Sorry, Memory.

Just wondering: How bad of a person are you when you tell the retarded bagger at the grocery store that you're just going to bag your groceries yourself?

In my case today, my decision led the check-out clerk to go on: "It's OK, Memory, it's OK! Memory, just let her do it. She's going to do it, Memory. Thank you, Memory! No, Memory, you can go help the people at the next line. Thank you, Memory!"

Memory didn't know how to bag groceries. I'd bought about 2 bags'-worth of groceries, with 2 bags to go along with. Memory put about 3 of the 20 items in one bag, then moved on to the next. I saw how that was going to go: Not getting my stuff within my 2 bags. I had to take a bus home. I had to walk over a half-mile. I had to take charge of the crappy bagging going on.

Oh, but I felt so guilty afterwards: "God, can't I even be nice to a retarded person? Was it SO important that my groceries got bagged properly?"

Yeah, it WAS of importance to me that my groceries got bagged properly. Since I have to take a bus and walk home, it does matter if I have numerous bags instead of two; it does matter if all the heavy stuff is in one bag and all the light stuff in the other.

Needless to say, I bagged my own stuff expertly. But I guess that wasn't the ultimate point. (I'm sure that I could do many other peoples' job expertly.) Was the point to be "relaxed" and understand that the grocery store hired retarded people and so I should be patient with them?

If I had a car, I wouldn't care much: Bag the stuff how you want, Memory. But given that I needed things packed correctly, I did care. Sorry, Memory.

"Pancho and Lefty": Willie Nelson and Merle Haggard

A crappy video, but one of my favorite songs.

 

Waylon Jennings: Mamas Don`t Let Your Babies Grow up to be Cowboys

Waylon Jennings: Good-Hearted Woman

 

Willie Nelson: The Party's Over (1966)

Willie Nelson on The Grand Ole Opry (1965)

Singing short versions of his compositions "Hello Walls," "Funny How Time Slips Away," "Night Life," and "Crazy."

 

Willie Nelson: I Never Cared for You (1964)

Avett Brothers - Part From Me (2013)

 

 

I was scared but I couldn't admit it
Hatred planted out of fear
Fight or flight, no choice but to hit it
The road, it calls on me my dear

I was lost as lost can be
Being praised for being found
All that praise got lost on me
As a mood swing was headed down

Apart from me
I would not dare take someone in love with me
Where I'm going
The part you'll see
How true it is and how back then
It possibly was impossible for you or me to know it

Your touch was nothing more
Than a child's goodbye and hello
It always left me feeling
Worse when it was time to go

Apart from me
I would not dare take someone in love with me
Where I'm going
The part you'll see
How true it is and how back then
It possibly was impossible for you or me to know it

And most of us out there got fooled
Cause the gold it glittered in the night
We chased it fast like drunk buffoons
The banker lived the artist died

And all our clothes were washed in gray
All our buildings and our cars
As the fluorescent light of day
Bleached the sky and took the stars

Apart from me
I would not dare take someone in love with me
Where I'm going
The part you'll see
How true it is and how back then
It possibly was impossible for you or me to know it

 

And if I should falter...

Just one psychological drama after another

One rule for us
For you another

Do unto yourself as you see fit for your brother.
Is that not within your realm of understanding?
A fifty second capacity of mind
Too demanding?

Well then poor unfortunate you
There are a myriad of things that you can do
Like pick up a pen and paper or go talk to a friend
The history of the future
No violence or revenge.

Your shame is never ending
Just one psychological drama after another.
You are guilty and how you ever entered into this life

God only knows the infinite complexities of love.
We all have the ability
Our freedom is fragile.
We all laugh and we cry don't we? We all bleed and we smile.

Your shame is never ending
Just one psychological drama after another.
You are guilty and how you ever entered into this life

God only knows you're not to sacrifice the art of love.
Your shame is never ending
Just one psychological drama after another.
You are guilty and how you ever entered into this life

God only knows the infinite complexities of love.
We are guilty and how we ever entered into this life
God only knows we're not to sacrifice the art of love.
We are guilty and how we ever entered into this life

God only knows the infinite complexities of love.
We are guilty and how we ever entered into this life

God only knows the ultimate necessity of love.

Joan Crawford: 1942 and 1947

Being Mad

Over the years, especially now that I turned 50 last summer, I've understood that one must be more philosophical about things that piss you off. You'd think that once you turned 50, that many things that once bothered you as a youth wouldn't bother you any more.

Not true. For instance:

I've complained here before about the loud guy downstairs. For the past 2 weeks, he's been on vacation, though. While he was gone, I kept thinking: "What was I so mad about? This apartment is fine! I really like it here." However, today The Dick came back with a vengeance: Same loud asshole voice. Same door slamming (that shakes my apartment upstairs) every time he comes in or goes out.

My dilemma is: I vowed over 6 months ago to purchase a car (after 9 years of being without one) if Donald Trump got the Republican nomination -- just so I could bare my soul and put my "The Donald 2016" sticker on it. Now that it's obvious he'll do so, I want to be true to myself and get the car. At the same time, my apartment lease is up at the end of August, and I must decide by the end of June whether I'll move...

I want the car, I want the new place... But I can't quite afford both. I can barely, but I can't quite. I'm scared financially to attempt both.

My apartment setting has been a dilemma pretty much from the beginning, back in February 2015. The screaming Hispanic kids who were initially running around have pretty much ceased. (The kids still live here, but at least they're not shrieking in front of MY apartment any more.) There's the white biker who revs up several times a day unnecessarily in the parking lot (seriously --- I used to think that bikes couldn't help but be that loud, but have since learned that the owners have full control over the throttle setting). There's the fat-ass black gang-banger with the rims on his outdated Chevy Malibu who pulls in after midnight and sits there for 10 minutes blaring his bass (most recently last night at 3:50am). There's the Asian college kid who leaves his front apartment door open and blasts his music.

Which of these are to be considered "normal" for apartment life? I've lived in apartments off and on for a couple of decades, and I've never come across this constant level of annoyance. The worst, though, has to be The Dick downstairs constantly yelling and slamming doors.

As of this date, I want a car more than I want a different place to live. (The creeps on public transportation are pretty much as bad as The Dick downstairs, who at least goes to sleep by 10:30pm.)

It's amazing to me that I have a Master's degree, and 18 years of experience as an editor, and still cannot afford to get away from scumbags.

What Makes a First Lady

http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2016/05/09/who-is-melania-trump

Lauren Collins' 5/9 article in the "New Yorker" idiotically opens with the claim that Louisa Adams (wife of John Q.) was somehow more worthy of First-Lady-ship than Melania Trump by virtue of Adams' having "survived fourteen pregnancies" and knowing how to play the harp and raise silkworms. A quick Internet search revealed that Louisa Adams, a society girl, was a life-long depressive who didn't like her husband much and who preferred silkworm-raising to socializing at the White House -- Not sure how this, or having fourteen pregnancies, makes Collins' case.

