Very interesting video to see, but John in his David Bowie space-suit
(one guess who told him that looked good) and pony-tail looks stupid (as does the odd milieu of socialites among
the footlights for this particular song). He's only 35, but he looks like he's 50---like the decrepit Elvis that he once decried in 1980 interviews.
Thankfully, John retired soon after this. He had nothing
to say to the universe after 1971. (I own all of his solo albums, and I like them a lot, especially "Walls and Bridges." But...his latter-day sense of self-importance and self-righteousness was much greater than the quality of his albums. Funny: "Self-importance" and "self-righteousness" were never characteristics of John Lennon in his Beatle years.)
I've been watching the trial as it's been streamed (usually on the UK Daily Mail site but sometimes on CBS when the Daily Mail site goes down). Today, while I had it streaming on my computer, a scheduled maintenance guy came in to replace the stove gas line. As he was leaving, he said, "Listening to Johnny Depp?" Me: "Yeah, I was supposed to be working, but I was." Him: "Funny how miserable..." Me: "Yeah---the most beautiful and rich people, and they're so miserable." (We also then commiserated about the amount of cat hair and cat toys and food bits found underneath, and to the side of, stoves.)
I suppose I should post a video of "Richard Corey" right now.
The last corn (mass cane) plant I had lasted for about 5 years. I killed it over this past winter by leaving it outside during a couple of frosts. (It survived the first frost, but not the second.) Since its death, I've had its remains sitting outside during the spring---so far, not a hint of rebirth. (I'd had it indoors for its first 3 years, where it grew, but wasn't that excited about it. Once I set it outside, though, it went nuts.)
I think I got Mass Cane 1 at my local grocery store, which no longer carries them, though I've been looking in their plant section every time I go. Since I'm not really a Home Depot shopper (have no home to fix up), I didn't know where else to look. Perchance, while ordering cleaning supplies at Walmart.com, I saw that they had some plants that you could order! I doubted that any plant via Walmart would be great, but...
Just look at that beautiful thing! And only $24.99! It arrived this afternoon in a tall, narrow cardboard box with a heavy, dead THUD at my door (thrown on its side, when the packaging clearly said "Keep Upright"---why don't people listen?). It's got a few bumps and bruises, and the planter was squashed, but look at it now, bright and sturdy, clearly wanting to live despite its travails! :)
A couple of weeks ago, I was on the toilet one morning and for some reason a Bob Dylan song came into my head. Can't even remember now what the song was. But the more important thought that I had at that moment: "Bob Dylan did this song a very long time ago. Everything he did, and everything he stood for in the press and in the public consciousness, doesn't exist now except in my mind."
A couple of days ago, I was investigating Palo Santo sticks and sage online. But something that started out as peaceful and nice devolved into me finding some creepy, "woke" leftists saying that I, as a white person, was not allowed to use Palo Santo sticks or sage because it was "cultural appropriation." One obnoxious blogger "forbidding" me from using such had her photo posted: She was a 20-something black woman. Sorry, but, using her own idiotic criteria, what does someone from Africa know about either "Palo Santo" or sage? They're both American-continent rituals that have nothing to do with Africa.
And as for who is "allowed" to partake in whatever: The Soul is Universal. It makes me sick to read these Orwellian leftist, fascist diatribes.
I just bought a "Ram" T-shirt from redbubble. Wore it today for the first time to the supermarket, to various other errands. Have felt "blah" for a long time. Amazing how a T-shirt can lift your spirits. (Only 1 person overtly noticed, though: In the supermarket parking lot, a 70-something man leaning out of his pickup window gave me a thumbs up. I'm sure I'll be even more disappointed when I wear my new Nijinksy T-shirt out and about.)
In 2021, I had exactly the same job that I had in 2020. I made exactly the same amount of money in 2021 as I did in 2020. I filed my tax return in 2022 (for year 2021) with the exact same tax service that I filed with in 2021 (for year 2020). But my refund for 2020 was $440, and this year my refund for 2021 is $5.
Come to think of it: When I moved into my current 2-bed apartment in April 2017, my rent was $1275. It remained the same for the next 2 years. In May 2020, it was raised by $75 to $1350. In May 2021, it was raised by $27 to $1377. But this May 2022, it was raised by $223 to $1600.
Are YOU better off than you were 2 years ago?
