A couple of days ago, my apartment neighbor came home at 3:45 in the morning and cranked up the music. I was asleep on my couch at the time, but I--after the initial jolt awake and subsequent prowling from border to border of the four rooms in my apartment to figure out where exactly the music was coming from--finally, upon placing an ear against my bedroom wall, learned that it was the guy next door.
I was pissed at the disturbance, sure, but also curious about what someone was so unselfconsciously (i.e., drug-addledly) playing at that hour. Sure 'nuff: Pink Floyd. Once I pressed my ear to my bedroom wall, I heard every tortured note of "Comfortably Numb." Followed a half-hour later by a very loud version of Willie Nelson's "Always On My Mind." With a bunch of other emo notes in between.
How I know I'm middle-aged? I, while being annoyed at being woken up, simultaneously smirked at the emotional young man's late-night song choices: "God... Pink Floyd! Please! How 1980s!" And "Jesus... How often has 'Always On My Mind' been played when you're tortured in love? Is that all you got?" :)
The next day at work, I expressed my irritated amusement to a co-worker. He replied: "You're quite the Grand Dame!" Which reminded me of something my mother said to me a few months ago when I was expressing my political opinions: "The way you talk, you should be rich."
That I have the cool attitude with my own personal lowly circumstances is the Grand Irony, I suppose.
Thursday, August 18, 2016
Wednesday, August 17, 2016
Tuesday, August 16, 2016
Monday, August 15, 2016
New bedroom set.
I thought I was an adult when I bought my first queen-sized bed a year-and-a-half ago. But, no...
You're not truly an adult until you're able to buy your first bedding. That includes more than 2 sheets and 2 pillowcases. (I.e., extra pillows, and big "European pillows" and a "dust ruffle," which I will never be able to put in place as long as I'm single because it takes two to lift the top Queen mattress to get the dust ruffle situated.)
After so many years of random beds... I like how my own chosen bed looks.
Saturday, August 13, 2016
The Monkees - I'm A Believer
I got my car over 2 weeks ago, but I've been afraid to drive fast like I used to, or to turn up music, or...anything. After 9 years of not driving, being back on the road again with all of the distractions has been mildly scary. In fact, the only radio station I've had on has been NPR, with its low-key talk: I didn't want any distractions!
It took my brother yesterday driving my car and asking if he could switch the radio from the talk... He put it on Austin's KUTX 98.9. Also commercial-free, but playing MUSIC.
I left it there, still at a low volume. Until today, when I was driving back from lunch at Wendy's and this song came on. I was suddenly filled with JOY! And then blasted the song as loudly as my tinny car stereo would allow. I felt/was blatantly, obnoxiously HAPPY --- like I used to be on occasion! It's still possible!!
Friday, August 12, 2016
More (Theme from Mondo Cane) - Julie London
Listening to Nat King Cole tonight and his version of "More" came on... Reminded me of first being introduced to the Julie London version of this song years ago by someone I loved.
Mama Cat
At my birthday dinner at a BBQ place in the western hills of Austin Thursday night, a scrawny cat was hanging 'round. She wasn't aggressively going after any food on the tables, but she was sitting there looking at people's food. After an hour or so, I asked my waiter if we were allowed to feed the cat... He said that she had just turned up a couple of days earlier, and that the staff thought that she might have just had kittens.
Today, I e-mailed the restaurant, saying that if any kittens turned up, I'd like to adopt one (plus the Mama Cat, which the staff had named "Brisket." The baby, I plan on naming "Trisket.")
Today, I e-mailed the restaurant, saying that if any kittens turned up, I'd like to adopt one (plus the Mama Cat, which the staff had named "Brisket." The baby, I plan on naming "Trisket.")
Wednesday, August 10, 2016
Probably my very favorite Dylan song
Early one morning the sun was shining
I was laying in bed
Wond'ring if she'd changed it all
If her hair was still red
Her folks they said our lives together
Sure was gonna be rough
They never did like Mama's homemade dress
Papa's bankbook wasn't big enough
And I was standing on the side of the road
Rain falling on my shoes
Heading out for the East Coast
Lord knows I've paid some dues getting through
Tangled up in blue.
She was married when we first meet
Soon to be divorced
I helped her out of a jam I guess
But I used a little too much force
We drove that car as far as we could
Abandoned it out West
Split it up on a dark sad night
Both agreeing it was best
She turned around to look at me
As I was walking away
I heard her say over my shoulder
"We'll meet again someday on the avenue"
Tangled up in blue.
I had a job in the great north woods
Working as a cook for a spell
But I never did like it all that much
And one day the ax just fell
So I drifted down to New Orleans
Where I happened to be employed
Working for a while on a fishing boat
Right outside of Delacroix
But all the while I was alone
The past was close behind
I seen a lot of women
But she never escaped my mind my love just grew
Tangled up in blue.
She was working in a topless place
And I stopped in for a beer
I just kept looking at her side of her face
In the spotlight so clear
And later on as the crowd thinned out
I's just about to do the same
She was standing there in back of my chair
Saying "Jimmy, Don't I know your name ?"
