Elvis Presley "Don't Be Cruel" (Ed Sullivan Show, September 9, 1956)

From the waist up.

Elvis Presley: In the Ghetto (1969)

Dolly, Tammy, Loretta: Silver Threads and Golden Needles (1993)

Tammy Wynette: Crying Steel Guitar (1974)

Two Hoots and a Holler: Step Fast

You make a lot of plans but you don't know what's in store...

Rick Broussard: "Good Used Heart"

George Jones: I'd Rather Have What We Had

George Jones: "I Don't Need Your Rocking Chair" (1992)

Cats and Plants and Books

I lived in an Austin duplex on Rainey Street from 1991 to 1994, which I paid $310 a month for. (The street is now an uber-developed condo/bar area, but at the time, it was a low-key strip of old 1930s family homes and duplexes.)

At the time, I had just broken up with my first girlfriend, and I was emotionally miserable. But one thing I also wrote in my journal then, and prayed for then: "I want to be surrounded by cats and plants and books..."

I didn't get what I wished then. In fact, I lost many cats during that 3-year time period: My black cat "Frances" disappeared. Her daughter "Toonces" got run over in front of me. A Christmas gift kitty "Katie Scarlett" was also run over (found her dead in my yard when I got home from work). Another gift-kitty died of leukemia a few weeks after I got her.

A miserable time in my life.

But today, RE "I want to be surrounded by cats and plants and books": I've got all of this: A mama cat who bore 3 kittens in my neighbor's backyard, plus a little niece hanging around---all mine now. And I've got all the books I want. And I have all the plants I want.

The girlfriend that I also prayed to have at the time, I did NOT get---thank you, God! :)  But the cats and plants and books---I'm glad to have received 25 years later.

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang Theme Song

I can't get over how brilliant this movie is!
Both wildly optimistic and psychologically dark at the same time. So skillful on the part of the writers, the choreographers, and everyone else involved. You don't see many works of art like this nowadays.

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang: Doll on a Music Box / Truly Scrumptious

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang: Chu-Chi Face

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang: Roses of Success

Every bursted bubble has a glory!
Each abysmal failure makes a point!
Every glowing path that goes astray,
Shows you how to find a better way.
So every time you stumble never grumble.
Next time you'll bumble even less!
For up from the ashes, up from the ashes, grow the roses of success!
Grow the roses!
Grow the roses!
Grow the roses of success!
Oh yes!
Grow the roses!
Those rosy roses!
From the ashes of disaster grow the roses of success!
(spoken) Yes I know but he wants it to float. It will!
For every big mistake you make be grateful!
Here, here!
That mistake you'll never make again!
No sir!
Every shiny dream that fades and dies,
Generates the steam for two more tries!
(Oh) There's magic in the wake of a fiasco!
Correct!
It gives you that chance to second guess!
Oh yes!
Then up from the ashes, up from the ashes grow the roses of success!
Grow the roses!
Grow the roses!
Grow the roses of success!
Grow the roses!
Those rosy roses!
From the ashes of disaster grow the roses of success!
Disaster didn't stymie Louis Pasteur!
No sir!
Edison took years to see the light!
Right!
Alexander Graham knew failure well; he took a lot of knocks to ring that
bell!
So when it gets distressing it's a blessing!
Onward and upward you must press!
Yes, Yes!
Till up from the ashes, up from the ashes grow the roses of success.

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang: Me Ol' Bam-Boo

Living Room, 2021

Real proud of the plant stand that I turned into a book/knick-knack stand in my living room. Ha!
Oh, and the chair, too...

I don't feel anything right now other than content with my high-paying non-demanding work-from-home job and with buying stuff and with loving no-one. (The most miserable times in my life were when I loved someone and I wasn't loved in return.) I'm very grateful for the present peace.

 

 

Bay City Rollers: Love Fever (1977)

John Lennon: (Just Like) Starting Over

John Lennon was shot dead at 10:50 pm on Monday, December 8, 1980. I had gone to bed the evening before listening to the first side of "Double Fantasy." When my mother came and woke me up for school on Tuesday morning, she immediately told me what had happened. My first odd thought was, "Did Yoko do it?"

I grew up with parents who didn't like each other at all. They divorced when I was 12. Their dis-ease with each other was obvious, but as a kid I lived with it, and with the some-time violence, but without feeling a sense of horror regarding the entire world.

I first discovered the Beatles and my favorite John Lennon when I was 15, in the summer of 1980. A local radio station was playing all of the Beatles' songs, and a local TV station was running the few Beatles movies. I felt happy when listening and watching. That same summer, I was sent to visit my father in South Dakota. He was awful to me. But while in South Dakota, I heard "Instant Karma" on the radio for the first time. When I got back to Texas, I found out that John Lennon was coming out with his first album in 5 years: "Double Fantasy." Released in November. When I first heard the album in full--at midnight, on a local rock station---I didn't love it at all. In fact, I remember thinking that it would now be sad to have to "leave" Lennon-fandom after all of these months... I bought the album anyway, and listened to it constantly anyway...

John Lennon's shooting on December 8, 1980, introduced me to a very strange feeling that I'd never experienced before. Like I said above, I'd been through awful things as a child, but I'd always somehow just been an observer, and I could consciously say to myself: "My father is behaving terribly" or "My mother is behaving terribly." And I didn't love either of them ("They're not on your side," a voice once said to me), so whatever they were doing wasn't so terrible because they had nothing to do with ME. But I LOVED John Lennon. And when he was shot dead, a weird psychological sense of horror ran through me for the first time. The world, the sky were not the same. This particular sense of horror didn't last more than two or three months at the time. But it came back later over and over again. Lennon's death introduced me to this horrific, other-worldly rift.



RINGS

once I walked in clear blue sky
waiting for the bus
my cheek against the ice-cold pane

Mama didn't work
she watched me at the stop
tearing the curls
she spent all morning fixing

who liked my dress?
all the boys, Mama
they give me their nickels
their jackets to wear

Raymond, Danny, Sylvester
we fly kites together
they walk me home
giving me rings
to wear forever

Workers of the World

The workers in MY world have been getting on my frigging nerves the past couple of weeks. The apartment complex management has gone on a binge of tree-cutting and leaf-blowing lately. 

Trees: The bottom-of-the-barrel tree-trimmers don't know shit about trimming trees. They've just been slicing off major limbs left and right, leaving a big stem, basically. It's awful to look at. Aside from the theoretical gripe with their inability to chops limbs correctly, my personal gripe is: The stupid tree-trimmers broke a couple of my plant pots in the backyard last week and didn't even knock on my door to apologize. And yet another group of tree-trimmers had their portable stereo blasting last week while they were clearing out brush---after about a half-hour, I had to go out there and tell them to please turn down their music. One guy said, "Oh, OK, " then a few minutes later it was blasting again, and I had to go back out there again. Have some respect for the neighbors, you fucking idiots.

Leaf-Blowing: After 6 months of no leaf-clearing (and after 3 or so requests from me to have the dead leaves cleared out from my backyard), the apartment management finally sent a crew out to blow the leaves away. I had to listen to their loud shit for over 5 hours last Saturday. (Prior to 6 months ago, a leaf-blower guy would come every Tuesday and, voila, the leaves on my sidewalk and in my yard would be gone in about 20 minutes. Not sure why it now took 5 hours.) Around 3 pm, the blowing-machines finally stopped, and I thought I could finally relax... Well, until I looked out my front window to see one of the guys pulling out his dick and taking a piss on a bush just outside of my window! Part of me said, "Be cool," but the bigger part of me said, "Tell that motherfucker to get the fuck away from your window." (Latter part won---I jerked open my door and scared that idiot off, then reported him to the apartment office.)

