'The Great Gatsby' (2013)

 

I just saw Baz Luhrmann's "The Great Gatsby" tonight for the first time (with commercials, on AMC). I'd read F. Scott Fitzgerald's novel too young (in my teens) and didn't quite understand the emotional gravitas and heartbreak. Also as a teen, I saw the crappy '70s version with Redford (and his '70s hair) and Farrow, and the ridiculous ennui (so apropos for the '70s and utterly un-apropos of the Roaring Twenties) and hated it -- and so have rather dismissed everything about "Gatsby" for the past 30 years. 

Luhrmann's version, though, was moving and thought-provoking. I first discovered him via his "Moulin Rouge" in 2001 -- I saw it twice in one week, it was THAT good to me. Since then, I'd lost touch with what he'd been doing artistically.

I do tend to mistrust those who attempt to bring a modern sense to a period piece... "Gatsby" is decidedly of the '20s, and decidedly of Fitzgerald. And Luhrmann had a modern soundtrack to this "Gatsby"... But the soundtrack fit in almost seamlessly at Jay Gatsby's decadent parties. Yes, you know it's not "period music," but the "feel," the "mood," is almost exactly right.

And the editing also fit in perfectly. (For example, when the rich characters left their glowing world of West Egg to venture into the more working-class Queens for a night, the Queens World turned to black-and-white, based purely on the characters' perceptions -- a brilliant touch.)

For the first time, after watching Luhrmann's version of "Gatsby," I actually GOT the utter hard-core reality/sadness of what Fitzgerald had been saying... Daisy's (Zelda Fitzgerald's) emotional weakness was horrifying, but honest. Nick Carroway's (Scott Fitzgerald's) breakdown in the face of witnessing this, and his understanding of Jay Gatsby's (Scott Fitzgerald's ID) desires, equally so. The movie made me understand the book and the author more -- that makes it a great movie to me.

 

Football Season

 

Joan Crawford has been a constant in my life since 1987.

The Dallas Cowboys have been a constant in my life since the early '70s.

Sunday night's last-minute win against the Giants in their season opener made me extremely happy --- Romo/Garrett happy! :)

 

 

If I had the money...

...I'd be back in Weehawken. And I do have some money, but not enough to establish myself there again. Back when I moved to NYC in 2007, I trusted myself to Craig's List roomies and the idea that I'd immediately find a job... The 3 roommates I found before getting my own place were all gay and either drink/drunk-addled or nuts. And, aside from one 8-month freelance gig that paid $28 an hour, I never found steady work, enough to pay the expensive rent there.

I was forced back to Austin in 2010, and have since established myself here with a steady job... But I don't particularly want to be here.

I'm definitely not ungrateful for what I have now (a steady job, a decent place), but... this isn't ME. I may be 50, but I'm not dead yet. I'm not quite ready to give up yet.

I want good sandwiches and good pizza and beautiful trees and a beautiful skyline again. I don't want more smoke breaks in parking lots. I don't want my only future to be looking forward to inheriting my mother's house in a subdivision.

That said, this time I'm not leaving any of my furniture or books or CDs behind. A dilemma. (Well, not that much of a dilemma: Get a job lined up up north.)

The Avett Brothers - Open Ended Life

 

 

Pack a change of clothes and a pillow for the road
for when you drift off to sleep
Put the sketches and the notes in the box labeled 'burn with furniture'

We will watch the fire burn the whole entire house we built
down to ashes
From the mirror we'll admire how the flame quickly retires
We won't waste a long goodbye on the smoke or foolish lies
that finally passed us

 

I was taught to keep an open-ended life
And never trap myself in nothing

Let's find something new to talk about
I'm tired of talkin' about myself
I spent my whole life talkin' to convince
everyone that I was something else

 

And the part that kinda hurts is I think it finally worked
and now I'm leaving
I get the feeling things have changed
But the mystery to me is where and when along the way
Did anyone decide that they believed me

 

I was taught to keep an open-ended life
And never trap myself in nothing
I was told to keep an open-ended life
To never trap yourself in nothing

When we settle down in another nowhere town
let's tell our neighbors
We won't be here long and we'll be quiet
but don't go askin' any favors

 

I can't stand the unexpected uninvited visits
from too many strangers
My trust has dwindled down
And I can leave just as abruptly as I came here

I was taught to keep an open-ended life
And never trap myself in nothing
I was taught to keep an open-ended life
To never trap yourself in nothing
I was taught to keep an open-ended life
And never trap myself in nothing

 

Nirvana - Lake Of Fire

Nirvana - Where Did You Sleep Last Night

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

 

The Avett Brothers - Head Full Of Doubt/Road Full Of Promise

 

 

There's a darkness upon me that's flooded in light
In the fine print they tell me what's wrong and what's right
And it comes in black and it comes in white
And I'm frightened by those who don't see it

When nothing is owed, deserved or expected
And your life doesn't change by the man that's elected
If you're loved by someone you're never rejected
Decide what to be and go be it.

There was a dream
One day I could see it
Like a bird in a cage I broke in and demanded that somebody free it
And there was a kid, with a head full of doubt
So I scream til I die or the last of those bad thoughts are finally out

There's a darkness upon you that's flooded in light
In the fine print they tell you what's wrong and what's right
And it flies by day and it flies by night
And I'm frightened by those who don't see it

The Avett Brothers - The Ballad of Love and Hate

 

 

Love writes a letter and sends it to Hate.
"My vacation's ending. I'm coming home late.
The weather was fine and the ocean was great
and I can't wait to see you again."

 

Hate reads the letter and throws it away.
"No one here cares if you go or you stay.
I barely even noticed that you were away.
I'll see you or I won't, whatever."

 

Love sings a song as she sails through the sky.
The water looks bluer through her pretty eyes.
And everyone knows it whenever she flies,
and also when she comes down.

 

Hate keeps his head up and walks through the street.
Every stranger and drifter he greets.
And shakes hands with every loner he meets
with a serious look on his face.

 

Love arrives safely with suitcase in tow.
Carrying with her the good things we know.
A reason to live and a reason to grow.
To trust. To hope. To care.

