A Horrible Side-Effect of Having My Apt Cleaned

The cleaning was on Wednesday afternoon. And after, I didn't see my little black cat Solomon/Mini for more than 24 hours.

I've got 5 cats (mom and her 3 babies, plus a half-grown relation with the same marks---Cinco/Mrs. Beasley---who was hanging around a few months later in winter and that I let in the house to get her out of the rain).

Two cats came out of hiding maybe 3 hours after the cleaners left. Two others came out later that evening. My little black cat, though, was missing. After about 18 hours and no Mini, I started to get nervous: What if, when the cleaning ladies left the door open for 5 mins, she ran out? What if, when the cleaning ladies were changing the linens on my bed (under which the cats hide when they're scared), they accidentally smothered Mini? After 24 hours, and two feeding times, and me calling for her constantly, she still didn't appear. I felt sick to my stomach. And I started calculating percentages that she was REALLY dead (finally came up with 95% alive and 5% dead in some bizarre way).

In the wee hours of Friday morning, she did appear, though. By the light of the TV, I woke up and saw her when she jumped on top of my living-room coffee table, and then we had a love-fest (she's the only cat of the five that will lie on top of my stomach for a long time and lick my nose about 100 times until I stop her). I actually cried when I saw her again.

When I got up for the day a couple of hours later, she was still hanging around on top of the table, but after that, she went into her hiding place again and didn't come out for the usual daily feeding with the others (morning, and around 2pm, and then around 9pm). Which has never happened before, except when she was very sick a couple of years ago as a youngster.

Solomon/Mini is the only one of my cats that I really worry about (probably because she almost died from a stomach ailment when she was a kitten). I worried about the new adoptee (Cinco/Mrs. Beasley) when she kept hiding from me for about 1 whole year! But once she decided to come out and about after that year, she's been hale and hearty and unafraid. My Mini, though, seems to be more sensitive than the others, and she doesn't eat as well as the others, sometimes dismissing food (aside from the usual kibble, even tuna and Temptations treats) for a day or two.

I've jokingly called Mini "my Familiar" in the past in reference to past witches and their so-called "Familiars." But now I think Mini really might be that. Not in the sense that she's helping me cast any spells or anything (!), but just that she's soul-connected to me. I love all of my cats and would, of course, be upset if anything happened to any of them. But I also think of the other four as sturdy and as survivors, capable of fending for themselves. If, say, a hurricane or fire ever occurred, I might open my doors to let the others escape and fend for themselves (Mama and Cinco are smart, originally feral cats). But if I were fleeing a natural disaster, I would first load Mini up in a crate and take her with me.

[All of the above said: Despite my feelings for Mini and her sensitivity, I will indeed still have my apartment cleaned every 3 months, despite the trauma for cats! With the hope that they'll remember that 3 months ago, things were loud but they were all OK in the end---kinda like when they all, as young cats, had to go in to get fixed and have their shots... and, look, they still came home OK!]

Monica Vitti Tribute (Bowie: Lady Grinning Soul)

I'm a little slow.

After reading the below post, I got to thinking: It's now become blatantly obvious to me that I'm more than a little slow about most wordly things!

I didn't know how to put a tampon in until I went to college in 1983, when a friend had to coach me through the process (she on one side of the bathroom door and me on the other).

I didn't know how to do laundry until I went to college in '83. (Thanks again to a roommate for showing me how---after I'd borrowed a white shirt from her and washed it in a load with reds and blacks and ruined it.)

I didn't know how to order from or tip at a restaurant until I went to college in '83. (My parents didn't go out much.)

I didn't have sex until I was 23. (My first lover, a woman and an awful person, is still the only lover I've ever lived with.)

I didn't get my Bachelor's degree until I was 28. (Though I did hurry up and get my Master's a mere 3 years later.)

I didn't get my first computer until 2000 (which my mom bought for me), when I was 35. (In my defense, I HAVE been working since I was 16---just at low-paying jobs! All of my friends had computers by the mid-'90s, but I never could afford one.)

I didn't have a pedicure until I moved to New York City in 2007, when I was 42.

I didn't buy my own car until 2016, when I was 51 (!). From age 16 until I moved to NYC in 2007, I'd always driven free used hand-me-downs from my parents: Pinto (from my father), and then a Dodge and Mazda from my mother, and then the used Ford Contour that my mom paid for (and that I was supposed to make payments on but did not after the first few months---sorry Mom). My first car purchase with my own money was my used Mazda 2 in 2016 (still driving it). Still have never bought a NEW car!