Who needs this stupid shit? I feel like I've been flashed back to my younger self, circa 1990-2000. Only then, I just put up with everything, and now I'm dead set on confronting everything. The ultimate goal, though, is to not be around any of this shit at all.

2021 US National Book Award Winners (asterisk by all)

 First, here's a list of former Natl Book Award winners: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_winners_of_the_National_Book_Award

Compare this year's to years previous. You'll see that "merit" has degenerated to "politically correct" and "racially diverse."

I hadn't paid attention to literary awards for years, but Sunday night, while trying to find something to fall asleep to, happened upon a re-run on C-Span of what used to be the most prestigious award in US literature.

The host of the literary awards was a young black female: Phoebe Robinson. Humor on the level of a 3rd-grader. For this supposedly literate crowd? She wasn't literate, and she was only barely funny in a juvenile way. Why in the world was she chosen to host? Oh...

Categories that I happened to catch in the last half of the show:

POETRY: Chaired by leftist black man. Board of judges: Leftist Asian woman, leftist Native American woman, leftist Deaf Jewish man, leftist feminist. Winner: Leftist Hispanic male (Martin Espada). 

NON-FICTION: Chaired by leftist black woman. Board of judges: Two leftist feminists, leftist Native American man, leftist black man. Winner: Leftist black woman (Tiya Miles).

FICTION: Chaired by leftist Hispanic man. Board of judges: Leftist white male (the token white male, but then he hates himself: "masculinity can be such a pathology"), leftist lesbian, leftist black female, Asian man. Winner: Leftist gay black male (Jason Mott).

As someone who grew up loving literature, the above makes me sick. Asterisk by every single one of the so-called "winners" of the award: You won not because of your writing merit but because the country was currently in the sway of left-wing racial politics and the National Book Award board was too weak to stand up intellectually.

For shame, all of you. Your sub-par racist criteria are a disgrace to real writing, real literature.

George Jones: Choices (1999)

George & Tammy: It's An Old Love Thing (1995)

The two had been divorced since 1976, and hadn't recorded together since 1980, but, out of the blue, just as I was discovering both of them for the first time in 1994, they put out this album, "One"---I was thrilled. And thought the whole world would receive it as if the Beatles had gotten back together! But, nah... Even the country world wasn't that excited---it reached only #12 on the US Country Billboard chart. (Regardless of who was or was not excited, the fact that George Jones and Tammy Wynette made another album together after 15 years was actually a very big deal.)

"One" was the last album that Tammy Wynette recorded. She died at age 55 in April 1998. George Jones died at age 81 in April 2013. I was able to see him twice in concert in the late '90s: At the Travis County Expo Center, and at Stubb's in Austin. (At the latter event, where I was in the 2nd row with my friend Jerry, the great UT coach Darrell Royal was in attendance, seated in an area above the main floor. George acknowledged him, to great applause. George also made eye contact with me during the show---that sounds wishful on my part, perhaps, but... In all of the shows I've been to, I only remember eye contact with two performers: Kathy Valentine of the Go-Gos at Austin's Erwin Center in the '80s, and George Jones at the Stubbs show. So maybe it's true.)

George Jones & Tammy Wynette: We're Gonna Hold On (Midnight Special, 1973)

Hart Crane: Chaplinesque (1926)

We make our meek adjustments,
Contented with such random consolations
As the wind deposits
In slithered and too ample pockets.

For we can still love the world, who find

A famished kitten on the step, and know

Recesses for it from the fury of the street,

Or warm torn elbow coverts.

We will sidestep, and to the final smirk

Dally the doom of that inevitable thumb

That slowly chafes its puckered index toward us,

Facing the dull squint with what innocence

And what surprise!

And yet these fine collapses are not lies

More than the pirouettes of any pliant cane;

Our obsequies are, in a way, no enterprise.

We can evade you, and all else but the heart:

What blame to us if the heart live on.

The game enforces smirks; but we have seen

The moon in lonely alleys make

A grail of laughter of an empty ash can,

And through all sound of gaiety and quest

Have heard a kitten in the wilderness.

I can't think of the last time I saw the stars.

I learned in school, about age 7 or 8, that the sun was a star. And ever since then, I was amazed by all of the other stars in the sky. (Figured out immediately that there was other life out there.) 

Similarly while growing up, I would find spiral-shaped fossils in the dirt, and I recognized that these were from millions of years ago. And while traveling by car from Texas to California in the mid-'90s, I thought to myself about the landscape, "This looks like the barren, leftover bottom of the ocean"--- I didn't know at that time that that was exactly what this landscape was millions of years ago: the Western Interior Seaway.

https://www.cretaceousatlas.org/geology/

I know some things, I miss the stars.

George Jones: "Tell Me My Lying Eyes Are Wrong" (1970)

Bay City Rollers: Rock 'n Roll Love Letter (1976)

A Cat or a Hot-Water Bottle

I've got 5 cats. Stray cat Mama Hennessy that I'd been feeding in 2018 spewed her babies out in April 2019 in my neighbor's backyard in the middle of a rainstorm.

I posted "free kittens" signs and nobody wanted the babies... So they're all mine: Hennessy, Pete, Solomon (Mini), Sasha-Su; and then the later-adopted Cinco (December 2019, huddling in the backyard, then huddling on the front ledge).

Two years in to this multi-cat adventure: All five of the cats move along with me. If I'm lying on the couch, they all bunch up on the couch with me. If I sit at my computer, they all lie in their cat-beds right next to me and my computer.

It's kind of cute. Sometimes. When I'm trying to sleep on my couch, it's hard to sleep with 3 or 4 cats at/on my feet. They get heavy. Sometimes I want to move my feet and legs and shove them off, but then I feel guilty.

Reminded of something that Sylvia Plath said while visiting a home in England: "Do you want a cat or a hot-water bottle?" (Cats are indeed warm if they lie quietly, but they don't always lie quietly!) Which would YOU choose?

There is a myth that cats are solitary. The only reason they're supposedly solitary is that they've usually been separated at birth. These cats of mine run in a pack and like to sleep in a pack, on top of each other, and of me.

Thanksgiving Post-WWI

Read Caresse Crosby's "The Passionate Years" and Malcolm Cowley's "Exile's Return" this long weekend. Now starting on the Hart Crane bio.

 

George Jones: Someday My Day Will Come (1979)

George Jones: "Take Me" & "House of Gold"

George Jones: I'm A People (1966)

Conversations with Strangers

Before I turned 40, plenty of random people came up to me on the street/in the classroom/in the workplace to strike up conversations: all male. At the time, I thought that they were just talking to me because I was so obviously smart and intriguing. Ha! In truth, I looked much cuter then, and they were interested in sex. One blatant example: A young guy in San Francisco came and sat next to me on the bus. We were chatting amiably, but the second I told him I was gay, he literally got up and moved to another seat without any appropriate segue!

Cut to today: I'm now middle-aged. Young men don't make passes at me. But what I discovered this past week is that fellow middle-aged women have now apparently acknowledged me as one of their own and we're now bonding: When I got my Covid shot at the supermarket pharmacy, I had a lengthy fun conversation with an ultra-supportive middle-aged mom there for her flu shot. And I've had a couple of other 50-something women smile broadly at me in passing in the past couple of days. (In the olden days, the only people who would smile at me were men, both younger and older.)