I muttered something underneath my breath
She studied the lines on my face
I must admit I felt a little uneasy
When she bent down to tie the laces of my shoe
Tangled up in blue.
She lit a burner on the stove and offered me a pipe
"I thought you'd never say hello" she said
"You look like the silent type"
Then she opened up a book of poems
And handed it to me
Written by an Italian poet
From the thirteenth century
And every one of them words rang true
And glowed like burning coal
Pouring off of every page
Like it was written in my soul from me to you
Tangled up in blue
I lived with them on Montague Street
In a basement down the stairs
There was music in the caf,s at night
And revolution in the air
Then he started into dealing with slaves
And something inside of him died
She had to sell everything she owned
And froze up inside
And when finally the bottom fell out
I became withdrawn
The only thing I knew how to do
Was to keep on keeping on like a bird that flew
Tangled up in blue.
So now I'm going back again
I got to get her somehow
All the people we used to know
They're an illusion to me now
Some are mathematicians
Some are carpenter's wives
Don't know how it all got started
I don't what they're doing with their lives
But me I'm still on the road
Heading for another joint
We always did feel the same
We just saw it from a different point of view
Tangled up in Blue.
I was laying in bed
Wond'ring if she'd changed it all
If her hair was still red
Her folks they said our lives together
Sure was gonna be rough
They never did like Mama's homemade dress
Papa's bankbook wasn't big enough
And I was standing on the side of the road
Rain falling on my shoes
Heading out for the East Coast
Lord knows I've paid some dues getting through
Tangled up in blue.
She was married when we first meet
Soon to be divorced
I helped her out of a jam I guess
But I used a little too much force
We drove that car as far as we could
Abandoned it out West
Split it up on a dark sad night
Both agreeing it was best
She turned around to look at me
As I was walking away
I heard her say over my shoulder
"We'll meet again someday on the avenue"
Tangled up in blue.
I had a job in the great north woods
Working as a cook for a spell
But I never did like it all that much
And one day the ax just fell
So I drifted down to New Orleans
Where I happened to be employed
Working for a while on a fishing boat
Right outside of Delacroix
But all the while I was alone
The past was close behind
I seen a lot of women
But she never escaped my mind my love just grew
Tangled up in blue.
She was working in a topless place
And I stopped in for a beer
I just kept looking at her side of her face
In the spotlight so clear
And later on as the crowd thinned out
I's just about to do the same
She was standing there in back of my chair
Saying "Jimmy, Don't I know your name ?"
I muttered something underneath my breath
She studied the lines on my face
I must admit I felt a little uneasy
When she bent down to tie the laces of my shoe
Tangled up in blue.
She lit a burner on the stove and offered me a pipe
"I thought you'd never say hello" she said
"You look like the silent type"
Then she opened up a book of poems
And handed it to me
Written by an Italian poet
From the thirteenth century
And every one of them words rang true
And glowed like burning coal
Pouring off of every page
Like it was written in my soul from me to you
Tangled up in blue
I lived with them on Montague Street
In a basement down the stairs
There was music in the caf,s at night
And revolution in the air
Then he started into dealing with slaves
And something inside of him died
She had to sell everything she owned
And froze up inside
And when finally the bottom fell out
I became withdrawn
The only thing I knew how to do
Was to keep on keeping on like a bird that flew
Tangled up in blue.
So now I'm going back again
I got to get her somehow
All the people we used to know
They're an illusion to me now
Some are mathematicians
Some are carpenter's wives
Don't know how it all got started
I don't what they're doing with their lives
But me I'm still on the road
Heading for another joint
We always did feel the same
We just saw it from a different point of view
Tangled up in Blue.
48 hours in August in Texas without AC
The AC at my apartment went out Monday evening around 8pm. The all-purpose, surly maintenance guy at my '70s apartment showed up to take a look around 10pm. He took a look, then disappeared without a word. Reappeared at 11:30pm with the news: He couldn't fix anything. Maybe it would be done by Wednesday. At that time, the temperature in my apartment was up to 85 degrees.
Tuesday morning, I got up for work, tried to get ready, with the temp still 85... I tried taking a cold (actually luke-warm) shower. When I tried to get dressed, even the clothes in my closet were warm. When I tried to blow-dry my hair after showering, the heat from the blow-dryer made me sweat so that the wet hair being dried was immediately countered by the hair being soaked by sweat from the dryer. It was impossible to put on any makeup.
Tuesday evening, I knew what I was in for. I stayed at work for an extra 2 hours for the air-conditioning. When I got home after 7pm, nothing was possible except changing out of work clothes into a tank top and the shortest of shorts and lying on the couch in front of the TV. After an hour of lying there sweating, I finally filled a baggie with ice and put it on my head, alternating between the top of my head and my forehead. Momentarily relieving, but I could not sleep. The TV was giving off too much heat. I eventually moved to my bedroom, fan turned on high, window open (letting in 85-degree non-helpful air), and was able to sleep.
On Wednesday morning, AC still out, I woke up to a 90-degree thermostat reading and tried a different tactic: Took the same luke-warm shower from the day before, but then avoided the blow-dryer altogether, going in to work with still-wet hair and no makeup, closing my office door and doing the personal grooming (brushing, powder, lipstick) to make me look presentable.