 

Hate sits alone on the hood of his car.
Without much regard to the moon or the stars.
Lazily killing the last of a jar
of the strongest stuff you can drink.

 

Love takes a taxi, a young man drives.
As soon as he sees her, hope fills his eyes.
But tears follow after, at the end of the ride,
cause he might never see her again.

 

Hate gets home lucky to still be alive.
He screams o'er the sidewalk and into the drive.
The clock in the kitchen says 2:55,
And the clock in the kitchen is slow.

 

Love has been waiting, patient and kind.
Just wanting a phone call or some kind of sign,
That the one that she cares for, who's out of his mind,
Will make it back safe to her arms.

 

Hate stumbles forward and leans in the door.
Weary head hung down, eyes to the floor.
He says "Love, I'm sorry", and she says, "What for?
I'm yours and that's it, Whatever.
I should not have been gone for so long.
I'm yours and that's it, forever.

You're mine and that's it, forever."

 

 

Songwriters
ROBERT WILLIAM CRAWFORD, TIMOTHY SETH AVETT, SCOTT YANCEY AVETT

 

The Avett Brothers - Morning Song

 

I was just now lying on the couch channel-surfing, trying to go to sleep, when I stopped on "Austin City Limits" and thought, "Well, another boring jam band, whoever they are, will certainly do the trick." Instead, I first got goosebumps and then started bawling at this song! It's beautiful! I'd never even heard of these guys before...

 

 

Hurts so bad, you don't come around here anymore
Worse than that, nothing's really helping
I've been thinking about drinking again

 

It's all right if you've finally stopped caring
Just don't go and tell someone that does
'Cause even though I know there's hope in
every morning song,
I have to find that melody alone

 

Her name became the flame unto the fire
A magpie on a wire warned of those
dead unto the high, shamelessly alive unto the low

 

It's all right if you've finally stopped caring
Just don't go and tell someone that does
'Cause even though I know there's hope in
every morning song,
I have to find that melody alone

 

We can go ahead if no one notices,
what's the point of it? I have to ask
how you learn to see the hope eternally
when you're sure to be leaving last?

 

Hurts so bad, more than I expected that it would
Worse than that, it seems to be lasting
just a little longer than it should

 

It's all right if you've finally stopped caring
Just don't go and tell someone that does
'Cause even though I know there's hope in
every morning song,
I have to find that melody alone

 

I have to sing the melody alone

 

 

Songwriters
SCOTT YANCEY AVETT, ROBERT WILLIAM CRAWFORD, TIMOTHY SETH AVETT

 

In Bed with Kris Jenner

A joke picture posted by Kris Jenner last week on Instagram with actress Jennifer Lawrence. (Joking aside, I find this picture really hot --- I'd actually love to be caught in exactly this position with Kris Jenner!)

 

(p.s. The books are Joan Didion's "Play It As It Lays" and Camus' "The Plague.")

 

 

Apartment, 2015

 

 

 

 

The Donald

OK, don't any lib'rals get all riled up and call me a racist! I bought this to be funny (hey, I don't have a car, so where am I going to put it, plus I'm old enough to remember the Ivana "The Donald" reference back in the '80s), but only partially funny: I actually WILL vote for the man if he comes up with some actual specifics on policy in months to come.

For the time being, I like Trump because he is the only candidate, left or right, that I've heard describe the Iraq/Iran situation accurately: We shouldn't have gone in to unseat Hussein because before we interfered, Hussein's Iraq and the revolutionary Iran were pretty equally counterbalanced and spent their time fighting each other, while simultaneously keeping the radical elements within their countries in check. George W's unseating of Hussein as payback to his daddy has led to utter chaos in the region, the strengthening of Iran, and the strengthening of radical Muslim terrorists. (Neither Jeb Bush nor Hillary Clinton -- who stupidly voted to support the Iraq war to secure her "mainstream-at-the-time" credentials -- will EVER admit that.)

I also like Trump because he's the only one pointing out the incredible weakness of U.S. global trade policies. Countries like China, Japan, and Mexico really ARE getting the better of us economically. (Trump, of German heritage, also points out the ridiculousness of U.S. bases in places like Germany -- an economic powerhouse that can surely afford to pay its own military way.) Trump actually has been making deals with global leaders for decades now -- and, yes, I do trust him more than any other candidate to make intelligent, hard-headed economic deals with other countries.

Trivially, I like Trump for little things like, oh, not backing down from using the phrase "anchor babies." At the New Hampshire town hall last week, a reporter asked him if he was aware that the term was offensive. Trump said, "I didn't know that. What am I supposed to say?" The reporter said something like, "Babies born to undocumented workers who have crossed the border..." Trump: "OK. No. I'm going to say 'anchor babies.'" Now, immediately the social-media response from Hillary, et al., was "They're BABIES." Usually, that would be the case. But NOT when their MOTHERS are INTENTIONALLY crossing the U.S. border to have their babies, to take advantage of the kindly 14th Amendment -- it's these mothers, not Donald Trump, who turned their own babies into political pawns.

Similarly, I refuse to be called a "racist" because I support control of our own borders. As Trump said to Chuck Todd, "Do we have a country or don't we?" (1) If white Canadians were overrunning our border to the north for whatever reason, I'd feel exactly the same way. (2) Mexico, and most other countries, don't have such a policy of allowing anyone born in the country to have automatic citizenship. Why is anyone in the U.S. asking for some similar control of the situation considered to be a "racist"?

I'm not all-in with Trump yet. Like I said, I'm waiting for some actual policy statements on issues other than immigration before I can relax a little -- I'm a bourgeois-wannabe, after all; I need a little order. In the meantime, I deeply resent the current media insinuation that all of those who support Trump are "blue-collar, uneducated males." I'm thinking of having a bumpersticker printed up that says: "Bisexual Women with Masters' Degrees in English for Trump." Catchy, huh?

I used to dance...

And tonight, via "Billie Jean," I found out that I still do. This YouTube clip doesn't do the loudness of my stereo (for 4 minutes) or of my unleashed dance-machine or of the invisible camera filming me justice. Sorry, neighbors. Thanks, though, Michael Jackson and Donald Trump, for the pump-up; I needed it.

 

Joan Crawford, 1932

 

Joan Crawford, 1934

"Ridiculously beautiful."