Are the smiles of other 50-plus women a recognition of our current shared state? If so, I welcome them. I would like some friends.

Thanksgiving Supplies!

 Went grocery shopping today. Prepared for Thanksgiving by myself on Thursday!

 

Back in the '90s, working among fellow 30-something hipsters, one girl said to me smugly re her and her boyfriend: "We're going to a bar and ordering hamburgers for Thanksgiving." As I said at the time: Not me. I can go to a bar and order a hamburger any day of the week. Who wants that same depressing shit on Thanksgiving?

At that time, in the '90s, I had my mother's home to go to. The crescent rolls and cranberry sauce were canned, as above---and I like them like that! But the turkey and potatoes and pie were home-made. I miss those. But I reproduce the whole scenario as best I can. Will heat some of the above, as required, and watch the Dallas Cowboys play on TV, as I have since my youth---it will be a reproduction of my childhood Thanksgiving day, as close as possible. (Even when I was in San Francisco or New York for Thanksgiving, I always at least bought a frozen turkey dinner and ate that in mocking honor of the day. And the Cowboys have always been there for every Thanksgiving.)

The only thing I forgot today while grocery-shopping: My LeSeuer peas! My first Thanksgiving with my first girlfriend in 1989, I made a big scene and insisted that we go back to the store for said peas. Hmmm----Will I be so insistent with myself this week?

Kyle Rittenhouse: Not Guilty

Rittenhouse was charged with the murder of two rioters on the streets of Kenosha, Wisconsin, in August 2020. As videos from the trial showed, Rittenhouse fired at the said victims only after each had attacked him first.

Joseph Rosenbaum was one of the two rioters that Rittenhouse shot dead after being attacked. Rosenbaum's police record:

Newly released Joseph Rosenbaum sex offender documents obtained by Wisconsin Right Now from the Pima County (Arizona) Clerk of Courts confirm Joseph Rosenbaum was charged by a grand jury with 11 counts of child molestation and inappropriate sexual activity around children, including anal rape. The victims were five boys ranging in age from nine to 11 years old. 

Probably good that the pedophile Anarchist Rosenbaum was shot dead.

Overview: The police of Kenosha, Wisconsin, should have been in charge of keeping the streets peaceful back in August 2020 after the shooting of Jacob Blake (a criminal shot by police while being arrested for sexual assault and other charges). But the police were forbidden from doing so by both the city mayor and the state governor, neither of whom called out the National Guard to prevent the ongoing street violence. When city officials don't allow the police to do their job, then citizens might feel obligated to take matters into their own hands.

Got my second Covid vax shot this week.

Forced to get the Covid vax because of Biden: Back in October, Biden decreed that all Federal workers (and Federal contractors) get shots or else be fired. I'm making a lot of money, and I didn't want to be fired, so I got the two-part Moderna shot, October 20 and November 17.

Getting said shots was anti-science, though: Infection rates were lower in 2020, pre vaccine. Masks don't matter because microbes don't care about masks. The AVERAGE age of death from Covid in 2020 was 80. Today, in 2021, it's still 80. Since Covid became known in Austin, Texas, in March 2020, about 1300 people have officially died (in a city of over 1 million). RE the number of people who have died: The Federal government reimburses money to the hospital ONLY if the patient has Covid. If they're admitted to a hospital for any other reason---if they're old with other underlying diseases, if they have the flu---the hospital only gets Federal money if the patients are diagnosed with Covid.

It's a complete financial scam. But, yeah, I got the shots to keep my job. And now I can go to the Austin Symphony (ha!) or travel abroad!

p.s. When I went to my local grocery store for my second shot, the dim-witted pseudo-pharmacist told me his story: When he'd gotten the second shot, it was so harsh he subsequently slept for "20 hours." When I got MY second shot (Moderna), it felt worse than the first, but I certainly did not sleep for 20 hours (what a drama queen). My arm hurt, and I did go to bed early that night and feel cranky the next day... but the day after, I felt fine.

JOHNNY GUITAR (Masters of Cinema) 2021 trailer

In Praise of Karens

Were it not for Karens (i.e. "women of European ancestry who don't put up with bullshit in their homes or neighborhoods"), the world would be in chaos. (Sorry, black women, but...look at your men. Y'all don't have such a great record when it comes to keeping their chaotic behavior in check.)

Back in the '80s, there was a "Broken Window Theory" proposed by social scientists:

First introduced in 1982 by social scientists James Q. Wilson and George L. Kelling, the broken window theory posits that small criminal acts within a community — graffiti being a prime example — creates an environment that breeds more (and more serious) crime. The idea is that an offender may feel more inclined or justified to commit further antisocial crimes in an area where antisocial crime has not been confronted. 

Exactly. Today, such dampers on assholes don't seem to be popular. In fact, we "Karens" are mocked. But we actually play an important role in the ongoing attempt to maintain a pleasant environment. 

My own Karen-ness in the past 4 years at my apartment complex:

2017: When I first moved in, a group of low-lifes lived in an apartment above me. Constantly partying, constantly playing loud music, and setting off fireworks within the complex. Went out to ask them to shut up multiple times. When that didn't work, reported them multiple times to apartment management until they finally moved out.

2018-2019: A different set of guys who also set off fireworks within the complex and also liked to sit in their truck in the parking lot and blare their music. Went out to ask them to shut up multiple times and also reported them multiple times to management until they finally moved out.

Past couple of days: Tree-trimmers for the apartment blaring their music. Didn't say anything Saturday. DID say something today---twice. Went out and nicely asked them to turn down their music. They stopped for about an hour, then jacked it up again. I then went and reported them to apartment management, who called their boss.

You're welcome, neighbors. (And don't tell me you weren't irritated by that shit but were just too cowardly to say anything yourselves. It takes a Karen.)

You Get Your Turn, If You're Lucky

I've got two varying Theories o' Life:

One: When a man ejaculates, he releases millions of sperm. Only one of those millions of sperm reaches the woman's egg. And even if the sperm reaches the egg and fertilizes it, the woman may then choose to abort you. So if you're actually born, be extremely grateful: You're one in millions.

Two: At one of my lowest points, I saw an episode of "The Twilight Zone" on TV:
"The After Hours," from 1960. A woman shopping in a department store encountered various oddly behaving sales-people and mannequins. As it turned out, the woman herself had been one of the mannequins, who were each allowed a brief time to go out into the world, and it was now time for her to go back.

Watching that "Twilight Zone" episode, I had a flash of recognition: We're all like those mannequins. You get your turn, and then you must go back. Be grateful for your brief chance. (And be grateful if you even had a chance in the first place.)

Google Fiber

Had to sit through 2 hours of Google Fiber being installed in my apartment today (after "45 minutes to 1 hour" claim). Was relieved to learn that having the Google Fiber option did not mean that I was FORCED to get it (nor did the workers installing it interfere with my Spectrum Internet service). Unlike the recent conversion in my apartment complex of all washers/dryers to APP-ONLY. Or the recent conversion of America per Biden order to VAX-ONLY (or else you won't have a job).

RE the app-only washers: About 2 years ago, the complex went from quarters to swiping debit cards---that was perfect for me. (Constantly having to ask store-owners for quarters was a pain; a debit-card swipe was easy.)