Wednesday, I came home at 6pm to find a new AC finally in place. At 10pm as I write this, the temp is finally down to a respectable 78 or so. I'm fine now.
But: What did people in the "olden days" in Texas do without AC? I know there was porch-sitting. I know there were palmetto fans if you were rich enough to have a porch and palmetto fans. I know there were ice-baths if one had to go out and dress after. Otherwise you just SWEAT. Try not to move very much. And SWEAT.
Tuesday morning, I got up for work, tried to get ready, with the temp still 85... I tried taking a cold (actually luke-warm) shower. When I tried to get dressed, even the clothes in my closet were warm. When I tried to blow-dry my hair after showering, the heat from the blow-dryer made me sweat so that the wet hair being dried was immediately countered by the hair being soaked by sweat from the dryer. It was impossible to put on any makeup.
Tuesday evening, I knew what I was in for. I stayed at work for an extra 2 hours for the air-conditioning. When I got home after 7pm, nothing was possible except changing out of work clothes into a tank top and the shortest of shorts and lying on the couch in front of the TV. After an hour of lying there sweating, I finally filled a baggie with ice and put it on my head, alternating between the top of my head and my forehead. Momentarily relieving, but I could not sleep. The TV was giving off too much heat. I eventually moved to my bedroom, fan turned on high, window open (letting in 85-degree non-helpful air), and was able to sleep.
On Wednesday morning, AC still out, I woke up to a 90-degree thermostat reading and tried a different tactic: Took the same luke-warm shower from the day before, but then avoided the blow-dryer altogether, going in to work with still-wet hair and no makeup, closing my office door and doing the personal grooming (brushing, powder, lipstick) to make me look presentable.
Wednesday, I came home at 6pm to find a new AC finally in place. At 10pm as I write this, the temp is finally down to a respectable 78 or so. I'm fine now.
But: What did people in the "olden days" in Texas do without AC? I know there was porch-sitting. I know there were palmetto fans if you were rich enough to have a porch and palmetto fans. I know there were ice-baths if one had to go out and dress after. Otherwise you just SWEAT. Try not to move very much. And SWEAT.
Monday, August 08, 2016
One of the best things about my new car...
I can go swimming again! The last time I went swimming was in 2010, when I got back from NYC and was living with my mother for a couple of months (she lived in a community that had a pool one block away from her house that I could walk to).
Why couldn't I go swimming after that without a car? Because I like a lawn-chair to lie out in (that I couldn't haul around on the bus), because I didn't want to go home on a bus with the wet swimsuit seeping through my t-shirt and shorts and my hair looking like shit.
My new car of 2 weeks ago also involved BUYING A NEW SWIMSUIT for the first time in over 10 years a $160 suit from Dillard's on sale for $60 -- I'm sure that the suit wasn't worth anywhere near $160 to begin with, but that, at least, is what the original tag said. And that's the psychology of August. When most DON'T want swimsuits, but I DO.
My car has been the impetus for all sorts of things, but being able to swim again is so important to my psychological well-being. I feel FREE in a pool. I feel healthier after being outdoors for 2 hours breathing fresh air and soaking in sun. I get exercise splashing around (I don't do laps or anything, but I do swim for 20 mins., then lie out for 20 mins., then swim again, etc.). And I look like I want to look with a tan.
Thank you new car and swimsuit.
Friday, August 05, 2016
A Streetcar Named Desire - Napoleonic Code
Trump IS Kowalski. See also Blanche's editorial comment to Stella: "He's common." Never underestimate the power of The Common when it's backed up with either knowledge or sex.
Tuesday, August 02, 2016
"I can almost remember their funny faces..."
Jesus. I just found out via the Internet that a woman I once slept with back in the '90s named "Jenn" is now going by "Jett." Back in the day, she was a rather sluggish lesbian community-college student. Today, though, "Jett" is a "filmmaker" and, according to "Jett's" website, refuses to identify "Jett's" gender. (Yeah, there's no "her" pronoun anywhere on the "About" section of the site. The language is painfully repetitive with "Jett" and "their.")
According to "Jett"'s profile on the IMDb: "I have the female perspective with the male gaze." OK, Jett. Whatever you say, Jett.
According to "Jett"'s profile on the IMDb: "I have the female perspective with the male gaze." OK, Jett. Whatever you say, Jett.
Personally, I've decided that I'm going to stop calling myself "Steph" and instead take up "Stuff" --- I refuse to be defined by a biology-based society!
Seriously, though: I am annoyed by the various public contortions of those who simply have no clue. Because they're so confused, they attempt to turn the confusion around to the majority, as in this definition of "intersex" from Wikipedia:
...Hida Viloria of OII-USA notes that, as a person born with an intersex body who has a non-binary sense of gender identity that "matches" he/r body, s/he is both cisgender and gender non-conforming, presumably opposites according to cisgender's definition, and that this evidences the term's basis on a binary sex model that does not account for intersex people's existence; s/he also critiques the fact that the term "sex assigned at birth" is utilized in one of cisgender's definitions without noting that babies are assigned male or female irregardless of intersex status in most of the world, stating that doing so obfuscates the birth of intersex babies and frames gender identity within a binary male/female sex model which fails to account for both the existence of natally congruent gender non-confoming gender identities, and gender-based discrimination against intersex people based on natal sex characteristics rather than on gender identity or expression, such as "normalizing" infant genital surgeries...