And now... I never paid to have my apartment cleaned until 2022, when I was 57!

What the hell is next? Falling in love with an actually deeply MORAL person who's also kinda cool on the surface? Getting married? Backpacking across Europe? (Or, at this stage, RV-ing across the United States?) Finding out that Earth was a destination hundreds of thousands of years ago for higher-intelligence refugees from a tapped-out Mars? Kind of a joke, but...we're not satisfied---we're obviously disconnected from some tap root...

I did it!!

After thinking and talking about it for over a year now, I FINALLY found a cleaning lady (in this case, a mother/daughter pair of ladies) and got my apartment professionally cleaned! None of the Yelp listings worked out, but I finally got info from my boss, who doesn't use a service but just "knows someone." The women stayed for a whopping 3-1/2 hrs and only charged $140 total (plus I added a $30 tip because I was very happy)---which was much less than anyone on Yelp.

My main concerns were my floors/rugs and throw-rugs/bathrooms---and all of the cat hair that had accumulated on my furniture and bedding and floorboards! (I've been pretty good about keeping up with countertops and fridge and microwave and inside of oven, so they didn't have to do much in the kitchen, though they did clean the ground-in grease off the oven-top.)

The place looks friggin' beautiful! I'd thought that my living-room shag carpet was a goner, just meant for carting out to the dumpster and starting over thanks to all of the cat hair and me not liking to vacuum shag rugs (because they're HARD and actually sweat-inducing to vacuum)! Nope---brought back to life. And all the cat hair along the base-boards and behind doors and within couch and chairs is all gone! (While the women were working, I snuck a look at all the cat hair they'd gathered in one spot in the hallway---a mass about the size of a basketball!) And I can now walk in my bathroom without hating myself for my laziness, and in the area outside of the spare bathroom used for cat litter without stepping all over stray litter that the cats had tracked outside of the tub! (Last year, I had bought 2 mats specifically for catching litter, but hadn't used them because I was waiting until I had thoroughly mopped the area first---and so they went unused. Immediately after the cleaners left, I laid them down!)

And then there were all the extras---most excitingly for me, I asked if they changed linens, and they did! It's always been my (sad little) fantasy to have sheets on my bed that are appropriate for the season, and I do OWN 4 nice sets of sheets (yellow/gold for Spring, cherry-ish red for Summer, coppery brown for Fall, and wine/burgundy for Winter). It's just that I didn't ever fancy the idea of changing them: (1) Because it's a pain in general, and (2) my floors always seemed dirty and where was I going to put all of the pillows and comforter while I pulled off the old sheets and put on the new ones? Plus, (3): Living alone, I often just fall asleep on the living-room couch at night, so my bed sheets really don't get very dirty since not often used. But someone else changed the sheets for me! And now I have Fall sheets on my bed for the Fall!

So, for the bargain price of $170, I got quite a HUGE psychological boost! I'm not horribly messy (I'm pretty good at picking big stuff up, good at counters, very good at keeping my fridge clean, and I'm not a neat freak, so I think I can get away with only having the cleaners over every 3 months from now on, with me only doing spot cleans in between (avoiding toilets, carpets, baseboards, and sheets almost completely).

Finally getting cleaners was definitely a good experience. I was home the whole time (though many online sites recommend that you leave to let the cleaners do their thing), but working at my computer in a corner of my apartment kept me facing the wall, so I didn't feel I was intruding on their cleaning by sitting there and WATCHING them or anything. And the two ladies were very professional and unobtrusive. (I'd initially even told them NOT to clean the area where I was working, but near the end, I asked if I could get up and go elsewhere and if they could get rid of the cat hair underneath my two tables, which they quickly did.)

There was a definite language barrier (they spoke little English, and I spoke no Spanish), but at the beginning, I just walked them around the apartment and either pointed to stuff or gestured "No" about stuff, and they figured it out. (I also knew that "cat" was "gato," so at one point when they left the front door open for a couple of minutes, I was able to gesture and say "gato"!) And at the end, there was some confusion about payment---the person on the phone that I intially set up the appointment with had said that Venmo was an option, but these ladies didn't know what Venmo was, so I ended up with an English-speaking relative of theirs on the phone and just paying with a check---yes, I made sure that my cleaning lady had a bank account and that she wrote down her exact name for me to make the check out to!

