Three of the people I've been in love with since 1989 turned out to be creepy low-level grifters.
One was Rick Broussard, the lead singer for "Two Hoots and a Holler," the rockabilly band that I'd see every Monday at the Black Cat Lounge and at Hole in the Wall in Austin from the late '80s through the early '90s. At one point in '89 or so, Rick said he'd meet me at Hole in the Wall. At the door, he first said he needed some money from me to pay for his friends' cover charge. When I pointed out that his band was a regular there --- why would his friends need ME to pay their cover charge? -- he backed off, then later on in the evening, asked me flat out to give him $10. (No. Bye.)
In the late '90s, after I'd been broken up with my first girlfriend since '89, I was back in Austin after a couple of years in San Francisco for grad school. I ran into the ex at a gay club one night and she was acting unusually friendly, asking for my new number, etc. A couple of nights later, she called. Turned out, she wanted me to pay off her credit card! "THAT's why you called?" I said "hell no" and then went outside and sat on the bumper of my car and cried and cried and cried.
Just a couple of months ago, someone I loved said "I love you." I believed her. The very next night, she called and asked me for money. I said no. She stopped speaking to me. And I didn't cry one bit.
There are gray areas in any relationship, but one thing that makes my blood run utterly reptilian cold: Asking me for money. (Oh, yeah, and not driving me to work when you said you would.)
Sunday, March 31, 2019
Friday, March 29, 2019
What qualifies for #MeToo
The most traumatic experience with my father, among many, was the time he dragged me by my hair out of my bedroom. I was 12 or so, watching television on my 12-inch black-and-white TV, and writing in my journal. My dad popped his head in the door to see what I was doing. He didn't like the fact that I was both watching TV AND writing; he said I couldn't do both at the same time and told me to stop writing. I thought he was being silly, so kept writing. A few minutes later, he was back... He saw that I was still writing while the TV was on and grabbed me by my hair and hauled me down the hallway and dumped me in the living room.
I didn't grow up in a stereotypical "uber-lower-class" family: No parent was doing drugs or sleeping around, and my father was an enlisted Air Force man and so had a regular (albeit lower-class) income. (Though, according to my grade-school, I did qualify for reduced-price lunches, which was embarrassing to my mother; we did not take advantage of that welfare option.)
I was also, at home, constantly subject to the "fact" that I and "we" (my family) were "superior." In what way, I never could determine. I was always a smart and pretty kid in school. But at home, I was always not allowed to associate with other kids: to spend the night with girlfriends in 6th grade, to go skating at the local roller rink (my father dropped me off at the rink one time --- and forbade me to let my hair out of the pony-tail or to take off my coat; I sat there the whole time by myself, miserable, that time not daring to challenge him).
My mother ended up divorcing my father after he chased her out of the house with a gun one night (also when I was 12) --- he'd gone out one night in his suede jacket and cologne and then come home a couple of hours later and demanded she go to the bedroom with him. When she refused, I was sent to my room, but peered out to see him grapple with her and see her tear the gold chain from his neck, after which he went for the gun and she ran, and he shot after her... He collapsed into a drunken stupor soon after. Hours later, I then crept around the house to see if he was asleep, then went and looked for my mother...
At the time, I didn't think anything of it. I always went to school the next day. (Really? I didn't think anything of it?! According to the Internet, I didn't get murdered or sexually abused, so I had it easy.)
I didn't grow up in a stereotypical "uber-lower-class" family: No parent was doing drugs or sleeping around, and my father was an enlisted Air Force man and so had a regular (albeit lower-class) income. (Though, according to my grade-school, I did qualify for reduced-price lunches, which was embarrassing to my mother; we did not take advantage of that welfare option.)
I was also, at home, constantly subject to the "fact" that I and "we" (my family) were "superior." In what way, I never could determine. I was always a smart and pretty kid in school. But at home, I was always not allowed to associate with other kids: to spend the night with girlfriends in 6th grade, to go skating at the local roller rink (my father dropped me off at the rink one time --- and forbade me to let my hair out of the pony-tail or to take off my coat; I sat there the whole time by myself, miserable, that time not daring to challenge him).