Aside from your rent/mortgage, what are you paying for gas now in 2022? Or for a simple McDonald's meal?
And aside from overt inflation in the past 2 years: Is the US border situation better off? Is the US crime rate better off? Is the world situation better off?
Is all of this sudden descent into chaos mere coincidence, or does it actually have to do with pure incompetence---either of the decrepit Biden or the decrepit socialist policies that his handlers are promoting?
Ain't no woman gonna make a George Jones outta me
Ain't no woman gonna make a George Jones outta me
Whatever will be will be
Just wait and you'll see, you'll see
Ain't no woman gonna make a George Jones outta me
Love is priceless, it's a feeling
Love is ruthless with no ceiling
Love is this, love is that
Boys are dogs and girls are cats
The night is dark, I heard a bark
With no meow to follow
So I turned out the lights, closed the door
Laid my head on a pillow
Oh, oh mama
I got them really sad blues
Oh, oh mama
I got them really sad blues
Oh, I got them really sad blues
Well I know you so very, very smart
You think like an arrow, like a bullet or a dart
Oh oh mama, I got them really sad blues
Ain't no woman gonna make a George Jones outta me
Daniel Johnston was a schizophrenic/autistic/whatever-you-call-it-today musical savant who spent many years in mental hospitals after violent outbursts. Incapable of living on his own, yet still capable of occasional insights. This song, and song title, jogged me out of my George Jones reverie. I have long admired Jones's suffering. But here is someone, a musical outsider and mental patient, "daring" to say what most of Jones's peers and fans would not say: "Dear god, to be like that would be the worst." (Complete with the completely non-dramatic non-Tammy female interlude!)
I'm annoyed with this song because I love both George and Tammy, and I hate to see their entertaining public histrionics mocked, but... this song is actually funny and great.
I've seen it before
I know the score
You're trying to be wild and carefree
You really can't take it no more
I'm trying to think
I can't think clear
Everybody's talking at me
It's gone foggy in here
But as time goes marching home again
It leaves me to reflect
Or was this just a waste of time?
Or was this time well spent?
And if it marches back again
And orders me to smile
Then will I be prepared?
Or will it take a little while?
Don't leave me
Don't leave me
Don't leave me now
I'll make it up to you somehow
Don't leave me
Don't leave me
Don't leave me now
I'll make it up to you somehow
I've listened to you
Please listen to me
Don't tie us up completely
Just wait and see
I'll try very hard for a second chance
Which is it to be? One dead romance
Or a handful of dreams? Please tell me
It makes all the difference to me
And I really want to know
I've tried so many things I suddenly regret
If I could only compromise and you'd try to forget
A single kiss, a lover's wish, the past dissolves in tears
The present burns inside of me, the future disappears
Don't leave me
Don't leave me
Don't leave me now
I'll make it up to you somehow
Don't leave me
Don't leave me
Don't leave me now
I'll make it up to you somehow
Oh yes I will and I'll go out of my way to make you happy
Till the sun don't shine and sky stops turning blue
I really want to know
Could I ever be happy without somebody who really cared
Somebody like you
Don't leave me
Don't leave me
Don't leave me now
I'll make it up to you somehow
And again I wait for you
My tired hands are turning blue
I'm not sure if it's night or day
My body's aching in the cold and rain
But, I can't go home in case you're on the next train
So, here I stand - I'm just waiting for you
Everybody I know has to face the trains
Everybody I know makes the same mistakes
Playing games I turn around
I kick my heals I count the clowns
I watch another lonely man
Oh, but there's something in the air
that says I'm in the right place
So, I gaze at the crowd I'm trying to find the right face
And there it is - You say you're sorry too
Everybody I know has to face the trains
Everybody I know makes the same mistakes
Well, there's a hole in the ground
that seems to eat me up
I can't say enough about the two of us
My arms are breaking I can't hold you enough
Oh, I can't hold you enough
Oh, I can't hold you enough
I want to love you again
I want to love you again
I want to love you again
I want to love you again
I want to love you again
I want to love you again
I want to love you again
I wanna, I wanna, I wanna
Everybody I know has to face the trains
Everybody I know makes the same mistakes
Well, I took you to a glycerine party everynight
I followed on my lead when you put out the light
I couldn't fight the feeling that it's warmer than rain
I couldn't fight the feeling that you can't fight trains cause I know
Nobody tastes like you
Nobody looks like you
Nobody loves like you
Nobody tastes like you
Nobody looks like you
I can't go home
I wanna do it again
I wanna do it again
I wanna do it again
I wanna do it again
I wanna do it again
I wanna do it again
I wanna do it again
I wanna, I wanna, I wanna
(What did you say?)