After the app-only switch last month, I've now done a few loads of washes with the app, and no glitches (other than the app not recognizing one load of laundry in a dryer, so I had to move the load to a recognized dryer). Luckily, I bought a smart phone last July. What if I hadn't, though? What was wrong with the debit-card option---which has always been glitch-free.

As for the Google Fiber installation:
The main guy doing the installation was from El Salvador. After complimenting me on my uncluttered apartment (he said that most of the apartments he'd been in today had so much stuff against the walls, it was hard to install the Google Fiber stuff), he then saw that I had Fox on TV, which led to a discussion about political beliefs. He came to the US 30 years ago after escaping from El Salvador's FMNL communist government. And last year, one of his work-trucks was caught amidst the Austin riots, and he instructed his workers to get out rather than engage. (This revelation because we were discussing the Kyle Rittenhouse court proceedings being shown on cable---I argued that had the city officials allowed the police to quell the riots, then there would have been no need for any citizens to go out to attempt to "help.")

After the above hard-core El Salvadoran vet was finished with HIS Google Fiber work, he sent in his minion to finish the job, a young guy from Saudi Arabia that he earlier said "didn't know how to work." (Ah, the different prejudices among different people.) This young guy was pleasant enough, and at the end of his tasks, while he and I were chatting about how much faster Google Fiber might actually be, he looked up at my wall where I had a framed picture of Tammy Wynette and George Jones, and asked: "Is that you up there?"

Me: What?!
Him: Is that you in that picture?

Wow! Thank you, myopic young man from Saudi Arabia!

He then asked if that man with her in the picture was blind! I couldn't quite explain the history of Tammy Wynette and George Jones, but asked him to be sure and look up the song "Stand By Your Man." (But, yes, George Jones may have been blind.)

The Worst Place I Ever Lived

1715-A Taylor Gaines in Austin, Texas. 

Duplex (my side was at the front, on both sides of the carport shown here).
Paid $495 per month from February 1996 to August 1997.
765 sq ft. 1 bed, 1 bath, backyard, washer/dryer.

My situation: Just finished grad school at San Francisco State in December 1995, then moved back to Austin. Lived with my mother in San Antonio around Christmas, then with my brother in Austin for a month from January 1996 until February 1996; he then told my mother he didn't want me there any more, so she paid my deposit and first month's rent at this place. I found temp work at the University, but things were constantly tight during this time.

Why I Hated It:

 

Physical Reasons:

 

It was always hot. Only one small window-unit AC in the bedroom, and the cool air never spread into the living room.

 

Lizards. Constantly came in the duplex itself, but especially swarmed in the laundry room, so that I was afraid to go in there. And when I went out at night and left my porch light on, when I came home, there were literally HUNDREDS of lizards covering both the wall around the light AND my front door! (I've never seen such a creepy phenomenon, either before or since.)

Neighbor Reasons:

 

To the left of my duplex lived a single Hispanic mom with a teenaged son. When the mom was away (often at night), the son liked to have friends over and play loud music and run around on top of their roof---screaming. I called the police a couple of times, but they never showed up.

 

My duplex neighbor was a non-smiling late-30s white guy with a "Heritage Not Hate" Confederate sticker on his bumper. As a 31-year-old white woman, this was not personally threatening, but... I was then a liberal and had been used to living around other mild-mannered college students and liberals, so the sticker was a bit disturbing. This guy was, for the most part, ultimately not a problem, but he WAS a bit of a bitch. (See the "Crime Reasons" section below.) And then, finally: On the last day I lived at this place (8/14/97), my phone had already been turned off, but I had received a notice stuck to my door that I was responsible for cutting my backyard grass; the notice said that I would not receive my deposit if I did not cut the grass. As it turned out, my brother had actually cut my grass as a birthday gift just 3 days prior (8/11), so...why the notice? I asked to use my neighbor's phone so I could bitch at the management company about this potential lack of deposit return (which I needed desperately)... After listening to my conversation, the neighbor disdainfully asked me: "Where are you FROM?" (Insinuating that I was rude on the phone to the landord and "not Southern," I suppose. He didn't have anything to say about my "Azle, Texas" reply. But just an example of a generally shitty atmosphere.)

 

Crime Reasons:

 

Christmas 1996: Went to my mom's in San Antonio for a couple of days at Christmas. When I got home, found out my duplex neighbor's place had been burgled. The burglars broke in through a window that looked like it was on my side of the duplex but was actually the neighbor's place. The neighbor insinuated that it might have been my fault.

April 30, 1997: On the day that Ellen DeGeneres came out on TV, and on the day that I was sitting there reading my father's military psychological reports that my mother had recently given me, a car smashed into my duplex. Some drug-addled gay guy had run his car UP a steep driveway and bashed in my bedroom wall (and shaken me up while I was sitting there in my living room). When I went out to see what the hell had just happened, I saw the guy, but he then ran off and left his car sitting right there. I called the police, but they didn't show up for at least 3 hours despite numerous calls. When my neighbor came home, he thought I'd allowed a friend to park in his spot of the carport (heaven forbid!), so he, like a bitch, parked his car right behind the crashed car to "teach me a lesson."

Psychological Reasons:

 

While living here, I was still in love with my first girlfriend/lover (met in 1989, broken up in 1991, but still seeing each other afterwards). We'd seen each other out at clubs recently, and at one point, she asked for my new number. When she called, I was THRILLED. But, as it turned out, what she wanted was: Back in '90 or so, she'd given me her credit card, and I'd bought a new battery for my car. Something like $60 back then. But she now wanted me to pay off her entire credit card debt. I sat out on the bumper of my car and wept.

Before leaving for grad school in San Francisco in '94, I'd been seeing a married man that I'd met at work. We kept in touch while I was away, and then planned to meet once I was back in Austin. He stood me up while I lived here.

I had two random guys over to this place. One was a local musician that I'd met at a "Two Hoots and a Holler" show. He came over, and I listened to him play guitar, but there was no connection at all, and he left pleasantly. (Though later, I was chastised by Rick Broussard of Two Hoots himself: "You didn't know he was married?" Uh, no, he didn't mention that.) The second was a guy I met in the parking lot coming out of a Two Hoots show at 2am or thereabouts. He asked if I wanted to do some cocaine, and I, being sad and lonely, said "sure." We came back to this place and listened to music. At one point he put his hand on my thigh, and I inadvertently recoiled. His face changed and he said, "Don't do that." I apologized for being rude, and we went on talking until daybreak, when I called in sick to work. I got lucky: This guy could have killed me. The first guy was known in the local music community, but the second guy was a complete stranger, and a wired stranger at that. I wasn't raped this time, but I would be raped in 2000 under similar circumstances after inviting a seemingly friendly stranger to my place.

Maintenance and Landlord Reasons:

 

When I got cable installed, the cable guy left a huge gaping hole in my wall that was not covered by the cable plate. He was going to leave it looking like that until I refused to pay anything.

When some maintenance guys were over for repairs, somebody took a huge dump in my toilet, exploding shit everywhere---not just IN the toilet, but across the lid, etc. I didn't say anything, just meekly cleaned it all up.

Some Hispanic guys came to my door asking if I needed my lawn mowed for $10. I did, but all I had was a $20. They volunteered to go get change. (Ha! Stupid me.)

