kept showing up at the back door. One was Papa Penny, the old scarred-up cat that I'd been feeding since I began feeding Hennessy (he's now since disappeared). One semi-regular, obviously pregnant mama (Hennessy's sister) has also disappeared, but a little one of hers kept showing up again and again. Peering in the back screen door. Peering in the front window ledge. For the past couple of months I'd invited her in, but she was too scared. Today, it was particularly cold and rainy and when I opened the back door, she finally came in. (p.s. I'm famously bad at sexing kittens. I got the sex of Hennessy, Pete, Sasha, AND Solomon ALL WRONG! Initially thought Hennessy was a sassy boy; Pete, a pretty little posing kitty that I named "Lily"; Sasha, a bold/smart/first kitten to use the litter box that I named "Georgie"; Solomon, I thought an oddball little boy. So who the hell knows yet what "Cinco" is! I'll call it "she" for now!)

Cinco still won't (after 3 hours) let ME pet her, but... For the past 3 hours, she's been batting balls around, eating/drinking, lying on my bed, lying on my couch, play-fighting with the other cats. Mama and Pete hissed a couple of times, but not seriously. For someone who's been living outdoors all her short life, she fit exactly in. All of the cats had, for weeks, seen her at the back door and front window and sat by her and interacted. She's now sleeping on the couch. Mama is at the top of the couch. Sasha is by the window. Pete is at my feet. And Solomon is on my lap.

This Niece o' Hennessy looks exactly like Hennessy: Same mark on nose, same fur coloring and short tail.

Five cats is technically insane. And I'm now officially a weird old lesbian Cat Lady. In the past, I judged and mocked how that could ever happen. Oh!

Cinco and Mama Hennessy.

Cinco.

2020 Calendars

Back in late 2013, I first bought two calendars: One for my home (New York City), one for the office (Old Hollywood) that I didn't yet have. Since I got a job in early 2014, I've always bought the same two calendars (from Brown Trout).

This fall, after I'd quit my job in October, I ordered the same two calendars. Seemingly prophetically, they were lost in the mail (USPS fucked up).

Luckily, calendars.com was nice and re-sent. Got them last week. Phew.

Santa Claus Is Back In Town - Elvis Presley (1957)

I've been temping for the past couple of weeks, and today the supervisor played Christmas music all day via Pandora or something. (He asked us what we'd like to hear, and I said '40s/'50s/'60s/'70s/'80s----anything but Mariah Carey.) When this Elvis song came on, I had to blurt out happily: "The dirtiest Christmas song ever!"

"What? What do you mean?!"

Me, doing my best Elvis growl: "You've been a real good little baby, Santa Claus is back in town!"

Everybody laughed! :)  (I've been alone for so long, I forgot that I was once occasionally considered funny.)

And don't forget the "Santa Claus is comin' down your chimney tonight" line!

p.s. Mariah's "All I Want for Christmas" tried to come on twice on the feed, but the boss twice cut it off in my honor. After the second time, I said: "If it shows up a third time, it was meant to be..." It DID show up a third time... I bowed to Mariah's mighty Christmas spirit.

John Lennon: Real Love

Happy?

I was supposed to have been devastated by quitting my cushy state job back in late September.

$51.6K a year. 13 vacation hours accumulated each month. Health-care. Retirement plan.

I've been working for $15 per hour at a temp job for the past couple of weeks. No parking on campus so have to get up earlier to catch the bus, etc. Only 25 hours per week, so not going to fill my coffers for very long while I look for a REAL job. But...

I'm not unhappy doing this temp work. And I'd been very unhappy since about 2017 at my old "real" job. Not with the pay or benefits, but with the utter incompetence of my boss and a couple of my co-workers whom I had to work with while trying to put out a book.

Had I not quit in September, I'd still have the above incompetent people to work with. AND the fact that my boss had just denied my request for a raise---she started me at $46.6K in 2014 (at that time, I had 15 years of editing experience). She started the new guy at $49.9 in 2019 (he had under a year of editing experience). I'd have been perpetually disgruntled.

It's COMPLETELY a good thing that I left. Otherwise I'd have ended up like some of the people (women) there: Trapped and constantly complaining about the boss, having been there for 25-30 years and unable to escape --- just able to constantly complain until their retirement. UGH. Not me. I'm not a fucking slave just yet. A couple of years left before I'm trapped.

George Jones: The King Is Gone (and so are you)

George Jones remembers Conway Twitty

Haircut Conversation

I have a job interview next week, so I needed to look nice, but the conversation with my hairdresser involved how I was getting a haircut for Christmas photos with the family.

Of course, I didn't want to say anything about how I'm not seeing anybody from my family. But I did have some Christmas conversation at hand: Where am I going for Christmas? Oh, my mom and brother are here in town, so I don't have to travel. (My hairdresser's family is in Missouri, but she's staying here, BTW.)

Congratulations, Boris Johnson!

https://www.bbc.com/news/election-2019-50776671
https://www.bbc.com/news/election/2019/results


I forgot to say "congrats" earlier this week to Boris Johnson for his decisive UK victory. His struggle for Brexit and UK sovereignty mirrors Trump's simultaneous fight for US sovereignty.

Temping for Trump

I have a brief (5-week) temp job at UT through mid-January. Six strangers sifting through professor evaluations. We were instructed not to talk, but Thursday, the two bosses were out of the room, and one person (large 50-something gay woman who's been late to work every single day) started going on about how crappy both this job and her life were and how she was going to move to Finland---where they'd apparently just elected an all-woman government. She, a young punk chick, and a black woman all then started going on about how awful America was, how the middle class had disappeared, etc.