I said a lot of things that I didn't mean
(tell me why?)
Cause I was hungry for you sweet 16
(so you lied?)
Oh, just to keep you here you're so naive
I get so lost and lame
Like on a ball and chain but, I wanna do it again
I wanna do it again
I wanna do it again
I wanna do it again
I wanna do it again
I wanna do it again
I wanna do it again
I wanna do it again
I wanna, I wanna, I wanna
Everybody I know has to face the trains
Everybody I know makes the same mistakes
Don't let the trains get'ya
That's life (that's life), that's what all the people say
You're ridin' high in April, shot down in May
But I know I'm gonna change that tune
When I'm back on top, back on top in June
I said that's life (that's life), and as funny as it may seem
Some people get their kicks stompin' on a dream
But I don't let it, let it get me down
'cause this fine old world, it keeps spinnin' around
I've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn and a king
I've been up and down and over and out and I know one thing
Each time I find myself flat on my face
I pick myself up and get back in the race
That's life (that's life), I tell you I can't deny it
I thought of quitting, baby, but my heart just ain't gonna buy it
And if I didn't think it was worth one single try
I'd jump right on a big bird and then I'd fly
I've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn and a king
I've been up and down and over and out and I know one thing
Each time I find myself layin' flat on my face
I just pick myself up and get back in the race
That's life (that's life), that's life and I can't deny it
Many times I thought of cuttin' out but my heart won't buy it
But if there's nothin' shakin' come this here July
I'm gonna roll myself up in a big ball a-and die
Life is so strange when its changin', yes indeed
Well I've seen the hard times and the pressure's been on me
But I keep on workin' like the workin' man do
And I've got my act together, gonna walk all over you
[chorus]
Gimme back my bullets
Put 'em back where they belong
Ain't foolin' around 'cause I done had my fun
Ain't gonna see no more damage done
Gimme back my bullets
Sweet talkin' people done ran me out of town
And I drank enough whiskey to float a battleship around
But I'm leavin' this game one step ahead of you
And you will not hear me cry 'cause I do not sing the blues
[chorus]
Gimme back my bullets
Put 'em back where they belong
Ain't foolin' around 'cause I done had my fun
Ain't gonna see no more damage done
Gimme back, gimme back my bullets
Oh, put 'em back... where they belong
Been up and down since I turned seventeen
Well I've been on top, and then it seems I lost my dream
But I got it back, I'm feelin' better everyday
Tell all those pencil pushers, better get out of my way
Friday, I took 3 Amazon items to the local UPS store for returns. As usual, I had the return code printed out and attached to the correct item. Usually nobody cares, but this time the girl at the counter said, "Thank you! Usually nobody has anything prepared." Why, thank you for noticing! :)
Reminded me of back in the '90s when Marlboro had a "Miles" promotion. If you sent in the "Miles" from the side of the cigarette pack, you could order items from their catalogue based on how many miles you sent in. (I ended up getting a coat, a bag, a sweatshirt, a grill, and various other items. Never could save up enough for the pool table!) When I sent in my miles to the company, I was very careful and orderly: After tearing them off the pack, I'd cut around the edges and then glue them onto a sheet of paper in neat rows---with the total miles written at the end of each row. I later met a guy who'd also been sending in his miles: He'd just tear them off and throw them in an envelope!
Life lesson: Mostly, people don't care. But sometimes they do. I still have hope.
I've got 5 cats, and this morning the only boy, Pete, got too wild and jumped up on a table with plants on it and knocked over one plant to the ground---the planter was plastic and OK, but the succulent plant in it was split in half and ruined. Plus there was a lot of dirt everywhere.
I yelled at him like a maniac, in my meanest voice, and chased him out of the room. In doing so, I scared every cat in the house (except for Sasha, who is usually pretty cool, unless I try to take her to the vet; she stayed right where she was). About 20 minutes later, Pete ventured back out of the bedroom to where I was in the living room. TOO SOON. I was still pissed and looked him in the eye and yelled at him again and stomped my foot until he raced back to the bedroom, where he then stayed for hours, as did the rest of the cats.