Fridays with Bernie and Donald

I'm a political geek -- shallowly, not so much the nitty-gritty tedium of policy-making, but rather the process that entails getting someone elected and the policies that these candidates publicly espouse and how people react to them.

Friday, watched Donald Trump's 30,000-people to-do in the Mobile, Alabama, stadium; then later on C-SPAN saw Bernie Sanders' speech (not sure where).

Right now, I would vote for Trump in a second. But I'm also supportive of some of Sanders' stances. Where the two intersect:

Our country's trade policies have been/are disastrous. (Trump and Sanders agree that American companies should not be shipping jobs overseas and that the companies should be penalized for doing so.)

The war in Iraq was disastrous. (As a Senator, Sanders has always voted against this war. Trump has said for years, and just reiterated, that in the past, Iran/Iraq were counterbalanced and that when the US deposed Hussein, we then tilted the balance toward Iran--and, with our recent arms deal, just strengthened Iran's hand even further.)

Where I support Trump in addition to trade policy/Iraq:

Yes, illegal immigration. First, I am sick of preceding any statement on the topic with, "I am not a racist." Were white Canadians flooding our country's border from the north, I would be equally adamant: Don't come here illegally and then expect social services for the next 50 years and other 50 relatives of your life! Were poor Mexicans coming here only for the field-work and then leaving post-season, there wouldn't be an issue. Other countries (such as Germany) have "guest worker" programs that function just fine. But US illegals often stay --- and start draining our country's social services.

Where I support Sanders in addition to trade policy/Iraq:

A living wage. Anyone working 40 hours a week should not be living in poverty. Our country's current minimum wage is $7.25 an hour. That's $290 per week, $1160 per month. Unless you live in a cave or hovel, you can't pay for rent/food/utilities on that. Many people aren't so-called "skilled" workers and must work in low-paying industries. They shouldn't have to suffer for that or ask for welfare for that. Ironically, because "Industry" won't pay higher wages, low-wage workers must then apply for Government aid to survive.

I also agree with Sanders that our country needs a single-payer health-care system via Medicare. Currently, workers are reliant on their specific employers for health-care. I currently work for my state and so have good health-care coverage. Years ago, though, I moved to New York City and tried my luck there, temping for years, and temping for years more once I moved back to Texas. A period of 7 years when I was completely uncovered by any health-care plan. Luckily, I did not break a leg or get cancer. Had the former happened, I'd have had thousands added to my debt; had the latter happened, I'd be dead. Those "penalties" for things beyond one's control -- as opposed to one's laziness -- seem harsh. And the current practice of being absolutely beholden to one's job for health-care services seems predatory and ridiculous.

Being beholden to one's job for anything other than a weekly/monthly paycheck, including health-care, also brings to mind a larger question: WHY is "the system" set up for citizens to be beholden to a COMPANY for anything other than the paycheck? A company's practices are so utterly capricious and random... Why shouldn't the government of a society provide a BASIC safety net funded by the taxes that we all pay? We're not cave people, after all, forced individually to hunt for basic sustenance and crawl off to die when injured like an animal. We have, since then, allegedly developed a process for governance and such a concept as "society."

Trump, August 2015

 

Trump, May 1984

Paul McCartney - Beautiful Night (1997)

I'm grateful for any human interaction.

 

Today, a researcher where I work, who grew up with the Beatles, said he preferred George. Because he was laid-back and non-dramatic. Because he went about his business while creating. (My argument to my co-worker: Yes, but George blew his wad with "All Things Must Pass" and didn't do much of anything after. I appreciate the fact that he wasn't sufficiently appreciated while with the Beatles --- but when he was free to do whatever... he didn't do much else after "All Things Must Pass." )

When I first discovered the Beatles in 1980 as a 15-year-old, I preferred the intense-and-meaningful John. I posted his lyrics to "Working Class Hero" and "Woman Is the Nigger of the World" on my walls.

As I've grown older, I like Paul-the-hard-core-CREATOR much better.

 

The man at work admired George Harrison for being a "balanced" man... I, on the other hand, present Paul McCartney as the ultimate "balanced man" --- constantly mocked by John et al for being "un-cool," while simultaneously raising a family and releasing wildly better records than John Lennon (who creepily sniped at McCartney for being overly prolific with both kids and records while he himself produced nothing).

I'm going to lend the George-man at work, who says he hasn't kept up with Paul, a 1997 Paul biography plus the 1997 Paul "Flaming Pie" CD.

As for John: "They've got castles in Versailles"... Don't know that you ever came up with a segue like that. You should have been there for this.

 

 

Happiness is...

...24 hours of Joan Crawford on TCM--and no work today or tomorrow!!

 

"Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy" - Queen (1976)

 

You Do Not Do, You Do Not Do

Another thought about my father as I near my 50th birthday: He's never done anything to ensure that his offspring would be better off than he was.

NOT A SINGLE THING.

He was born Poor White, 1940, and constantly railed against "niggers" and their irresponsibility. But when it got right down to it, he didn't do anything for his own children. And he didn't work a day in his life past the age of 40, thanks to a government stipend granted to him after 20 years in the military.

I went to college on a very small scholarship ($1000 total), and then my mother (on her very small government salary) sending me $100 a month. After that, I took out government loans. To this day, I'm paying over $400 a month from my salary to pay back my student loans.

What was my father thinking? Nothing? (My advice to Daddy: Don't act intellectually/morally superior at all if you're not willing to help your children be more than retail sales-people. Whatever I've accomplished in my life has been in spite of you.)

Birthday Dinner

I've got my 50th birthday coming up in a couple of weeks. In past years, I've wanted to eat brisquet at County Line or fajitas at El Mercado. The brisquet and fajitas at these Austin staples has degenerated in the past couple of years, though. Both used to have extremely tender meat, lately run through with fat and/or gristle. Not a treat any more.

This year, I asked that my family take me to a German place with wienerschnitzel:

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

I have no idea what good German restaurants exist around Austin, though there are plenty of German communities around here dating from the 1850s or so. I've been in Austin for over 30 years and have never been to New Braunfels, for instance, which is known for its German heritage and restaurants (as well as the Schlitterbahn water-park).