I first dove in with: "Up until October, when I quit my job, I was making $50K yearly and I have a 1200-sq-ft apartment, which is quite enough for one person. I consider myself very much middle class. You guys seriously don't think you're middle class?"

I then asked (only semi-innocuously, because I kind of knew what I was about to set off; the big woman had been making anti-government comments all week): "So an all-female government is going to make your life great?"

Her: "Unlike this country, which refuses to elect any woman."

Me: "Well, maybe if there were a decent female candidate." [Uh-oh, here we go...]

20-something punk chick: "Well, we HAD one, except for that ****er Trump."

Black 50-something woman: "Oh, Trump is ridiculous."

Me [to punk chick]: "I voted for that ****er Trump. I'm sick of people bad-mouthing him, and me. I'm not a Deplorable. I'm not a racist. And Hillary really was a bad candidate."

Punk chick: "Yeah, she was a bad candidate."

Big gay woman: "How could you vote for that idiot?"

Me: [I really did make this salient point at this time] "Trump and Sanders were the only two candidates talking about stopping the outsourcing of American jobs. And I thought to myself: Who's the better candidate to do something about it? Trump. And Trump knew a lot more than Sanders about the economy."

Big gay woman: "He had a TV show! What does he know about the economy?"

Me: "He was in real estate and construction for decades! He actually functioned in the economy, unlike Sanders, who's done nothing with his life other than have a government job."

ETC. ETC. The bosses came back in, and we all shut up, as required.

Ozzy Osbourne sings John Lennon's "How?" in 2010

I don't know what to say. One mean thing: This might have been John himself in 2010.

What music should we listen to?

The six of us temps gathered together for six weeks to do a mundane chore were offered some music yesterday. The person in charge put on some very mild, ennervating, generic classical music. Today, he asked if we had liked it... I said I did not: It put me to sleep. Did he have anything a bit more energetic, like Vivaldi or something? He asked if a Baroque channel was OK; I said sure!

We listened to Baroque for a couple of hours. Then the girl next to me whispered to him: "Can we hear something with voices?" He put on some Choral and asked if it was OK: Me and one other guy: "Please, no!" Then a couple of other people asked for "contemporary with voices." (Apparently the lack of voices had been getting to some people!) The first "contemporary" song that came on, I didn't recognize as Pink, it was so generic (I guess it was latter-day Pink). With this song, the boss asked: "Is this OK?" I blurted out, "This is putting me to sleep more than yesterday's music!" Another woman then said, "I LIKED what was on yesterday---it was peaceful and relaxing!" And the group's big bull dyke (who, BTW, has come in late every day) then said, "Pink is a genius vocalist. This song is beautiful." (Me: I wanted to say, "Then let's hear the REAL genius Pink: "Get the Party Started" --- but I didn't.) And then a smart-ass guy said, re me: "She wants to hear death metal!" Har-har.

We ended up listening to the soft-rock vocals for an hour, then silence for the last half-hour.

God, glad we weren't on a jury together!

I ended the day thinking, "Geez, I'm being obnoxious and opinionated again!" What's been drilled into my head for the past billion years. I'm bored with that shit, but still influenced by it.

In the case of this particular job, we were all told at the beginning not to talk amongst ourselves because we might make mistakes in our work. If the goal is to focus on our task, then I think that generic soft-rock songs with lyrics are as bad as talking amongst ourselves! I don't want to be thinking about Pink (early vs. late), or about how many times I've heard "Every Breath You Take," and did I put it on a mix tape in the late '80s... And I wouldn't have said anything... but I was ASKED!! :)

Not supposed to buy extra stuff while I'm unemployed...

Just the bills, ma'am. 

I've actually been GREAT since October. Until now, the only extras that I've bought were four pairs of $20 sweatpants from Target. But I keep seeing those "4-name shirts" on TV shows like "Impractical Jokers," and I had a perfect 4-name combo that I thought was a little bit cool. Here's the Christmas gift to myself that I just bought:




p.s. No, I didn't choose black text on a black background. Blogger is screwing up again.

My Dream Work Hours

Nine to noon; hour break for lunch; one to three.

Ah, could I only make $50K per year doing this! But nah---just a temp job for a month over Christmas, at $15 per hour.

What's good about the gig, though:
(1) Gets me up off my lazy ass. (Left to myself, I'd be up 'til 7am and sleep 'til 3pm---not healthy.)
(2) Gets me away from my apartment, away from the loud maintenance guys who constantly hang out in the maintenance room next door---ALL DAY LONG. (I've complained 4 times to management about the constant "hanging out." Nothing's done.)
(3) I kind of like a little bit of "taking the bus and being out on the street." And watching things. At my former job, I'd drive 2 miles to work, walk 10 feet to the building, etc. I was brain-dead and depressed.
(4) I like walking around campus for the lunch hour, knowing there are only two hours left in my work day.
(5) It'll end in January, right before the thrill is gone. I may be temporarily re-enamoured with taking the bus and walking around, but I also know how annoying this can get.

Main thing, working five hours per day won't pay the bills after February! I can goof around for the time being, but pretty soon, gotta get serious! :)  This, at least, is better than me lying on the couch all day. It's definitely something healthy to do.

Sidenote re a job interview I had last week: I sent in the requested writing sample, got called in for a second interview. The job has barely any benefits, and the commute is horrible (over an hour each way). Pays in the 50s, though. Not yet ready to grasp at anything, though. Commuting an hour each way is NUTS. Living only 11 miles away, I can't agree to that commute on principle.