My mother ended up divorcing my father after he chased her out of the house with a gun one night (also when I was 12) --- he'd gone out one night in his suede jacket and cologne and then come home a couple of hours later and demanded she go to the bedroom with him. When she refused, I was sent to my room, but peered out to see him grapple with her and see her tear the gold chain from his neck, after which he went for the gun and she ran, and he shot after her... He collapsed into a drunken stupor soon after. Hours later, I then crept around the house to see if he was asleep, then went and looked for my mother...
At the time, I didn't think anything of it. I always went to school the next day. (Really? I didn't think anything of it?! According to the Internet, I didn't get murdered or sexually abused, so I had it easy.)
Thursday, March 28, 2019
GEORGE & TAMMY - LOVIN' YOU, LOVIN' ME
Yes, I already posted this song a few days ago. I love it. Here it is again, with slightly different pictures.
"Once my life was just a bad routine..."
"Once my life was just a bad routine..."
Wednesday, March 27, 2019
Tuesday, March 26, 2019
Oh god, I think I'm about to be a grandma...
What began as a feeding kindness to what I thought was a singular stray cat (that I named "Penny") in July of 2018 has recently become: The scruffy, scrappy companion to Penny, whom I named "Henny" and thought was a boy, has in recent months become the apparently pregnant girl cat who faithfully waits for me to come home from work every day (along with the older, beaten-up-looking white and tiger-striped cat that I initially named "Papa Penny" --- probably also a girl cat!).
Since last July: Usually, I come home, give whatever cats are hanging out their food, then shut the sliding-glass door and go back in. With the spring-like weather now, I've been leaving the screen door open. Henny (short for "Hennessy" because she acts like an obnoxious drunk little cat) finally complained so much outside my screen door this evening (for about 3 hours) that I finally let her inside. For about 20 minutes, she explored and sniffed rooms, rubbed up against me, tried to lie down calmly, etc., but failed. Too much new information! After about 20 minutes, she headed to the door --- didn't want to, but DID want to go back out.
It's simple to go buy a litter box and litter. Voila --- an "inside cat." But Henny's belly is swollen --- either she's worm-laden or she's about to give birth to a litter of kittens. I'm hoping she'll give birth to them out in whatever secret place those strays hang out in! But somehow I think she's grooming me to be the birth center. Then, I'll soon have to feel mean and give up the kittens to the city pet-control center. (It's no-kill, but still --- it's traumatic. The mama-cat is extremely disturbed when her kittens are taken away.)
Brought this on myself by trying to be kind and feed the one cat that I named "Penny" last July. Penny has long since disappeared. I'm now left with evil-twin "Henny." I like Henny a lot, despite her ongoing obnoxiousness. But I'm annoyed about the kitten-problem that I think she's about to lay on me!
Since last July: Usually, I come home, give whatever cats are hanging out their food, then shut the sliding-glass door and go back in. With the spring-like weather now, I've been leaving the screen door open. Henny (short for "Hennessy" because she acts like an obnoxious drunk little cat) finally complained so much outside my screen door this evening (for about 3 hours) that I finally let her inside. For about 20 minutes, she explored and sniffed rooms, rubbed up against me, tried to lie down calmly, etc., but failed. Too much new information! After about 20 minutes, she headed to the door --- didn't want to, but DID want to go back out.
It's simple to go buy a litter box and litter. Voila --- an "inside cat." But Henny's belly is swollen --- either she's worm-laden or she's about to give birth to a litter of kittens. I'm hoping she'll give birth to them out in whatever secret place those strays hang out in! But somehow I think she's grooming me to be the birth center. Then, I'll soon have to feel mean and give up the kittens to the city pet-control center. (It's no-kill, but still --- it's traumatic. The mama-cat is extremely disturbed when her kittens are taken away.)
Brought this on myself by trying to be kind and feed the one cat that I named "Penny" last July. Penny has long since disappeared. I'm now left with evil-twin "Henny." I like Henny a lot, despite her ongoing obnoxiousness. But I'm annoyed about the kitten-problem that I think she's about to lay on me!
Friday, March 22, 2019
If God Met You - Tammy Wynette & George Jones (1995)
#MeToo handled funnily and right, 25 years ago.
Wednesday, March 20, 2019
Le Sacre du printemps / The Rite of Spring - Ballets Russes (initially scandalous in 1913)
Caused a riot and sensation in 1913.