BTW: Yes, all 5 of my cats were traumatized. Under the bed is their normal hiding spot (when they hear a delivery knock at the front door, for example), but this time, because the cleaners were doing some of their work in the bedroom, they kept dodging between rooms and under/behind various pieces of furniture. Three hours later, only 3 of 5 have finally popped back out to say "hi" to me, even when treats were involved. (Sorry guys, but... Get used to it every 3 months! Your fur is partially responsible for this!) :

 

 

 

Congrats to Italy's Giorgia Meloni!

This German news station is left-wing and Communist, but it was the best I could find.
The point is: Meloni is pro-sovereignty, as every country should be. (No country should ever let the EU determine their policies.)

A Tribute to MONICA VITTI

"L'Eclisse Twist" (Mina, 1962)

Antonioni's "L'Eclisse" (1962)

Antonioni leaves clues everywhere, and begins here with the shelf full of books in the author’s apartment as the lovers are about to part. I couldn’t make out most of the titles, but one was something-“Economica,” and a subsequent shot of magazines on the table revealed something-“Socialista.” So the inept forsaken lover is an academic and Socialist.

Not that this matters to Vittoria (Monica Vitti): She’s not political; in fact, her next lover (Alain Delon) is a high-energy capitalist day-trader (who actually KNOWS something first-hand about "economics," and who also happens to manage her own mother’s stocks). Vittoria’s ennui isn’t assuaged by either end of the spectrum. 

She’s lethargic, mostly, until given the chance to role-play: She comes alive at a friend’s apartment, when enacting a Kenyan dance after looking at photos of Africa; and when later spending time with Delon, she’s most animated when re-enacting tableaux of other lovers she’s seen on the streets. Antonioni has also made her a translator by profession---again, she has no words of her own. (Her “flightiness” is also exhibited when she seems most satisfied when up in a plane piloted by her friend’s husband.) Delon’s own shallowness is parallel with Vittoria’s: Compare his dismay at his regular call girl’s new hair color---she’d suddenly changed from his preferred blonde (Vittoria’s hair color) to brunette---with Vittoria’s making a U-turn in the street while with Delon when another handsome man passes by.

All is set amidst one of Mussolini’s actual 1930s created-from-scratch suburbs: In this case, EUR---with its nuclear-cloud-shaped tower (nuclear annihilation also on everyone’s mind circa 1962) dominating the horizon, and deserted streets, and new construction, and puny trees supported by wires. There’s no history here whatsoever. Vittoria and her initial jilted lover live in this suburb. Delon’s Piero, on the other hand, has a historical family home in the city of Rome---he also actually is passionate about what he does, despite Vittoria’s disdain for it.

"They're not on your side."

Not everything has to be dramatic, like---OMG! SEXUAL ABUSE!!!!

There are, though, often ongoing tedious belittlings that wear you down. Not enough for a hash-tag, or anything. But, still...they build up, and you wonder why they happened.

In 1976, the nation's Bicentennial, my middle school handed out envelopes, and if you put your name and return address on them, they'd send them to your home with Bicentennial stamps. I filled out my name and address on 5 envelopes, and they were mailed to my home. When my mother saw them: "Why did you put your own name on all of these?"

In 1983: I was 18, and with my mother and younger brother in Germany. While we were all standing on a street-corner in a German city with one of my mother's two older sisters, I lit a cigarette. My mother insisted that I put the cig out, which I did (and her sister later praised me for how docile I was). I learned later that my mother, while a pre-teen in the '50s, often sneaked cigarettes. At one point, when she and a friend were caught smoking, an old woman chastised them: "Just like the Russians!" (My point: If my mother sneaked cigs as a kid in the '50s, then why so adamant in 1983 re my own smoking? At that point, it wasn't verboten for grown women to smoke in public any more---I don't think it had been since the '30s.)

In 2010, when I got back to Austin from NYC, I had to move into a 400-sq-ft apartment because I couldn't afford anything more. One room, one closet. My mother had one crate of my old LPs stored at her 1400-sq-ft house. For the whole time I was at this 400-sq-ft place, I constantly heard: "When are you going to pick up your records?" Not just once. A dozen times.

None of the above is dramatic. It's just constantly soul-draining. Like when there's a family Christmas gathering, and Mom blatantly takes pictures of everyone except me (!). Sounds stupid when you complain about it, but at the time, and later, it's actually hurtful.

My parents divorced in 1977 when I was 12, and my dad was overtly awful prior to that. So, obviously, my mother was the better of the two. She was well-organized and kept a clean house; Christmases and birthdays were very nice, and I appreciate them.