Paul McCartney: Back Seat of My Car (1971)

Paul's 1971 "Ram" is a better album than John's 1971 "Imagine." I've listened to each at least 100 times since I first heard them in the '80s. John is the political poster-boy because of "Imagine" and "Gimme Some Truth." But Paul's album flows and rocks. John's just sits there. And YOU sit there, listening because you're trying to show respect to John (or because you're a 15-year-old kid trying to achieve gravitas via what's been hammered into your head is an "important" album).

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Imagine_(John_Lennon_album)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ram_(album)

Melting in March (Part 1)

In the winter things congeal and drops that started apart
(but weren't always real) freeze together briefly, order
winter's waste, prove creation possible out of once
dead gray. (The world shimmers and winks, lit by pale thighs,
the glow of stars atop tinselled trees. No resistance to this, or
if there is: "It's Christmas...")

It's the melt of this that takes you away, the last mush of
Valentine's Day, squish of my fists, velvet hearts soon to
crack in the long dry stretch. Such months need no holiday, fade
to sameness under scorch of sun, dumb leisure for the one who
wanted less.

No Glitter

...and she loved her street in passing
her neon name
the sweet fame-glint of the glistening walk
she was careful where she stepped
the puddles were hers, too
the diamond sax
for her pleasure
all wind and grit and
dream for hire

loose, the girl without her shoes
had graced the night, had
made her peace

and she smoothed her well-worn list
kissing the names for warmth
watching them wash in cool dissolve
rearranging to a clue
that would soon mean nothing
nothing she would ever need to know

cold and wet, the streets may starve
no glitter---though her face glows

How to Light a Cigarette

Do I look into your eyes, or
at the glitter in your hand, the
little metal flash of tinder, sparks,
the light on eye's demand, the
needy suck that waits for kindling, or
the flame that sets it off, the hand
that trembles, matches shaking, palm-
sweat-wet, or lost in cough and

Does a future lie in learning how
I like this to be done, and how I
choose to do it, also, dewy eyes
or all in fun, just like some pseudo-
movie-cool-thing---I am boy and
you are girl, we've got the moon why
ask for stars---each pin-prick piercing
light-starved worlds.

Across the Universe: The Beatles

Two Of Us/Suzy Parker: The Beatles

"One After 909" + The Cavern. Liverpool, 1962

1961: Tony Sheridan and the Beatles: My Bonnie

(Just Like) Starting Over: August 1980 take

Stand By Me: John Lennon

"Me thinks thou dost protest too much." If you're truly in love with somebody, must you proclaim and proclaim and proclaim about it? Could this all be mere surface: "Oh, I've found my grand artistic love! Just like Stu and Astrid!" I loved Lennon as a teen, and I tried to buy it, but I never bought it. Lennon and Ono are no Stu and Astrid.

Impeachment: Pamela Karlan

Stereotypical obnoxious Jewish intellectual female. A donor to the Hillary Clinton campaign in 2016, yet claiming to be unbiased. (As an intellectual female, I'm embarrassed for her.)

Impeachment: Noah Feldman

I was home today and watched this. The Democrats brought out the most stereotypically "diverse" witnesses possible, spouting the most nonsensical arguments. 

Here's the stereotypical gay guy (though, according to Wikipedia, he's been married.) Six weeks after Trump's election in 2016, Feldman was posting on Twitter about impeaching Trump. Yet in 2019, he's supposed to be a reputable, nonbiased legal scholar.

Eye of the Beholder

I've been reading Lennon bios for the past week; in all of them, Yoko's second husband, Tony Cox, is described by everyone (authors, outside observers, as well as Yoko herself) as being "EXTREMELY good looking." I don't AT ALL see it (Cox is at left in below photo).

Reminds me of reading, during college, various accounts by contemporaries of Virginia Woolf, and later professors teaching her work---how allegedly EXTREMELY beautiful she was. I don't AT ALL see it.

Both, to me, look extremely lackluster and nebbishy. If I were to write about them for history, I would politely not even mention their looks because they're so plain. How in the world did they get elevated into "extremely good looking"?

"I look like fucking Stevie Nicks!!!!"

Travel Time

Had a job interview yesterday. Went pretty well (I talked with the interviewer for an hour-and-a-half). Got out of the interview at 4:30pm. Didn't get home until 5:30.

The interview was 11 miles away from my apartment. It took me a whole hour to drive 11 miles home (what I went through is EXACTLY like the photo, on Austin's MoPac).

Until now, I've only been READING about the terrible traffic in Austin. Thought people were just bitchin'. (For the past 5+ years, I've lived only 2 miles from my workplace. On a good day, took me 6 minutes to get there or back; on the slowest of days, 15 minutes.)

Turns out, they weren't "just bitchin'."

I don't think I could do this twice a day. I don't want to seem like a "snowflake," but, seriously, I would go mad.

MoPac traffic, Austin

Fleetwood Mac: Gypsy (from 1982's "Mirage")

As an extremely callow young woman in the '80s, I used to make fun of Stevie Nicks as some sort of hippie holdover (my horror similar to the scene in "Sid and Nancy" [1986] when the punk Nancy runs down the street screaming in despair, "I look like Stevie Nicks!"). 

As I just now discovered, though, at a late age: This Stevie Nicks song is beautiful and profound. I got goosebumps, I thought about my entire life. (And what did Nancy Spungen ever do for me...)