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Braunfels,_Texas

Just have to throw this in: I think it was my 12th birthday in Azle, when my parents were still married. I got to choose then, also, where I wanted to go for dinner. I picked Long John Silver's. My father mocked me for picking a fast-food restaurant. (He didn't just make an off-hand comment; he made me feel like a real loser for choosing such a place.)

The thing is: Up until the age of 12, I'd probably been "out to eat" maybe 5 times. Most of those to fast-food restaurants like Shakey's Pizza. (One Big Deal was going to the Officer's Club on my father's Air Force Base. Once.) So what was I to pick at age 12? Was Long John Silver's so crazy given that I'd never seen any other options? What ugly hypocrisy.

I'm about to be 50 years old, and I still wonder why in the world an adult would treat a 12-year-old like shit on her birthday. (After my parents were divorced when I was 12, there was still a lot more ugliness to come from my father. Late-night calls to the house threatening suicide. Late-night "visits" to our driveway, when the police were called but wouldn't make him leave because "his name is on the mailbox.")

My visit to him in South Dakota at 15, when he constantly berated me and jacked off in the next room. When I was 16, he was back in the Dallas-Fort Worth area and took me on my driving test... he yelled at me the whole way home, turning what should have been a fun day ("I got my driver's license!") into something shitty.

As I got older, I got to hear others' stories of their parents and of their shared milestones... What I tried to write off as "normal" when I was kid, I've since discovered was incredibly ugly and emotionally abusive in comparison.

Goal

Today I finished solely editing a 400+ page scientific book aimed not at sales to captive school districts by educational publishers (as in my old days of group-edited textbooks), but rather to the general public.

I recognize that this news differs considerably from my usual posts here. Wouldn't it be amazing if all I had to share here were professional triumphs rather than my irritation with various shitty people in both my public and private life?

Finishing this book gives me some idea of what actual professionals experience on an ongoing basis.

When you're young, the emotional bullshit is kind of interesting: At least someone's interacting with you. As you get older, though, and start to establish yourself in other ways... You start to gravitate toward things that might satisfy you intellectually (i.e., what you were interested in before you started thinking that who paid attention to you sexually was the most important thing in your life.).

Joan Crawford on the set of "Route 66"

Joan Crawford on the set of "Route 66," 1963.

The Hundred Dresses (and Hundred Shirts?)

One of the books that I ordered from Scholastic as a kid was "The Hundred Dresses." I liked it because it was well-written and emotionally evocative, although I didn't at the time relate to the now-stated concept of a "Polish immigrant girl who is mocked by others in her class for being different."

From Wikipedia:

The book centers on Wanda Petronski, poor and friendless Polish-American girl. Her teacher, outwardly kind, puts her in the worst seat in the classroom and she does not say anything when her schoolmates tease her. One day, after Wanda's classmates laugh at her funny last name and the faded blue dress she wears to school every day, Wanda claims to own one hundred dresses, all lined up in her closet at her worn-down house. This outrageous and obvious lie becomes a game, as the girls in her class corner her every day before school, demanding that she describe all of her dresses for them. She is mocked, and her father, Mr. Petronski, decides that she must leave that school.
The teacher holds a drawing contest in which the girls are to draw dresses of their own design. Wanda enters and submits one hundred beautiful designs. Her classmates are in awe of her talent and realize that these were her hundred dresses. Unfortunately, she has already moved away and does not realize she won the contest.

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

Reading the above description reminds me of what I remembered most about the book --- I could see and feel (and even smell) that "faded blue dress" that the main character wore. It smelled like and was faded by the sun, was often warm off the line when she put it on. And I saw and felt the colors of the character's drawings of dresses, and had my favorites among them... And, strangely at the time for an 8-year-old, I felt a sense of loss when the character disappeared.

This entry was initially going to be only about: Look at all the shirts I have now in 2015! When I was in New York City back in 2008 et al, all I had for the summer were maybe 3 black shirts and 3 white shirts to my name! I've got a bunch of summery shirts now, with shoes to match. (I also, back in NYC, had a couple of pairs of black loafers and one clay-colored pair of loafers to my name for summer.)

The city itself was so intellectually and aesthetically glamorous for me that I didn't always feel bereft, clothes-wise, because I was too busy soaking everything in and worrying about finding work. I would, though, occasionally bemoan my loss of something pretty and light to wear on a summer's day. (Winter up north, I'd spent money on: 3 new coats and 2 pairs of weather-proof boots once I'd arrived. Plus numerous scarves and hats sold by street vendors for about $10 each. I never felt out of place in New York in the winter.)

"The planets are now shaking you like a fruit tree"

Your horoscope for July 18, 2015
	What do you have to lose? The planets are now shaking you like a fruit tree in the hopes of ridding you of your old objectives to make way for new growth. You feel doubt where once there was only certainty. When you consider the worst that can happen, it may help you realize that what you are clinging to so dearly really is not all that important to you. It's time to let go and begin anew. -------------------------------------------------- No shit! :)  I think a perfect example of the above is my meeting with Sandra a couple of weeks ago. Sandra, of the "7 years of wanting Sandra" Sandra. I will not say anything more in particular other than one thought that ran through my head during that time: "She's not listening to any thing that I say." The whole two days were like that. I finally just shut up and kind of sat there, interacting more with her sassy dog. What I was clinging to "so dearly" really is "not all that important" to me. I do want companionship, but not just physicality -- there has to be some intellectual interaction!

Ivan's Childhood

I caught this 1962 film by Andrei Tarkovsky by accident on TCM on Sunday night.

I thought the "Masha" bits were unnecessary. I thought some of the male posing and close-ups of shirtlessness and lips were a bit forced and, yes, gay, although the actual depiction of male comradery was not either.

Both the boy and the story broke my heart.

I can't remember the last time that anything moved me.

 

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

 

p.s. I have a suspicion that the below 1982 U2 album cover was based specifically on the above photo shown at the end of the Tarkovsky movie--only heavily sanitized, arted up. When I was 17 and bought the album, I thought the cover was profound. Looking at it now in comparison to the revelation of Ivan's final prison picture, I'm almost sickened by the saccharinity.