Collins' further comparisons of First Ladies' "worthiness" of the non-office (while simultaneously nonsensically dismissing Melania Trump) led me to check out the "pedigrees" of First Ladies since 1960: Of all of the First Ladies since 1960, I can easily see Melania Trump promoting things like "the arts," "wildflowers," "volunteerism," "saying No to drugs," and "school nutrition" -- as did Jackie Kennedy, Lady Bird Johnson, Pat Nixon, Nancy Reagan, and Michelle Obama, respectively. And, given Nancy Reagan's early acting career and Betty Ford's early dancing career, what's so odd about Melania's being a model in her youth?

What the author of this article ignorantly doesn't explore further is the fact that First Ladies have come from all walks of life, with a variety of educational backgrounds and a variety of ambitions. There's no one formula-- oh, wait, there is: All somehow subsumed their lives in favor of their husbands' more pressing ambitions, some more willingly than others. Now THAT would have been a more interesting article. What instead transpired was a snarky, ignorant hit-piece on Melania Trump -- a ridiculously soft target if you haven't done any research at all into past First Ladies.

I'm surprised that such a juvenile, uninsightful article appeared in the New Yorker.

Frank Sinatra "I've Got My Love To Keep Me Warm"

"I will weather the storm." Sinatra, 1961.

 

Ring-A-Ding-Ding!

Sinatra's 1961 "Ring-a-Ding-Ding" is a really great album to listen to when you're just about ready to feel good after a long, long time of feeling downtrodden. You think the bad will last forever, not sure if you deserve more than the bad... When you listen to this on the cusp: Hell, yeah, I'm coming back!

 

Confessions of a Republican (LBJ 1964 Presidential campaign commercial)

Milquetoast Republican 1964 = Milquetoast Republican 2016

 

Port Authority, 7am

Jumped a white-knuckle jitney through the tunnel of lerv
Spewed where neon duels with dawn--the balls, the gall, the nerve!

Gave Kramden's ass a squeeze, one "to the moon" before I dashed
Grabbing tabloids, jazzed to see what star, or plane, or market crashed

Slurping down each sluice of sunrise spilling toward me as I ran
Smeared my greedy mouth with juices from the street's jackhammer jam

How I'm starving, how I missed you ----
Manhattan, here I am!

April 30

April 30, the day I came out in 1989 (god, 27 years ago!) -- at Austin's gay march. Met my very first girlfriend at the same event. (Her first words to me, at a park after the march: "I've been behind you all day.") She turned out to be a pretty crappy person, but nonetheless that whole day/night was one of the best and most exhilarating of my entire life.

Also the day of the famous "Ellen" coming-out episode in 1997. Oh, and Hitler's suicide, 1945. (Thus, all-in-all, a pretty good day in history!)

Anderson Cooper on "A fatherless girl..."

I usually think of CNN's Anderson Cooper as a rather bland gay man, but tonight during his appearance on Megyn Kelly's show on Fox, I listened a little:

"A fatherless girl thinks all things are possible and nothing is safe." At first, I thought this was a wildly original bon mot on Cooper's part, but it turned out (after an Internet search) that he got it via his mother Gloria Vanderbilt, who got it from the 1986 novel by Mary Gordon, "The Company of Women." Even after searching reviews of this book, which is apparently about a Catholic girl initially under the influence of a Catholic priest going on to have affairs with radicals in the '70s, etc., I still couldn't figure out the meaning of the quote in relation to the book's theme. The quote actually seems pretty glib upon reflection. In relation to the book, was this quote considered an excuse to go off and explore herself and desires?

I don't really see how being "fatherless" has anything to do with any woman's self-exploration. I do consider myself "fatherless" since my parents divorced when I was 12, and the years prior to that were filled with ugliness and emotional (sometimes physical) violence that I, even as a small girl, recognized as such.

I hated my father as a kid for his ongoing emotional (and sometimes physical) abuse. Unlike the conventional wisdom that a child was supposed to be disturbed by divorce, I on the other hand was extremely happy when I found out that my parents were divorcing (after my father threatened to shoot my mother -- it took THAT). Maybe THAT is what "a fatherless girl thinks all things are possible" means. Once my abusive father was out of the house, I could breathe a little easier, that's for sure. I no longer had to deal with his mental and emotional problems and sadism that constantly pervaded the entire house. Well, I take that back: For years after the divorce, he continued to make his presence felt. Calling the house threatening suicide. Driving out to the house and either passing out in the driveway or skulking around the back of the house, peering in windows, tapping at the back door at midnight, when I was the only one up, watching late-night TV. At the time, it was weird and creepy. I was 12 and 13 and 14, and I didn't have a name for what was going on, other than my feelings: "weird and creepy." Today, at 50, I'm amazed and horrified at the constant barrage of mentally ill behavior that I had to endure.

All of that said: I disagree with the glib "A fatherless girl thinks all things are possible and nothing is safe." Other than "Wow, thank god my abusive father is gone -- I can finally breathe a little!" and "Nothing is safe because my father keeps calling and showing up at the house." Which I don't think is what the author originally had in mind.

Oh yeah... I couple of other items from the Cooper interview: "I wanted to be around places where the language of loss is spoken." That's true for me. At 50, I can see clearly that some of my earlier attractions to people have usually been partially based on relating to that person's own sense of loss, their "outsider"-ness. Not so for Ginny, my high-school love, or Bill, the 50-something exec that I worked for when I was 28 --- those two I just had fun with. But when it comes to Mollie (ex-con dominatrix who was in jail when her mother died) or Murrah (gay father who told her mother after 20 years of marriage that he'd always been pretending she was a man while they were having sex) or Julie (online male tranny who'd claimed to have had abortions) or Sandra (abused as kid, parents dead at 12 and 17)... Wow. I thought they were all tragic, so compelling. Their situations so extreme and interesting to me, probably because of the weirdness that I myself had experienced as a child.

But here's the thing: "Extreme" does not equal "Meaningful" or "Profound." Horrible situations experienced do not mean that the person who experienced them learned anything or became a "better" or more intuitive person because of them. I think it's a complete myth that hard psychological times automatically make you better. In fact, most likely, being exposed to extreme adult psychological disturbances as a child make you more paranoid and neurotic! This can come in handy professionally if you're, say, an editor, as I am! But, kidding aside, it's a killer when it comes to relationships with others, where looseness, calmness, and trust is essential. I never relax with anyone. I'm always completely on alert for when they're going to "go bad" and when I can call them on that and hit them back for that.