One thing I remember, though, pre-1977 while they were still married and we all lived in the same house: Whatever had just happened to me and whatever humiliation I was just feeling: I heard an actual voice (inner, or was it a voice from the cosmos?) that said: "They're not on your side." Wow! I'd never heard such a thing before, and I never heard such a thing since. Whatever this "voice" was, it utterly validated my own feelings. I wasn't crazy after all for thinking that my own parents didn't like me. Hard thing to admit: Neither of my parents liked me, much less loved me.

What does Alabama sound like?

I've always wondered what Zelda Fitzgerald sounded like when she talked. I knew she was from Montgomery, Alabama, but all post-representations of her in film had ridiculous, broad, phony "Southern accents."

My workplace just recently hired a remote worker from Alabama. During our morning Teams meetings, I've been hanging on her every brief word.

 

Monica Vitti (La Notte)

At this point near the end of the film, Vitti funnily says something like, you two have worn me out!

(Vitti's daughter-of-the-Industrialist character isn't really the point of the whole film, though she's a catalyst. The Moral Moreau has already been non-sexually open to new experiences for the past hour of the film; the Immoral Mastroianni has been closed off to anything but overt sexual experiences. They both converge on Vitti's character at the end of the film.)

First Time for a Cleaning Lady

I'm over 50, and I've never in my life had a cleaning lady/person come to my apartment. (1) Because I never could afford it until a couple of years ago; and (2) Because I just felt working-class guilty---why the hell couldn't I clean up after myself?

At this point, though, I'm friggin' sick of looking at my toilets/shower and rugs that I haven't felt like cleaning/vacuuming for the past year. If someone wants money to do this chore for me, then, by god, I'll pay 'em to do it!

When I started searching Yelp, though, for the best-rated and to request quotes, I got some odd-balls in response:

One company rep (apparently a one-woman show) wrote:

So the monthly fee will be $150 for approx 4 man hours, give or take 15 minutes. And I can strip and make your bed for you. Most of the time, I work alone. I provide all cleansers, vacuum, mop, rags, etc. I also can work in what I call extra projects, one per visit. They consist of things like cobwebs, ceiling fans, wet wipe baseboards, wet wipe woodwork, edge-clean carpet. If there is build-up in the bathrooms and kitchen or excess pet hair, there will be an additional charge of up to $60 on the first visit only. I cannot be responsible for mineral deposits or mold, especially black mold. My monthlies do not have a set day, I let you know approx 3 weeks in advance what your cleaning day and arrival time will be for the next month. And I take cash only. I get very heated up while cleaning, so I ask that the AC be turned down to 70 degrees.

I'd already told her I only needed cleaning every 3 months or so (not monthly). And I certainly don't want to pay a random $60 charge upon first visit. Nor do I want to be "surprised" by when the next visit might be. Nor do I want to have to go to my bank to extract cash. And re the temperature---pre-contacting anyone, I'd already thought about asking them if they needed the temp lowered while they were cleaning... But I don't want to be TOLD what temp to lower my thermostat to!

Other companies I contacted for quotes thru Yelp were even more expensive, from $175 thru $250 for a 2-hour cleaning. And one company even sent me a sample invoice with a $20 "travelling fee." (They're in Austin, I'm in Austin --- on principal, no way.)

Here's the ultimate thing: A cleaning lady shouldn't be making more per hour than I make. Similar principle: A McDonald's employee shouldn't be making more than I make. Why?: Because the rarer the intellectual job skills, the more you should be paid. Most people, if they had to, could clean or take orders. People are paid for their "extra" abilities.

George Jones: The King Is Gone (1989)

George Jones: If Drinkin' Don't Kill Me (1981)

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

Antonioni's "L'Avventura" (1960)

 

Three ways to think about this:

(1) You didn't see the small rowboat rowing away from the island. (Which I didn't upon first viewing; just caught it when told to by the Commentary.) And thus you feel annoyed with friend and boyfriend of the missing woman for hooking up so quickly, and keep waiting for the missing woman to show up and create some personal drama, or else for her dead body to show up and create some drama re who might be responsible.

(2) You saw the small rowboat. You think that maybe the missing woman is just existentially escaping and is now traveling across Italy (as her friend/boyfriend seem to think while following her potential path as reported by the local media) and will turn up eventually, hopefully right when the friend and boyfriend are having sex in the abandoned city.