 

 

How could I forget this from my Saturday bus adventures??

I was at a bus stop on Burnet on Saturday after getting take-out to take home. The one guy next to me at the stop was 275+ pounds and had a plastic tray of wings that he was busy scarfing down amid car fumes and the 100-degree heat. I was fascinated by his slurping in public and couldn't stop looking at him despite trying not to. After 10 minutes or so of my looking/not looking, the tragic happened: He accidentally knocked over the remainder of the tray of wings onto the pavement! I was worried for him --- he'd obviously been looking forward to those wings... what was he going to do now? Go back into the supermarket behind us for another tray? Just give it up? Never fear. He had some take-out napkins with him. He scooped the fallen wings up off the ground with the tray, swiped at them with his napkins, and then dug into them again.

[photo below from the Internet, not the actual guy]

Riff-Raff-ist

Riding the bus in Austin is relatively pleasant the first round, if you've looked up the schedule ahead of time and the bus arrives as it should. It's only afterwards, if you have more stuff to do, that the whole process gets ridiculous.

My "first round" today got me to the post office nicely (to return a crappy eBay sweater). The trouble started when I then wanted to move on to shopping at Target to stock up on face wash, body wash, delicate-cycle wash, pre-brush mouthwash (which I mention because I actually do like these specific cheap Target brands that I can't buy as cheaply at the supermarket up the street). Waiting after at the upper-middle-class Hyde Park bus stop was genteel enough (only me and a hipster couple with matching skinniness and straw sun-hats). Catching the next bus further north, though, was a bit stupid: an actual drug deal going down, though the guys were low-key about it.

Once I got to the Target to get my beloved cleansing products, I was not particularly in any sort of mood, other than a mood to get my cleansing products. Once in the store, though, I found myself in "agitated" mode because of two different clusters of loud assholes. (One group was black, one was Hispanic --- is it racist to point this out? Yes? OK, let's just say they're assholes, then. Loud, obnoxious assholes acting out in a shopping center for no particular reason.) What were they doing that was so obnoxious? Oh, let's just say that various products don't particularly need to be referred to as "motherfucking" and "goddamn" over and over again at the top of one's lungs.

After my lovely Target experience, I went on to wait at the bus-stop that would carry me home... The bus I needed had apparently just passed, so I was stuck there for 40 minutes with a host of fuck-ups all clustering together in the 6 x 6 piece of shade in the Texas July and screaming amongst themselves. After the first minute or so, I decamped to a nearby bush to have a smoke and stay away from these assholes. The super-stars of the bunch were a one-legless white vet, a black drug dealer, and a simpleton Colombian that the white and black guy mocked for not making more drug money before emigrating to the United States.

Once I finally made it home to deposit my Target finds (I'd left the house at 10:30; it was now 3pm, which is INSANE for 2 errands), I headed out again to get my favorite dinner from McAllister's Deli: At this bus-stop was a big ol' bearded white guy (looking like a larger Si from "Duck Dynasty") asking me for quarters (Me: "No, sorry, I save all of mine for laundry"), then bitching about "the Obama Bus" --- Austin has a regular bus that costs a dollar to ride, and then the Rapid, which costs $1.50. This guy didn't approve of the Rapid, which, according to him, cost "3 times" the amount of the regular bus. I didn't say to him, "Thank God for the Rapid, which is less crowded and less populated by assholes such as yourself." I'm extremely glad that the extra 50 cents keeps the riff-raff away. Oh wait -- is that "riff-raff"-ist?

I need a car. I wasted 4 hours today putting up with a whole bunch of shitty people that I never should have had to be around at all. (I'll never be rich enough to live in a gated community, and I don't have kids that I've sent to a private school -- but I certainly understand the impetus for wanting such. You kinda get more Republican once you've had actual experience with what's out there.)

THE BABYS: JESUS ARE YOU THERE

1980 single from the "Union Jacks" album. I was 15 and thought it was all very profound.

 

Contact

My mother called me at my office a couple of days ago re driver's license info for me that had come to her house. (She had the number from a business card I'd given her last year when I was in the throes of excitement about my new job after years of schlepping around as a temp, and thus passing out my new business cards to everyone I knew.)

When I answered the phone, she was, surprisingly to me, surprised to hear me answer -- she'd felt almost sure that I wouldn't be there. Why?

She thought I had probably quit by now! HUH??

My mother hadn't called me in 6 months, and in the first minute on the phone I had to -- HAD TO -- correct her about something that apparently only she and one asshole from my online Joan Crawford world hadn't known:

That when I moved to New York City in 2007 and had a hard time finding a job, and then had a hard time finding a job when I got home to Austin in 2010...

(1) The market did indeed crash in 2008. (2) Almost every editor I know was hard up for work during this time period.

I didn't expect the stupid dick from online to know anything about me, but I did indeed expect my own mother to be a little bit more aware.

In short, yes, I was there at that number. Why wouldn't I have been?

Despite the weird insinuations on her part, I was happy to hear from her. Such is blood.
It's only afterward, though, that you start thinking: REALLY? (And then: See what I mean? My whole life has been full of this stupid shit. I remove myself from it, then question why I isolate myself.)

P.S. I Love You



Was just thinking about Ginny, whom I was madly in love with when I was senior in high school and she was a junior. But, aside from our high school connection, I was madly in love with her because I wanted to be YOUNG also in the future with her. I wanted to be in college and see bands and write poetry and get a first apartment, and have my first sex, etc.

She dumped me once I went off to college.

At nearly 50, I don't miss her so much as I used to. At nearly 50, I've done everything on my own (to a much lesser extent, quality-wise) than I once dreamed about doing with her.

All of my actual history with her was from February 1983 through August 1983 (and a few singular incidents after through '85, when she ran off to Austin, where I was at college). I was in love with her through 1988, when I called her parents' home in Georgia to find out she'd died ("We thought we'd told all the Azle people.").
 

 

Song Sung Blue

I had a small transistor radio when I was 9 (maybe 4" x 2"). I remember walking around the neighborhood with it pressed to my ear, and this the very first song that I heard.

 

 

July 4, 2015

Spent my 4th o' July shopping for groceries then watching "Real Housewives of Beverly Hills" re-runs while putting together the side-table seen here. It was a GOOD 4th of July because I had no expectations.