As I age, though, I'm beginning to understand that the definition of "going bad" is not the same for all people. For instance, many, in their "dark" moments, are just "squirrelly"--- not "bad." Sandra's not talking to me at a restaurant, or not feeling up to driving me to work, for instance. Annoying as hell, but... not the same as making me take down all of my Bay City Rollers posters because I, as a 12-year-old, wouldn't sunbathe topless in the back yard.

There are variations of "sick." I cannot keep equating every single person's actions with my father's ugliness. I cannot keep thinking that "nothing is possible and nothing is safe."

"While My Guitar Gently Weeps" Hall of Fame

2004 George Harrison tribute, with Prince on guitar.

 

 

Purple Rain

Poster from the "Purple Rain" album displayed on my dorm-room wall in 1984. For months, you couldn't walk down the hall of the dorm (Jester Center, UT-Austin) without hearing "Purple Rain" blaring out of literally every other room. That semester, I saw Prince at Austin's Erwin Center, about the 4th row from the very back wall --- I hated the show! We couldn't see anything!

The album was the soundtrack to my as-yet-unexplored lesbian angst. I was in love with a girl back home, spent many an evening copying tortured lyrics from "Purple Rain," "The Beautiful Ones," "When Doves Cry," etc., to send her, with oh-so-casual references to "Lisa and Wendy" (will she get it? -- I know she's into Prince, but will she see why I'm mentioning "Lisa and Wendy" all the time??).



1974: Tammy Wynette and George Jones: We're Not The Jet Set

"Our Bach and Tchaikovsky is Haggard and Husky..."

 

Rick Broussard's Two Hoots and a Holler at Ginny's Little Longhorn

Old School still exists in Austin, 2016.

 

A THROW OF THE DICE WILL NEVER ABOLISH CHANCE

Mallarme

An 8-hr-day in the life of a bus-rider.

I've had a bunch of need-to-do stuff hanging around for weeks. Today I woke up fresh and decided to do them all. The tasks: Depositing a big overtime check that my company had screwed up months ago (should have been direct-deposited but wasn't), going into the office to do my taxes (since my printer at home doesn't work) plus some extra work, returning some clothes to Old Navy, going grocery shopping.

I started out at 10:45am. Got home at 7pm. Ridiculous.

#1. The company should have paid me back in March via direct deposit. After several screw-ups on their part, I finally had only a hard-copy of a check that I had to take to an out-of-the-way branch of my bank. This part of the trek actually went pretty quickly. I left my apt at 10:45, bus came soon, caught another bus back right after my deposit, was at work by noon or so.

#2. I went into the office, did the taxes, did the extra work. At the end of 3 hours, though (at 3pm), just missed a so-called "Rapid" bus. Had to wait an extra 20 minutes in the rain.

#3. Connected via the Rapid to another bus that took me to the Old Navy store across town, where I returned said clothes without incident and bought some more. Just missed the bus trying to go home. Trying to avoid a 30-minute-wait and trying to be clever, caught another bus that inadvertently took me in the opposite direction. Hopped off to get the right bus. (By now, 5pm.)

#4. Arrived at the grocery store at 5:30 or so, did the shopping, waited for 20 minutes at the bus stop to go home.

8 hours. Should have taken about 3.

Part of this is me thinking, based on my 3 years of life in NYC, that I can, indeed, live life without a car. I now have the money to get a car, so why don't I? Well, because in my mind, I don't go to that many places, and so why do I need a car? It would cost me an additional $400 per month --- THAT, I cannot actually afford: $200 in car payments, plus the insurance, gas, maintenance...

What I'm realizing now, though, is that you're not actually paying for the thing itself. Rather, you're paying to avoid being irritated by others. With my current salary, I have the option of being NON-irritated by others in only one of two ways: Either I can (1) move out of my apartment to avoid shitty people and their yelling, their multiple kids, their revved-up motorcycles, or (2) get a car to avoid the annoying people on the bus. Despite my Master's degree, for some reason I can't have both.

Mallarme!

I've always been, on the surface, a Rimbaud gal myself, but a recent article in the New Yorker turned me on to Mallarme, specifically a translation of this poem:

The virginal, enduring, beautiful today
will a drunken beat of its wing break us
this hard, forgotten lake haunted under frost
by the transparent glacier of unfled flights!

A swan of old remembers it is he
magnificent but who without hope frees himself
for never having sung a place to live
when the boredom of sterile winter was resplendent.

His whole neck will shake off this white death-throe
inflicted by space on the bird denying it,
but not the horror of soil where the feathers are caught.

Phantom assigned to this place by pure brilliance,
he is paralyzed in the cold dream of contempt
put on in useless exile by the Swan.


The article goes on to explain how no one understands Mallarme, much less this poem. And how even the French ask for a "translation" of the French Mallarme.

After reading this poem, I "understand" Mallarme completely. Not knowing French. Having read nothing else from him. Makes me want to write again.

Saturday Night

You're lying there on the couch in the dark, with a couple of candles burning, watching "The Dead Files" and getting creeped out psychologically, but simultaneously grateful for a confirmation that there might be other entities out there...

And then, out of the corner of your eye, a huge cockroach crawls up the water-glass sitting on your coffee-table. You don't quite believe it at first. Nothing is actually that creepy.

For the next 15 minutes: Fuck the TV spirits and contemplation of the meaning of life. Sole focus is on killing the cockroach. It fucking won't die. I spray it on my water-glass, I spray it on the table, I spray it on the carpet it runs to, I spray it in the pile of CDs on the floor... When it finally runs onto hardwood, still not dead via roach spray, I'm finally able to squash it with the heel of a newly bought shoe.

Whew! The momentary FOCUS.

And then the angst of the cleaning up of the roach and roach spray afterward. The glass, the table, the carpet spots, the various CDs, the floor. And the remaining horror --- What caused the thing to come in to your apartment in the first place? The place is clean, no dirty dishes, et al....

Portrait of Steph at 15: 1981 Azle Hornet Yearbook

My yearbook issued the spring of my sophomore year of high school, and the things people wrote in it. p.s. I do promise to always STAY SWEET! Trust me, y'all.


Steph, Boy after this year I can't wait to see what wild stuff you and Shelly come up with next year. but even though you're a little strange sometimes you're still a good friend and I hope we can get to know each other even better and have even more fun next year. Love Carla '83.

To a sweet and good [illegible]. I want your body. [illegible]

It has been an unusual experience knowing you. A.L.