(3) After about an hour, you give up on the non-existent plot and simply watch Antonioni's pretty shots and not-so-pretty decadent rich characters, which both tell us: (a) Old World is better than New World (architecturally at least). Many scenes of classic architecture re-purposed to generic 1960 office buildings, and of beautiful buildings and streets marred by TV antennas and wires. (b) Men are all sexual predators to some degree (both crude guys on the street and the shallow boyfriend, Sandro). (c) All relations between men and women, rich or poor, are utterly false (as evidenced by every single pair in this film, from the leads to minor-character marriages to a random young couple on a train).

Monica Vitti is the "Adventurer" in this film. Guilt-stricken while simultaneously attracted to her missing friend's lover. And also fascinated/repulsed by the luxurious world she finds herself in while ostensibly searching for her friend. (She's a lower-middle-class "sensible" girl who takes what people say at face value, and is rather confused when they nonchalantly reveal to her that what they said yesterday is not the same as what they might mean today.)

#3 is the best way to watch this film, I think. The stated "missing-girl plot" is not the point at all. Antonioni wants you to see how ugly and fleeting all modern (1960) personal relations are in relation to their ancient backdrop. (Two books left in the missing girl's bag: The Bible and Fitzgerald's Tender Is the Night -- the latter a 1934 forerunner of psychologically horrific/naturalistic marital and coupled states on display in this film that would soon become de rigueur in both fiction and film by the 1970s.)

When does the light go out of one's eyes?

Some people never have a spark in their eyes, even when young.

A lot of celebrities and society people and gay guys have a certain "dead eyes with a smile" look.

QEII, in the '50s, had very lively eyes. At some point, though, by the end of her life, they'd become dead. (Didn't do research on photos through the decades, but by the 2000s, in the public pictures, she was only smiling with her mouth and not her eyes---not an "ageing" thing; a lot of old people, including QEII's own mother, kept the twinkle.)

I remember pictures of my brother in the '90s---the light was there. A decade later, it was not. (Just an ageing thing, or a wife thing? I couldn't tell you.)

Below pic is QEII in the late '50s, still with a spark.

 

 

Now that the official period of mourning is over for QEII...

 ...what, sans funeral queue, am I supposed to watch on TV to inspire positive, historic contemplation within myself? Damn. The past week has also been a respite from all of the angst usually encountered on the UK Daily Mail website---most people briefly stopped their pro-/anti-Brexit insults in favor of a sense of national unity. Pre-QEII death, I usually had on Fox News in the background while I worked on my Joan website, or else football (now that it's fall), or "90-Day Fiance" marathons. Sometimes "On Patrol" marathons from Reelz. 

To be clear, Fox is still a thousand times more factual than CNN or MSNBC. And the UK Daily Mail is still a thousand times more factual than the BBC and The Guardian. And "90-Day Fiance" is still a thousand times better than watching any "Housewives" franchise, with all of the racial lectures that have become ingrained in the last couple of years. And football is still so-so---some teams have taken the BLM propaganda off their helmets and end zones, but some still have not.

Some might say: "If you don't like it, turn it off." I've been addicted to television for decades now. The people talking, especially on live news sites, make me feel less alone as I constantly sit in my house by myself! (Pre-24-hr-news stations and cable, I would have FM talk-show radio on in the late-night hours---used to go to sleep to Larry King's all-night radio show in the '80s.)  I would love it if there were dozens of ad-free, left-wing-propaganda-free history stations, but, alas, there are not.

I do recognize that in the last week, while watching almost only BBC coverage of QEII ceremonies, that I felt better and clearer mentally than when watching ad-filled, nonsensical, corrupt junk. I wasn't particularly a fan of getting pissed off while watching news stations or visiting websites, which I was just doing out of boredom. I also feel the internal need for some fresh air and exercise---I can say it, but I never go out and get it, except for the occasional swim over this past summer. My body and mind are TELLING ME what I need, but I'm too lethargic to respond.

I can order all the crystals and jewelry-making supplies and candle-making supplies that I can afford---and all the Ingmar Bergman movie sets that I can afford---but none of these are going to actually clear my mind. Crystals/candles/essential oils/classic movies might perhaps solve about 10% of my neuroses---most in the satisfied thoughts while ordering them rather than in the actual result upon receipt of them: Making jewelry is hard! (Those fucking jump rings and how to open/close them! And when I put all my good, positive thoughts and care into crafting a set and then I list on eBay and there's not even 1 watcher for 2 weeks!) Making candles is hard! Actually learning about crystals and what they represent is hard. Making the decision to stare at a Bergman film and think and cry for 2 hours is psychologically harder than lying there on the couch and watching 2 hours of "On Patrol." What I have thought might be "relaxation" is actually hard---like taking a damn walk around the block.