So I'm back, to the velvet underground
Back to the floor, that I love
To a room with some lace and paper flowers
Back to the gypsy that I was
To the gypsy... that I was

And it all comes down to you
Well, you know that it does
Well, lightning strikes, maybe once, maybe twice
Ah, and it lights up the night
And you see your gypsy
You see your gypsy

To the gypsy that remains
Faces freedom with a little fear
I have no fear, I have only love
And if I was a child
And the child was enough
Enough for me to love
Enough to love

She is dancing away from me now
She was just a wish
She was just a wish
And a memory is all that is left for you now
You see your gypsy
You see your gypsy
Lightning strikes, maybe once, maybe twice
And it all comes down to you
And it all comes down to you
Lightning strikes, maybe once, maybe twice
And it all comes down to you
I still see your bright eyes, bright eyes
And it all comes down to you

Empire State: Fleetwood Mac (1982 from "Mirage")

Breaking up the Beatles

For the past week, I've been reading Goldman's 1988 "The Lives of John Lennon" and now Philip Norman's 2008 "John Lennon: The Life."

Goldman's is tediously written, filled with gossip that he presents as true, as in "John gave Stu Sutcliffe a heavy beating that later killed him" --- a hypothesis that Goldman picked up from an account by Stu's sister Paulene (but denied by both Paul McCartney, who was supposed to have been present during said beating, and Stu's German fiancee Astrid Kirchherr, who said that of course Stu would have told her had such a thing happened, but he didn't). Lots of prurient stuff, and everything has to be taken with a grain of salt. (Aside from the bad rumors, the bad writing is the most painful.)

Philip Norman also wrote the earlier "Shout! The Beatles in Their Generation," which I originally read in 1981 when it first came out. (It's since been updated a couple of times, through 2003. I have the latest edition but haven't read it yet.) I'm nearly finished with his 2008 Lennon book. I like it; I like Norman's writing, which I remembered from the "Shout" book---straightforward, honest, and fair. (For instance, he presents the "John causing Stu's death" story but provides, as Goldman did not, the follow-up from Paul and Astrid.)

Also interesting in Norman's bio: he's interviewed Yoko, and she's not being coy and fey, as she usually, annoyingly, is. For instance, here she is re the day that John broke up the Beatles in an accountant's office:

We went off in the car, and he turned to me and said, 'That's it with the Beatles. From now on, it's just you---OK?' I thought, 'My God, those three guys were the ones entertaining him for so long. Now, I have to be the one to take the load.'

Hidden Treasure!

Today, I performed a task that I'd been meaning to do but putting off for MONTHS because I knew it was going to be so tedious and sweaty: Dragging my 10 x 8 living-room shag carpet to the dumpster. It had seen floods at my last apartment, and cat poop/pee/hair at my current apartment. And I'm sure some of my food dribbles and toenail clippings were mixed in the shag. I'd also stopped vacuuming it months ago, in anticipation of my throwing it out any day... It was gross. And, as promised, it was HARD to drag out! (When it was first delivered new to the door of my last apartment in 2014 or so, it was even hard to drag a mere 5 feet inside the door! This time to the dumpster involved about 100 feet! But I did it myself! Phew!)

I bought a replacement rug a long time ago, which still sits unwrapped in my hallway. I kind of like the clean way the living room looks for the moment, though. (I especially like the idea of no poop/pee/hair/other bodily detritus lurking in the shag---though the current effect does also seem a bit cold.)

While getting rid of the rug, I had to move my couch... Honestly, I thought I'd find maybe 3 fake mice and 2 or 3 balls that the kitties had knocked under there, maybe a pen... Nope! The treasure was MUCH greater! What a big silly mess, you cats! (All the little paper balls are the silver inserts from inside the front of cigarette packs---every time I open a new pack, which is daily, the rustle of the outer plastic lures all three young'uns to run to my feet. They like it when I then crumple up the foil part and toss it for them to chase. Obviously, they've been chasing it right under the couch for 6 months!)

What Is Life: George Harrison (1970)

The Beatles: Help! (1965)

Stupid, stupid bouncing but still interesting because it's an early Beatles video. (Paul, your peeping is making this more stupid!)

The Beatles: We Can Work It Out (1965)

Paul McCartney & Wings: Mull of Kintyre (1977)

God: John Lennon (1970 song with latter-day images)

7 Weeks of Unemployed Reading

Unfortunately, I don't think any of these folks are a good example of what to do with yourself when you have some free time! :)  (Workaholic Sylvia Plath the exception --- but then she tried to kill herself upon returning from her "New York Summer 1953"!)

Phew! One major chore DONE!

Back in August, my now-former boss said something that made my blood run cold (nothing THAT dramatic, just something like "I hope you have a long career here, BUT..."---I honestly can't remember what minor issue had come up, but something about her tone made me prepare to act). At that time, feeling extremely unappreciated, I immediately applied for another job (and got an interview but ultimately didn't get that job); and, obviously knowing that something wasn't right, I also immediately ordered a home printer. Why? Just for minor things like printing out an eBay sales slip, or a copy of a bill payment --- stuff I'd always just nonchalantly printed out at work.

I was thinking about the above because I'd also been wondering very recently if I'd been smart in quitting my job in late September after learning that a newly hired guy with 19 years' (!) less experience than me was making basically the same salary... Was the situation THAT bad? Couldn't I have just gone along with my $50K salary without complaining or worrying about what others around me made? Was quitting an unwise, snap decision?

Nah.

(1) I remember from an old Sociology class (my minor) in college: Studies have shown that workers are content with a lower salary within their own company in comparison with salaries at other outside companies---as long as their salary was in line with other pay among their own co-workers. Even despite the new guy's undeserved high salary, my salary was also at the low end---below almost everyone else with fewer responsibilities, fewer overtime hours, etc. Fairness has always been important to me; what I was being paid wasn't fair, especially in comparison to the new guy, but also in comparison to others who were doing less and responsible for less.