To a nice gril,
Who ackts like a fool
in the back of the
room
Best wishes
Missey   I love you
Peace Man

Stephanie, You are one of the most crazest people I've ever meet. You'll make it in what ever you do, because you so out-going. I hope you get what ever your going after. Have a super summer. Lynda Stewart. Sr. "82"

I realy like you,
I love you,
I would like to take
you out some time
Your friend
allways, Lonnie

Steph, I know you can't help it when you go crazy but you could at least help Mrs. Wilson understand. Understand? Oh, well. Anyway, I'm really glad I know ya even though you get on my nerves. Not really. Don't change the way you are. Love ya, Lisa.

Steph. An OK person and a sorta friend. I want your body. Les.

Steph, Riding in my car was a honor for you wasn't it! No, seriously this year has been great fun, and Drama, or should I say Theatre Arts has been a blast! You've got a lot going for you and wish you all the best! Lotsa luck n God Bless! Cheryl Coomer

To a Real creap that lives next door to me. You drive like Virginia. Really your a cool neighbor with a crazy personality! But your cool just like me! I hope you enjoyed Chruch Camp and going to church 4 times a day! (ha! ha!) You really feel-in-love with Charlie so don't lie! Really thanks for being a crazy friend. And using me for my Space Invadors game and trampoline. Stay cool and Good luck on wishing for a cute guy to move in, in my house! Well Sweetheart I love you but I'm running out of room so gotta go. Love Your Sweetheart Marla.

Stephanie, You're a very nice girl no matter what Debbie and Shelly say. You're very bright and have alot of potential. Good luck next year and always. I'm sure you will be able to accomplish everything you strive for. If there were such a thing I think you would be voted most likely to become President (or screw things up good trying) Just kidding! See you next year Tim Fitzgibbon

Hi "Stephanie"  Have enjoyed you in my class, not only because you are a good student, but also because of your sense of humor. I don't know why, someday you're real wild. But your lots of fun. Good luck. Your favorite teacher Mr. "H."

Steph, I really wanted to say I love you very much and I wouldn't have been able to make it thru this year without you. Sorry this is Sloppy but I'm sneaking this in. Love "Me" (SMB)

Steph, It's been fun this year and I'm sorry we didn't have any classes together. Beware of the toilets. Gaye Sr. '83.

Steph, Hey thanks for being a friend  you are the niciest and the sweetest person I have known   You are so luck being in Dama Because of Randy Mayhew and Shawn Scott. But Now I just think of them as friends now Because of Gene Chatham and now I even think of Kiven as a friend to   Just a friend  OK   Ps Good luck with all the guy's ok  Carrie Thompson

Steph, Well here passes by us another year. It has really been great having you in my English. We did have some good times together. You are a super great person and I really care for you a lot. You having such a good career in acting that I want you to persue that to the upmost of your ability. I know you will go very far in life because you really deserve to. The best of luck always and PLEASE remember me when you are a STAR!! Have a terrific summer and hope we have some classes together next year. Love always, Kenda Pettet

Steph, As you said in my annual, I don't really know what to make of our friendship. I know we're not that close like we used to be... but I still want you to know that I REALLY do care what goes on in your life. And I will go ahead and say this even though I know you won't but... If you ever need anyone to discuss your problems with I promise I will listen. Calm down a little, life is just as fun if you aren't Japanese. Love, Debbie Scott

Steph, You're very reliable information source for English, THANKS. I thought it was really dirty what you did to me with that very very very fake note to Shelly. I didn't appreciate that. Neither did Rona. But I understand it was all a big joke, Ha, Ha. Thanks for the real fun times and you were wrong about borrowing my paper in the 7th grade, it was the 6th. Love, Clint Riddle Hopper

[In index, arrow drawn to something in the margin.] Stephanie.. Whose bugger is this. Your gross to carry buggers in your annual. Oh well I like you anyway I guess. Jody. God Bless You.

Steph, You nigger butt! Well, I've known ya since 8th and I'm still not sure what's hit me. But I kind o' guess your my friend. Well, you're for sure my friend. So since you're my friend, I'll say good-bye and goodluck and see ya next year   NIGGER!!!   "Me" 

Stephanie, You are a very sweet girl. You have really changed my way of life a lot. HA! HA! Kevin SR 84

Dear Stephanie, I hope you had a good year and a fun time, this year. I know I did. You are right, I do think you're kind of strange, but what the HECK everyone to their own fling. You really surprise me with some of the things you do... Have fun this summer! Be happy! Love, Karen Johnson

Steph, It's been a blast having you in classes! You all-ways seem to make a boring day fun. Your a real sweet person with a great personality, even though you're strange at times. Stay the way you are and I know you'll always have fun and go far in life. Best of Wishes in everything your do. Love ya, Kathy Pullig

Stephanie, You're crazy and fun to be around. You gave World History a better name. I really enjoyed working in Up the Down Staircase with you. Stay cool, and see you next year. Have a nice summer. Luv, Nance  Sr '83

Hey Stephie baby, It's been a great year. If it weren't for you and Shelly I never would have survived Terezin. Take care, have a great summer and I'll see you next year! And a word to the wise, "Never try to inhale a piano." Love ya! Marilyn (Raja)

To a real foxy lady, and a nice girl, and a good friend. Good Luck this summer, and in the future. Hope to have some classes together. Love ya, Sr 83   Bill Collard

To a Neat Broad   Keep cool and Don't let the Vapors get you down   Love -- Dale  -Alias- Master Blaster

To a real nice girl that keep a nice smile   Love Brad Beaver

S. J.   I've only known you in driver's ed,  But I only have several things to say. 1st  When you say you hate me I say you better -- you better, you better, you bet. And last if you and me where the last people on earth, the human population would become extinct. I'm just kidding, I really like you as a friend O.K. It's been great. Ronnie D.

Stephanie, You're a wild and crazy girl, It's been fun in Science (Burl's class) HA HA   I'll never forget the memories, such as the M & M's, the window, January, February. M---A---R---C. Walking out of class without permission. Those were the good old time's, huh. Well I hope to see ya next year! F/F Shelley Cooley   STAY SWEET

Displays of Affection

Can't decide which kiss is more utterly depressing, Ted and Heidi's or Al and Tipper's:

 

 

People have doubted the Clintons' relations for decades now, but according to this picture...

 

 

...they're good.

 

Similarly, based on this photo from Joan Rivers' funeral...

 

 

...Trump and Melania are also good. (You don't hold hands with someone after 15 years of marriage unless you like them.)

 

Elvis Presley - One Sided Love Affair

1956, from Elvis's debut album.

 

Happy Belated Easter!

This is from my own family tree! :) 

Just found tonight on Facebook via my own first cousin Lisa's page.

Not clear what exact relations the bunny and kids are. Though I'm sure they're mine, all right.

 

Another Mid-Life Crisis?