I felt like a horrible creep. And, yes, it flashed me back to my childhood, whenever my father was in a nasty mood and we all (my mom and me and younger brother) had to walk on eggshells around him.
I think that, yes, I should have gotten mad at Pete for knocking over the plant. But when he crept out 20 minutes later, I don't think I should have terrorized him again---just because I was still mad and it felt good to yell again. (Scary how good it felt to yell again.)
Made me glad I didn't have kids. Or if I HAD had to deal with kids, maybe I'd have realized that sometimes you lost your temper?
I think there's a happy medium between my father/mother and regular behavior. My father was both verbally and physically abusive. My mother was classic passive/aggressive: When she was mad at you, she'd just ignore you (the story of most of my life).
I'm happy to say that at least I just stomped my foot at Pete and yelled and never touched him (I would NEVER hit any of my cats); and I'm also happy to say that hours later, he came back to be petted, and I petted him and apologized for being mean. But still: I felt I'd been abusive to him. And I don't want a house where my cats are scared of me, as they all were today.
The censorship on Twitter and Facebook and other social media sites over the past few years has been disturbing and, yes, politically fascist in the banning of opinions not corresponding with the prevalent globalist/communist philosophies.
When it came time to renew my lease back in March, I was shocked to learn that my rent had all-of-a-sudden gone from $1377 to $1600. When I queried management re that huge leap, I was told that my apartment at $1600 was still below the market value. Sure enough, when I did a search online for the exact same apartment, it was listed at $1800. So I shut up and signed for $1600.
Today, just for the hell of it, I again did a search for what my apartment was currently going for on the management company's site: $2200!!!!!! Fuck! I better enjoy my last year here, because a year from now, I'm going to be out in the boondocks somewhere!
Because I'm anal and keep records, I just looked over the various rents I've paid since living as an adult:
Austin: 1985-86. Efficiency near UT campus. $315 month. Austin: 1986-87. 2-bed duplex w' roommate. $475 month (my share: $237.50) Austin: 1987-88. 1-bed apt. $275 month. Austin: 1989. 2-room garage apt. $250 month. [rent for 2-bed duplex in 1990 with girlfriend and subsequent 1-bed townhome by myself, I can't remember] Austin: 1991-94. 1-bed duplex (now the trendy "Rainey District"). $310 month.
San Francisco: 1994-1995. One room. $575 month.
Austin: 1996-97. 1-bedroom. $495 month. Austin: 1997-98. 1-bedroom/study. $425 month. Austin: 1998-2000. 1-bedroom/loft. $635, renewed for $660. Austin: 2000-2007. 2-bedroom house (800 sq ft). $825 the entire time.
New York City: 2007 (6 months). 2-bedroom apt w' roommate. My share $750 month. New York City: 2007 (3 months): 2-bedroom apt w' dif roommate. My share $1100 month. Weehawken, NJ: 2007-2008 (5 months): 2-bedroom downstairs row house w' roommate. My share $750 month. Weehawken, NJ: 2008-2010: 2-bed upstairs row house by myself. $1550 month.
Just re-watched Richard Linklater's "Slacker" (1990), his debut film that brought him to national attention (and flashed me back to Austin during that exact time). Here's my review for Netflix:
Eternal ode to a long-departed Austin era. I lived through it, and, to
answer some reviewers' questions: Yes, there really was a subculture of
thrift-store-dressed grad students/post-grads/hipsters/nutcases that
hung out and lived around the campus area and spent their days and
nights discussing conspiracy theories and Sartre and Smurfs in cafes in
between browsing in book/record stores and walking to the nearest
indie/foreign film theater (there used to be 4 theaters either on or
within a half-mile of campus). Every place depicted in the film (except
maybe the Continental Club) is long gone now, most closed by the end of
the '90s. It would be funny (and probably impossible) to try to do a
2022 version, featuring perhaps a Starbucks where each person at a table
poked furiously at the device in their hands while ignoring everyone
next to them; today, people have transferred their obsessions to the
online world, though many of the obsessions (intrusive media, intrusive
government) remain the same. A compelling, original, often frightening
film---the lackluster lives depicted are stultifying and mostly sad; and
sometimes it's better NOT to know exactly what your fellow humans are
thinking, especially at such close range!