(2) An earlier inkling that something wasn't fair or right: Back in April of this year, I found out that the new guy had immediately been given the same job title as me --- Publications Editor--- despite the fact that I was at the job 2 years before I was allegedly "promoted" from "Technical Writer" to "Publications Editor." A minor note: He was, after only 3 months on the job, invited to the "Publications Dinner" held by the company in honor of in-house authors; I wasn't invited until my 2nd year on the job.

(3) Before 2019, I had already contemplated leaving---back in 2017, when I'd sent myself e-mails of my electronic editing samples and took home hard copies of the latest Annual Report and the 2016 book I'd edited, in anticipation of my departure. At that time, I had ongoing complaints about two of the graphics people and their negligence. For example, if I gave these two a text, any text, with 20 items to correct, it would come back with 10 edits still not made correctly. 50% is a horrible rate of errors. (In my 20 years of experience working at publishing companies, a mediocre error rate is usually about 10%. A very good graphics person will be at about 5%.) So, yes, I complained to my boss. And kept bringing up the same lack-of-quality issue with her over and over again. And she then labeled me as a "complainer" and "not a team player" rather than talking to those not doing their job right.

So, no, I didn't just quit haphazardly. The problems had been going on for a couple of years.

Once I DID quit, however, I've been amazingly lazy about getting myself back on track. Drinking a lot, sleeping a lot, lying on my ass a lot. For instance, the printer that I ordered back in August has been sitting in its box until this Thanksgiving weekend. When it comes to eBay sales, you get a discount when you print a mailing label via eBay rather than just going to the post office and paying full price. Not THAT big of a deal, but it bothered me, nonetheless, that I hadn't, in 3 months, set the sucker up! OK, tonight I DID set it up! Was 2 hours of being a complete pain in the ass, as I thought it would be. But at the end of it all: I DID IT! I now have a working wireless printer! (A side-note: I initially moved my laptop into the spare room, next to where I'd set up the printer. But I just now tested printing from another room---it works!)

Next task: Clean the goddamn toilet and shower. I don't think there's an app for that.

Happy Angst-Giving!

Wednesday, I got myself a roast chicken from the grocery store, and I already had a packet of flaked potatoes and a can of LeSueur peas set aside. Being my myself on Thanksgiving isn't a great big deal. The one constant throughout my life: The Dallas Cowboys game! :)

But still, to be honest, fantasy-wise, I was mildly hoping for an e-mail or call from my mother or brother, or a random e-mail from Sandra saying she had nowhere else to be and would be driving up...

Wow! Maggie Cheung in "In the Mood for Love" (2000)

Saw this film on TCM tonight for the first time.

#1: Cheung is a very beautiful and a very still/subtle actress. AND: She and her outfits in this movie are almost TOO distractingly, artistically beautiful. (The TCM film was part of their award-winning Cinematography feature for the evening. Camera angles when coming/going from restaurants and the apartment were great, yes, but half of the attention was aimed at this actress and what she was wearing. She, and outfits, were fantastic-looking!)

#2: The film is beautiful both artistically and emotionally... but a bit slow. At the beginning, not knowing what to expect, I laid down on my couch with a pillow, thinking I would be taking a nap, but... I ended up staying awake to see what would happen. (Turned out, nothing at all did! But it was very much worth watching.)

Fleetwood Mac: Hold Me (1982 from "Mirage")

Can you understand me
Baby, don't you hand me a line
Although it doesn't matter
You and me got plenty of time
There's nobody in the future
So baby let me hand you my love
There's no step for you to dance to
So slip your hand inside of my glove
Hold me, hold me, hold me
Hold me, hold me, hold me
I don't want no damage
But how'm I gonna manage with you
You hold the percentage
But I'm the fool payin' the dues
I'm just around the corner
If you got a minute to spare
I'll be waitin' for you
If you ever wanna be there
Hold me, hold me, hold me
Hold me, hold me, hold me

Fleetwood Mac: Can't Go Back (1982 from "Mirage")

Standing in the shadows
The man I used to be
I want to go back
(can't go back, can't go back)
Melodies awaken
Sorrows from their sleep
I want to go back
(can't go back, can't go back)

She was just a dream maker
Dreamer of sighs
Shadow on the one who used to cry
A face as soft as a tear in a clown's eye
I want to go back
(can't go back, can't go back)

1935. "I Live My Life." With Joan Crawford and Brian Aherne.

Whenever you're sad...

Salvation sometimes comes via a good movie that reveals some humanity that you hadn't been seeing recently. This past weekend for me, thanks to TCM for The Last Picture Show. Human kindness.

Martial Law

My US Air Force father was stationed briefly in the Philippines in the '70s, during Marcos's martial law. Upon his return to the States, he lauded the lack of crime on the streets there.

Later, I found out that, in an attempt to win my mother back, he claimed that he'd "gotten all of his meanness" out of him in the Philippines via abusing Philippine prostitutes. What an argument!

Number One: What sad males go to hookers?
Number Two: What awful males abuse the hookers who are desperate enough for money to have to sleep with them?
Number Three: What awful males then come home to their wives and say "I'm OK now --- I took all of my meanness out on the foreign hookers."

(And what sad wives think that's OK?)

This is the same man who said to me during the OJ Simpson trial, re Nicole Simpson: "She was bought and paid for." 

Get 'er done!

Friday, I saw a job posting for my old job. AND I got a job offer from the college temp agency. The latter was for 25 hours per week from December 10 through January 22 for $15 per hour, with no work/pay for the 2 weeks over Christmas.