Did you get that?
Seriously, though: I am annoyed by the various public contortions of those who simply have no clue. Because they're so confused, they attempt to turn the confusion around to the majority, as in this definition of "intersex" from Wikipedia:
...Hida Viloria of OII-USA notes that, as a person born with an intersex body who has a non-binary sense of gender identity that "matches" he/r body, s/he is both cisgender and gender non-conforming, presumably opposites according to cisgender's definition, and that this evidences the term's basis on a binary sex model that does not account for intersex people's existence; s/he also critiques the fact that the term "sex assigned at birth" is utilized in one of cisgender's definitions without noting that babies are assigned male or female irregardless of intersex status in most of the world, stating that doing so obfuscates the birth of intersex babies and frames gender identity within a binary male/female sex model which fails to account for both the existence of natally congruent gender non-confoming gender identities, and gender-based discrimination against intersex people based on natal sex characteristics rather than on gender identity or expression, such as "normalizing" infant genital surgeries...
Did you get that?
Sunday, July 31, 2016
Rachel Platten - Fight Song (Official Video)
I like this song a lot; despite the generic singer, and despite the fact that the utterly generic, utterly corrupt Hillary Clinton campaign co-opted it.
Like a small boat
On the ocean
Sending big waves
Into motion
Like how a single word
Can make a heart open
I might only have one match
But I can make an explosion
On the ocean
Sending big waves
Into motion
Like how a single word
Can make a heart open
I might only have one match
But I can make an explosion
And all those things I didn't say
Wrecking balls inside my brain
I will scream them loud tonight
Can you hear my voice this time?
Wrecking balls inside my brain
I will scream them loud tonight
Can you hear my voice this time?
This is my fight song
Take back my life song
Prove I'm alright song
My power's turned on
Starting right now I'll be strong
I'll play my fight song
And I don't really care if nobody else believes
'Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me
Take back my life song
Prove I'm alright song
My power's turned on
Starting right now I'll be strong
I'll play my fight song
And I don't really care if nobody else believes
'Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me
Losing friends and I'm chasing sleep
Everybody's worried about me
In too deep
Say I'm in too deep (in too deep)
And it's been two years I miss my home
But there's a fire burning in my bones
Still believe
Yeah, I still believe
Everybody's worried about me
In too deep
Say I'm in too deep (in too deep)
And it's been two years I miss my home
But there's a fire burning in my bones
Still believe
Yeah, I still believe
And all those things I didn't say
Wrecking balls inside my brain
I will scream them loud tonight
Can you hear my voice this time?
Wrecking balls inside my brain
I will scream them loud tonight
Can you hear my voice this time?
This is my fight song
Take back my life song
Prove I'm alright song
My power's turned on
Starting right now I'll be strong
I'll play my fight song
And I don't really care if nobody else believes
'Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me
Take back my life song
Prove I'm alright song
My power's turned on
Starting right now I'll be strong
I'll play my fight song
And I don't really care if nobody else believes
'Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me
A lot of fight left in me
Like a small boat
On the ocean
Sending big waves
Into motion
Like how a single word
Can make a heart open
I might only have one match
But I can make an explosion
On the ocean
Sending big waves
Into motion
Like how a single word
Can make a heart open
I might only have one match
But I can make an explosion
This is my fight song
Take back my life song
Prove I'm alright song
My power's turned on
Starting right now I'll be strong (I'll be strong)
I'll play my fight song
And I don't really care if nobody else believes
'Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me
Take back my life song
Prove I'm alright song
My power's turned on
Starting right now I'll be strong (I'll be strong)
I'll play my fight song
And I don't really care if nobody else believes
'Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me
Know I've still got a lot of fight left in me
Songwriters
Dave Bassett, Rachel Platten
Dave Bassett, Rachel Platten
Thursday, July 28, 2016
Donald Trump's entire Republican convention speech
Donald J Trump a week ago. Truth telling versus platitudes.
Democratic National Convention - Our Fight Song
Love this song, even this DNC version of it. Gives me goosebumps. So sorry, though, that the triumphant message of spirit has been co-opted by such a corrupt political sheep as Hillary Clinton. The true message of the song has nothing to do with Hillary Clinton or any of the politically expedient things she allegedly "stands for."
p.s. Reminds me of the 2008 song that was played constantly during her then-campaign: "Beautiful Girl," by K.T. Tunstall. Another GREAT song completely co-opted for an utterly corrupt purpose.
Wednesday, July 27, 2016
Democrat Convention 2016
Watching the Democratic convention tonight, I was struck by how many of the speakers hearkened back to, and focused on, past civil rights battles as if they were still going on today. I agree that 1954 (Brown vs. Board of Education) through 1965 were watershed years for civil rights, addressing major issues of inequality.