--------------
What I didn't mention in the review (Netflix limits you): I could SMELL Linklater's Austin scenes. Shot maybe in late April or May or June? Austin has a certain smell during those times (along with a certain soundtrack that includes doves at dawn and sunset). The cracked sidewalks and weed-infested empty lots in the middle of the city also flashed me back. I don't know if this type of "talkative hipster" still exists, though. Where would they go to actually TALK instead of just posting something online? And I know that the homeless hanging around on the Drag (Guadalupe St, bordering the campus) certainly aren't called "dragworms" any more. (Post-1990s, the few aged dragworms left over from the '60s who hung out on the Drag morphed into multitudes of heroin/crack-addicted young people. What was once an interesting anomaly is now a scourge---but you can't call them that.)
p.s. The anarchist old man shopping with his daughter in the film was my first philosophy professor in the fall of 1983: Louis Mackey, who taught "God and Man."
----------------
While I lived AMONG the slackers of that time---I was a regular at their cafes and bookstores and record stores and movie theaters---I was too mentally aggressive and judgmental to be OF them. I liked my physical surroundings of that time a lot, and am nostalgic for them. But I do not miss the low-life pretentious people. I was interested but very unhappy during that time. Whereas today... I supposed I'm not so interested but more internally content.
Since I've been working at home for the past 2 years, I hardly ever go anywhere aside from the local grocery story. But today I "got to" go somewhere! An offsite location to update my work ID! Weeeeeee! What should have been a 10 minute drive turned into a half-hour meandering through the hills of west Austin (the first time I'd seen them in 20 years). I'd thought that I could take access roads instead of the highway---wrong. There wasn't an "access road." I wound up, after several wrong turns, way out in the hills, scared to take the curves at more than 20 mph, with a big-ass truck or two right on my tail, encouraging me to hurry the fuck up. Finally turned myself around, then wound up in an upper-middle-class neighborhood with lots of signs posted in the front yards congratulating junior on being first in his/her class and/or team. (Can't decide which is more obnoxious: parent signs or "I believe in BLM/Climate Change/Science" signs.)
At some point, I made it to my location. Started to sign in, and while I was doing so, a young woman walked up and stood beside me and started tapping her fingers while I was filling out the form. I looked at her and smiled, and she didn't say anything, so I kept on filling in my name and purpose for visit. When it came to the time, I looked up for a clock. At this point the woman finally spoke: "You don't need to fill that out. Come on."
Really? You really stood there the whole time and tapped your fingers and didn't say that you were the person I was supposed to go with? Please.
Despite the ridiculousness of this person, I still felt much more mellow than I felt the first time I visited 2 years ago: At that time, new job, but I didn't know for how long. And my ID photo looked hideous: Ghostly pale and no haircut for months, and bad reader glasses, and scared-looking. This time, I kind of meandered on in and meandered my way around the dummy of a clerk. Had nothing to do with me except that it was a task that I felt good to have accomplished. And I looked a lot better---I felt bad for the me in that old ID . (On the way home, feeling my oats, I did get into a race of sorts on Burnet Road as an SUV tried to pass me---he beat me on a 35-mph road, though he had to go up to 50 mph to do so. And the engine of a Mazda 2 hardly compares to that of your SUV---congrats, a-hole!) :0
Some people stay far away from the door
If there's a chance of it opening up
They hear a voice in the hall outside
And hope that it just passes by
Some people live with the fear of a touch
And the anger of having been a fool
They will not listen to anyone
So nobody tells them a lie
I know you're only protecting yourself
I know you're thinking of somebody else
Someone who hurt you but I'm not above
Making up for the love
You've been denying you could ever feel
I'm not above doing anything
To restore your faith if I can
Some people see through the eyes of the old
Before they ever get a look at the young
I'm only willing to hear you cry
Because I am an innocent man
I am an innocent man
Oh yes I am
Some people say they will never believe
Another promise they hear in the dark
Because they only remember too well
They heard somebody tell them before
Some people sleep all alone every night
Instead of taking a lover to bed
Some people find that's it's easier to hate
Than to wait anymore
I know you don't want to hear what I say
I know you're gonna keep turning away
But I've been there and if I can survive
I can keep you alive
I'm not above going through it again
I'm not above being cool for a while
If you're cruel to me I'll understand
Some people run from a possible fight
Some people figure they can never win
And although this is a fight I can lose
The accused is an innocent man
I am an innocent man
Oh yes I am
An innocent man
You know you only hurt yourself out of spite
I guess you'd rather be a martyr tonight
That's your decision but I'm not below
Anybody I know
If there's a chance of resurrecting a love
I'm not above going back to the start
To find out where the heartache began
Some people hope for a miracle cure
Some people just accept the world as it is
But I'm not willing to lay down and die
Because I am an innocent man
Driving around with my father after the divorce, when I was 13 or so, he had gamely changed the station to pop for me (from his usual country or news) when this Billy Joel song came on. Clearly very angry lyrics toward a woman, but what was most awkward: Every time Joel sang "You had to be a big shot," it sounded like he followed it up with "bitch"! As in: "You had to be a big shot, bitch..."