 

Media suggest that the 4th should be spent in the company of family and/or friends having cook-outs and watching fireworks... I would have liked that. I've had such before in earlier years, but in recent years... there's nothing. My mom's not exactly motherly, and my bro's not exactly brotherly. I'm on my own. Which I've finally psychologically accepted by now.

 

I'm glad I got the side-table done! (My so-called "family" can go fuck themselves.)

 

 

My Belly Is Now a Problem

I just noticed a couple of weeks ago that my weight had suddenly ballooned up to 170 lbs. By "suddenly," I mean that back in only May of this year, I was hovering, as I had been for the past 7 years or so, between 155 and 160, with a completely reasonable goal of getting down to below 150 before my upcoming 50th birthday in August. (I'm 5'8". When I graduated high school, I was a too-skinny 118. I consider my "picture/fighting weight" to be 137. I consider 150 or below to be "reasonable" for me.)

Around June of this year, though, some weird ballooning seems to have taken place. I haven't gone through menopause yet (though, at nearly-50, I'm surely about to). I haven't been drinking more or eating more. The pre-/post-stress of my move in late January has subsided. Perhaps I've just reached that fabled middle-aged plateau where you're just all-of-a-sudden dumpy?

I have a scale, and a couple of weeks ago I noticed the big jump in weight. And so took some minor steps that I thought would correct the problem: At my work cafeteria, when before I'd order some fries or a slice of pizza with my salad, I started just getting a bigger salad and deleting the fries or pizza. Mid-afternoon snacks at work I almost completely deleted. Eating fast food, I almost completely deleted. Eating around midnight after hours on the computer and just before bed, I almost completely deleted.

In my past experience with my body, changes in diet usually have taken about 2 weeks to kick in before showing results in weight. This time, though, I was puzzled that my weight had stayed the same even after my efforts. Fuck. It might be just like losing my 20/20 vision around 2010.

With weight, though, unlike vision, you do have a bit of control. In my latter high school years, I used to do 50 sit-ups a night, just for the hell of it. (After watching my mother's mild at-home exercise regimen.) But when I was 18, 50 sit-ups didn't feel like anything. I had daily PE at school, I was young and limber, I didn't yet smoke, I had milk and orange juice for breakfast...

Now, though, I can do about 15 sit-ups when I try... and I don't usually want to try. In the morning, I just want to get up and get to work; in the evening, I just want to either drink beer while I'm on the computer or else lie on the couch and watch TV before I go to sleep. Where/how does exercise, other than the 2 miles I walk per day on the way to/from work, fit in? And why isn't that 2 miles of walking enough, dammit?

Post 18 years old, I've never had to exercise or diet. As I said above, 155-160 felt "kind of heavy" but not crazily so. 170, though, has crossed into the realm of a problem I haven't yet been used to dealing with. Because I don't want to be a "fat office lady" and I don't want to be denied every single bit of clothing that I find attractive and I don't want to walk around like the schlub that I feel like right now, I do indeed have to do SOMETHING. I can't eat much less, and I don't want to drink much less... I guess exercising above and beyond walking is what's called for.

June 26, 2015

When I first saw the above shot of the United States White House, I thought it was something that had been Photoshopped. But it was real and true. I've had goosebumps for the past 2 days every time I've thought about the Supreme Court decision acknowledging the right of gay people to marry.

As Bravo host Andy Cohen (born in 1968, me in 1965) tweeted along with the above picture: "I wish I could tell my scared teenaged self that this day would come!!! I never would've believed it!!!"

 

I'm about to turn 50, and my whole sexual life has pretty much been one of shame and/or denial. My first love in high school, I would have taken to prom had "such things" been permitted in 1983. Because I was not allowed to express such feelings back then, I repressed them. Said feelings first got channeled into movie stars (like Joan Crawford).

When I finally got brave enough to go out to gay bars in an effort to actually realize my sexuality, my first lover turned out to be an ex-con and dominatrix. Really. And that kind of harsh introduction to sex for a virgin was not necessary in the least. It was what was available to me at the time (1989), but it was a shitty introduction.

In the early '80s, gay kids didn't get much of a choice. There was complete denial while in high school. And then the predators once we first made it to a big city. Most of us missed the innocence of prom.

Thank god for this Supreme Court decision. May today's gay teens grow up feeling confident in who they love. May they be able to be sweet together as young people. May they avoid the predators and sociopaths who have warped me.
 

Which lives matter?

 

Which lives matter? Below are two statues on the University of Texas at Austin campus: Of Jefferson Davis and Martin Luther King, Jr.

Jefferson Davis was the President of the Confederate States of America. Martin Luther King, Jr., was a United States civil rights leader.

Neither have much to do with Texas... Oh, wait. Texas was once part of the Confederacy.

It's apparently OK to deface one of these statues. What if, on the other hand, someone had spray-painted the MLK statue?

When I saw the "Black Lives Matter" graffiti, I immediately wished someone had spray-painted an accompanying addendum: "If black lives matter so much, why do your own young black men keep shooting each other? Let's see the stats last year of black men killed by black men versus black men killed by 'Evil White Folk.'"

 

 

 

Rebel Yell

I'm amazed and disturbed not only by today's decision by eBay and Amazon to stop selling images of the Confederate flag, but also by most of the media's editorial comment following. A prime example: "Yes, You're a Racist -- And a Traitor," which appeared today on the Huffington Post website (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/john-e-price/yes-youre-a-racist----and-a-traitor_b_7640654.html).

The first "argument" the author of the article made:

"In America today, the most prominent, prevalent and pernicious of these revisionist movements is the Lost Cause narrative: the idea that the Civil War was a romantic struggle for freedom against an oppressive government trying to enforce cultural change. There are scores of books on this topic, and you should check those out at your local library. But probably the most famous popular culture Lost Cause text is Gone With The Wind (both book and movie).

I hate Gone With the Wind. I hate everything about it. I hate its portrayal of the Civil War. I hate its portrayal of Southern aristocrats. I hate its popularity. I hate that it's become an i
conic movie. I hate that it was ever made in the first place."