Let me just say... I definitely judge workplaces, and my life, by the atmosphere in which I take smoke breaks.

Pre-2007: Fucking depressing parking lot.
In NYC 2007-2010: Times Square, Battery Park, SoHo.
Post-2010: Fucking depressing parking lot.

I hate where I am. I understand that hating where you are is not politically and psychologically correct, but... I hate where I fucking am. I miss New York. (And I miss Weehawken.) I like Austin "OK," but...

Austin was my town from '83 to '93 or so: Les Amis, Liberty Lunch, the Varsity theater, the Union theater, Senor O'Brien's, the Cactus Café... Today? Who gives a fuck about Formula 1 or SXSW? My cats' graves on Rainey Street have long been paved over by either bars or high-rises (I haven't ventured down to Rainey to check, though I've heard stories).

I'm disgruntled. I'm not going to do something rash and stupid. But what I MIGHT do is carefully plan a job search and move. (Probably WON'T --- I LIKE having furniture and a steady job and being able to buy whatever I want on a small scale, but... New York and Weehawken were beautiful. I've got to assert: I didn't leave there because I WANTED to. It was a recession, I was broke, and I couldn't ask my mother for any more stop-gap money to keep me there.)

Joan Crawford 1

By Johnny O'Brady. Acrylic on canvas.

 

Bob Marley - Redemption Song

Emancipate yourself from mental slavery.

 

Elvis Presley Suspicious Minds (1969)

Elvis Presley - Trying To Get To You (NBC special, 1968)

 

(For a Water Sign: January 26, 1986)

There is something left unsaid: for wounding eyes
a cut of silence bled for washing clean.
In frequent deep, voices unwed; lone
divers, careless in this wet sky,
a stroke above the clouds that
part their waves to meet god.
She swims to this sign,
a glass-winged girl
heaven-sent,
stirring
sluggish soil
and flooding deaf horizons
with the brook's gurgle, a babble
academy loosing its flow, dismissing what may shatter stone.
There is no fear of drowning, no caution at the water's edge. All is safe
I will say, in sinking to the sea below.

Elvis Presley - Jailhouse Rock (1957)

Here's the real Elvis. Anybody who can do this is going to thrill people for a VERY long time.

 

Enlightened

Spent the weekend not drinking a thing, just reading the 2-volume Elvis bio by Peter Guralnick. The lengthy innocuous detail was mainly tedious -- I was looking for some grit. What I learned: (1) He was a humble but enlightened person; he was spooked by his "enlightenment." (2) Elvis mainly wanted to kiss and cuddle in bed. (3) He was on a spiritual search, and his main source was "The Impersonal Life" by Joseph Brenner. I went to order this on Amazon, but then realized: If THIS was Elvis's spiritual guide... it didn't work so well.

 

 

I was also pruriently interested in his relationship with Linda Thompson in his last 4 years. She was described as being extremely "nice" and "understanding." She went on to marry Bruce Jenner in 1981.

The last time I felt right, I had my cat with me.

Also the last time I had curtains... Weehawken, New Jersey.

 

Things are so harsh now. No love or beauty whatsoever.

 

A cat, and curtains, kind of make a home, I think.

 

Today, I have a job and I have furniture. But I don't have my cat Gracie in a window with curtains.

 

I don't feel right at all.

 

 

Christmas 2008

 

I always liked my mother's wrists. This deck of cards was the same we played with when I was growing up in the '70s. I believe the cards initially came from Braniff airlines in the late '60s/early '70s.

 

 

 

 

Here, I like my nephew's hands. He's 6 years old.

Coolest-Looking German Politician: Julia Kloeckner

 

 

 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Julia_Kl%C3%B6ckner

Buying Stuff

 

 

 

Small things. Being able to buy cheap "Toms" knock-offs for $8 a pop. (Well, the "Bobs" knock-off at upper left [with better padding], I got for $24.)

 

What am I doing with SIX new pairs of shoes for the Spring??? :)  I give myself permission... I am a child of the Universe, after all. :)

 

I have a right to be here.

Walking/bussing around today on a lovely Spring day in Austin, was reminded of Sylvia Plath's mother's late-1950s words to her from "Desiderata" when her daughter had obviously been feeling low:

You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

I cannot stress how much negativity has surrounded me, beginning with my parents. The core of ME trumpeted out: "Wow! I see more than others! I must be special." But my parents both treated me like shit, although I was lucky enough to be recognized in grade school and high school for being smart. When I got to college, I was suddenly being judged not for my insight but because I read "Time" magazine (i.e., I hadn't been reading the correct things). In personal relations, among men, I was too smart; when I came out in 1987 --- among butches, I was too smart.

In other words, my natural enthusiasm and intellect has been completely tamped down. Except by myself, of course. :)

Anyway, today I was doing stuff on my own on a very pretty day in Austin... And I thought of Aurelia Plath's words to Sylvia Plath, that I was indeed a "child of the universe," that I had a right to be here... It didn't matter that I was unloved --- I had a right to be here, enjoying the pretty day, just like anyone else.

The Beatles - The Making Of "Please Please Me"

Producer George Martin dies, March 8.

 

"The Fifth Beetle"

Beatles producer George Martin died on March 8. Today on March 9, scrolls across the bottom of my local TV screens (on Fox and CBS) noted that "the Fifth Beetle" [sic] had died.

Can't stand STOOOPID.

John Lennon more accurately acknowledged Martin for giving the Beatles a language for speaking about their music. Fans will praise Martin for bringing us the Beatles.

Bay City Rollers - Another Rainy Day In New York City (1978)

 

 

Bay City Rollers -- It's A Game (1977)

I think this song is great. Lead singer Les McKeown is great. The whole Bay City Rollers album of the same name from '77 is great.

 

Inside a Broken Dream--Bay City Rollers (1977)

Bay City Rollers - It's A Game (World Premiere) @ Disco 1977

After months of arguing with my mother and brother about WHERE IN THE HELL WAS MY BAY CITY ROLLERS German version of their "It's A Game" album supposedly stored in one of their houses... I finally just gave up investigating and ordered the damn German version of the album on eBay! :) I hadn't realized that a mere $10 spent online could shut up the whole stupid argument!

 

p.s. The above video from the TV show, I actually saw on German TV. In the summer of 1977, my mom and me and my brother had "escaped" for 6 weeks to Germany to get away from my abusive father back in Texas, thinking that the "break" would calm him down. It didn't. Upon our return, a few weeks later, he shot at her, and she only then, after 15 years, filed for divorce. (Thank god. Some kids are disturbed by divorce; I thanked god that my nasty father was out of our lives.)