I just looked up the lyrics now on a lyrics site. Joel wasn't saying "bitch," he was saying "didn'tcha":
Well you went uptown riding in your limousine
With your fine Park Avenue clothes
You had the Dom Perignon in your hand
And the spoon up your nose
And when you wake up in the morning
With your head on fire
And your eyes too bloody to see
Go on and cry in your coffee
But don't come bitchin' to me
Because you had to be a big shot, didn't you
You had to open up your mouth
You had to be a big shot, didn't you
All your friends were so knocked out
You had to have the last word, last night
You know what everything's about
You had to have a white hot spotlight
You had to be a big shot last night
They were all impressed with your Halston dress
And the people that you knew at Elaine's
And the story of your latest success
Kept 'em so entertained
Aw but now you just don't remember
All the things you said
And you're not sure you want to know
I'll give you one hint, honey
You sure did put on a show
Yes, yes, you had to be a big shot, didn't you
You had to prove it to the crowd
You had to be a big shot, didn't you
All your friends were so knocked out
You had to have the last word, last night
You're so much fun to be around
You had to have the front page, bold type
You had to be a big shot last night
Well, it's no big sin to stick your two cents in
If you know when to leave it alone
But you went over the line
You couldn't see it was time to go home
No, no, no, no, no, no, you had to be a big shot, didn't you
You had to open up your mouth...
-------------------------------------
If I remember correctly, my dad and I had been chatting before this song came on. But once it came on, we were both silent and listening to it. Its anger was appropriate, I suppose, for how he was feeling toward women in general at the moment. But it was weird for both of us thinking that Joel was singing "bitch" every few seconds. We were both frozen. At the end of it, my dad, trying to break the ice, made a brief comment about why such "bad language" was allowed on the radio. (There wasn't any bad language, yet we both thought there had been...)
I haven't seriously thought about it, but I kinda just thought about it: Working from home, I am BY MYSELF ALL THE TIME. For the most part, I am content with myself, but sometimes (especially after watching "90 Day Fiance")... it would be nice to hang out with someone, or travel to somewhere/anywhere with someone! I'm VERY bored with my generic Austin surroundings right now. (The other day, as I was leaving my usual Austin supermarket, I flashed back to the times when I would step out of a supermarket and get a mild thrill looking out at my surroundings, after being interested in the types of people that I'd been shopping with... When I lived briefly in San Francisco, for instance, my supermarket was located right along the ocean...)
Back in the early '90s, right after my breakup with my first girlfriend, was the first and only time I ever tried putting a personals ad in the local weekly paper (which was the only way most people did personals pre-Internet). At that time, I advertised for "woman-seeking-woman." The results: Many offers from couples for sex meet-ups, a few responses from women who were not attractive (at that time, we actually enclosed photos in letters), one response from my ex (she didn't realize it was me placing the ad! Hey, wasn't that supposed to be a fun "Pina Colada"-type reunion?), one punk teenager who sent me a mix tape (we ended up going to see Concrete Blonde together in Austin, and I had to drive her home to her parents' trailer an hour outside of town at 3 in the morning---no, no "love connection"), and one woman that I ended up dating/sleeping with for 3 months or so (at the time, she was a DJ at a local alternative radio station, which I thought was cool; she lived in a rooming-house with a bathroom down the hall; we went to see Siouxsie and the Banshees together; just found out a couple of years ago that she's now a transgender man---which is good for her because...let me just say that oral sex with her as a woman was kind of gross).