HM The Queen: Lying-in-State - BBC

A couple of days ago, someone posted online: "Why would anyone wait in line for 12 hours when they could just watch it online?"

I responded: "Because some prefer to experience life first-hand instead of via a screen." I don't think anyone born pre-2000 understands what "experiencing life first-hand" means. (A sad, soul-less, deletable generation.)

Joan Crawford in "Rain" (1932)

I've been watching so many Ingmar Bergman films lately. I don't think it's possible that he was unaware of or uninfluenced by either "Rain" (1932) or "Possessed" (1947).

I really am turning into a stereotypical ageing lesbian (or else a witch)...

(1) I have 5 cats. I call my one black cat (Solomon Grundy, Mini) "my familiar."
(2) I have candle-making supplies.
(3) I've been buying a lot of crystals lately; plus charms to go with them. I sometimes hold certain stones in my hand when I'm having a particular problem.
(4) I have posters of Hekate and Celtic holidays above my desk.

From "The Crack-Up" (1945 posthumous F. Scott Fitzgerald compendium of essays plus random thoughts)

*Parts of New Jersey, as you know, are under water, and other parts are under continual surveillance by the authorities. But here and there lie patches of garden country dotted with old-fashioned frame mansions, which have wide shady porches and a red swing on the lawn. And perhaps, on the widest and shadiest of the porches, there is even a hammock left over from the hammock days, stirring gently in a Victorian wind.

------

What gives me the initial thrill is the double use of "under." And then I hang around to learn more about the countryside and the mansions, and then about Fitzgerald's own nostalgia, to see if it compares to mine, in a different age---for the different but same things.

The Queen Is Dead + Ingmar Bergman

Queen Elizabeth II dying brings a nation to its core---for the moment, no more arguing about Brexit or Boris. For the time being, the focus is on the nation's history and what it means to be British, with a connection to the thousands of years that have gone before. (Immigrants---you're welcome into the fold if you make an effort to understand what exactly it is you're now a part of. Same goes for immigrants into the US.)

I've also been watching numerous Ingmar Berman films via Netflix. At first out of intellectual curiosity, and then because every single film I've watched so far made me feel cleansed in some way. I actually wept (much harder than "cried") at the end of "The Virgin Spring," and I haven't either wept or cried in ages. In the past few weeks, I've seen the following Bergman films:

Port of Call
Summer Interlude
Summer with Monika
The Seventh Seal
Wild Strawberries
The Magician
The Virgin Spring
Winter Light

After watching "Winter Light," I finally broke down and just bought the whole 39-film Bergman Criterion Collection set from Amazon.

Between the spiritual QEII coverage of the death and coffin cortege on the BBC, and the spirit of the Bergman films exploring both death and faith... I feel much better, and lighter, than I've felt in years.

Though I've usually enjoyed being a "news junkie," I'm now trying to avoid news stations, just trying to stick to the BBC and the ongoing coffin procession for the time being. All is pure for the time being. (A feeling to remember, and seek, for the future.)

A Queen Is Crowned (1953 film)

A ghoulish side note: While Sylvia Plath's mother went to watch this film about Queen Elizabeth's June 2  coronation in Boston on August 24, 1953, Sylvia was at home swallowing her mother's sleeping pills and then crawling into the family basement to die.
 

I know too much about Plath. And also about the Beatles... On the very morning that Plath did finally kill herself in London 10 years later (February 11, 1963, 23 Fitzroy Rd), the Beatles reported to their Abbey Road studio to begin recording their first album. Just 2 miles away.

Either it doesn't mean anything, or it was a vortex of some sort. These were two very big historical occurrences within a very tight geographical location and time-frame!

Sex Pistols: God Save The Queen (1977)

Oh, how cute and punky!
Who really wants an entire world like this, though? 

We're trying out this anarchist version of society right now in the US (no arrests, no borders, statue- and shop-window smashing/looting, no monetary policy, no consequences for anything)---and it's an utter nightmare: sky-high inflation, crime rates, mediocrity (based on race/feminism/gayness instead of competency) in academia and government, etc.

Keep on with this Weimar chaos. 

But then don't be surprised by the reaction when it comes:
"Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it."

BBC: Announcement of QEII death

Tammy Wynette and George Jones: We Go Together (1973)

Great song, until, near the end, when Tammy makes an overt deal about George accidentally spitting on her while singing. I've seen her wiping her face a couple of times while singing with him---obviously to make him feel bad. If you're a pro, you know that spit happens---and you're supposed to just ignore it while onstage.