Today though? Today, the Democrats are touting the rights of low-life creeps like Michael Brown (Ferguson) or Trayvon Martin (Florida), both of whom were proven to have beaten the men who ultimately shot them in self-defense. Not to mention the case of Sandra Bland, which is often brought up in left-wing circles as yet another case of alleged "police brutality." Watch the YouTube video on the Bland police stop: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CuPvDMN73hQ . (Bland yells and curses at the cop until he arrests her; she later kills herself in her cell. Hillary Clinton later publicly cites Bland as an example of police "brutality.")
Today though? Today, the Democrats are touting the rights of low-life creeps like Michael Brown (Ferguson) or Trayvon Martin (Florida), both of whom were proven to have beaten the men who ultimately shot them in self-defense. Not to mention the case of Sandra Bland, which is often brought up in left-wing circles as yet another case of alleged "police brutality." Watch the YouTube video on the Bland police stop: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CuPvDMN73hQ . (Bland yells and curses at the cop until he arrests her; she later kills herself in her cell. Hillary Clinton later publicly cites Bland as an example of police "brutality.")
Personally, I'm with Martin Luther King, Jr., and Rosa Parks rather than scumbags like Michael Brown and Sandra Bland. Democrats today have completely lost touch with what is truly meaninful when it comes to civil rights. They're glomming on to '50s/'60s battles that, while important then, have already been fought and won. There's nothing bold about, in 2016, declaring yourself in favor of civil rights.
Today, perhaps, the Dems, in their alleged concern for "social justice," should be focusing on why young black men are killing other young black men at such alarming rates. The Left alleges that the police are out to get young black men... But who's actually killing the "young black men"? Take a look at the murder stats. And take a look in the mirror, Black Community. Fix yourselves before you blame white people for, in 2016, allegedly subjugating you. You're fucking yourselves up, and have been doing so for a long time.
Today, perhaps, the Dems, in their alleged concern for "social justice," should be focusing on why young black men are killing other young black men at such alarming rates. The Left alleges that the police are out to get young black men... But who's actually killing the "young black men"? Take a look at the murder stats. And take a look in the mirror, Black Community. Fix yourselves before you blame white people for, in 2016, allegedly subjugating you. You're fucking yourselves up, and have been doing so for a long time.
Monday, July 25, 2016
Paul Simon for Hillary Clinton - DNC
Which is more past its prime? The Democrats or Paul Simon? Appropriate that Simon performed tonight. Both he and the Democrats had their heyday in 1968.
Saturday, July 23, 2016
Free - All Right Now (1969)
Trump closed out his Republican convention with this 1969 song by Free. Not sure why! :)
There she stood in the street, smiling from her head to her feet
I said, "Hey, what is this?"
Now baby maybe, maybe she's in need of a kiss
I said, "Hey, what's your name, baby?
Maybe we can see things the same
Now don't you wait or hesitate
Let's move before they raise the parking rate"
All right now baby, it's all right now
All right now baby, it's all right now
Let me tell you now
I took her home to my place, watching every move on her face
She said, "Look, what's your game, baby?
Are you tryin' to put me in shame? "
I said, "Slow, don't go so fast
Don't you think that love can last? "
She said, "Love, lord above, now you're gonna trick me in love"
All right now baby, it's all right now
All right now baby, it's all right now
Yeah, it's alright now
Let me tell you all about it now
Took her home to my place, watching every move on her face
She said, "Look, what's your game?
Are you tryin' to put me in shame? "
"Baby", I said, "Slow, slow, don't go so fast
Don't you think that love can last? "
She said, "Love, lord above, now you're gonna trick me in love"
All right now baby, it's all right now
All right now baby, it's all right now
The Rolling Stones - You Can't Always Get What You Want (TV Show '69)
Someone needs to interview Trump about his constant playing of this song, including at the conclusion of the Republican National Convention Thursday night.
Wednesday, July 20, 2016
Monday, July 18, 2016
Sunday, July 17, 2016
Saturday, July 16, 2016
Trump and the Stones: Tell Me (1964)
I'm puzzled (but utterly charmed) by the song that Trump has been playing for the past year at his rallies: 1964's "Tell Me" by the Stones. It's a completely ridiculous political theme song. But it's also a touching personal song from when someone was 15 -- played at rallies when the now-69-year-old man is running for office but still wanting to share something true about himself.
Thursday, July 14, 2016
Good Things About Having a Car
I haven't had a car since February 2007, when I sold my Ford Contour weeks before I moved to New York City. Didn't need a car in NYC. But once I returned to Austin in 2010, I could have used one. I never felt comfortable enough financially until now to get one. Here's why I've hated riding the bus in Austin so:
I hate many bus people. The city buses are full of nasty cursing, stinking, puking, asshole-ish people. I now won't have to be around them.
I hate some bus drivers. The ones who stop and take breaks (either pee or Coke) in the middle of their route.
I hate all of the added time at the bus stops. There might be a given time on the schedule, but very rarely does the bus arrive/depart at that time. Once I get my car, it'll be about 10 minutes from home to work. On the bus, it's almost always 45 minutes or more with all the wait time.
