Rick Broussard at a car show in Lockhart (2018)

Rick Broussard should've been a legend. It pains me to see people milling about instead of rushing the stage. Ozymandias, y'all.

George Jones (and guests): It Don't Get Any Better Than This (1998)

George Jones and Jim Lauderdale: Tavern Choir (1988)

Merry Christmas to Me (from me)!

 Oh wait---the chair is my mom's Christmas gift to me (she's going to pay for it; I ordered it and put it together tonight). The REST is from me to me! :)

 

Van Halen: Ain't Talkin' 'Bout Love (1978)

The REAL Van Halen.

Van Halen (with Hagar): Why Can't This Be Love (1986)

Van Halen post-David Lee Roth isn't the real Van Halen. The dumbing-down of Van Halen in the mid-'80s is the same thing that happened to Cheap Trick and Heart, and others.
However...
I've been hearing this song in my head for the past 3 days:

Love the music/arrangements and the very catchy tune. 

Don't think much of Hagar's generic voice and the generic lyrics. 

It's not a real Van Halen song---anybody could have recorded this---but it's a real good, super-catchy, super-produced '80s song.
|

The Kinks, 1964: You Really Got Me / All Day and All of the Night

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaghhhhhhhhh! Birth of Metal? Birth of Grunge? Listen to that undertow!

The Kinks - Better Things (1981)

Here's wishing you the bluest sky,
And hoping something better comes tomorrow.
Hoping all the verses rhyme,
And the very best of choruses to
Follow all the doubt and sadness.
I know that better things are on the way.

Here's hoping all the days ahead
Won't be as bitter as the ones behind you.
Be an optimist instead,
And somehow happiness will find you.
Forget what happened yesterday,
I know that better things are on the way.

It's really good to see you rocking out
And having fun,
Living like you just begun.
Accept your life and what it brings.
I hope tomorrow you'll find better things.
I know tomorrow you'll find better things.

Here's wishing you the bluest sky,
And hoping something better comes tomorrow.
Hoping all the verses rhyme,
And the very best of choruses to
Follow all the doubt and sadness.
I know that better things are on the way.

I know you've got a lot of good things happening up ahead.
The past is gone it's all been said.
So here's to what the future brings,
I know tomorrow you'll find better things.
I know tomorrow you'll find better things.

Christmas 2020

I can't remember the last time I decorated for Christmas! 

Everyone is calling the year 2020 a "dumpster fire" of a year... But for me, 2020 was actually pretty good. 

After complaining about a job for years, I quit in late 2019 and then got hired in Spring 2020 via phone (during the initial stages of Wuhan) for a new job that pays more than I've ever made, and that I like---and that does tele-working pretty well. I got VERY lucky, and I am VERY grateful.

Being at home constantly can be stifling---but it's also sometimes nice to just wake up and roll off the couch to the computer without having to shower and put on makeup and commute and deal with people all day! I haven't had a sick day in 8 months! :)

Also: After 3 years of not talking to my mother, and over 10 years of not talking to my father, 2020 brought a rapprochement with both. Which makes my soul feel happier. As I wrote my mom earlier in an e-mail: "It's not like I'm 35 and you're 60, and we have decades left to not speak."

So today, after years of not decorating for Christmas, I finally dragged down my box labeled "Christmas" and put up a few things. And sent out my first Christmas cards in years: to Mom and Dad.

OJ Simpson "If I Did It" Interview, 2006

I just recently re-watched the excellent 2016 ESPN doc "OJ: Made in America." Which led me to order a cheap used copy of the 2007 book "If I Did It," allegedly the confession of Simpson---originally intended as a money-making project for him but, through the courts, the rights to the book were ultimately turned over to the family of murder victim Ron Goldman.

 

Simpson was interviewed for the book in 2006 by Judith Regan. The interview was initially scheduled to air on Fox in that year but was shelved after widespread protest. In 2018, the below interview was finally aired for the first time.

After reading "If I Did It" and watching the interview, I don't think of Simpson as "The Devil." I think his crime was rather typical---yes, typical. The history of the world is full of angry, jealous lovers killing each other in the heat of passion. And "heat of passion" is the key. I just went and looked up California law: A murder committed in the heat of passion can either be 2nd-Degree Murder (15 years to life) or Voluntary Manslaughter (3, 6, or 11 years). The prosecution, in their quest for publicity, insisted on making this a 1st-Degree Murder case---which I don't think it was.

As Simpson admits ("hypothetically" or not) in this interview, he went over to Nicole's house to either peek in her window (as he'd done before) or actively confront her about some perceived sexual/drug-related "misdeed." His daughter's recital only hours earlier, and his scheduled flight an hour later to Chicago, make it clear, to me at least, that Simpson wasn't thinking about intentionally murdering Nicole when he went over there. The fact that something "set him off" (Goldman's appearance, or did Nicole have a knife at the door?) isn't an excuse for murder, but I think it's an excuse for not being "the Epitome of Evil." Rather, this is a real-life case of a one-time hero brought down by his emotional weakness for a woman---the centuries-old tragic stuff of both literature and myth. Told here in a banal fashion, but tragic, nonetheless.

Trying to Make Sense of Apartment Weirdos

Over the past 6 or 8 months, there's been a kid problem at my apartment complex. 

First, there were the two boys who would skateboard, ride bikes, race cars, etc., on the sidewalk in front of my apartment for hours on end most evenings. I complained to management about them, and, miraculously, the racing outside my window stopped.