New T-Shirt

 

Two Hoots and a Holler: Middle of the Night

Song written 1990. Performed above in 2013, Austin.
2005 Austin article on Rick Broussard and his drug use and clean-up:
https://michaelcorcoran.substack.com/p/rick-broussard-shadow-man-jumps-into

I'd been a regular at the Monday night Two Hoots shows at the Black Cat Lounge on 6th Street from about 1989 thru the early '90s. I always went with my friend Jerry, whom I worked with at the university library. In '94-'95, I moved to San Francisco to get my Master's, and during the same time, Jerry got his Master's in Library Science and then moved back to his hometown of San Antonio. When I moved back to Austin in 1996, there was no one left for me to hang out with. Aside from Jerry, my other 5 or so close friends had all gotten married and either moved to small towns outside of Austin or to Seattle or someplace. My close writer friend Brian (who shared my birthdate and with whom I'd been putting out a lit magazine in Austin and attending a regular writers' group with every 2 weeks for 2 years before I left for SF) got accepted to the writers' program at Johns Hopkins and moved to Baltimore. I was completely alone. To this day, I consider 1996 thru 2000 to be my godforsaken "lost years"---I'd lost every single personal connection and was desperately, unsuccessfully trying to fill the vacuum.

During this bad period, I tried to re-create the earlier good times I'd had at the Black Cat seeing Rick Broussard and Two Hoots by trying to find Rick's current shows. Usually at the Saxon Pub on S. Lamar. I think he had a regular gig there on Sunday nights. Only this time I didn't have Jerry there as a buffer. So I'd go and sit and drink by myself. Sometimes strange guys would come sit down and I'd chat with them. But I'd always "dump" them if Rick happened to come over to my table.

A few weird incidents: One time I ran into Rick outside the club---we started out chatting amicably, and he literally "bent down to tie the laces of my shoe," which I found incredibly romantic. But then, in the course of chit-chat, I asked him why he'd broken up with his latest girlfriend: "We were in LOVE!" he said angrily, and then left me in the parking lot.

Other encounters: 

I once sat outside the Saxon Pub mens' room waiting for him to come out. He sneered at me as he exited and walked past me.
Another time, Rick invited me over to a place that he shared with another musician. While we were all hanging out in the living room, Rick disappeared into the bedroom, leaving me to chat with the roommate. At one point, Rick came out and said to me, "Are you going to come in here?" but I shook my head no. (He was known to do heroin, and I was afraid of that.) I kept talking to the roommate for a while, and then went home.
On the night that Princess Diana died (8/31/97), I was making copies of tapes of Rick's appearances on Austin cable TV to give to him per his request. (During a pause in the taping, I found out what had happened and stopped the taping.) During this same period, he once asked me to go driving with him, but then called to cancel.

The worst 5 years of my life. Just partially because of Broussard. I couldn't find a regular job, and I was still trying to get over my ex-girlfriend (breakup: 1991) and contacting her, occasionally seeing her with unsatisfactory results. While also trying to hang on to the memory of good times watching Rick perform at the Black Cat in earlier years, trailing him around his current shows like a groupie and throwing myself at him, desperate for some, any deep human connection not forthcoming. For some reason, I thought that because I loved his music, that he and I might connect... Nah, just some weird, random stuff.

I've long since gotten over my groupie-dom, and have long gotten used to being alone. I still love his music, though! :)  Our few personal encounters were so surface, they're just anecdotal, not deeply hurtful---only indicative of that ugly time period when nothing went right, despite the most sincere of hopes and needs. One disturbed person seeking comfort in another disturbed person, to no avail.

Rick ended up marrying a well-balanced girl who worked at my very publishing company! Cuter, nicer, and with much better vintage clothes.

Daytime Nighttime Suffering: Paul McCartney (1979)

What does she get for all the love she gave you
There on the ladder of regrets?
Mighty river, give her all she gets

What does she get for all the love she gave you
There on the ladder of regrets?
Daytime nighttime suffering is all she gets

Where are the prizes for the games she entered
With little chance of much success?
Daytime nighttime suffering is all she gets

Come on, river, overflow
Let your love for your people show
Come on, river, flow through me
Let your love for your people be
You are the river, I am the stream
Flow mighty river through me

What does it pay to play the leading lady
When like the damsel in distress
Daytime nighttime suffering is all she gets...