I love to swim. Aside from living at my mother's house for 3 months in 2010 when I first returned from NYC, I haven't been able to swim. Sure, I could lug a lawn-chair on the bus, but... no. I used to swim all the time in the summer before NY, and I look forward to it again.
I look forward to being able to buy toilet paper and taking it home without idiots on the bus making dumb-ass comments about it: "Whooo! Toilet paper!"
I look forward to driving home from the grocery store instead of hauling two bags of groceries onto the bus and then walking another half-mile to my actual home. Fall/Winter/Spring are relatively OK, but from May through September, I used to curse everyone I knew who never offered me a ride while I was sweating my way home, stopping several times to catch my breath.
I look forward to being able to buy a bookshelf or a foot-stool or a stereo component or ANYTHING. I've always had to buy things online and have them delivered.
I look forward to buying beer on sale at the grocery store instead of paying a jacked-up price at the convenience store closest to my house.
I look forward to listening to music that I want to listen to.
I look forward to meeting family members for birthdays and holidays without feeling like "the loser of the family" who has to be picked up for an occasion.
I hate many bus people. The city buses are full of nasty cursing, stinking, puking, asshole-ish people. I now won't have to be around them.
I hate some bus drivers. The ones who stop and take breaks (either pee or Coke) in the middle of their route.
I hate all of the added time at the bus stops. There might be a given time on the schedule, but very rarely does the bus arrive/depart at that time. Once I get my car, it'll be about 10 minutes from home to work. On the bus, it's almost always 45 minutes or more with all the wait time.
I love to swim. Aside from living at my mother's house for 3 months in 2010 when I first returned from NYC, I haven't been able to swim. Sure, I could lug a lawn-chair on the bus, but... no. I used to swim all the time in the summer before NY, and I look forward to it again.
I look forward to being able to buy toilet paper and taking it home without idiots on the bus making dumb-ass comments about it: "Whooo! Toilet paper!"
I look forward to driving home from the grocery store instead of hauling two bags of groceries onto the bus and then walking another half-mile to my actual home. Fall/Winter/Spring are relatively OK, but from May through September, I used to curse everyone I knew who never offered me a ride while I was sweating my way home, stopping several times to catch my breath.
I look forward to being able to buy a bookshelf or a foot-stool or a stereo component or ANYTHING. I've always had to buy things online and have them delivered.
I look forward to buying beer on sale at the grocery store instead of paying a jacked-up price at the convenience store closest to my house.
I look forward to listening to music that I want to listen to.
I look forward to meeting family members for birthdays and holidays without feeling like "the loser of the family" who has to be picked up for an occasion.
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
Well put together
I was looking up Newt Gingrich on Wikipedia, since he might be Trump's running mate. Here's Gingrich's current wife, Callista. (Gingrich met her on Capitol Hill in '93 while she was an intern, married her in 2000.)
What struck me so much about this photo: The woman was born a year AFTER I was (me in '65, Callista in '66). I'm 50, and still feel and dress like I'm 30. This woman is only 49 yet looks like she's 65: Put together like a wealthy 65-year-old: the hair, the makeup, the pearls. I could not even conjure up the facial expression necessary for this look.... (Don't get me wrong: I think she looks good. But... as a woman of her exact generation, she's like a foreign entity to me!)
Monday, July 11, 2016
Sunday, July 10, 2016
Paul McCartney "For No One"
Maybe OJ should have channelled Paul before he ventured out to his ex-wife's home that night.
OJ Dream/Birthday
Going to sleep early Friday night (July 8), I woke up early Saturday (July 9) with a very vivid OJ Simpson sex dream. At a party, I was lying naked on a couch with Led Zeppelin's Robert Plant (whom I've never found sexy at all) in front of me and OJ Simpson behind me. Plant was trying to poke his small (in the dream; in reality, who knows?) penis into me, which I kept rejecting. Simpson, from behind, starting kissing me, and I liked it. He and I didn't have sex, and I got up, but throughout the rest of the dream party, as we both kept wandering throughout rooms, I kept looking out for him and making eye contact with him, thinking "he wants me," and "how do I get to be with him again." (We never again hooked up in the dream.)
This sounds like a really cheesy sex fantasy. In the dream it was, but, seriously, I'd never fantasized about the man before.
When I woke up on the 9th, I checked out his Wikipedia page just for the hell of it: Oh...Happy July 9 Birthday, OJ.
My Life as a Woman...
...began today when I went to a bank (not my bank of the past 30 years) and requested a car loan.
Until now (and I'm 50), since the age of 16, my cars have always been given to me by my parents. My father passed down my very first car (a '79 Ford Pinto), which I drove in my early college years. After this, the order of my cars gets blurred in my mind: My mother first gave me her old Mazda 323; later she helped me buy a Dodge Shadow from a San Antonio dealership, then she helped me buy a Ford Contour from the same dealership. (The Contour is the one I sold when I went to live in NYC in 2007. I haven't had a car since.)
Earlier this year, after being without a car since 2007 (when I sold my car to move to NYC; and after having been without a car in Texas since 2010, when I returned from NYC), I vowed to get a car on my own, sans my mother's help. Because I finally wanted to be an adult who is capable of getting her own car! (But also because I have a yearning to place my "The Donald 2016" bumpersticker on a car before the Republican convention in a couple of weeks.)