My Rite of Spring
On a newly pleasant spring Austin day today, I came home to my angst:
(1) Neighbors putting coals on a communal grill. (Though at 5:30pm, are they going to stay out there until 2am? I've previously had to go out post-midnight and tell a loud group at that same picnic table to please be quiet.)
(2) Next-door neighbor sitting in his adjoining backyard when I come home from work (when I have to go out into my adjoining yard to feed the Henny cat and say "hi" to this guy when I've reported him multiple times for his loud music).
As it turned out, the (1) BBQ gang didn't make a sound that I could hear, and (2) the neighbor didn't make a sound, either, though I felt a bit awkward for the few minutes while I was banging the cat dishes out and then returning with the full bowls and water and cat-talk while Henny was jumping on me ("Henny, why are you so bad?").
It was all ultimately alright, and so I mocked myself for immediately initially thinking that things would be bad... Truth is, though, things were often VERY bad at this apartment complex when I first moved in 2 years ago. So that memory lingers.
It's Spring, and I can't quite enjoy the Spring. And I keep thinking ahead to late May, when all of the pool parties at the apartment complex will start, some often lasting until the early hours. Not always, but sometimes. Enough to put me on edge ahead of time.
(1) Neighbors putting coals on a communal grill. (Though at 5:30pm, are they going to stay out there until 2am? I've previously had to go out post-midnight and tell a loud group at that same picnic table to please be quiet.)
(2) Next-door neighbor sitting in his adjoining backyard when I come home from work (when I have to go out into my adjoining yard to feed the Henny cat and say "hi" to this guy when I've reported him multiple times for his loud music).
As it turned out, the (1) BBQ gang didn't make a sound that I could hear, and (2) the neighbor didn't make a sound, either, though I felt a bit awkward for the few minutes while I was banging the cat dishes out and then returning with the full bowls and water and cat-talk while Henny was jumping on me ("Henny, why are you so bad?").
It was all ultimately alright, and so I mocked myself for immediately initially thinking that things would be bad... Truth is, though, things were often VERY bad at this apartment complex when I first moved in 2 years ago. So that memory lingers.
It's Spring, and I can't quite enjoy the Spring. And I keep thinking ahead to late May, when all of the pool parties at the apartment complex will start, some often lasting until the early hours. Not always, but sometimes. Enough to put me on edge ahead of time.
Tuesday, March 19, 2019
W.S. Merwin is dead --- so what?
When I was a young poet at the University of Texas in the early '80s, I, and everyone else, had W.S. Merwin shoved down our throats in anthologies. He was the ultimate favorite of the Academy, and remained so, right up until he just now died.
But did he mean anything to anybody? Today's elegies in the New Yorker tout him as an "environmentalist" and "anti-war activist," which is bullshit when it comes to being a poet (there's nothing bold or brave about adopting the trends of one's times).
I'll grant him this one mildly good poem:
FOR THE ANNIVERSARY OF MY DEATH
Every year without knowing it I have passed the day
When the last fires will wave to me
And the silence will set out
Tireless traveller
Like the beam of a lightless star
Then I will no longer
Find myself in life as in a strange garment
Surprised at the earth
And the love of one woman
And then shamelessness of men
As today writing after three days of rain
Hearing the wren sing and the falling cease
And bowing not knowing to what
==========================
Though, come to think of it: Even with this grand topic, Merwin is mediocre over nearly half of the lines (though I love "And bowing not knowing to what").
But did he mean anything to anybody? Today's elegies in the New Yorker tout him as an "environmentalist" and "anti-war activist," which is bullshit when it comes to being a poet (there's nothing bold or brave about adopting the trends of one's times).
I'll grant him this one mildly good poem:
FOR THE ANNIVERSARY OF MY DEATH
Every year without knowing it I have passed the day
When the last fires will wave to me
And the silence will set out
Tireless traveller
Like the beam of a lightless star
Then I will no longer
Find myself in life as in a strange garment
Surprised at the earth
And the love of one woman
And then shamelessness of men
As today writing after three days of rain
Hearing the wren sing and the falling cease
And bowing not knowing to what
==========================
Though, come to think of it: Even with this grand topic, Merwin is mediocre over nearly half of the lines (though I love "And bowing not knowing to what").