Near the end of my lease, my brother cut my grass on 8/11 (I'd asked for that as a birthday gift). But then, on 8/14, the landlord posted a message on my door saying that since my grass hadn't been cut, I would not get my deposit back. I protested this blatant fake attempt to deny me my deposit. I can't remember what my original deposit was---back in the '90s, Austin deposits were quite low, maybe half the rent. Whatever the deposit was, I was told that I'd get $20 back. Not half, as in $250, but $20. A couple of months later, I still had not even received the meager check for $20. When I called the management office to complain, the manager said to me on the phone: "You're THAT desperate for $20?"

That, in a nutshell, was my life during this time. Everything was shitty (sometimes literally).

"Meet Cute": Never For Me

Last time I had a near-"Meet Cute" moment was in 2009 when I lived in Weehawken, New Jersey, along the Hudson River overlooking the NYC skyline. One evening, I was leaning on a wall overlooking the beautiful skyline when a fluffy white dog sans leash came bounding toward me. I bent down to pet her and ask where she came from. According to The Movies, a charming person should have been chasing after the pet, and we would have Met Cute. Alas, in my case above, a minute or so later, a mentally-challenged guy missing teeth ran up. Yes, it was his dog who had gotten loose. But no, he in his drug/drink-addled state was not capable of any coherent conversation. Sigh.

Just this past week, I had another potential "Urban Meet Cute" event: I went to my local corner store to get my usual week's supply of cheap Marlboro Light cigarettes. Ahead of me in line was an attractive Indian woman buying a couple of health drinks. She got her drinks and left, then I got my cigs and left. When I walked out of the store, the woman was waiting outside. She asked if she could buy one cigarette from me for $1... Puzzled, I asked why in the world... She said that she herself never bought a whole pack of cigarettes but was trying to find a type of cigarette that she liked... She had tried Lucky Strike, etc. Now, at this point, I was thinking that she was either a social smoker who really never did buy a pack for herself, or that she had a husband at home who didn't permit smoking. So I dug out one of my just-bought packs of Marlboro Lights and unwrapped it and let her take a cigarette out for herself (no charge). She sniffed at it and then said: "Oh no, this is terrible, you should never smoke this." Annoyed at the un-asked-for lecture, I said: "Well YOU were the one who asked for one of my cigarettes!" And she got in her car and left in a huff. And I then felt bad about myself because I'd somehow attracted this weirdo to interact with me!

Sigh.

Let's Go Brandon: Forgiato Blow

[Verse]
Americans screamin' "Let's go, Brandon" (Let's go, Brandon)
Patriots screamin' "f*ck Joe Biden" (f*ck Joe Biden)
The media, they tryna play us like fools, yeah (Play us like fools)
You know she heard "f*ck Biden" too, yeah (Haha)
Sleepy Joe ain't got no support (Sleepy Joe)
Hunter Biden better show up to court (Hunter Biden)
Fake nеws tryna silence the truth, yеah (Yeah)
We the people tryna save the youth, yeah (Tryna save 'em)
I ain't takin' no vaccine (Nah)
I ain't flyin' Southwest, don't ask me, no (Don't ask me)
And I ain't wearin' no mask, they nasty (No masks)
And all you liberals better tryin' harass me (Huh, bitch)
You know we tried to stop the steal (Stop the steal)
They or me, Republican, pop the red pill (Pop a red pill)
Now the whole world screamin' "f*ck Joe Biden" (f*ck Joe Biden)
Proud Americans in PDs, I hear wylin'
Let's go, Brandon, let's go, Brandon
Let's go, Brandon, let's go, Brandon (Hahaha)
Let's go, Brandon, let's go, Brandon (Let's go Brandon, woo)
Yeah, f*ck Joe Biden (f*ck Joe)

[Outro]
Let's go, Brandon
That's also a new favorite among Americans
Winning a big race, Brandon Brown
After his big victory in Talladega
Oh, the reporter actually thinks they were saying, cheering Brandon
When you listen closely, no, they're not

Ha, you know they ain't (Hahaha)
They tryna spin it on the 'peachin' (They tryna blame us)
But you can never play the patriots, I told you

Joe, you went viral again
No, they weren't chanting "Let's go, Brandon" at all
You, the American people, have every reason to be angry at Joe Biden
He is failing this country around every turn
Every American is paying the price, the world is paying the price

Let's Go Brandon: Loza Alexander

Ayy, you know what they sayin', though (fuck Joe Biden)
Ayy, you know what they, woo (fuck Joe Biden)
Yeah, uh, you know what they, yeah (fuck Joe Biden)
Ayy (fuck Joe Biden)

And I say it wit' a passion (fuck Joe Biden)
As I pull off in the Aston (fuck Joe Biden)
Don't nobody like his ass, huh? (fuck Joe Biden)
Tried to cover up, but tell the people, go Brandon (fuck Joe Biden)
But we know what they sayin', though (fuck Joe Biden)
You can hear the chant in every post (fuck Joe Biden)
Don't nobody want this commie 'cause we not in China (fuck Joe Biden)
Everybody hated Trump and now they out to catch a body (fuck Joe Biden)
That's what they get for treatin' us like we in Squid Games (fuck Joe Biden)
Dream light, mandate like he's insane (fuck Joe Biden)
These times, people wakin' up to everything (fuck Joe Biden)
Go Brandon, but we all know what the sayin' mean 

(Let's go, Brandon) (fuck Joe Biden)
(Let's go, Brandon) (fuck Joe Biden) you know what they sayin'...

Let's Go Brandon: Topher (feat. @D.Cure & @The Marine Rapper)

 

Brandon, Brandon, Brandon
Picked the wrong race, bud
But don’t worry
We givin’ everybody the smoke today
Ayy

Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go Brandon, ayy
Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go Brandon, ayy

NASCAR got em chantin’, ayy, “Let’s go Brandon”
Some don’t understand it, who really commandin’?
Left Kabul abandoned, how dare he do it Dannon
He don’t want us to breathe, the strangler from Scranton
Someone give assisted livin’ a call, “Get your man back”
He don’t know what’s real at a-a-all, what about Amtrak?
They don’t care about this virus, really, flights are jam-packed
Everybody gotta go and get a vaccine when I’m askin’, you better have a stamp
Prices risin’ by the minute
Tell me, you want Biden in it?
Mask required, I don’t go get it
I am not complyin’ wit’ it
Got that drive, don’t try to rent it
When I exercise and try to limit my DVR
Everybody wanna lie, my reply, let’s go TMR

Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go Brandon, ayy
Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go Brandon, ayy

Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go, Joe Biden, oh yes, he must go
For what he did to the thirteen, just know that I’ll never let go
Military, all my vets know, my family, like Toretto
Yes I’m furious, on petrol, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go
Joe, you nuts like Chip and Dale if you think that you’ll ever Earnhardt
You a senior touchin’ juniors, can’t you let her finish school first? (Ew)
You like them eleven, call twelve, and I hope the thirteen haunt you
And my smoke, you do not want it, all my lines are dope like Hunter
Rocky, I’m Apollo Creed’s, only legacy, of the rap scene
It’s the Marine, artillery, shot more arms than a vaccine
Ain’t doing Nathan for the human races
You just ruin things and you the biggest racist
You the biggest liar, but you ain’t on fire
Like you Will Ferrell out at Talladega, let’s go!

Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go Brandon, ayy
Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go Brandon, ayy

Uh, ayy
America don’t care about you, Joe (We need some milk)
I thought that you should know (Let’s go)
Got us rollin’ back the curtains on the stage, you done set (Uh huh)
Treat you more Alec Baldwin since bein’ a prop is now a threat

Ooh (Ooh)
Most popular president in U.S. history (What?)
How they calculated that still remains a mystery (Yeah)
Economy isn’t great (Yeah), containers stuck at bay (Yeah)
And you have no current plan for the caravan on its way (Sheesh)
Talkin’ “Build Back Better” (Really?), more like build back broke (Yeah)
Gas prices so high, it’ll make a dope fiend choke (Ahem)
As a veteran, I try to respect the commander-in-chief (I do)
But if I’m honest, “Let’s go Brandon” brings amazing relief, uh

Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go Brandon, ayy
Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go Brandon, ayy

Candy Says: Velvet Underground (1969)

Candy says I've come to hate my body
And all that it requires in this world
Candy says I'd like to know completely
What others so discretely talk about

I'm gonna watch the blue birds fly over my shoulder
I'm gonna watch them pass me by
Maybe when I'm older
What do you think I'd see
If I could walk away from me

Candy says I hate the quiet places
That cause the smallest taste of what will be
Candy says I hate the big decisions
That cause endless revisions in my mind

I'm gonna watch the blue birds fly over my shoulder
I'm gonna watch them pass me by
Maybe when I'm older
What do you think I'd see
If I could walk away from me

John Lennon: Woman Is The Nigger Of The World (1972)

Woman is the nigger of the world
Yes she is... think about it
Woman is the nigger of the world
Think about it... do something about it

We make her paint her face and dance
If she won't be a slave, we say that she don't love us
If she's real, we say she's trying to be a man
While putting her down we pretend that she's above us

Woman is the nigger of the world... yes she is
If you don't believe me take a look at the one you're with
Woman is the slave of the slaves
Ah yeah... better scream about it

We make her bear and raise our children
And then we leave her flat for being a fat old mother hen
We tell her home is the only place she should be
Then we complain that she's too unworldly to be our friend

Woman is the nigger of the world...yes she is
If you don't believe me take a look at the one you're with
Woman is the slave to the slaves
Yeah (think about it)

We insult her everyday on TV
And wonder why she has no guts or confidence
When she's young we kill her will to be free
While telling her not to be so smart we put her down for being so dumb

Woman is the nigger of the world... yes she is
If you don't believe me take a look at the one you're with
Woman is the slave to the slaves
Yes she is... if you believe me, you better scream about it

[Repeat:]
We make her paint her face and dance
We make her paint her face and dance
We make her paint her face and dance

George Jones: I'm A Long Gone Daddy

October 27 (Happy Birthday, Sylvia Plath)

Ariel (written October 27, 1962)

Stasis in darkness.

Then the substanceless blue   

Pour of tor and distances.

God’s lioness,   

How one we grow,

Pivot of heels and knees!—The furrow

Splits and passes, sister to   

The brown arc

Of the neck I cannot catch,

Nigger-eye   

Berries cast dark   

Hooks—

Black sweet blood mouthfuls,   

Shadows.

Something else

Hauls me through air—

Thighs, hair;

Flakes from my heels.

White

Godiva, I unpeel—

Dead hands, dead stringencies.

And now I

Foam to wheat, a glitter of seas.   

The child’s cry

Melts in the wall.   

And I

Am the arrow,

The dew that flies

Suicidal, at one with the drive   

Into the red

Eye, the cauldron of morning.

 

 

 

[Editor's Note: OMG---did Plath write "Nigger"?? Better ban her, too.]

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

Poppies in October (written October 27, 1962)

    Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts.
Nor the woman in the ambulance
Whose red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly —

A gift, a love gift
Utterly unasked for
By a sky

Palely and flamily
Igniting its carbon monoxides, by eyes
Dulled to a halt under bowlers.

O my God, what am I
That these late mouths should cry open
In a forest of frost, in a dawn of cornflowers.

Joan Crawford (1928, shot by Irwin Bueller)

So aesthetically beautiful, so bold. Wish I had a life-size print of this on my wall.

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

Missing George Jones.

[Verse 1]
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 missing and the dog is dead

[Chorus]
Well, ain't love a lot like that
Ain't love a lot like that
Unconditional, unpredictable
Ain't love a lot like that?

[Verse 2]
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

[Chorus]
Ain't love a lot like that
Ain't love a lot like that
Unconditional, unpredictable
Ain't love a lot like that?

[Verse 3]
Well, the honeymoon's over and the work begins
My baby says I'm getting on her nerves again
One false move and an angry shout
I'm sleeping all alone on the fold out couch...

Robert Jordan: Wheel of Time

According to my new boss on Friday's Teams meeting, "Wheel of Time" is upcoming on Amazon Prime. And she went to Half-Price Books to try to find the first few books ahead of time, but couldn't find them. While we were all talking on Teams, I looked up "Robert Jordan" and "Wheel of Time" on eBay, and saw that many volumes were available. But when I mentioned that, my new boss then said: "Oh, I don't want to own any books. The only book I have in my house now is The Confederacy of Dunces. I've given everything else away."

Alright, digital snob, then WHY did you say that you went to Half-Price Books looking for books from the "Wheel of Time" series? (And WHO has The Confederacy of Dunces as their ONLY book? Please.)

While still on Teams with the group, I then intentionally mentioned my moving story from a few years ago (specifically to contrast with the new boss's idiotic ONE book): "I have about ONE-THOUSAND books, which took up a whole bunch of boxes. The mover said to me: 'Ma'am, have you considered getting a Kindle?'"

I'm amazed (and a bit repelled) by anyone who would just keep ONE book in their home. Confederacy of Dunces, I happen to also own, but it wouldn't be my Desert Island Choice or anything! (Reminds me of my first girlfriend, whose only two books were Lolita and L. Ron Hubbard's Dianetics---WHO just has TWO books in their entire home? And THOSE two books??)

Got the Shot

While Federal funding for my job might or might not go away in the next 3 months, I was, nonetheless, forced to get the Covid vaccine shot by my employer per Biden's Executive Order requiring the vaccine for all Federal employees. Had I not gotten the shot, I would have been fired. (I live in Texas, but Governor Abbott's order that vaccines were NOT mandated was superseded for Federal employees by the Federal order.)

My decision NOT to get the Covid shot until I was forced to was based on science. The population of Travis County, Texas (which includes Austin) is 1.3 million. Total deaths from Covid in Travis County up until now: 1,397. That's a 0.1% death rate. (And national stats show the average age of Covid-related death = 80 years old. That's an AVERAGE age. Plus most Covid deaths had a co-morbidity of morbid obesity or other severe health issues.) Given the above scientific facts, I did not need the vaccine. And stats show that there were fewer US deaths from Covid in 2020 BEFORE the vaccine than in 2021 AFTER the vaccine.

But I did need the high income from my Federal Government job, so I caved.

The shot was easy and free, and I have no side effects. None of those things were ever a concern for me.

What IS a concern is why Biden and the Federal Government are insisting on shots for everyone (including kids), despite the science showing that most people do NOT need the vaccine. Is it a psychological or political "control thing"? It's certainly not based on actual science.

A horribly depressing (but interesting) movie idea...

Characters:

50-something daughter at loose ends

80-something long-divorced parents now, at the end of their lives, both separately bemoaning the infant death of their first daughter in 1962 (father wants to be buried next to her in the family graveyard; mother constantly fantasizes about the infant living, but with a brain defect; the living daughter sometimes wonders what it would have been like to have a big sister to talk to)

(Unseen except via stylized pictures, no actual videos) Transsexual Internet love interest of the living daughter who, as it turns out, shares the same birthday as the dead infant.