The writer (I'm guessing he's a 19-year-old intern) goes on to dismiss facts such as that the Civil War might have been, from the agrarian Southern States' point of view, more about economics and states' rights than about any "hatred" of the race they'd enslaved for corrupt economic purposes. Ken Burns' Civil War epic on PBS included a quote from a Confederate private captured by the Union; when his interrogators asked him why in the world he was fighting --- he was poor, only the rich owned slaves --- he responded: "Because y'all are down here."

This particular ignorant writer also dismisses the fact that the original 13 colonies of the United States very much included Southern states -- Georgia, North and South Carolina, and Virginia, which would all secede from the United States (i.e., the Federal government) at the outset of the Civil War. Not because they were "traitors" but because they felt their rights to govern themselves were being usurped -- a principle very dear to the founders of our country and Constitution, who had all-too-recently just argued over and fought for the same points with England. In their minds, who was traitorous?

Right or wrong, there was a principle involved. One that Southern states originally fought for in the founding of our country, and continued to fight for in the Civil War. For this principle to be dismissed as simplistic "racism" is ludicrous. For eBay, Amazon, and Walmart to cave into this moment's trend is equally ludicrous -- and frightening in its historical ignorance.

I understand and honor the battle fought by residents of the Southern states. And I refuse to be called either a "Racist" or a "Traitor" by those ignorant of United States history and of the history of the Confederate flag.

I'm Losing You (Alternate Version) (John Lennon)

 

 

Here in some stranger's room
Late in the afternoon
What am I doing here at all?
Ain't no doubt about it
I'm losing you

Somehow the wires have crossed
Communication's lost
Can't even get you on the telephone
Just got to shout about it
I'm losing you

Here in the valley of indecision
I don't know what to do
I feel you slipping away
I feel you slipping away
I'm losing you

You say you're not getting enough
But I remind you of all that bad, bad stuff
So what the hell am I supposed to do?
Just put a band-aid on it
And stop the bleeding now
Stop the bleeding now

I know I hurt you then
But hell, that was way back when
Well, do you still have to carry that cross? (drop it)
Don't want to hear about it
I'm losing you
I'm losing you
 

The Monkees - I'm a Believer (1966)

"When I needed sunshine I got rain..."

 

My New Work Glass

Happiness Is... Disposable Income

I understand the concept of a mate and children bringing one moments of pure happiness and appreciation for love and unity, et al. (But then I've also been witness to the other 75% of "a mate and children.")

 

For purposes here, sans the aforementioned "mate and children," what brought me great happiness tonight was winning the below on eBay after paying a stupidly large amount of money for... a beer glass. With Joan! With THAT particular "Torch Song" picture!! With the utterly stupid-funny "Mommie Beerest" written on it!!!

 

It's probably a good thing that I don't have a kid, because if I did, I'd have to admit, honestly: "Honey, finding this glass online brings me much more pleasure than your bringing home 4th place in the soccer tournament."

  

 

Kris Jenner: Queen of Fucking Everything

 

People give Kris Jenner a hard time, but I think she's really hot. And she has that "hard femme" Joan Crawford-y thing going on:

 

 

Look at the eyes of the boys behind her.

 

 

 

I like 'em a little rough.

 

Maybe not quite this rough.
 

Enough to turn Bruce into a lesbian.

 

She cleans up real nice.



Scorpio eyes.

 

 

Queen of Fucking Everything.

Poor Kris.

Goals Upon Approaching 50

With only 2 months to spare:

Lose 10 pounds.
Get teeth whitened.
Get hair permed and colored.

Now, lest someone reading here think, "Oh my, how shallow..." Well, I've already, at nearly 50, done the Big Stuff that I had any personal control over. I've:

Gotten my Master's degree.
Lived in both San Francisco and New York (the only two places I ever had any serious desire to try out, though I did once have a minor fantasy about living in Germany--in my aunt's house after she died).
Written two screenplays (on my own time, of course).
Written 600+ poems (only 7 published in small national mags).
Published a local lit 'zine with a group of friends (3 issues of "Trash Soup" in Austin in the early '90s).
Written to and gotten responses from 2 of my most meaningful authors: Ted Hughes and Mary Gaitskill (whom I met in person after exchanging letters and tapes).
Created from scratch a website for Joan Crawford (currently over 1,000 unique views a day; 3.1 million visitors since 2004).

What I most decidedly have NOT "accomplished" by 50:

A love of my life with whom I've traveled the world.
A publishing job in New York City.
A poem in the "New Yorker" or a book of poems.
An Oscar-winning screenplay (or even a screenplay optioned!).

But note what I mentioned in the intro: "that I had any control over."

I certainly can't control who falls in love with me and wants to travel. Or who hires me. Or who chooses to publish my work. I've TRIED in all of these areas, which is all anyone can possibly do. Sans a benefactor or mentor (which I have never actively sought, preferring/hoping instead that it would happen organically), I think I have done pretty well on my own.

And so, approaching 50, what I wish for is... Make those teeth and hair appointments, girl! And quit eating fries at lunch! (RE the latter: I've never dieted before in my life. Ever. But I'm up to 162 pounds at 5'8", and I feel noticeably sluggish. I need to be at least under 150 so I can MOVE properly. I hate schlumpfing around and wearing saggy clothes.)

When I was a child, I caught a fleeting glimpse...

I also wrote the below poem  in 1985 when I was 19, 10 days before the "Ginny poem" below. I think inspired by the glamorization of self-destruction in "The Wall," which I'd just seen. What "The Wall" meant to me was... "Your pain means something." It showed many of us that we were not alone in our various reactions to whatever psychological terror we'd experienced. We could kill ourselves in reaction, or we could codify it into art, which is what the protagonist of the movie (and, I suppose, the soundtrack's primary composer Roger Waters) apparently did. I also chose the "codify" route.

 

Vodka shots off walls cataclysmic

in finality and you take the razor-bath literally

with Gauloises and truth in static overdose run

amuck among brazen angels, the stab of infidelity

struck in bruised reflection and the telephone rings

(darling Pat), banal effortless you laugh

praying in time to head-pound echo and

(flash) sound is one-two blue

chasm widening ever-deep into flesh-fractured

doubt and unflattering in stone you choose your

weapon -- steel or acid (not self-contained) -- and wait

for spatial gates and lords of flies, the come-hither

stench of fluid wrist confessions.