Sunday, March 17, 2019
Iowa Park, Texas
Working overtime today, and a geologist stopped by to chat. He's a Trump fan, as I am, and we started talking politics. He brought up the fact that today's media constantly promotes "The Coasts" and talks about anything else as being merely "Flyover Country." You're supposed to be ashamed of living anyplace else.
As an aside, he mentioned "Iowa Park, Texas" --- I perked up: I lived there as a kid for 6 years, ages 4 through 6, and then again from ages 9 through 11. Turns out that this man graduated from high school there in '75. And he knew exactly the street I lived on (514 W. Rebecca)! As soon as I mentioned I'd lived there, he excused himself and came back minutes later with 2 Iowa Park high school yearbooks!
Though I was just a kid before I moved to Azle, Texas, in '76, we reminisced about stores and streets and football rivalries of Iowa Park (Hirschi Huskies and Burk Burnett Bulldogs, et al). When looking through his yearbooks, we even found my old babysitter --- Frieda!
When my family lived there the first time, '69 through '71, we lived on Sunset Drive. Two teenaged babysitters for me lived across the street, Frieda and Connie. Frieda, the red-haired and nerdy, was the "good" babysitter. Connie was the bad one; she left cigarette butts by the fence in our backyard (and there were extra butts there, too, indicating that, probably, a boy had been there with her), and so my parents decided never to use her again. After that decision, Connie confronted me on the street with the argument re why she should remain my babysitter: "Nobody at school likes Frieda." I reported this fact back to my parents; they stuck with their choice of Frieda.
I like this geologist a lot. (1) He's a constantly pleasant and interesting fellow. And (2) He told me today upon finding out that I had also lived in Iowa Park, "And I'd thought you were so cosmopolitan!" :)
Friday, March 15, 2019
Thursday, March 14, 2019
George Jones - Honky Tonk Song (1996)
Please also appreciate the guest appearance by Junior Brown as the State Trooper!
George Jones "Smack Dab" Live (1998)
The man is 67 years old here and still completely into his music. Just watch how he moves when he sings.
Tuesday, March 12, 2019
Not near rich enough to buy a house in Austin...
...or a car better than a cute lil' Mazda 2 (used), but at least I can buy $100 George Jones sets and $100 Born shoes!
RE George: I love him and want everything he's every recorded.
RE the shoes: My first time to spend $100 for a non-boot. Won't happen very often, but... there aren't any other cheaper red loafers out there, and this is EXACTLY what I wanted. (What a shock: I can afford to get SOMETHING that is EXACTLY what I want!)
RE George: I love him and want everything he's every recorded.
RE the shoes: My first time to spend $100 for a non-boot. Won't happen very often, but... there aren't any other cheaper red loafers out there, and this is EXACTLY what I wanted. (What a shock: I can afford to get SOMETHING that is EXACTLY what I want!)
Monday, March 11, 2019
Sunday, March 10, 2019
Womanhood (Tammy Wynette, 1978)
I first tried to listen to Tammy Wynette seriously in 1994, after I'd gone to San Francisco for grad school and was still incredibly lonely (despite my "fresh start") and seeking fresh music to make me feel better. A two-pronged approach: Rap and Country. Neither of which I'd ever listened much to before. But at that point I needed to try SOMETHING different, anything. In '94, there wasn't Internet, but there was a monthly CD club, similar to the Book of the Month Club. I ordered some Country (Hank Williams, Tammy's Greatest Hits, then-modern stuff like Garth Brooks), and some '94-popular rappers like Warren G. I ended up feeling nothing for either Warren G or Hank Williams. And with the Tammy Greatest, I didn't like 75% of it --- I loved "Apartment No. 9" and "Your Good Girl's Gonna Go Bad" and "Til I Can Make It On My Own," but most of the rest of her solo stuff was treacly.
BUT: On the "Tammy Hits" CD, there were some duets with her one-time husband George Jones like "Golden Ring," "Two Story House," "We're Going to Hold On"... 1994 is the year that I became a George Jones fan, thanks to Tammy. Since then, saw him twice in concert in Austin, bought multiple collections and solo albums, etc.