Then, there was the autistic girl who jumped my backyard fence and actually entered my apartment on two occasions. I complained to management about her, and she hasn't "visited" in a couple of months.

In the past two weeks or so, there's been a completely different set of kids running amok. One little girl with a couple of varying companions who run SHRIEKING throughout the apartment complex between the hours of 5pm and 7pm. Accompanied by a dad walking his dog AND, apparently, his kids. Because I can hear him making his way around the complex yelling after both the dog and the kids. The kids shriek both directly outside my door and all around the complex. A couple of nights ago, after multiple screams, I walked out to find where the hell the noise was coming from: The man and his dog were sitting outside of the pool, and the kids were running around the pool screaming. I didn't say anything, just made eye contact with the guy and went back into my apartment. Though on two occasions, I've heard the screaming right outside my door and stepped out of my apartment and confronted the kids directly: "You guys have got to stop screaming." (No, no yelling, as I yelled at the autistic brat who had entered my apartment.) Each time, the kids were actually polite and said "Sorry" and then went away.

The above was all a preface. The little screaming girl mentioned above is apparently with the guy in the below story:

Recently, I've been ordering a lot of both personal and Christmas stuff online, which is sometimes delivered to my mailbox, sometimes dropped off at my apartment doorstep. Because I know I have a lot of stuff incoming, I ALWAYS open my front door both in the morning when I wake up and late at night to check to see if I have any packages sitting on my doorstep.

This Saturday morning (12/12), I woke up about 9am, opened the front door to check for packages (none), made breakfast, watched TV, etc. Then fell back asleep on my couch in the early afternoon. Around 3pm, I got up and started to do chores around the house. When I opened my door to take the trash out, I saw a dented package sitting there---it had NOT been there earlier in the morning. As I was standing there looking at the package, a man walked up the sidewalk toward me. 55-ish, white, gray hair, non-shaven, wearing pajama pants and house-shoes and a knit cap. He said to me: "Yeah, last night about 1am, I saw someone trying to steal your package. I chased him off and called the police. They showed up and couldn't find the guy. I would've knocked on your door, but I didn't see any lights on and didn't want to bother you."

Here's the thing: Friday night around 1am, I was fully awake, lying on my couch watching TV. I saw someone passing in front of my window, back and forth, about 6 times. No police officers were there.

And when I got up Saturday morning around 9am and checked outside my front door, there was no package there. Yet at 3pm, this guy walks up and says he saw the package at 1am the night before.

I didn't argue with him, just said "Thanks." Then a few hours later, around 6pm, there's a knock on my door. It's the same pajama-clad guy, this time accompanied by the girl who's been screaming all week. He hands me a different package: "Looks like they delivered this to the wrong door." It was some shoes for me, all right. Really? They delivered them to this guy's apartment?

It's weird and creepy. He obviously lied about the first package. But was the alleged mis-delivery of the second package a coincidence, or did he pick that up from my doorstep and then lie about that, as well? (It made it a little less creepy that he had a child with him when he came to my door---yet it was the obnoxious shrieking child from earlier...)

I don't know for sure, but I'm pretty sure, based on some of my neighbors, that the apartment complex I'm living in has both "regular rent" apartments and then Section 8 apartments for the decrepit and mentally ill. I have a nice apartment amid some weirdo lowlifes. When I was 20 to 30 (and for patches afterward), I was poor and expected to live around creeps. Post-50, I'm fucking sick of them.

Reading Thomas Hardy

Like many office workers, I've been working from home since last March. And sometimes there's down-time during the official work day. When you're at a real office, you can't pick up a book and start reading (looks bad, so people just surf the Internet---when you're staring at the computer screen, no one can tell if you're working or not). In my at-home case, I got bored with Internet surfing and started going through my bookshelves when I had down-time, trying to read some classics that I normally would not have been immediately compelled to read. (Last time this type of spare time happened, when I was temping in 2010, I got through most of the bios of Tennessee Williams, though not that many of the actual plays.)

I first chose Nathaniel Hawthorne's stories---read a couple, got antsy and quit. Then I chose Thomas Hardy's Tess of the d'Urbervilles---a Norton edition left over from college---and immediately got hooked on Hardy. Since last spring, I've read Tess, Jude the Obscure, Mayor of Casterbridge, Far from the Madding Crowd, and nearly every major bio (except for the 1925 one). And I also got caught up in buying both sets and individual items on eBay. I now have a semi-complete set of the 1905 Harpers (New York) edition of Hardy, and the complete 1975 Macmillan (London) "New Wessex" set. Plus lots of (to me) interesting ephemera like Talks with Thomas Hardy, and various pamphlets from both Hardy contemporaries and Hardy scholars meeting up in the 1960s, etc. 

The complete 1975 "New Wessex" set is my current reading set. I've just started at the very beginning with Hardy's first published novel (1871), Desperate Remedies, and the goal is to work my way through every novel in order. (The "New Wessex" set doesn't include the poems or the short stories. I now own the Complete Poems and several original poetry volumes, plus only one short story collection, and will aim for those later, as I continue to collect them.)

Here are photos of my "Hardy Shelf":

The Animals: It's My Life (1965)

"I'm gonna ride the serpent..."

The Animals: Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood (1965)

The Animals: We Gotta Get Out of This Place (1965)

The Animals: Boom Boom (1964)

I forgot that I knew how to dance! I can still fuckin' dance! :)

'Bye-bye 1985 Panasonic microwave!