The Decline Of Western Civilization Official Trailer #1 (1981)

 

Watching "The Decline of Western Civilization" right now on TCM. Getting a familiar feeling from it... What IS IT?? Oh yeah... the Donald Trump Feeling. Like spitting on things and saying they're stupid. (They are.) I don't think people get how PUNK Trump is --- not "A punk" or "a punk-ASS" as today's Ivy League or token "urban" bloggers on various political websites hired to be "edgy" refer to the man -- but truly PUNK. As in MESSY and DISRUPTIVE and CHALLENGING and...having a very legitimate point about so many areas of bullshit today.

 

 

A Racy Book - The Remains of the Day

One of my favorite movies. Heartbreaking in so many ways.
These two tragically never, ever connect. (Similar to Rhett and Scarlett.)

 

Love

A woman on my Joan Crawford Facebook page just posted the below photo of a hanging that her girlfriend had had custom-made for her.

I responded: "Man, that is beautiful and SPECIAL!! I wish someone had ever given such a thing to me. Whatever happens in the future, you'll always remember what this woman did for you!"

 

I do wish a lover had ever given such a thing to me. A painting, a kitten, a car. Something. I am utterly bereft.

 

 

Human Hands - Elvis Costello & The Attractions

 

 

 

 

I've been talking to the wall and it's been answering me
Oh darling, how I miss you
I'm just the mere shadow of my former selfishness
I crave the silhouette of your kiss
With only the blue light of the TV on
Lip reading threats and false alarms
There's a boy somewhere holding hands with himself
And a girl in a window on the Reeperbahn

Whenever I put my foot in my mouth and you begin to doubt
That it's you that I'm dreaming about
Do I have to draw you a diagram?
All I ever want is just to fall into your human hands

With the kings and queens of the dance hall craze
Checkmate in three moves in your heyday
But the girls don't listen to your line anymore
Now you're part of someone else

On the factory floor you still say: "Where's the action?"
Now you manufacture happiness
And get sold on the cheap for someone's satisfaction

Whenever I put my foot in my mouth and you begin to doubt
That it's you that I'm dreaming about
Do I have to draw you a diagram?
All I ever want is just to fall into your human hands

All you toy soldiers and scaremongers
Are you living in this world? Sometimes, I wonder
In between saying you've seen too much and saying you've seen it all before

Tighter and tighter I hold you tightly
You know I love you more than slightly
Although I've never said it like this before

Whenever I put my foot in my mouth and you begin to doubt
That it's you that I'm dreaming about
Do I have to draw you a diagram?
All I ever want is just to fall into your human hands
All I ever want is just to fall into your human hands

 

Rolling Stones: Time Is On My Side

Donald Trump song-list at appearance in Nevada, 2/22/16 (in order; thanks to C-Span):

 

Tiny Dancer

You Can't Always Get What You Want

I Want You Back

Heart of Stone

Uptown Girl

Time Is On My Side

Right Now (Van Halen)

You Can't Always Get What You Want (reprise)

Music of the Night (Phantom of the Opera)

Rocket Man

Let's Spend the Night Together

 

 

Poetry vs. Instruction Manual

Prior to the Republican South Carolina primary last Saturday, CNN hosted two Town Halls with Rubio/Cruz/Carson on Wednesday and Trump/Bush/Kasich on Thursday.

I watched both evenings (albeit with the TV on in the background while I worked on my Joan Crawford website at the kitchen table in the adjoining room).

Rubio was flowing, Kasich was flowing, and, surprisingly, even Bush seemed to be flowing. I liked listening to all of them. On the other hand, when Trump came on, I found him not so inspiring, purely speech-wise. Because I support Trump, I wanted to be inspired by what he was saying, but I wasn't.

But that was OK.

Listening to Rubio reminded me of listening to Barack Obama back in 2008. Very pretty. I'm 50 now, and I was 42 back in 2008, so I'd been around a while and thus wasn't blindly inspired either year. Back in '08, I voted for Hillary in the primary and for McCain in the general election. I wondered then what Obama brought to the table. He hadn't personally accomplished anything up to that point. Sarah Palin, the Republican VP, had, in fact, more credits on her resume. Obama's sole power lay in his ability to speak well, his glibness. Pretty, but meaningless.

Rubio, same exact thing. He sounds good, but he's accomplished nothing.

At the CNN Town Halls I listened to last week, Rubio's prose was close to poetic. Bush and Kasich were very good prose. Trump...an instruction manual.

But Trump has actually created thousands of jobs. Trump would actually be better at negotiating trade deals with China, Japan, Mexico. Trump would actually be better at confronting tough international foes like Putin and ISIS. Trump would actually be better at rebuilding our infrastructure. Trump would actually be better at negotiating health-care/pharmaceutical deals across state borders for the cheapest rates.

Unlike Cruz and Rubio, he's not a religious nut with no real-world experience. Unlike Clinton and Sanders, he's actually created jobs and built things and negotiated internationally.

Frankly, I now want a plain-spoken Instruction Manual (with a hint of poetry). I've been cruising on poems alone for 50 years now, to absolutely no avail.

Early-voted in Texas today for...

 

 

The Texas primary is March 1; early voting through February 26.

 

A side-note: Back in the summer, a few weeks after Trump first announced his candidacy, I bought the above bumpersticker from eBay for a few dollars, kind of as a lark. Not being that serious about liking Trump as a candidate, remembering his first wife Ivana's calling him "The Donald" back in the '80s, etc.

 

Since then, though, this sticker has come to be a bit more representative of my ACTUAL feelings (plus an aspiration), not just a joke.

 

For one thing, I do agree with Trump that we should tighten our border to the south to prevent people from sneaking in. The way he said it at the time, I thought was a bit harsh (the "not giving us their best people" comment), but I agreed with him on principle. The aftermath of his statements re the border, though, was more shocking to me: Companies like Macy's cancelling their orders for his products; NBC and Univision cancelling his Miss Universe pageant. The man paid a great financial price for stating his opinion candidly. And he didn't back down, even in the face of losing millions.

 

Then came the "showdown" with the PC-beloved Univision host Jorge Ramos at a Trump press conference: Ramos stood up out of turn and asked his question over and over again, disrupting the conference. Trump told him he hadn't been called on. Ramos was escorted out, and later invited back in to ask his question -- when he'd been called on. Here, too, I admired Trump for standing his intellectual ground.

 

Then came silly things like "Rick Perry's wearing glasses just to try to look smart" and "Jeb is low energy." Well, I'd thought EXACTLY that that was the reason why Perry was suddenly wearing glasses. And I'd thought EXACTLY that "Jeb!" was the most enervated, believing-nothing of candidates. ("Low energy" was a mild way of putting what I felt about "Jeb!")