On the surface, you'd think I'd be cursing myself for leaving my regular 50K+/year regular job with vacation benefits, etc., in favor of working piecemeal at a job that pays basically fast-food wages (and not even full time). Yeah, I thought about that... For a second.

At my old job, my boss disrespected my abilities (she came from a graphics background and had no idea what editing entailed or if I was doing a good job) and my work ethic (I worked more overtime than anyone else --- not because I couldn't get the job done during regular hours but because there was a lot of extra work to be done, and I was willing to do it). Aside from the new guy making nearly what I was making (which is why I quit), said boss was also paying two former editors $50 an hour (!) for freelancing... Just crazy, random payments to who she liked, not based on anything rational. She was also paying a friend of hers basically the same salary as me---and the friend was only working 30 hours per week.

So, yes, I'd rather work honestly for $15 per hour than work in the midst of the craziness where I used to work. I also plan on applying to Target during holiday hours. They also pay around $15 per hour. I'll get my rent done.

Focus!

Last year, I had more than eight cockroaches in my apartment in every room --- kitchen, spare room, closet. This year, post babies in April, I've had maybe one. (Below, just a tiny bug that showed up tonight!)

Tammy Wynette (1990s): Til I Can Make It On My Own

George Jones (1969): I Don't Have Sense Enough (to come in out of the pain)

Sleeping Cats

Now that the weather's turned cool in Austin, my four cats are sleeping on top of me and my cozy comforter. No photo yet because I don't usually lie down on my couch with a camera, but apparently there's a history of being a slave to sleeping cats:

According to Islamic tradition, Muezza (or Muʿizza; Arabic: معزة‎) was Muhammad's favorite cat.^[8][9] Muhammad awoke one day to the sounds of the adhan. Preparing to attend prayer, he began to dress himself; however, he soon discovered his cat Muezza sleeping on the sleeve of his prayer robe. Rather than wake her, he used a pair of scissors to cut the sleeve off, leaving the cat undisturbed.

I'm comfortable with all cats on me for about a half-hour. It's warm, it's cozy, it's sweet. But then... I need to stretch my legs! Ergh, erghggggg. When I start twitching, Pete and Mama Hennessy usually get the hint and get off, but Sasha and especially Solomon STAY RIGHT THERE. I've contorted myself many times in a Muhammad-like fashion in order to accommodate the cats, but... sometimes... have I ever just kicked them off the couch? No... But I do sometimes wish they would GET OFF ME! :)

The grandest tail I've ever seen on a cat

Don't get too cocky, Pete (his beautiful big eyes not showing here) --- I knew you way back when.

KISS: Hard Luck Woman (1976)

KISS: Any Way You Want It (1977)

Punk version.

KISS: Rocket Ride (1977)

Ace Frehley's showcase.

Kiss - Alive II: Rockin' In The U.S.A. (1977)

I'm flyin' in a 747
I'm passing by the pearly gates
And I'm comin' real close to Heaven
And my guitar just can't wait... it just can't wait...

Kiss: Love Gun (1977)

KISS: C'Mon' and Love Me (1975)

KISS: Detroit Rock City (1976)

On the "Paul Lynde Halloween Special" 1976.
It's originally a serious/sad song about a fucked-up guy dying on the highway. Made into a TV joke. Clear that Paul Lynde and his cheesy ilk needed to go. Soon after, they did.

George Jones & Johnny Paycheck - "I'm Ragged But I'm Right"

In response to e-mail from former co-worker

Since leaving my job in October, have received mails from a few former co-workers wondering what I'm doing, which I appreciate. From my response tonight to one friend:

As for me: No new job yet. And sadly, I've barely even applied for anything (maybe 4 jobs total---in an entire month!). I can't seem to get motivated. One reason perhaps: My final check from UT for vacation hours not taken was a whopping $9,200!! What a cushion! I was expecting around $6,000. I know the money will disappear quickly, but I still can't seem to get off my lazy butt and hustle for a new job. I AM registered with UTemps but so far have had only a 1-day assignment, as a mock juror for law-school students---it was nice to get out of the house! ...

Going stir-crazy being home all the time! Too much maintenance guys hanging out loudly in their work-room right next door; too much neighbor playing stereo during the day; too much cats seeking attention constantly; too much ESPN-/Bravo-/crime show TV-watching! A couple of times, I've just hopped on a Rapid bus and ridden the whole line for hours, just to get out of the house and see people! :)  (Although much of the "seeing people" on the bus consists of aggressive homeless guys... Still, it was interesting to travel around campus, downtown, and South Austin to see what had changed since the last time I was there years ago...)

"Crying in the Rain" • Tammy Wynette (1991)

More-intense re-make of the Everly Brothers' song.

One of These Days: Tammy Wynette (1976)

I won't have to chop no wood I can be bad or I can be good
I can be any way that I feel one of these days
Won't have to answer to anyone I'll get up with the morning sun
But I'll be gone like the birds that fly one of these days

I might be a woman that's dressed in black be a hobo by the railroad track
Goin' any place that I want to go one of these days
Do anything that I want if I want to or if I don't
But I'll be gone like the wayward wind one of these days

One of these days it will soon be all over cut and dried
And I won't have this urge to go all bottled up inside
One of these days I'll look back and I'll say I left in time
Cause somewhere for me I know there's peace of mind

I might someday walk across this land and carry the Lord's Book in my hand
Goin' cross the country singin' loud as I can one of these days
But I won't have trouble on my back cuttin' like the devil with a choppin' axe
I got to shake it off of my back one of these days

One of these days it will soon be all over cut and dried
And I won't have this urge to go all bottled up inside
One of these days I'll look back and I'll say I left in time
Cause somewhere for me I know there's peace of mind
There's gotta be peace of mind for me one of these days

Tammy Wynette: Help Me Make It Through The Night

Not a desperate plea at 4am. Just happened to be listening to Tammy for the past 3 hours --- her version of this Kristofferson song is really beautiful.