(Seen in various fantasy scenarios, sometimes grown up) Dead Baby Theresa

I really don't quite make this shit up! Ah, but I can SHAPE it!

Williams, Bergman, Polanski, Aronofsky, Lanthimos!

Magic Number: $15,000

My current job pays well, but it's not particularly stable. My goal has always been to have $15,000 in my bank account in case I get let go from this job. "$15,000" based on the fact that I can live on $2500 a month for 6 months, and so if I get laid off I'll be OK.

On Friday, hit the $15,000 mark in my bank account! 

And I wonder why I'm lonely...

Was just cleaning out my closet today and found two 2008 packets from a former good friend of mine that I once co-edited a literary magazine with in Austin in the '90s. We'd first met in 1986 while attending the same poetry class at the University of Texas, then re-connected in 1988 when we were living in the same apartment complex. Re-connected again in the early '90s and started co-editing/publishing a local literary magazine (3 issues).

I moved to San Francisco for grad school in '94, and when I came back a couple of years later, he'd moved to Baltimore to attend grad school at Johns Hopkins.

In 2007, I moved to NYC, and he sent me a couple of his Johns Hopkins publications in 2008 (he'd become editor at this point). The first one, I'd opened and read the friendly note. The second one, I had not even opened until tonight. I know why---because I was too befuddled by Sandra to think clearly about anything else. Today, I'm embarrassed at not acknowledging my good friend's efforts.

“LET’S GO, BRANDON!”

Congrats to Brandon Brown for winning his NASCAR race. But, unfortunately, the NBC reporter lied to him when she said the crowd behind him was chanting "Let's Go, Brandon!" In fact, the crowd was chanting the same thing they'd been chanting at various football games all across America for the past few weeks: "F*** Joe Biden!"

I'll be ordering my "Let's Go, Brandon" T-shirt soon.

A Good Day

After a shitty haircut on my birthday in August, I'd run out of ideas of where to get my hair cut. The salon I'd gone to for years near my old workplace closed after Covid in 2020. The stylist at the next place I went to for about a year was hit or miss. The last guy (in his stupid "hair truck") was good for two haircuts, then a complete mess on his third try.

So after the crappy haircut in August, I just temporarily quit having my hair cut. I work from home, so does it matter?, I thought. Well, yeah, it does matter---I hate looking like shit!

Back in the late '80s, I had discovered old movies, and was enamored of Greta Garbo... And lo and behold, there was a new salon called "Garbo" that had just opened... At the time, I lived around campus, and this location was a far drive to a "strange" part of town for me. And the haircut I got then seemed expensive at the time. So I never went back...until just today. (Now, it's just 10 minutes from my current apartment.) Got my hair cleaned up after the bad August haircut. The young stylist was nice. I was amazed that ANY salon had been open for the past 35 years. And, as it turns out, the owner, who cut my hair back in the '80s, still comes in two days a week...

My hair appointment at Garbo was for 2:30pm. I'd thought the big UT/OU football game would be over by then, but no... When I left my home, the score was UT 41 and OU 30 at the beginning of the fourth quarter... I'd thought the underdogs UT would surely hang on to win...

After the haircut, returned some shelves to Walmart that I couldn't put together the night before. 

Once home, found out UT lost (how??). Took a nap; watched the last quarter of the Alabama/Texas A&M game---A&M beat the #1 team in the country!

Watched the Trump rally in Iowa on C-SPAN and wished the warrior well, looking forward to '22 and '24.

Went through the shelves in my bathroom and tossed out old towels and rearranged all the shampoos/creams in my cabinet.

Unpacked the stack of Amazon/eBay purchases sitting on my fireplace; put away John Donne and Goethe and Schiller on their appropriate bookshelves...

Listening to the "Johnny Guitar" soundtrack now...

This was a good day for me.

Work Meeting or Dog Acupuncture?

I started my current job in April 2020. Have never been in-house because of Covid. And I'm making about $10K more per year than I was at my last job (2014 to 2019). 

But we have a final meeting tomorrow about a product that's about to go out to the customer. The new boss (as of August 1) said she can't participate in the meeting because her dog has an acupuncture appointment.

I like this job; the money is good. But I'm psychologically repelled by the fact that the new boss declines to view a final product because of her dog's acupuncture appointment.

Acupuncture for a human isn't a reason to miss an important meeting. Acupuncture for a dog is many times less serious, bordering on stupid. Failure to review a work product because of dog acupuncture is downright negligent.

Is this really OK? Surely such idiocy can't be OK.

The Munsters theme song (Season 1)

At first I thought this opening was not as good as the opening from the next year (this year's music kind of heavy on the tuba, although this opening is the one I remember watching as a kid). But then I read a couple of interviews: This opening was intentionally trying to mimic the opening of "The Donna Reed Show," in which the mother character dispensed goodbye-kisses and lunches to her family as they departed for the day! Given THAT background info, I like this visual intro a lot better! (Though I still like the '66 music better.)

I'm pretty sure that Fred Gwynne, "serious" actor that he thought he was and official star of the show, protested the fact that Yvonne DeCarlo was featured in the opening theme (despite the fact that DeCarlo's acting pedigree was far more illustrious than Gwynne's).

The Munsters: Opening and Closing Theme (1966)

Today, I can't remember what happened in a single episode of "The Munsters," but I do know that I loved watching the show in after-school re-runs in the early '70s. (Yes, I liked Lily Munster at age 7, and, no, I never liked the "Marilyn" character! In fact, I remember disliking her in the same way that I disliked "Robin" in the Batman show---those two always seemed to be wet blankets.)

When I first saw "The Munsters," my family had just, in 1972, moved to College Station, Texas, home of Texas A&M University. The first time we'd ever lived in a college town. One day a school friend came over to play, and around 4pm or so, my mom turned on the TV so we could watch "The Munsters." BUT... As it turned out, my school friend, Sarah, was NOT allowed to watch television! Whaaaaaat??? I'd never heard of such a crazy thing! My first introduction to "PC."

(This opening of the show is so GREAT! Both the song and the character introduction. But what I remember more about the intro is a staircase opening up and Herman walking out of it... Not seen here...)

Edie: An American Drug Story

 

Just finished reading Edie: An American Girl for the 3rd or 4th time. GREAT oral history by Jean Stein and, after reading Please Kill Me, another oral history (about US punk rock), it's interesting to see the difference between a well-done and a poorly done "oral history." The former offers a historical background and some spiritual insights into the subject from the interviewees; the latter does not.

 

Unfortunately, I think the well-written Stein bio about Edie Sedgwick (1982) contributed to a non-deserved "cult of Edie." In real life, socialite Edie Sedgwick hung around Andy Warhol and his louche Factory for a year or so, and the two garnered much media attention by appearing in public together. Warhol was attracted to her social status and her willingness to do anything for his cameras, and she was slumming and looking for attention. I think they both got what they were looking for. (I don't think Warhol abused her. She was already a party girl in Cambridge, Mass., before she moved to NYC to seek a bigger audience, more attention.) Post-Warhol, Edie went back to California, hung out with bikers, continued to sleep with every man available, and continued to do massive quantities of drugs, before overdosing in 1971.