 

 

The Back Seat Of My Car - Paul McCartney (1971)

 

 

 

 

Runaway
(I wrote the below poem for Ginny in 1985, when I was 19, a year-and-a-half after she'd stolen money from her parents to take a bus to Austin, where I was a freshman in a college dorm, unable to take her in permanently. Afterwards, her parents banned me from seeing her. She ran off to Austin a couple of times more, usually accompanied by a new "best friend." She died in 1988.)

 

 

I was the bad one

and you, Mr. Suitcase-god-and-baggage

the ever-so addled, standing

hatless in Austin rain,

wondering how five dollars worth of tokens

could have bought so much goddamn trouble.

 

Yes, she's here.

With excuses and a 6am taxi.

The stain on her shoulder where the fat man slept

and a whole lifetime of indecision still

unaccounted for.

 

And you stand --

sane Baptist eyes figuring (rightly)

that she is yours.

With me too stupid

to see the lure of the religion, sex, and TV

that will be hers for the asking.

 

And home she goes (did you ever doubt?)

Stoneage guilt riding low

and your hand on her arm.

She is SAFE, by god, so safe...

With so much to offer,

we should have all married

men like you.

Facebook Friend

At my work bus-stop in the afternoon, I often run into an aging Austin hippie (I'm almost 50, he's about 60) who has a job about on my level, who's been in Austin about as long as I have (30 + years). He's always chock full of news about what bands/events he just saw or is about to see. Which is fine. Except he then always asks ME, expectantly, about what I just did or am about to do. He's been asking me this for 6 months now. Six months ago, I was full of opinions about my new apartment and new neighborhood, etc. (He's on some sort of self-appointed Austin neighborhood council, so that satisfied him for a while.) Now, though, I've been in my new apartment/'hood for 4 months and so have nothing new to share. When he asks, as he did this Friday, what I'm going to do for the weekend, my answer is usually: "Work on my Joan Crawford website and organize my apartment. And maybe go to a consignment shop. And the grocery store. And maybe do laundry. And maybe go into work for a few hours to catch up."

Today at the bus-stop, he was happily telling me about bands that he'd gone to see the night before with his 20-something daughter. I forget the club he said he went to, but at it, he knew as many people as his daughter did, he was proud to tell me. He also enjoyed the 2-mile full-moon walk home afterward with his daughter, where they shared "theories of the world."

That's cool! Hey, I just shared on this blog my excitement over my recent hour-long conversation with a co-worker about how civilization is going to end, so I understand how wonderful it is to communicate. I truly miss that. But this guy, though, isn't just a "laid-back" kinda guy. He's an aggressively laid-back kinda guy. With a person genuinely interested in communicating, I could have responded to his pleasant "walking home with his daughter and talking" story with my own heart-felt good feelings about the hour-long conversation I just had with my co-worker about life--the first such conversation I'd had in years. I, though, got the definite impression that he wouldn't have been interested in my meager story, which didn't involve a club or "bonding-with-the-younger-generation" or a full moon.

I feel that I disappoint this fellow. I'm amused by this because I feel that he's also searching for surface reasons to be disappointed in me: I've been in Austin as long as he has and know as much about the town...I used to love going out to see bands, and now I just don't feel like hanging out with 20-year-olds any more... The very last thing in the world that I might now want to do, for instance, is hang out at SXSW, which I once did in the '90s and don't need to ever do again, especially now that it's populated by big generic acts and big prices, which was not at all the point of the festival to begin with.

This guy means relatively well. But he's stuck in his "Austin schtick": "I go see bands and events. And what do YOU do?" To me, the more subtly interesting mindset would be to actually listen to what those around you have to say...and to have something that you're interested in other than trying to prove you're still "youthful."

At the end of today's going-nowhere-bus-stop conversation that continued on the bus, he asked me if he could "Friend" me on Facebook! Jesus. Sure. Whatever. WHY? (When I approved his request later tonight, I saw that he had 900+ Friends. I have 32. OK, 32 is anti-socially low (but honest). 900+ is a number reserved for kids who import their entire graduating class. Oh well. He's implied that I'm not as well read as he is: Now that he's on my Facebook page, let him wallow in what I really like. Maybe that's what he wanted all along. I hope it'll either guide his future attempts at conversation or else shut him the fuck up.)

Good Conversation

I'm single, and I have a job with an isolated office. I say "hello" to my boss once a day when I come in, and she and I might chat briefly another time or two during the day; and once a day or so a co-worker might stop by to either say "hi" or very briefly discuss a small editing job. In short, in all venues of my life, I hardly talk to anyone at all.

Today, a co-worker in charge of the company website stopped by my office to let me know that I might have to "write something." I was puzzled. Though I write, I don't "write" at this company. (Just "compile" and "edit.") Turned out the subject was an obituary for a long-time employee. Yeah, yeah, I'd already gotten the e-mails a month ago and already compiled various public obits to be written up for inclusion in next year's annual report. So?

There was no other "So." The co-worker just wanted to stop by and chat. He came by at 2:00pm and by the time he left, it was 3:45! One good, non-guilty thing for me was: He's been at the company for over 20 years, makes over $100,000 a year (I checked), and any time he wants to chat, I can chat, without my own boss getting mad at me.

A more interesting thing for me was: Our conversation started out with the specific demise of a co-worker and nearly 2 hours later ended with... the demise of civilization as we know it. And how I don't know anything about even light-bulbs. (He, on the other hand, claims to know how to construct one, but of course couldn't do so without the materials that wouldn't be available post-apocalypse.)

There were about 300 steps in between the IT guy dying and our civilization dying. It didn't strike me until the end of the 2 hours just what an interesting little arc we'd just transversed! :)

It wasn't a sexual thing, 99% of it. What was so exotic to me was feeling such intellectual stimulation for the first time in YEARS! As a teen, on my own, and then through college and up through the mid-90s, I was constantly stimulated intellectually. Post-2000, though, has been pretty much of a wasteland.

The time today gave me a hint of what I've been missing. I miss talking to someone for hours.