"I need to find a used dryer for sale."

On Facebook, looking at the page for the girl that my high-school love Ginny left me for:

"I need to find a used dryer for sale."

"Found some one who can change out the starter on my car. Yay!"

"I want someone to go to breakfast with me."

Plus multiple photos of her senile father sloppily trying to eat dinners at various places like Whataburger and Arby's. (Why in the world would you post such things? This reminded me of my brother's friend posting photos of his wife who was in a coma, right before she died after giving birth to their baby.)

Have a bit of decorum. A bit of respect. Had Ginny died in the Facebook age, this woman probably would have posted photos.

This woman is now married to another woman but wrote to me last year that Ginny was the love of her life. (I'm a bit more hard-core: If someone was the love of your life, then you don't get married again.)

Funny: What I'm feeling right now, I felt whenever I learned that Ginny had left me for her in 1983: "But, but... She's so stupid! I'm so superior in every way!" Obviously, Ginny didn't feel that way. Here's your girl with her new woman, Gin: "Live, Laugh, Love," et al.

I've got to stop doing this...

... Aaaaaaaaaaaaargh! :)

At my old job, I edited the weekly story for the main page of the company website. Since leaving in October, I've still been checking... Just now I discovered:

Main subhead on main web page: "...it's new state-of-the-art facility..."  [its]

First paragraph: "..a airy covered rooftop..."  [an airy...]

As I used to argue with my old boss: Mistakes like that make us look stupid. Now: Is anyone even going to say anything? What stickler of a reader is going to take the time to e-mail the company and point out grammar mistakes? No one.

Ugggghhhhhhhhhhhhh. (Yes, I know: I've got to move on!) :)

Eric Clapton - Hello Old Friend (1976)

As I am strolling down the garden path
I saw a flower glowing in the dark
It looked so pretty and it was unique
I had to bend down just to have a peek

Hello, old friend
It is really good to see you once again
Hello, old friend
It is really good to see you once again

I saw you walking underneath the stars
I could not stop cause I was in a car
I am sure the distance would not be too far
If I got out and walked to where you are

Hello, old friend
It is really good to see you once again
Hello, old friend
It is really good to see you once again

An old man passed me on the street today
I thought I knew him but I could not say
I stopped to think if I could place his frame
When he tipped his hat I knew his name

Drive-thru freaky!

A good day Wednesday because I got out of my house!

Went to post office to mail off old pair of Vans sold on eBay; got my hair cut (my hairdresser and I bonding over "Vanderpump Rules" --- her dog is named "Stassi" after a girl on the show, and we both knew the East German "Stasi" reference!);  on the way home, went through McDonald's drive-thru... Two cars ahead, I saw a woman's face in her rear-view mirror. I glanced, then kept looking. And she kept looking back at me... I could swear it was my first girlfriend (broken up back in 1989)! In case it wasn't, I stopped looking and concentrated on getting my debit card out to pay for the meal.

Was it her? If it wasn't her, odd how I have a fetish for that kind of sharp Black Irish face (and how the person two cars up couldn't stop looking at me, as well---some people, oddly, like soft blonde Germanic faces!)

George Jones: Burn Another Honky Tonk Down (1968)

George Jones: You Better Treat Your Man Right (1984)

George Jones: Take Me

Go, cat, go! (Cowboys vs. Giants tonight)

Scott Van Pelt: Queer Coverage

Because I'm home all the time now, I've been watching too much SportsCenter during the day on ESPN. I'm old enough to remember how "radical" SportsCenter seemed in its early days, full of fresh, smart-ass (but also smart) commentary that went far beyond what we used to see for 5 minutes at the end of our 10pm half-hour local news broadcasts.

These days, though, I didn't see any Chris Bermans or Hannah Storms. Rather, lots of co-hosting women dressed up in night-club outfits. And tonight, in a discussion about the new college basketball season, commentator Jay Bilas said that the upcoming season was "going to be delicious." SportsCenter host Scott Van Pelt responded to Bilas: "Did you get better lookin' in the off-season? You keep getting better lookin'..."

In my 54 years of experience of being around men, straight guys good-naturedly rag each other about their weight, their baldness, their "ugly" looks.... And there certainly aren't references to any season of sports as being potentially "delicious." Can the feminine men go back to discussing Broadway shows and leave the sports to the men who don't feel the need to tell each other how cute they look?

----------------------------------

An 11/17/19 post-script:

I'd forgotten about the above post. And was sitting at my computer with SportsCenter on TV in the background re the San Francisco game. Heard SF quarterback Jimmy Garoppolo referred to as "handsome as ever." Huh? Who refers to an athlete as "handsome as ever"? Oh... Scott Van Pelt.

Don't be like me

A friend just e-mailed me out of the blue last night re her "toxic" family members. I responded:

I was just thinking recently:

In my life, I've known only about 7 people who were truly kind (i.e., completely understanding and forgiving of others' foibles; like Melanie in "Gone With the Wind"). One high-school friend and one high-school cheerleader. My boss at the library when I was at grad school in San Francisco. My boss at the UT Austin library. A male writer friend (who shares my birthday) whom I published a small Austin lit'rature magazine with in the early '90s. And two people whom I re-discovered on Facebook in the past few years: My cousin Lisa (whom I hadn't seen since the '70s) and my Austin friend Jeff (whom I hadn't seen since the early '90s).