My mother first bought this trusty Panasonic microwave on 12/18/85 (see receipt). I can't remember the year she passed it along to me. But I have been using it up until... TODAY! When I finally bought myself a bright-n-shiny new red no-name model, just because it matches my kitchen. Goodbye, Family Heirloom! Will your generic replacement last 35 years? Ha! I'll give it 5! :)

I'll let ya know when I get my new phone (and couch and desk chair)! :)

Ozymandias (by both Shelley and Smith, 1818)

 Percy Shelley’s “Ozymandias”

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert… near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed;

And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings;
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

 

Horace Smith’s “Ozymandias”

In Egypt’s sandy silence, all alone,
Stands a gigantic Leg, which far off throws
The only shadow that the Desert knows:—
“I am great OZYMANDIAS,” saith the stone,
“The King of Kings; this mighty City shows
“The wonders of my hand.”— The City’s gone,—
Nought but the Leg remaining to disclose
The site of this forgotten Babylon.

We wonder,—and some Hunter may express
Wonder like ours, when thro’ the wilderness
Where London stood, holding the Wolf in chace,
He meets some fragment huge, and stops to guess
What powerful but unrecorded race
Once dwelt in that annihilated place.

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

The American version of the above sentiment was expressed cinematically in the last shot of "The Planet of the Apes" (1968).

 

Drummer Hodge (Thomas Hardy, 1899)

 

[Britain's Boer War in South Africa, 1899-1902] 

 

I

They throw in Drummer Hodge, to rest
     Uncoffined—just as found:
His landmark is a kopje-crest
     That breaks the veldt around;
And foreign constellations west
     Each night above his mound.
 

II

Young Hodge the Drummer never knew—
     Fresh from his Wessex home—
The meaning of the broad Karoo,
     The Bush, the dusty loam,
And why uprose to nightly view
     Strange stars amid the gloam.
 

III

Yet portion of that unknown plain
     Will Hodge for ever be;
His homely Northern breast and brain
     Grow up a Southern tree,
And strange-eyed constellations reign
     His stars eternally.

The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner (Randall Jarrell, 1945)

From my mother’s sleep I fell into the State,

And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.

Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,

I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.

When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.

Junior Brown: Too Many Nights in a Roadhouse

Junior Brown: Broke Down South Of Dallas

George Jones: You Couldn't Get The Picture (1991)

Only George can sing a meaningful song about Post-It Notes.

Thomas Hardy: The Voice (1912)

Woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me,
Saying that now you are not as you were
When you had changed from the one who was all to me,
But as at first, when our day was fair.

Can it be you that I hear? Let me view you, then,

Standing as when I drew near to the town

Where you would wait for me: yes, as I knew you then,

Even to the original air-blue gown!

Or is it only the breeze, in its listlessness

Travelling across the wet mead to me here,

You being ever dissolved to wan wistlessness,

Heard no more again far or near?

Thus I; faltering forward,

Leaves around me falling,

Wind oozing thin through the thorn from norward,

And the woman calling.

Untitled for Ginny (July 22, 1985)

Oh! to have you

on my doorstep

in the cloud

and through my hair

what fun

with you here!

the roaches for laughing

orange and green

the height of art decor

Come! and make me Picasso

these walls I tame

and will paint for no one else.

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

I wrote the above at age 19, when I was miserable in my first college apartment. Today, at age 55, I still miss Ginny. At the time, I thought I would eventually meet someone who would fill her space, someone to make things better, no matter how terrible. As it turned out, no other person ever came along. But at least, thankfully, scar tissue finally did fill said "space." There's no longer a gaping hole, at least. THAT is what I'm now thankful for.

Eric Clapton - Hello Old Friend (1976)

As I am strolling down the garden park,
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.

[Chorus:]
Hello old friend,
It's really good to see you once again.
Hello old friend,
It's really good to see you once again.

I saw you walking underneath the stars;
I couldn't stop 'cause I was in a car.
I'm sure the distance wouldn't be too far
If I got out and walked to where you are.

[Chorus]

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

Goodbye, Old Friends

This week I finally ordered a new phone and a new microwave oven.

My current old phone is a tiny Nokia that I got for free when I signed up for cell service for the first time in early 2007 right before moving to New York City. As of 2020, it still works fine. But people have long been mocking me for not having a Smart Phone. And not having one is starting to affect me at work. (Plus, what are these wondrous "Apps" of which people speak??)

My current old microwave is a Panasonic hand-me-down from my mother. She bought it in 1985 (passing on the instruction booklet with attached receipt showing the date purchased). As of 2020, it still works fine (at 35 years old). But I'm starting to ask myself if I'm being poisoned.

Real Ale Brewing: Black Is Beautiful

 https://realalebrewing.com/news/the-black-is-beautiful-initiative/

How odd for the Real Ale brewing company outside of Austin: Ostensibly supporting blacks by brewing a "Russian Imperial Stout with Lactose." (OMG---What if said supported blacks are lactose intolerant?! And I don't think your fellow leftists would go for the "Imperial" part.)

When will this utterly mindless politically correct idiocy stop? I found the following especially stupid, the idea that the Real Ale brewery will be "...hopefully bringing forth change to a system that has fractured so many families and has been broken for decades."

How could a brewery, of all random places, ever be "bringing forth change to a system that has fractured so many families"? (As long as you serve all people, you're doing fine. Dare I say it: Shut up and brew.)