I've always been "bi." And the older I get, the more I'm attracted to men, especially after the female weirdos I ran after in my younger years. Not all were "weirdos," of course, but... aside from the actual weirdos, there were many who acted like they were attracted to me, then backed off when I responded. (A girl in college who told me all about her various "bi" exploits, including sleeping with both the male and female of a couple; after she and I slept together, she retreated to her gray-bearded longtime boyfriend. A close friend who liked getting massages from me but was repulsed when I finally expressed my attraction. An acquaintance who hosted karaoke at gay bars and who flirted with me and kissed me and invited me over to spend the night but then proclaimed her straightness. You get the picture. The ones who pretended to be "gay-friendly" caused more psychological damage to me than "straight society" ever did.) What I've always missed about men is their initial forthrightness: If they're interested, they're interested.
All of that said... Yeah, imagine me trying to explain all of the above utter crap to a date from Silver Singles, if it ever became serious! :)
I'd now like to date a man (I find Trump and Bill Clinton and George Jones and Ted Hughes attractive), but just imagine if the unsuspecting mature man (ages 51 to 61) asked me what music I was currently listening to: "Oh, I'm collecting CDs of ballets that Nijinksy danced to, and then Lynyrd Skynrd." Or if he asked me about politics: "Well, I was an Independent, mainly a Democrat, up until Trump in 2016, and now I've become a rabid Trumpist/Libertarian." I don't want an uptight Bush Republican; and I don't want a wimpy, academic Democrat; and I don't want an ignorant, sloppy working-class guy. But I do seek the simultaneously righteous and expansive soul of an artist sans the usually accompanying scuzziness, which is probably impossible---unless he's post 50 and has had a post-menopausal spiritual awakening of some sort! Ha!
I do, though, have a sincere interest in travelling around in an RV to all the states when I retire---maybe that might be a selling point. Oh, and I'm sincerely interested in how the Dallas Cowboys do every year...
Sigh. Personals didn't work for me back in the '90s, and I don't think they'll work for me now. I can't explain myself to anyone.
Ever since I was a kid, I was always interested in rocks and fossils in a roundabout way---not necessarily in learning their exact names or their exact time periods, but more in thinking generally about how they were millions of years old and yet...here they were, right in the dirt next to my house or embedded in some wall! (What did the world used to be like?) Some people today often think of crystals mystically and "New Age-ily"---and they ARE, indeed, something to be wondered about. To me, it's kind of profound that you can actually touch something that's millions of years old.
A couple of weeks ago, I ordered a cheap crystal "natural healing" set from Amazon ("for beginners," it was labelled; $20 for 14 raw and tumbled stones, plus 2 gem necklaces, a bracelet, a wooden moon tray, a selenite stick, etc.). Cheap, but with real stones. I couldn't stop looking at them and touching them. Then, while searching for more stones to order, I came upon other items on Amazon containing the exact same thing, but from a scientific geological perspective... When it's "National Geographic" marketed at 6-year-old children, you get 10 times the same stones, plus real fossils, for the same price! I can't wait to get my National Geographic big pile of rocks to vibe off of! :)
Whatever store I walk into, the clerk is not necessarily going to be dismissive of me. He/she is not necessarily going to treat me like my mother treated me, or like a snarky pseudo-intellectual or gay guy would treat me. (Once I left my mean home for college, I was immediately thrust into an equally mean world of both bitchy intellectuals and, once I came out as gay, bitchy gays.)
Recently, I figured out that many store clerks are perfectly pleasant and nice young people without attitudes. I have only recently figured out that I could relax a bit.
My place in the world is not in relation to my parents---though, online, it's still kind of in relation to the leftist creeps that I first came across when I first entered college in 1983. Despite the fact that I was very bright, I didn't read the "correct" publications, so I was mocked by the University of Texas "Daily Texan" staff when I tried to join. In my early poetry classes in the '80s at UT-Austin, I was ignored for not being either beautiful or Hemingway; in my '90s grad school poetry classes at San Francisco State, I was ignored because I didn't present myself as gay---though, as it turned out, I WAS actually gay! (Today, poetry mags censor writers for using the word "nigger" in context, or refuse to publish writers if they're not black/hispanic/gay enough. Every single system is rigged by idiots-of-the-era who think they're somehow "avant garde" when in fact they're the most bourgeois, generic thinkers of all, responding only to what their cohorts are encouraging them to think.)