The other 99.9% of people that I've known, including immediate family, are more complicated and "troublesome." You can either withdraw from them, as I've pretty much chosen to do with everyone (or they've already done with me), or you can join life and put up with imperfect people.

Don't be like me! :)

Here's $10,000

Because I was such a good worker and never took any vacation at the former state job that I held for over 5 years, I've now got $10,000 in my bank account because, when you quit, the university pays you for vacation not taken.

I still have my tiny cell phone that I first got in 2007 when I moved to New York. I think I'll get a new phone. Other than that, I'll just hang on to the money, which will tide me over for the next 3 to 4 months until I find an editing job that I really like.

I'm sorry that I can't think of anything more exciting to do with the money. It's not every day that you have $10,000 in your hands. 

Fear o' Fun

About 5 o'clock Saturday afternoon, some girls at a 2nd floor apartment above my backyard starting cutting up. By "cutting up," I mean that the windows of their apartment were wide open and music was blasting, and the girls were out front of the apartment ostentatiously singing at the top of their lungs to the music as they were putting up Halloween decorations like cobwebs and purple lights. Halloween decorations on November 2. But it's the Saturday of the time change; from my old party days, I remember that this used to be a big party night --- wooooo! an extra hour before the bars closed!

I immediately tensed up and prepared to be tense for the rest of the evening, thinking of the party and the noise to come. The decorations and singing continued until about 6pm. Then a bit of silence. Around 6:30, one girl again appeared outside in a long black gown talking loudly on her phone. (Her being dressed up so early gave me hope: Maybe it was a party that would start AND end early...) Around 8pm, the black-begowned girl left the apartment carrying out a bag of trash. I haven't seen her since, although she left the purple lights on and left the blinds to her apartment wide open.

It's now 1am, and she and her party buddies haven't come back yet, although all of the lights remain on in the apartment. What will happen? I anticipated a party starting around 10pm and lasting until about 3am, with me calling the police around 12...

Frank and Ava: Unloveable

Frank Sinatra and Ava Gardner: Strangers in the Night

Supposed to look forward, but...

I quit my editing job last month because the newly hired editor was making $49.9K per year as opposed to my $51.6K. (As I discovered from the Texas Tribune salaries site.) A difference of only $1700 per year.

Me: 21 years of editing experience; 20 years at UT; 5 years at the company. The new guy: 4 months of editing experience.

I don't regret quitting.

I do, however, feel quite envious of the new guy. He's 32. He has no editing experience. Yet he's now making nearly $50K per year. When I was 32...

The guy is very, very, VERY lucky. I can't imagine what my life would have been like had someone handed me that kind of salary at that age, based on nothing.

George Jones & Tammy Wynette - Your Shining Face (1973)

Already posted this, but I love it again and again. Profound song.

What to do on a Tuesday

In my case, I got up at 2pm and showered after 2 days, and then went to the closest Target, buying cat food, generic Drano, generic paper towels, real Cokes, real beer...

A gray 58-degree day in Austin, perfect for coming back home and doing nothing but lying on the couch and reading an Ava Gardner bio.

For the past 3 weeks, I've been incredibly tense and fearful: What am I going to do without my job?! Then the realization: I've got money enough to do whatever I want for the next 3 months. And I hated the people at that job --- didn't hate the actual editing work, but I hated being around the sheep-like people.

I'm OK for the next few months. I can lie around and read about Ava and buy Drano in the middle of the day if I want.

George Jones and Tammy Wynette: You're Everything (1971)

Tammy Wynette & George Jones: Someone I Used To Know (1971)

George Jones Live (1986)

TAMMY WYNETTE IN CONCERT PART 1

A great Tammy Wynette with a terrible '80s audience. (Stand up and cheer, MOVE, you stupid, sluggish motherfuckers.)

Tammy Wynette - Talkin' To Myself Again (1987)

God Help the Wolf after Whom the Dogs Do Not Bark (Ted Hughes)

There you met it – the mystery of hatred.
After your billions of years in anonymous matter
That was where you were found – and promptly hated.
You tried your utmost to reach and touch those people
With gifts of yourself –
Just like your first words as a toddler
When you rushed at every visitor to the house
Clasping their legs and crying: ‘I love you! I love you!’
Just as you had danced for your father
In his home of anger – gifts of your life
To sweeten his slow death and mix yourself in it
Where he lay propped on the couch,
To sugar the bitterness of his raging death.

You searched for yourself to go on giving it
As if after the nightfall of his going
You danced on in the dark house,
Eight years old, in your tinsel.

Searching for yourself, in the dark, as you danced,
Floundering a little, crying softly,
Like somebody searching for somebody drowning
In dark water
Listening for them – in panic at losing
Those listening seconds from your searching –
Then dancing wilder in the silence.

The Colleges lifted their heads. It did seem
You disturbed something just perfected
That they were holding carefully, all of a piece,
Till the glue dried. And as if
Reporting some felony to the police
They let you know that you were not John Donne.
You no longer care. Did you save their names?
But then they let you know, day by day,
Their contempt for everything you attempted,
Took pains to inject their bile, as for your health,
Into your morning coffee. Even signed
Their homeopathic letters,
Envelopes full of carefully broken glass
To lodge behind your eyes so you would see

Nobody wanted your dance,
Nobody wanted your strange glitter – your floundering
Drowning life and your effort to save yourself,
Treading water, dancing the dark turmoil,
Looking for something to give –
Whatever you found
They bombarded with splinters,
Derision, mud – the mystery of that hatred.