And, by the way: What is the "system that has fractured so many families"? Most black families don't have a male present. Most black males are killed by other black males. What is this "system" that you so glibly speak of? Could it be that black people, like all other people, should be held responsible for their own behavior?

And could it be that this brewery is jumping on the politically correct bandwagon, sans any thought whatsoever? I have no respect at all for such suck-ups.

Neil Diamond - Brother Love's Travelling Salvation Show

ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLYWOOD - Official Trailer (HD)

Once Upon a time in Hollywood (2019) | Flamethrower Scene

Next time an intruder comes on your property. (If only Sharon Tate had had a flamethrower.)

Cliff Booth vs Hippies | Once Upon A Time In Hollywood

When psychotic left-wing hippies show up at the wrong house.

Once Upon a Time in...Hollywood

While spending the night at Mom's the day after Thanksgiving, got to watch some of her free HBO after she went to bed. I'm not a big blood-n-guts violence fan, but in this movie's case: It was extremely gratifying to watch the Manson hippies get smashed in the face multiple times by Tarantino's tough Texans (played by DiCaprio and Pitt).

A side-note: Back when I lived briefly in San Francisco in the mid-90s, I was riding a bus when a thug got on and didn't want to pay his fare. We sat there for 10 minutes while the punk and driver argued, and various kind white bus-riders offered the scum-bag a dollar for his fare. He refused all dollars. Just wanted to ride for free for the hell of it. The bus driver ultimately caved and let the thug ride the bus. At the time, I remember thinking: "This would never happen in Texas." (Today, in 2020, it's happening all over America, including Texas.)

Bucket List Places to Visit

In the US:

Nashville/Memphis (Graceland)/Washington DC/Southern Civil War battlegrounds

Los Angeles (studios, Joan Crawford homes, Manson sites)

Massachusetts (Plath, Sexton, Lizzie Borden sites)

 

In Europe:

Germany (Berlin, family sites in Wolfsburg and Braunschweig)

England (North: Liverpool Beatles sites; South: London plus Thomas Hardy and Plath/Hughes sites in Wessex/Devon)

 

In Russia:

Moscow and St. Petersburg, plus Romanov sites like Yekaterinburg.

After the above, I guess Paris (via chunnel) and the pyramids of Egypt.

For Sandra (January 1986)

 Poem for a Water Sign

There is something left unsaid: for wounding eyes,

a cut of silence bled for washing clean.

In frequent deep, voices unwed; lone

divers careless in this wet sky,

a stroke above the clouds that

part their waves to meet God.

She swims to this sign,

a glass-winged girl

heaven-sent,

stirring

sluggish soil

and flooding deaf

horizons with the

brook's gurgle, a babble

academy loosing its

flow, dismissing what may shatter

stone. There is no fear of drowning, no

caution at the water's edge. All is safe

she will say, in sinking to the sea below.

Honey, it's OK.

Marlene Dietrich and Joan Crawford, 1954.

 

How to Deal with the Autistic (and Otherwise Challenged)

As I've mentioned on this blog earlier, an apartment neighbor a few doors down has an autistic girl who has, since July, jumped over my low backyard fence on two occasions and actually either attempted to enter, or actually entered, my apartment. On both occasions, I chased her away, then reported her to apartment management.

Earlier this evening, the same child (about 8 years old) was making her way from the parking lot of the apartment complex to the apartment that she lives in (a couple of doors down from mine). And she chose to shriek at the top of her lungs the entire time. I first heard her shrieks coming from the parking lot, then kept hearing her ear-piercing screams as she made her way to her apartment. As she passed my front window (which was open because of the nice weather), she was still screaming. At which point I yelled at the top of MY lungs through my screen: SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And, miraculously, the little brat immediately DID shut the fuck up. I momentarily scared the Crazy out of her.

The effect of my yelling led me to think: Should we probably not be mollycoddling certain people? The Obnoxiously Autistic (think "Sandy Hook"), the Homeless, the Criminal, the Professional Race/Gender Victims. You can be sympathetic up to a point, but once that point is crossed, then ENOUGH already: Shut up, stop camping on our streets, stop expecting sympathy when the police shoot you when you resist arrest (and when the actual #1 cause of your own deaths is being shot by other young men of your own race, not by police), stop expecting everyone else to buy into your own mental problems (no, you're not a woman, and no, we're not going to start saying "zie/zim/zer" per instrux from Academia).

Perhaps, given the hell-hole state of many cities of our country, it's time for no more leftist mayors or police chiefs or judges. Note to women and "people of color" and other left-wingers who have been placed in positions of power: If you can't handle running your cities or police departments, then turn them over to people who can. You're doing a terrible job. Your mollycoddling is not working at all. You're a poster child for a return to "Old White Men" running things. (Think "Weimar Era." You're exactly that right now.)

The Church: Unguarded Moment (1981)

So hard finding inspiration
I knew you'd find me crying
Tell those girls with rifles for minds
That their jokes don't make me laugh
They only make me feel like dying
In an unguarded moment

So long, long between mirages
I knew you'd find me drinking
Tell those men with horses for hearts
That their jibes don't make me bleed
They only make me feel like shrinking
In an unguarded moment

So deep, deep without a meaning
I knew you'd find me leaving
Tell those friends with cameras for eyes
That their hands don't make me hang
They only make me feel like breathing
In an unguarded moment

The Church: You're Still Beautiful (1990)

It was only seven years ago
Your mirror finally broke
Your little bunch of followers turned you into a fool
The butt of all their vicious jokes, screaming

You're still beautiful baby
Nobody can take that away
You're still beautiful baby
Even when you fall down that way

You turned up backstage at the palace
We thought you was wearing a mask
I felt so fucking embarrassed
When you looked at your reflection and asked, you asked

Are you still beautiful baby
Nobody can take that away
You're still beautiful baby
Baby don't believe what you see

Once upon a time I would have killed for you
I'm sorry that you got in this mess
But you're the walking picture of Dorian Gray

At least it's artistic, I guess...I guess

Times Square 1980: Your Daughter Is One

The problem with this song is:
The scumbags that you sought out in lieu of your parents were often truly that: scumbags. 