The bank process was very interesting and very polite. My former bank of 30 years had turned me down, online, within 20 seconds. When various co-workers recommended a Credit Union, I checked out that option. The Credit Union folks were actually thoughtful about the whole process. My longtime bank turned me down without any human thinking, but the Credit Union approved me for $8000, based on my monthly income and the amount I was ready to put down.
I've never done this before. I've been scared about beginning the whole process all summer. Now, I realize it can be done. I've passed an adult test by trying. (Good lord, what's next --- a home and family?)
Until now (and I'm 50), since the age of 16, my cars have always been given to me by my parents. My father passed down my very first car (a '79 Ford Pinto), which I drove in my early college years. After this, the order of my cars gets blurred in my mind: My mother first gave me her old Mazda 323; later she helped me buy a Dodge Shadow from a San Antonio dealership, then she helped me buy a Ford Contour from the same dealership. (The Contour is the one I sold when I went to live in NYC in 2007. I haven't had a car since.)
Earlier this year, after being without a car since 2007 (when I sold my car to move to NYC; and after having been without a car in Texas since 2010, when I returned from NYC), I vowed to get a car on my own, sans my mother's help. Because I finally wanted to be an adult who is capable of getting her own car! (But also because I have a yearning to place my "The Donald 2016" bumpersticker on a car before the Republican convention in a couple of weeks.)
The bank process was very interesting and very polite. My former bank of 30 years had turned me down, online, within 20 seconds. When various co-workers recommended a Credit Union, I checked out that option. The Credit Union folks were actually thoughtful about the whole process. My longtime bank turned me down without any human thinking, but the Credit Union approved me for $8000, based on my monthly income and the amount I was ready to put down.
I've never done this before. I've been scared about beginning the whole process all summer. Now, I realize it can be done. I've passed an adult test by trying. (Good lord, what's next --- a home and family?)
Friday, July 08, 2016
Valley Girl (1982)
1982, Frank Zappa. I thought at the time that this socially piercing song would have put an end to, at the very least, this type of intonation (not to mention outlook)... Alas, no! We apparently now need a modern version for further societal recalibration.
Race Wars, 2016
RE tonight's shooting of 11 police officers in Dallas:
"A race war was predicted by Charles Manson, a scenario which he dubbed “Helter Skelter”. Based on his bizarre interpretations of Beatles lyrics, Manson concluded that black people would wipe out the rest of America’s population – all except Manson and his Family, who would be hiding in the desert. The black victors, Manson felt, would realise that they were incapable of ruling and so the Family would be able to take over... the nation."
"A race war was predicted by Charles Manson, a scenario which he dubbed “Helter Skelter”. Based on his bizarre interpretations of Beatles lyrics, Manson concluded that black people would wipe out the rest of America’s population – all except Manson and his Family, who would be hiding in the desert. The black victors, Manson felt, would realise that they were incapable of ruling and so the Family would be able to take over... the nation."
Manson, in '68, wasn't alone in predicting a race war at that time. (Preceding his pronouncement, see seemingly apocalyptic events like the August 1965 riots in Watts.)
Here's the thing, though: From post-WWII through the early '60s, blatant instances of racial discrimination were televised and, with knowledge, subsequently corrected socially by aware white people in power in response to the protesters: buses, housing, sports, drinking fountains, etc.
Since the late '60s, though, the lines of "right and wrong" have become blurred. In 2016, actual, real-life "discrimination" is now morphed into "subconscious discrimination" and "21st-century lynching." That's where I disagree. On CNN tonight, I heard a lecture by a black commentator that I, as a white person, probably had "subconscious biases" that I didn't even know about. That's just blatant attempted brainwashing that insults my intelligence. I've been an enlightened person, and a thinker, since the age of 15. I've been reading (and interpreting for myself) national newspapers since age 9 or so. I KNOW what actual discrimination is. And what discrimination is NOT is individual fucked-up black males bullying their way around neighborhoods and then getting called on it: even if "getting called on it" equals getting shot in response to their own aggressive behavior.
The stats are staggering: There are FAR more murders of black males by other black males than any police shootings of black males. Chicago is a war zone only because black males have made it a war zone. See also Oakland. And Baltimore. And Detroit. The violence in those cities has nothing to do with "mean policemen."
Until the Black community corrects its own sociopathy, nothing is going to change.
As for an impending "Race War": Blacks are 13% of the population. Who do you think's going to win? It's probably better to try the intellectual, moral route rather than shooting policemen in Dallas.
Here's the thing, though: From post-WWII through the early '60s, blatant instances of racial discrimination were televised and, with knowledge, subsequently corrected socially by aware white people in power in response to the protesters: buses, housing, sports, drinking fountains, etc.
Since the late '60s, though, the lines of "right and wrong" have become blurred. In 2016, actual, real-life "discrimination" is now morphed into "subconscious discrimination" and "21st-century lynching." That's where I disagree. On CNN tonight, I heard a lecture by a black commentator that I, as a white person, probably had "subconscious biases" that I didn't even know about. That's just blatant attempted brainwashing that insults my intelligence. I've been an enlightened person, and a thinker, since the age of 15. I've been reading (and interpreting for myself) national newspapers since age 9 or so. I KNOW what actual discrimination is. And what discrimination is NOT is individual fucked-up black males bullying their way around neighborhoods and then getting called on it: even if "getting called on it" equals getting shot in response to their own aggressive behavior.