Over the past few weeks, I've been revisiting George (and loving his music more, and ordering expensive United Artists and Musicor collections from his early years) and, in tandem, trying to appreciate Tammy more. The collection I bought in San Fran in '94 that I didn't like so much was from 1987: "Tammy Wynette Anniversary: Twenty Years of Hits." A few weeks ago, I tried again with her with the 1999 "Tammy Wynette: The Definitive Collection." Same reaction: I loved "Apartment" and "Your Good Girl's" and "Til I Can Make It" plus things like "Silver Threads and Golden Needles" (1993 with Dolly Parton and Loretta Lynn). But thought most of the rest was filler. I did find one song from 1978, though, that I liked --- and had to dig around to figure out what I suspected: that it was George Jones singing backup on it! (They'd divorced in '75, but he would continue to hang around until '81 or so.)
BUT: On the "Tammy Hits" CD, there were some duets with her one-time husband George Jones like "Golden Ring," "Two Story House," "We're Going to Hold On"... 1994 is the year that I became a George Jones fan, thanks to Tammy. Since then, saw him twice in concert in Austin, bought multiple collections and solo albums, etc.
Over the past few weeks, I've been revisiting George (and loving his music more, and ordering expensive United Artists and Musicor collections from his early years) and, in tandem, trying to appreciate Tammy more. The collection I bought in San Fran in '94 that I didn't like so much was from 1987: "Tammy Wynette Anniversary: Twenty Years of Hits." A few weeks ago, I tried again with her with the 1999 "Tammy Wynette: The Definitive Collection." Same reaction: I loved "Apartment" and "Your Good Girl's" and "Til I Can Make It" plus things like "Silver Threads and Golden Needles" (1993 with Dolly Parton and Loretta Lynn). But thought most of the rest was filler. I did find one song from 1978, though, that I liked --- and had to dig around to figure out what I suspected: that it was George Jones singing backup on it! (They'd divorced in '75, but he would continue to hang around until '81 or so.)
Saturday, March 09, 2019
Friday, March 08, 2019
The KLF with Tammy Wynette: Justified & Ancient (1991)
This kind of wacky thing is fine as long as it's confined to the music world. Trouble is, this has now bled over into the running of our country. "We're all bound for muu-muu land." (p.s. Tammy SOUNDS great, but she looks like an idiot.)
Thursday, March 07, 2019
George Jones - If Drinking Don't Kill Me (1982)
Jones at his coked-up post-divorce peak (or valley, depending). A beautiful singer and soul regardless of his then-current state.
George Jones: "Yabba Dabba Doo, The King is Gone (So Are You)" (1989)
One of my favorite George Jones songs ever. And I love the way he looks and moves and plays his guitar during this. Regardless of decade, George Jones is usually very attractive to me.
George Jones and Tammy Wynette: Lovin' You, Lovin' Me (1994)
From the 1994 "Burn Your Playhouse Down" George duet sessions. One of Tammy's last recordings, along with songs from her 1995 duet album with George, "One." She died in April 1998.
Tuesday, March 05, 2019
Country song
"All Roads Lead to Home"
I drove all night to our old house
Just to see if I was still there
Circled the drive four or five times
Couldn't find me anywhere
Still hoping for a light that was shining
From your window up above
Found a black-out, just like wartime
No exception for our love
After whiskey and fuel were drained
I drove back to where I came from
At 6am, both dawn and me were breaking
All roads lead to home.
I drove all night to our old house
Just to see if I was still there
Circled the drive four or five times
Couldn't find me anywhere
Still hoping for a light that was shining
From your window up above
Found a black-out, just like wartime
No exception for our love
After whiskey and fuel were drained
I drove back to where I came from
At 6am, both dawn and me were breaking
All roads lead to home.
Monday, March 04, 2019
The Plot Against the Giant (Wallace Stevens, 1917)
First Girl
When this yokel comes maundering,
Whetting his hacker,
I shall run before him,
Diffusing the civilest odors
Out of geraniums and unsmelled flowers.
It will check him.
Second Girl
I shall run before him,
Arching cloths besprinkled with colors
As small as fish-eggs.
The threads
Will abash him.
Third Girl
Oh, la...le pauvre!
I shall run before him,
With a curious puffing.
He will bend his ear then.
I shall whisper
Heavenly labials in a world of gutturals.
It will undo him.
Sunday, March 03, 2019
I'm Ragged But I'm Right
Friday, March 01, 2019
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