They did not give one shit about you.

And your parents usually were not "scumbags," and they DID care.

Times Square (1980 movie)

Caught this by accident on TCM Friday night, about 20 mins into it. And it was interesting and entertaining. A lesbian fantasy about 2 misfit girls trying to survive in the Times Square area, back when it was a sleazy mess.

Since I missed the first minutes, I had to look it up today online: The girls meet in a mental hospital. The younger girl because she'd run away from home, and the older because she'd gotten into a fight with police. (When I first started watching, I thought the girls were 16 and 20-something; in the film, they're supposed to be 13 and 16.)

The 13-year-old society girl, Pamela Pearl, has apparently escaped from an "evil" father---a city commissioner trying to--gasp!--clean up Times Square. The street girl she meets up with is Nicky Marotta (I kept hearing "Marauder"). After leaving public messages with a radio DJ (Tim Curry), the two become "street heroes."

Here's the thing, though: The movie is pretty stupid and simplistic and unrealistic. It's a dumbed-down feel-good version of what street life is actually like. For instance:

(1) The two need money, so the 16-year-old girl gets the 13-year-old a job at a strip club (the older girl knows the manager). When the 13-year-old tells the Puerto Rican manager that she won't dance topless, he's all for it. (Really? He doesn't check IDs AND he doesn't care if one of his dancers won't take off her top?) Apparently he's charmed once the 13-year-old starts bopping (fully clothed) to a punk song on the runway. Please.

(2) The two girls become known, via the radio station, as the "Sleez Sisters." And one of their schticks is that they throw TV sets off of balconies. Now, "Network" had already come out in 1976. But this 1980 film spent about 10 minutes of film time with montages of the girls tossing TVs off balconies. No explanation; I guess it was a given, post-Network, that TVs were bad. (While watching all of this, I kind of hoped that a TV would hit someone on the sidewalk, leading to a plot point...Nah.)

(3) At one point, the father of runaway Pamela confronts the DJ who's been supporting the girls. DJ Tim Curry mocks the father for being "square," and the father backs down and apologizes. (Really? This guy's 13-year-old has just run away from home, and this punk DJ is mocking him for his concern? What is the father apologizing for?)

(4) Later in the film, the two girls get in a fight (the 13-year-old Pamela Pearl wants to have her "own ideas") and Nicky goes off in a huff to practice with her band. While Nicky's gone, DJ Tim Curry shows up at her underground pad with a bottle of vodka, which he proceeds to share with the 13-year-old Pamela. When Nicky gets back home...OMG: Why is she so mad?! (Other than that a 30-year-old guy is at her place getting her 13-year-old lover drunk.)

The film ends with Nicky and Pamela atop a Times Square rooftop, with Nicky singing her extremely basic "I'm a Damn Dog Now," which she'd previously performed at the strip club. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aFOTY0nj-so

It's not that great a song, but apparently it's inspired little girls across the city, who have all gathered below to cheer. Nicky jumps off the roof (caught by her fans) and Pamela Pearl and Dad embrace on the rooftop.

Interesting, but so godawful! :)

p.s. Nicky reminded me way too much of my very first girlfriend (back in '89), who was an ex-con (bank robbery): Sexy but stupid. And, worse, thinking she was talented at "writing" and "performance" when she was decidedly NOT---her "cool" was left over from when she, like the Nicky character, looked like the androgynous Bowie of the '70s. But she had none of the talent of Bowie. Her poems were very bad, her paintings were mediocre. But the Austin street kids liked it.

John Lennon with Cats

George Jones: Who's Gonna Fill Their Shoes

I'm a C-Span nerd---was thrilled to be watching this past weekend during a conversation about the Supreme Court when the moderator asked the guest, re Antonin Scalia, if he'd heard the George Jones song "Who's Gonna Fill Their Shoes," and, if so, who the guest thought could fill Scalia's shoes...Unfortunately, the East Coast guest had never heard of George Jones or the song, though he quickly offered up that he liked Neil Young.

 

This reminded me of when I was in a grad school writing program in San Francisco in '94-'95. I'd turned in a poem mentioning a George Jones song lyric. When classmates and the professor said they didn't know any Jones songs, I pointed out that Jones had been a major figure on the country (and American) music scene for the past 40 years, with literally dozens of hits. A Hispanic fellow student then countered: "Well, you didn't know who Selena was!" True in 1995 at the time of her murder. But then her first album had just been released in 1989. A bit of a difference in ignorance.

George Jones: The Real Deal (1999)

Here's what I think "reincarnation" is.

 

George Jones: A Thousand Times A Day

"You're not intimidating me!"

A couple of hours ago, someone was banging on an apartment door a few doors down from me. After about 5 minutes of the constant banging, I went out to see what was going on.