Man We Was Lonely: Paul McCartney (1970)

If anyone's interested in a great overview of Paul McCartney's solo stuff from 1970 thru 1984, I highly recommend the 2-CD "Wingspan" set. Hits, B-sides, and other very good album tracks.

I used to listen to this collection all the time a couple of years ago, and just now re-discovered it---have listened 3 times in a row so far tonight!

Serena Williams

Glad Serena Willliams is gone from the US Open. I was sick of listening to the constant "people of color" propaganda from the broadcasters (when I just wanted to watch tennis), and more sick of looking at her polyester black-sequinned evening gown, and at her watch. (Who wears a WATCH and long-sleeved mesh to a sports competition? She obviously came to the court to be seen and talked about rather than to play.) Glad that the rest of the Open is left to actual tennis competitors---oh wait: Djokovic still can't come in---in 2022!---because of his vaccination status---friggin' ridiculous.

 

And I'm still offended that this no-neck hulk recently appeared on the cover of Vogue---not racist, just that no one as blatantly unattractive and unstylish (white or black or whatever color) as Serena Williams should ever appear on the cover of Vogue as long it claims to be a "style" magazine. Who's next on the cover: Randi Weingarten? Lena Dunham? Either you're Ms. or you're Vogue---make up your mind.

 

Les Deplorables

George Jones: He Stopped Loving Her Today (1980)

George Jones: "Walk Through This World With Me" (1966)

The Soul of the Country (Biden speech 9/1/22)

Biden has no sense of irony. He actually said in this speech: "Too much of what is happening in this country today is not normal"----Very true. But he was not referring to the millions flooding across our southern border, or our country's current inflation rate, or high crime rate. Biden, and his Communist advisers, are inept and insane.

CBS: I'm now in my 50s; I grew up respecting you as a news source. But your behavior, and that of most of your colleagues since 2016, has been shamefully left-wing partisan and unintellectual. Are you an independent news source or a Democrat mouthpiece? Make up your mind. (Quick, before the non-RINO Republicans take power.)

Entering the World o' Women

I've never been super-feminine or super-nurturing (ha!). In fact, I'm kind of intellectual and aggressive (albeit fair)! If I had had a family, I would have been "The Dad" out there teaching the kid to both catch the ball and do his/her best at figuring out the homework (and taking them to work with me)---and, yes, getting peeved if they did poorly in school (or didn't even TRY to catch the ball---which I realize not everyone is good at---but you gotta TRY).

I also remember a few family holiday dinners where, post-meal, I would immediately retreat to the living room to watch whatever game was on: Cowboys on Thanksgiving, Spurs or Longhorns on Christmas. Leaving my mother and sister-in-law to chat while they cleaned up (similarly, to chat while they prepared the meal, which I also had absolutely no interest in doing---not out of laziness, but...just no interest, though I would always help clear the table).

Post-menopause, though, I find I'm mellowing as far as "the World o' Women" goes. Not as far as cooking and cleaning, but... CRYSTALS!

I have a good hairdresser that I like, and for the past few years pre/during/post Covid, aside from Covid, we've mainly been chatting about our pets and how to get rid of pet hair on clothes/furniture/etc. Plus, we're both interested in True Crime (though she reads more recent things, and I'm more into historical stuff like Lizzie Borden and Bonnie & Clyde and Leopold & Loeb).

One thing that really got everybody in the whole salon going, though, during my visit was a discussion on crystals! I've just started learning about and buying them in the past few months. While at my hairdresser's station, I noticed a selenite tower for the first time... Why, I have my own selenite tower! And what is that other thing? (It was an ugly piece of black kyanite---I don't like black kyanite at all, but my queries about it got other hairdressers involved about why they loved it---and got me researching its psychic properties afterwards: "This stone helps with voice recognition, expression/self-expression, and contact with spirit guides. It can help you understand why there are gaps in your life purpose or missing pieces of the life puzzle."

Similarly, when I checked out to pay, I noticed for the first time a huge 8-inch chunk of raw peridot (my August birthstone), which must have cost $300 at least, plus similarly expensive chunks of amethyst placed elsewhere. Once I mentioned/identified these to the girl at the counter, she lit up and started recommending all sorts of local crystal shops to me---actually helpful, since I would rather go and choose my stones in person and feel the vibe rather than just ordering online.

All of the crystal stuff, which I'm genuinely interested in, was definitely a bonding experience. Since, post-50, I don't have kids (or cooking) that I can bond with other women about, it was nice to discover SOMETHING (well, besides cats and Lizzie Borden).