Personally: I dislike Edie's mushy face and her skeletal bulimic body. I dislike her sloppiness and drugginess. I dislike her "help-me-I'm-a-waif" persona. I dislike her utter lack of talent. I dislike the fact that she thought she was intrinsically important, when in fact she was only important to the media (and Andy Warhol) because she was a socialite making a cheap spectacle of herself.

 

 

George Jones - Love Makes It Alright (1971)

I initially posted this song because of George Jones's voice---and because I thought it was simply a catchy song about love!

But after a few listens... the lyrics! I couldn't find a transcript online, so wrote out excerpts from the stanzas after listening again and again. The point is: All of the below awful scenarios re unfaithful wives, Hitler, violent left-wing protesters... Their mutual false credo of "love" makes their actions "alright" in their own eyes and forms an actual pattern of all that is wrong with the world. And the music is so jaunty! You could initially listen to it and not know what is going on.

I can't find who wrote this song, but it's very stunning and sophisticated: the realistic antithesis to the hippy/Beatle/naif version of "all you need is love."

Married woman in a small town

A younger man was runnin' round
Leavin' little kids at home alone
In the middle of the night...

A little thing called "love" makes it all alright...

Paper hanger in a foreign land
Ruled a nation with an iron hand
Called himself a Superman
Said he ought to rule the world...

A little thing called "love" makes it all alright...

Gonna do away with poverty
Invading private property
Watch yourself on TV
And carry you a sign...

A little thing called "love" makes it all alright...

George Jones - Worried Mind (1965)

"I bought you fine clothes, and I bought you wine..." Ha!

George Jones - Hopelessly Yours (1986)

Back to real music.



I love you, I hate you
Forget you, but I'm afraid to.
You loved me, or did you?
I'll never be sure.
But one thing's for certain
In spite of this hurtin'
Forever I'm hopelessly yours.

Styx - Grand Illusion (1977)

Welcome to the Grand Illusion!
Come on in and see what's happenin'...

Deep inside we're all the same...

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

Pretty much hate everything about this song. The prog-rock, the attempted Sgt. Pepper/Bowie rip-off sans any thought behind it, the godawful shallow lyrics: "deep inside we're all the same"... (We might indeed be "all the same" on some level, but how exactly? I don't believe your generic proclamation.)

REO Speedwagon - Take It On The Run (Live)

In my 1983 high school yearbook, REO Speedwagon, Styx, Boston, and Journey were voted best bands.

At this point, I'd been listening for a couple of years to the Dallas-Fort Worth KZEW station's "Rock and Roll Alternative" on Sunday nights hosted by George Gimarc from midnight to 1am (at a volume of 1, with towels stuffed under my bedroom door so my mother didn't know I was awake): U2, Vapors, Eurythmics, Clash. (And I'd already discovered The Knack and the Go-Gos on my own.)

The REO mediocrity is so catchy, but so utterly dumb and meaningless!

Masks Required in San Francisco UNLESS...

San Francisco mayor London Breed says: You don't need a mask if the band is AWESOME. (Question for educated gay men in SF: You REALLY elected this idiot?)

Is Covid actually serious or not? Mayor Breed's partying indicates that it's not. I agree. For instance, in my own county of Travis, in Texas, the total number of deaths from Covid is 1,310----out of a total of 1.27 million people.

Don't know what Breed's San Francisco death stats are. Whatever they are, she needs to adhere to the standards that her Democratic party set for her: Either you wear a mask, or you don't wear a mask. If Tony/Toni/Tone make you take off your mask, then the "mask mandate" isn't that serious.

I Wanna Be Your Dog (1969)

First punk song!

Just got through reading "Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk." When I read about the scene in the '70s as a teen, I was so far away from it (living out in the country in Texas) yet wanted to be a part of it, because I thought it was all about how angry you felt inside---and how you expressed yourself and how you did your hair and what tattered clothes you wore to represent how you felt inside. Reading about it today, I realize the music was mainly tangential and that "punk" meant posing and doing drugs to the point of being unable to function and being violent and, in Sid Vicious's case, killing cats by strangling them.

I may have been an Angry Young Woman, but I was also literate and functional within society. Plus too blonde and involuntarily wholesome-looking. 30 years ago, I once threw a grill through a window  while drunk and angry at my first girlfriend, but 99.9 percent of the time, I never could look or act like those scumbags.

And I look at my 5 cats now and wonder what kind of psychopath could EVER look into a cat's beautiful face and even THINK about hurting it. (Stabbing Nancy Spungen, who cares?---she was a scumbag just like Sid Vicious---and his drug-addled mother. But a beautiful, innocent cat?)

My Mediocre "Glassware"

Purchased in the last month:
Upper left: 4 "pizza-place" red plastic and 2 triple-moon/black cat mugs
Middle right: Wine glasses and champagne glasses
Bottom right: 4 juice and 2 bigger glasses (don't know what to call those)

p.s. The empty spaces at middle/lower left: The rest of these are in queue for the dishwasher, or else packed away in a box  with extras.  I'm a single person, but not THAT sparse! :)

 

Charles Manson: Cease To Exit

Charles Manson: Invisible Tears (cover of '64 song)

Charles Manson: Journey into Evil (1995: A&E Biography)

Manson's not "evil."

First Song Heard on Transistor Radio: Neil Diamond - Song Sung Blue

When I was 9 years old, in 1974, I got my first transistor radio. The first song I ever heard on it was Neil Diamond's "Song Sung Blue" (1972).

I was amazed. My parents never listened to music around the house. And now I could, just walking around on the street!

Danny Sargent: Pre-Sexual Angst, Age 10

My mom just mentioned in an e-mail about something I'd written:
Reminds me of little Danny Sargent in Iowa Park who took me aside and asked me in wonder, "How did she get so smart?" 

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

Danny Sargent was a boy that I constantly chased and either "went with" or broke up with in 4th and 5th grades in Iowa Park, Texas. (1974 to 1975)

Danny Sargent was a weird psychological precursor to adult relationships. At only ages 9 or 10! I liked him, and either "went with" him or desired to "go with" him; when he wasn't going with me, I constantly maneuvered to break him up with Deana Galloway because he alternated between Deana and me... At one point, I was on the swing-set in our Rebecca St backyard, and he came to the fence to make sure I was there and watching; then he made a point of walking off holding hands with Deana Galloway, making sure I could see it! (At some point, I challenged Deana Galloway to a fight. She, the calm, rational girl that she was, declined.)

There were also a couple of very weird competitions going on between me and Danny Sargent: One was who could sit in the back seats of the school-bus. The other involved him getting off the bus one stop ahead of the Rebecca St stop and seeing if he could run to the Rebecca St stop before the school-bus arrived and I stepped off. (If Danny failed to get there before the bus, it was a victory for me!) One day, the bus arrived first, as usual, with Danny panting up behind... But the driver (who somehow knew what was going on) purposely kept the bus doors closed so I couldn't get off first... So Danny won that one! :)

After our family moved to Azle, I wrote him a letter (from an 11-year-old!), saying something like, "I don't like any of the boys here. Will you go with me?" He wrote back: "Sure. Will you go with ME? But, what can we do being so far apart?" Good point! (NOTE: We never even kissed, but the psychological competition between us was extremely strange for 10-year-old kids.)

p.s. I later found out online (probably on Facebook) that he married and had one retarded kid and one normal kid. His wife left him and took the "regular" kid with her, leaving him with the retarded one.