I stood there on my doorstep with my hands in my pockets and looked down the row at the guy banging on the door. After about 30 seconds, he spotted me standing there. First, he mimicked my stance. Then he crossed his arms. Then he called out, "You're not intimidating me!"

Me: "I'm not trying to intimidate you. Why do you keep banging on that door?"

No answer.

I went back inside. He, I guess, did, too, because I didn't hear anything else from him.

p.s. Other recent apartment occurrences: Another guy has been setting off fireworks within the complex since late September. Setting them off every couple of days, then running back into his apartment, so it was hard to identify who was doing it. Except I caught him in October! (He, seriously, had a big box labeled "Fireworks" sitting on a picnic table while denying he was setting off fireworks!) Now, am I being a "Nurse Ratched," or am I being a Voice of Reason?

Whichever the case, why am I in such an environment? I'd much prefer not to be living around 20-something assholes who don't know how to act.

Love Me Some KEDS!

While quarantined since last March, I haven't had to buy any work clothes, so that's one good thing. But then there's... T-shirts! and Sweatpants/Sweatshirts! and Sneakers!

I used to make fun of hip-hop guys for their massive sneaker collections...But as it turns out, I'm as obsessed as they are (albeit I have less money to spend, and I don't think black guys like Keds as much as I do).

Financial Rewards for Causing a Pandemic

Was feeling fashionable re my collection of multi-colored "Corona" masks---My goal: One for every outfit, just like Nancy Pelosi! A couple of days ago, ordered two more sets of cheap masks from Target.

"Origin: China," said the tags.

So let me get this straight: The United States is fighting a pandemic that originated in Wuhan, China. And we're buying masks from---paying money to---the country where said pandemic originated. Isn't this rewarding them for causing a world-wide pandemic?

 

 

Austin: Highest Percentage Increase in Homicides in the US

 From the Austin American-Statesman (Nov. 6):

 

Austin was brought into the national spotlight in August after a data analysis by The Wall Street Journal showed the city had the highest percentage increase in homicides in the first half of 2020 than any other large city in the nation.

Austin police data show homicides were up by 64% the first six months of the year, just as the first wave of coronavirus cases was rising, compared with the same months in 2019.

For comparison, Chicago’s increase was 52%, Fort Worth’s was 42%, and San Antonio’s was about 34%, according to The Wall Street Journal....

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

The gist of the liberal paper's article is that somehow the Corona virus is responsible for the murder increase. The writer of the article did not stop to think that perhaps both anti-police sentiment by liberals and votes by the Austin City Council to defund police have forced the police to stand back and allow criminality in order to avoid being accused of "racism" when getting rough with criminals. Read for yourself:

https://www.statesman.com/news/20201106/austin-homicides-rise-amid-year-of-pandemic-civil-unrest?utm_source=SFMC&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Austin%20American-Statesman%20mystatesman-extras%202020-11-08&utm_content=GCOX_AUS&utm_term=110820

 

Bay City Rollers - Strangers in the Wind (1978)

Headin' out of the city life,
Suitcase full of dreams
Trying to find some kind of memories
That didn't hold a distant scheme
Something she said I can't remember
But I answered her in turn all the same
And what I saw in her style
Well I've seen it before
But somehow it looked quite different this time

Goodbye to all the friends I never had
Do you still remember me
Takin' care of all your business
You give it all away

And I wonder with all your broken dreams
And promises
If you ever knew me at all
For we are older now
But somehow you still look the same.

Say a prayer for the one you need
Too many here come back Saturday
Don't be concerned
There's too many words to say
Some things will never change

So many faces seemed to pass me by
I've had my share and it's been used

Money talks, that's what they'd say to me
I only laughed at them confused
What used to be an old apartment
They've built a multi-colored jig-saw in the sky
And where the children would play
Well, they're not there anymore
But the rooms are nice with numbers on the door

But in her eyes there's a place for me
An open heart where I can hide away
Forget the changes
As life rearranges to something new

And will she wait for me
When all is said and done will she still be free
Or will the chance be lost
For love is so hard to take
When dreams in the nights are blowing away

In her hand lies an opened book
She gives a sign then she turns the page
And in her smile she knows how it all will end
But in my eyes she sees
We're strangers in the wind

Only President I've voted for twice.

I'll miss Trump a lot. I agreed with most of his principles---bring back US jobs; stop supporting NATO allies like Germany, for instance, who are making energy deals with Russia but still asking for US NATO money (p.s. NATO was created to protect the West from Russia). Oh yeah: And no illegal immigration and no sanctuary cities. I also despised the way he was treated by the media: Russia, Mueller, etc. I can't ever read "The New Yorker" again or ever watch CNN or MSNBC, or listen to NPR, or participate in Facebook or Twitter---in the past 4 years, they all revealed themselves as extremely biased Socialist shills. I can't stand intellectual dishonesty. Trump may be gone, but his time in office certainly opened my eyes to exactly what is going on in the Deep State. (In leftist-speak: I got WOKE.)

My voting history since I came of age (I've got an extremely poor record of winners!):

1984: Mondale (vs Reagan) (I supported, and worked for, Gary Hart in the primaries)  LOST

1988: Dukakis (vs. George HW Bush)  LOST

1992: Bill Clinton (vs. George HW Bush)  WON!

1996: Ross Perot (vs. Dem Clinton and Republican Dole)  LOST (I was being a contrarian this year, though; if the vote had been close, I'd've voted for Clinton.)