 

Then came my boss at work asking me why I liked Trump: "Do you really want someone like that representing our country?" After a bit of reflection... Why, yes, yes I do -- very much so! What part of standing up to Putin, making tough trade deals, re-building our infrastructure, and penalizing US companies for exporting jobs DOESN'T sound very good?

 

Still later, at the recent South Carolina debate, Trump went off on "Jeb!" for supporting brother George W. for his idiotic decision to invade Iraq (which had nothing to do with 9/11) on the false charge of harboring "weapons of mass destruction" -- and thus ensuring the destabilization of the entire region. Would ANY other Republican ever say this truth in public? Hell, no. (Even Hillary Clinton wouldn't admit as much.)

 

I admire the man's honesty and bravery completely.

 

p.s. Oh yeah, "the aspiration": Months ago, I said that if Trump got his party's nomination, I would finally buy a car again just so I could put this bumpersticker on it. I sold my car when I moved to NYC in 2007; even though I came back to Austin in 2010, I haven't had a car since. I now live on a bus line that takes me straight to work. I save a lot of money by not owning a car, etc. HOWEVER... You give up a lot of free will by not having your own car: idiotic bus drivers, idiotic passengers, idiotic Metro system not sticking to their stated schedules, etc. On the other hand, even when you have your own car, you're then stuck in idiotic traffic and have to deal with idiotic fellow drivers on the road. (But at least you can come and go when you want.) I'm still on the fence about getting a car again. I don't 100% NEED one. But I do think I WANT one on which to display my "THE DONALD" sticker in a city of what-will-be Hillary fans, 2016.

 

Plus, I think any adult should be as self-sufficient as possible. My bitching about bus drivers/passengers/system is easily avoidable if I get my own car. And, having my own car -- like having my degrees -- prohibits the easy judgment of shallow people... who judge people on whether they have cars or degrees. Reminds me of Hillary taking on the "Clinton" last name in the '90s, after being "Hillary Rodham" for so long, and of Obama finally wearing the flag pin on his lapel --- if it means so fucking much to you and so little to me... pffffft. Whatever. Here's my new name, here's my new pin, here's my new degree, here's my new car.

Trump vs. The Pope

"A person who thinks only about building walls, wherever they may be, and not building bridges, is not Christian. This is not the gospel." ---Pope Francis in Mexico today when asked about Donald Trump.

Pictured below: The wall surrounding the Vatican.

As soon as Pope Francis is willing to tear down the wall surrounding his own sanctuary, then I'll be willing to admit that a wall prohibiting economic marauders from coming into the US is a bad idea.

As Donald Trump has said: "Do we have a country, or don't we?"

The Pope is good in the abstract, but not so much when it comes to his own protective walls. I call BULLSHIT on the Pope.

 

 

Feeling Good (Julie London, 1965)

Nina Simone, Julie London, Audra Mae... All singers and interpreters of this song. Yet today a mere producer, Avicii, claims credit for Audra Mae's latest version -- it took me link after link to even find out who sang the latest version of this song featured in the current Volvo ad.

 I call BULLSHIT on Avicii.

 

Rod Stewart: "You Wear It Well" (1972)

 

"Madame Onassis got nothing on you."

 

Lucius - Turn It Around [Official Video]

I don't have a car; I can't hear new songs!

And so I must discover them via cable TV ads! This initially for Samsung Galaxy...

"She's looking through the wrong end of the telescope..."

 

She felt comatose waiting for this thing to grow
She's impatient 'cause she wants it now and so it shows
She can't be bothered by the ties that bind her
She's united when it strangles everything it holds

She's looking through the wrong end
She's looking through the wrong end
She's looking through the wrong end of the telescope
 

Turn it around, turn it around

 

She closed the door with the intention of not looking back
But missed her step because she didn't have a steady track
She can't be bothered by the mistakes she has made
She's forgetting that's what guides you to the rightful path

She's looking through the wrong end
She's looking through the wrong end
She's looking through the wrong end of the telescope

 Turn it around, turn it around

 

As suspected back at home it grew out of control
Well, that can happen when you leave things to a little girl
So now she's left without an option at hand
She better tend to it or she won't have another chance

She's looking through the wrong end
She's looking through the wrong end
She's looking through the wrong end of the telescope

 Turn it around, turn it around

 

She's looking through the wrong end
She's looking through the wrong end
She's looking through the wrong end of the telescope

 Turn it around, turn it around

Joan Crawford candid, mid-1940s.

I am amazed at how long I've found this woman extremely cool, extremely cool-looking, and, as I've recently realized, extremely meaningful to my life. Since 1987, to be exact (when I was 22 -- I'm now 50). Crawford (because she was so hot when I first saw her in 1932's "Grand Hotel") started out as a gateway drug to figuring out I was gay. Once I figured that out, she, based on her childhood and professional history, morphed into a representative for SURVIVAL despite all odds. Her stunning looks masked all of the EFFORT going on behind the scenes. The woman, as a Hollywood contemporary (Cukor? I can't find the source now) once said, "worked like a Trojan." And I think it was Cukor who also said that Joan, despite all odds, "refused to be a loser."

 

I similarly refuse.

 

When I was a kid, my father tried to bully me into being a subservient female; my mother, a much more positive influence via her stability, tried to convince me that secretarial work was the key...

 

Nah. I always knew that I was better than that. (Ironically, most parents try to build up their kids --- mine, on the other hand, tried to keep me at, or below, their level. I didn't think that was odd until I grew up and met kids at college whose parents were actually rooting for them to succeed! And -- shocker! -- actually giving them both financial and emotional support... Wow! Parents actually supporting their kids!)

 

I'm now, at 50, doing what I like on a mid-level. I like my current editing job a lot, and I'm grateful for it. I'm alone and sometimes lonely, but I am not stifled in either my personal or my professional life.

 

 

9 years ago today...

On February 11, 2007, I picked up and left for New York City. My only connection there a lady on Craig's List who said she had a room to rent.

What an experience those 3 years spent in NYC were! I've been back in Austin for 6 years now (since 2010)... I barely remember anything from these 6 years other than emotional and financial pain and crawling back amid great bland surroundings.

The 3 years in NYC (from 2007 to 2010), on the other hand--while also obviously financially painful--were simultaneously greatly beautiful and INTERESTING. I was completely, of my own volition, thrown into an utterly different environment... One that I'd experienced vicariously via movies and magazines, but never known on my own...

The result was: NYC was nothing like the movies or magazines. In fact, I was greatly dismayed by magazines like "New York" that published issues like "Reasons to Love New York City," which seemed to me more like small-town boosterism. ("You're NEW YORK! What're you so defensive about??")