2000: Al Gore  (vs George W Bush)  LOST

2004: John Kerry (vs. George W Bush)  LOST

2008: John McCain (I supported Hillary Clinton in the Dem primaries vs Obama)  LOST

2012: Obama (Romney was godawful, and I didn't yet know about Obama's secret money delivery to Iran)  WON

2016: Trump (vs. Hillary)  WON!

2020: Trump (vs. Biden)  LOST

NOTHING happens for a reason.

It's long been a trope that "Everything happens for a reason." Nope. Not at all. They've got to stop saying that. NOTHING happens for a reason.

Well, the very small stuff does: For instance, if you're in college and don't study or attend class, you'll fail your classes and ultimately not be a college grad. In today's society, most higher-paying jobs want you to have a college degree. So you DO have control over THAT type of thing.

However, over the MAJOR things --- like Love and Death --- NOTHING happens for a reason. Someone loves you or they don't. Someone dies or they don't. It's all kind of random.

Intermediate things: I was just thinking about what's happened to me in the past year. I quit my minorly-prestigious job a year ago because I found out from a state-wide job salaries database that I, with 20 years of experience at editing, was making basically the same as a newly hired editor, with under 1 year of experience, at my workplace. Quitting that job caused me a lot of grief, both financially and psychologically. But I HAD to quit based on principle.

(BTW: "Quitting on principle" also led me to some very hard times back in the '90s. I should have learned to dismiss principles back then, I suppose.)

This time around, after quitting, I was first offered a job at the same salary I'd been making. I accepted. Then the job was rescinded (my old boss, mad that I left, gave me a bad reference), then re-offered. (That job an hour's drive each way from my home.) I was subsequently offered, via a phone interview only, a different job only 10 minutes away from my home, and at $8,000 more per year. Which I've been doing since last April, and is working out fine.

(1) I really liked my initial job that I quit last year. Recently found out that the incompetent boss just retired. Would I have stayed had I known that she'd be retiring so soon and I wouldn't have to deal with her any more? Probably. BUT: I then would have been stuck at a salary that didn't allow me to move forward with my life.

(2) Thank god that the first job offer was rescinded (pre-Wuhan)! If I'd taken that job, when Wuhan struck, I'd be out of a job right now. Even if no Wuhan, I'd have been making the same amount of money that I made at the job I quit PLUS having to drive an hour back and forth each day.

The Point: There's absolutely NO POINT to any of it. Jobs, cities, people. What you REALLY want doesn't matter. Stuff just happens. All you can do is say "thanks" at the brief nice intermissions and then surf on.

Donald J. Trump: A Tribute to the 45th President of the United States

Thank you for your efforts, President Donald Trump. You tried your hardest to Drain the Swamp. Sorry The Swamp won.

All I Want for Christmas

George Jones: Come Home To Me

Busy Month

October has been a busy month.

For instance: Spent the night at my mother's a couple of weeks ago: We've both been reading Thomas Hardy recently, and she'd checked out some Hardy BBC videos from the library, and so I suggested a "slumber/viewing party."

Days after that, my father let me know, via my mother, that he was leaving me some money after he died. I sent him a thank-you card, giving him my contact info. And then he called me a week later. Though we hadn't spoken in 10 years, we chatted easily and freely (for one thing, we both share a love of Trump; and we both voted for Obama in 2012---but not in 2008).

Other October get-togethers: My work group had a gathering last Friday at a place way out in the hills outside of Austin. Took me a half-hour to drive out there. I hadn't seen the stars in 35 years (had missed them greatly). For the first couple of hours, we all mingled politely. Then I found myself sitting by the fire pit with the girlfriend of a newly hired graphic artist. Our talk turned to whether or not gay or trans people should feel obligated to "come out" to family and friends. My view: Yes, be utterly true to yourself. The Girlfriend: No, shouldn't be obligated. I then told her I was gay, and she told me she was trans. Me: Well, if you're trans, then your mother already knows! :)

After that, she and I were a pair. Fleetwood Mac was playing, and she insisted on twirling around the fire like Stevie Nicks, then insisted on twirling with ME. Kind of embarrassing, and I hadn't danced for something like 20 years. I'm sure I was awkward and dorky. After that, we delved deeper into our initial musical pasts: her, Lisa Lisa, and me, the Bay City Rollers, which we requested to be played. And we danced to those, as well. (When's the last time anyone touched me or danced with me?)

All was good for a couple of hours. It got late, the crowd thinned out and went to sit indoors. The Girlfriend was still sitting beside me, but then I went back outside to smoke. Went I went back in 10 minutes later, The Girlfriend was crying. When I asked her what was wrong, she shook her head and fled outside. As it turned out, the owner of the place (my boss's sister-in-law) had started a drunken conversation with her: "Who ARE you?" Not knowing that the girl was trans and had identity issues. She ended up fleeing with her boyfriend without saying goodbye to anyone.

I ended up staying really late at the work party. I arrived at 3pm and ended up leaving at 1:30 am. Which is ridiculous! Who the hell stays at any party for 10 hours?? I could chalk it up to me being really lonely after all of this Wuhan isolation, but then I remembered past parties way back in the '90s, when I was also often the last person to leave. Also out of loneliness. I hate being that weird, sad person. Apparently, I still am.

The good part about the work party is that a couple of other co-workers stayed as long as I did, so I didn't seem completely desperate. And also that I got to hang out and drink and chat with co-workers in a comfortable setting. I worked at my previous job for 5 years, and we never had one get-together. 

So, yeah, October has been busy. I'm awkwardly getting back into the groove of interacting with other awkward human beings. Will I ever get it right?

Champagne or Arsenic

A Democrat just wrote me, asking playfully if he should buy champagne for Election Night next Tuesday. I, not so playfully, responded:

Re champagne: A vote for Biden is a vote for sanctuary cities, allowing open borders, abolishing ICE, defunding the police, not clearing out homeless encampments, not stopping looting, destroying the economy by taxing job-creators to subsidize the shiftless, court-packing, tearing down statues of our country's founders, encouraging fake news like the Mueller investigation/impeachment (which both proved to be false) while simultaneously encouraging news outlets to ban stories that don't adhere to the left-wing narrative. Oh, and for wearing TWO masks to prove just how darn virtuous you are while accepting millions from Russia and China (after falsely accusing your opponent of doing exactly that very thing). I'd buy either absinthe or arsenic if I were you. No one should celebrate dystopian Orwellianism.

Banned on Facebook: President Trump dances to YMCA at Pennsylvania rally (10/20/20)

I tried to post this on my Facebook page tonight: Banned.

I'm a political junkie, watch C-SPAN all the time to see what's actually happening out in the field. Trump has rallies with thousands attending; Biden has... a few members of the press showing up. Does the press really think that Biden is going to win this?

I Voted

 

First day of Early Voting in Travis County (Austin). I went around 2pm, had a 40-minute wait.

The lady who checked my ID: "Did you get your mask at Sue Patrick?" Yes, I did! :)

Hardy Kick

A couple of months ago, I, out of boredom, started re-reading Thomas Hardy's "Tess of the d'Urbervilles." Which led to "Jude the Obscure," which led to "Mayor of Casterbridge," and then "Far from the Madding Crowd." (Favorites so far, in order: Jude, Mayor, Tess, Madding.) I've also now read what is allegedly a posthumous bio by Hardy's second wife (but actually written by Hardy himself before he died), four other bios, and bios of both the first and second wives. (Gittings is my favorite biographer so far.) I also recently bought a half-complete set of a 1905 Harper's Hardy collection, plus, just a couple of days of ago, the below collection of both books and ephemera.

 

Andy Griffith (A Face In the Crowd, 1957): Free Man In The Morning

One of my favorite movies, and favorite performances, ever.

George Jones: I Miss a Lot of Trains

Recorded live, May 1983, at Jones's Music Park in Colmesneil, Texas.

George Jones: The Corvette Song

George Jones - Someday My Day Will Come (1979)

1979. Lowest point of his life. About to be committed to a sanitorium. 120 lbs anorexic. Coked up. Alcoholic. Beautiful song and singer.

2020 NBA finals have lowest ratings in NBA history

 https://www.reuters.com/article/us-basketball-nba-tv-ratings-record-low-idUSKBN26N0IO

Very gratifying to read: Basketball finals score lowest ratings in NBA history. (This particular Reuters story is about Game 1, but ratings only sank lower as the series continued.) Could it be that others, like me, don't want to see leftist propaganda printed on the court and on the back of players' jerseys? I love my Spurs, for instance, and I have for 20 years. But I refuse to watch ANY game with such propaganda.

Time Machines / Steampunk

Last weekend, watched the doc "Our Time Machine" on PBS, on the making of Chinese artist Maleonn's play "Papa's Time Machine" and a simultaneous exploration of Maleonn's own father's descent into senility. (The original play also dealt with the same subject---an attempt to re-establish shared memories, via puppets and installation art, with a father who was losing his memory.) http://neocha.com/magazine/papas-time-machine/

The subject matter was intellectually fascinating and sad---my own parents are 79 and 80. (Neither senile as of yet, though I only speak to one of them.) And I, in my 50s, am also increasingly aware of the stealthy loss of faculties. But what helps alleviate the agony of loss? Work! Aesthetics! Amid the personal loss, the documentary pays special attention to Maleonn's vision for the puppets and scenery that help tell his story. "How beautiful," I thought while watching. I didn't have a name for what I was seeing. "Mechanical." "Victorian." "Futuristic." When I later researched the name of the documentary online, I learned that the look of Maleonn's vision was considered "Steampunk."

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steampunk

There are many definitions of "Steampunk," but this phrase from Wikipedia resonated: 

 

Steampunk most recognizably features anachronistic technologies or retrofuturistic inventions as people in the 19th century might have envisioned them.

1902 by Albert Robida. Vision of 2000.

How psychologically interesting to me: A 21st-century artist re-interpreting what 19th-century artists were predicting, with the knowledge of what had actually taken place and thus a sly, condescending wink at how ignorant past generations were. While his own current circumstances were equally uncertain, as were the memories of his once-creatively powerful father (in Maleonn's case, his father was the longtime director of Shanghai opera).

As a side note: I learned, further, that one of my favorite movies of all time, Brazil (1985), is also now considered to be part of the "Steampunk" genre. And I'm guessing that another of my favorites, Moulin Rouge (2001), is considered the same.

New Clothes During Wuhan

I haven't had to go into an office since March of this year. Which is good as far as saving money on buying office clothes. But... I get bored with putting on the same T-shirts every day, the only difference being the color. Today I splurged on Joan/George/Plath at an online T-shirt place, just to have a "change of mood" when I put on my work-at-home T-shirt for the day. (Though, good lord, what kind of "mood" might each of these put me in?)

George Jones: Where Grass Won't Grow

George Jones: I Just Don't Give a Damn