What I miss most about New York: Seeing Joan Crawford movies at the Chelsea Cinema and at other cinemas around town. Getting to see the Klimt exhibit at the Neue Gallerie on the East Side (during a brutally cold November day). The walk from Joan Crawford's apartment on the East Side straight across to John Lennon's Dakota on the West Side. Hanging out reading a book on a bench one sunny afternoon at Aaron Burr's mansion in Washington Heights. Hanging out at Union Square for lunch during my 8-month tenure at a publishing company a couple of blocks away; seeing a bluegrass band at Union Square on a weekend, with a subdued Gilbert Gottfried right next to me. While taking a smoke-break on the sidewalk, seeing Elvis Costello walk by with his twins in a carriage. The utterly stunning view of the NYC skyline once I'd moved to Weehawken across the Hudson (only a 2-minute walk away), and how inspiring the view was...

So much in only 3 years... The ugly struggles with the first 3 roommates that I had in New York, then the utter relief at finally being able to get my own place, the beautiful place in Weehawken, where my Gracie-cat died April 15, 2009... I remember it so distinctly because it was "Tax Day" and because Sandra was in town, visiting her Sugar Daddy at a Cancer Center and asking me to come visit her in her hotel; I, disgustingly, internally wished for Gracie to die before Sandra arrived, so I could spend time with her in town... I fought on the phone with Sandra on the night Gracie died. When I woke up the next day, Gracie, who'd been wasting away gradually since mid-January, was dead on my kitchen mat.

That was traumatic. My first 2 years in New York were interesting. After Gracie died in early 2009, though, and after I began contact with Sandra in late 2008, things deteriorated. My heart wasn't in it. I was grieving for Gracie, who had been with me since 2000 (and who had been a good-luck charm in my life as a whole since her arrival), and I was TIRED of struggling for EVERYTHING.

Funny, what started out as a search for a New Beginning and a New Horizon with truly earnest and honest goals based on true admiration for the city and its possibilities turned into grieving for an old crush from a poetry class in 1987.

February 11, 2007, was warm and foggy. The taxi driver was curious about why I was going to New York City. It was so warm, he drove with his windows open. At the Austin airport, Gracie escaped from her carrier when an airport employee opened it to check for contraband. The same employee then chased after her and brought her back, so the trauma was lessened.

Choices

A key to happiness is having CHOICES. I think you're happiest when you know you have OPTIONS.

The Young are obviously happier because the future lies before them. Even if they're dirt poor, they still THINK they have choices. And they actually DO. The most important: Whom they're going to marry, where they're going to work, where they're going to live, etc. All lies before them. Even in the misery of a low-paying job, they still think/know that the current situation won't last forever. If they have a shitty lover -- that, too, can be changed. And they can move if they have nothing to keep them where they are.

The crappy part of growing older is that the choices start to shrink, partially because of your own self: You get tired of flitting about and understand that it might just be time to PICK someone and something. So you make your choices. And you are decidedly NOT free after that. With choices come intense consequences, the result of intermingling your own psyche with another's. You won't ever be the same again. For the lucky people, this is a GOOD thing. (I haven't been at all so lucky and so I'm cynical; but I've caught glimpses of what connecting feels like spiritually -- of course, I miss what I think that closeness simply MUST be like.)

Here's something from Sylvia Plath's "The Bell Jar," published in 1963, when she was 31 years old. Based on her experiences in New York City during an internship for "Mademoiselle" magazine when she was 20, only a few months before she first tried to kill herself:

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”

I first read "The Bell Jar" when I was 15 or so. I didn't pick up on this passage at all. I didn't understand it until I re-read the book for perhaps the 6th time when I found it while doing laundry in the basement of my landlords' duplex in Weehawken, New Jersey, in 2008 after I'd moved to NYC a year earlier to make a new life, only later finding a haven in Jersey...

I understood the tragedy of "The Bell Jar" completely once I was in my 40s.

"Seven Bridges Road" The Eagles

 

 

EAGLES ~ "LYIN' EYES" 1977

God, I hated the Eagles as a kid. They were all I heard on FM radio growing up, and their studied "mellow" meant NOTHING to me whatsoever. (In '77, I was 12 and all hyped up for the Bay City Rollers and then KISS; a couple of years later, punk and New Wave hit, for which I was so grateful.)

 

Last weekend, though, CNN had a 2-hour special on the band, and I watched, just in honor of the air-waves of my youth. (Ended up ordering their Greatest Hits from Amazon! God, what a sucker I am! But I really did feel nostalgic...and for a time that wasn't even psychologically mine!)

 

I liked this story from the CNN program. Glenn Frey said that when he and the guys were out playing in LA clubs, they'd often see beautiful young women at tables with old rich guys. The old guys would go home, the beautiful women would stay to hang out with the rockers for a while...and then would "have to" go home because they were "kept." Frey described looking over at the interaction at such tables and judging a woman's eyes as "lying" as she talked to her Sugar Daddy.

 

Frey was boo-hooing, but I actually felt, for a second, his pain! :)  You'd think that Glenn Frey, of all people in the '70s, could have gotten any woman he wanted, but... according to the song, maybe he couldn't. I understood. And I like the Eagles better after hearing this story. I especially liked this line from the song: "I guess every form of refuge has its price."

Here's the song:

 

 

Rod Stewart - You're in My Heart

"You're the warmest thing I ever found..."

 

Cotillion Photo

These young women will last forever, posed like greyhounds,

trapped in the silver crust of the frame.

You can’t tell one from another, the breed is so pure.

They will never run. Each one aloft

on a frozen wave of white cotillion lace

to resemble marriage, to resemble fate.

I remember July sun pouring down

in a prickly meadow, and a garter-snake skin

laid out like fairy lingerie on a stone wall.

This was Connecticut, there would be a stone wall.

Crickets were scraping marrow from the day.

I was young; I’d been alone for weeks.

I painted the meadow morning and afternoon

trying to capture the crackling sound with my brush.

I was reading “Oedipus Rex.”

I understood neither the snake skin nor the play.

"Your life is one long night," said Oedipus

to the prophet, Oedipus, who saw nothing.

Oak trees rustled in drought. In saffron grass

small creatures skittered. There came a day

when I said to myself, “I should prefer to sleep.”

Small planets tasted dry and bitter on my tongue.

And two days later I woke. Alone in the creaking barn

at dusk, not knowing what day, what month, what year,

but feeling the haul of earth rolling on its way.

“It is not your fate that I should be your ruin,”

the prophet said. I moved my arms,

my legs, I unclenched my hands,

and stood up dizzy from the cot. What was to come

would come in its own good time

outside the frame. The moon was rising

above the hill, a shy wind gathered force,

and trees, in their black silhouettes, linked arms.

 

---Rosanna Warren (from the New Yorker, 2/1/16)