The stats are staggering: There are FAR more murders of black males by other black males than any police shootings of black males. Chicago is a war zone only because black males have made it a war zone. See also Oakland. And Baltimore. And Detroit. The violence in those cities has nothing to do with "mean policemen."
Until the Black community corrects its own sociopathy, nothing is going to change.
As for an impending "Race War": Blacks are 13% of the population. Who do you think's going to win? It's probably better to try the intellectual, moral route rather than shooting policemen in Dallas.
Thursday, July 07, 2016
Philando Castile Shot By Police in Minnesota FULL VIDEO
Anyone think it's strange that this Millennial is more concerned with sharing her boyfriend's impending death with Facebook rather than actually comforting him in what turned out to be his final moments on this earth? She, never touching him or expressing concern, says "My phone is about to die" as many times as she says "My boyfriend is about to die." Oh, and she also worries about later needing a ride.
Had I never seen anything like this before, I'd probably believe her word. As it is, though, there's been too much crying wolf. So-called witnesses in the Michael Brown (Ferguson) and Freddie Gray (Baltimore) cases were later proven to be liars. This video only shows boyfriend Philando Castile AFTER the police shooting -- nothing that led up to it. I do not think it's a given that things happened as Diamond Reynolds says it did. (Possible, but not a given.)
Had I never seen anything like this before, I'd probably believe her word. As it is, though, there's been too much crying wolf. So-called witnesses in the Michael Brown (Ferguson) and Freddie Gray (Baltimore) cases were later proven to be liars. This video only shows boyfriend Philando Castile AFTER the police shooting -- nothing that led up to it. I do not think it's a given that things happened as Diamond Reynolds says it did. (Possible, but not a given.)
Monday, July 04, 2016
July 4. The last time I had sex.
I'm not going to say in what year, because it's embarrassing. It's been a long time.
The Beatles: Help (1965)
This was my favorite song when I was 15. It's still my favorite song when I'm 50.
Thursday, June 30, 2016
My 10 Favorite "Trailer Park Boys" Moments
Not at all MY favorites, since I've never seen the show, but in honor of the kid I met today who really loves the show.
Was introduced to the show today at my bus-stop by a 20-year-old stoner not quite sure where he was. He first asked me if he could "buy a water off of me." When I told him, no, I just had my one water bottle that I was drinking out of, he looked dismayed. But, hey, there was a building right there that had a water fountain... Was he allowed in there? Sure. How exactly could he get in there? Um, see that sidewalk? Just go up it and go into that building and then take a left --- there's the water fountain. Really? Yes, really --- just, just go up that sidewalk. No one's going to kick me out? No, man. You might miss the bus while you're gone, but... just right up that sidewalk into the building.
Was introduced to the show today at my bus-stop by a 20-year-old stoner not quite sure where he was. He first asked me if he could "buy a water off of me." When I told him, no, I just had my one water bottle that I was drinking out of, he looked dismayed. But, hey, there was a building right there that had a water fountain... Was he allowed in there? Sure. How exactly could he get in there? Um, see that sidewalk? Just go up it and go into that building and then take a left --- there's the water fountain. Really? Yes, really --- just, just go up that sidewalk. No one's going to kick me out? No, man. You might miss the bus while you're gone, but... just right up that sidewalk into the building.
The kid finally attempted it and managed to come back. "That water sure tasted good!" He had just gotten off work at a nearby Subway, was on his way to work at another Subway. Where was he? What was that place he just went into? Part of a college campus. Could he smoke dope here? Well, no, not if he saw a policeman driving by; then he should probably put his joint away.
My standing-around-the-bus-stop companion, a 60-year-old long-hair from Boston enmeshed in local politics, then mentioned the show "Trailer Park Boys" and the kid lit up: He LOVED that show! He'd seen every episode! He'd smoked pot with 4 teachers before... The two started naming favorite characters and episodes. At this point, another bus-stop friend walked up and I started talking to him, leaving the kid to my Boston friend: As I found out from Boston later (when he sat next to me on the bus to avoid talking to the kid any more), the kid was a high-school dropout, currently working at 3 Subways and 1 other place (which I didn't catch the name of), for a total of 75 hours per week. His goal was to become a salesman.
I'd never heard of "Trailer Park Boys" before, which has apparently been around for 10 years! "Can you read, my son?" "Well, that depends..."
I'll partially miss this type of interaction in the future; that is, when I have a car and don't have to be around this street rawness firsthand. I'm 50. I've been seeing this for 30 years, not to mention the constant low-class angst around my home while growing up. (My dad married up; my mother's family was calm and respectable, never the ridiculous drama-factory that my father came out of and then perpetuated in our home---My father would get mad over any tiny thing, and blow it up to gigantic, ultimately painful proportions. He always had to create a scene about something. He had a talent for turning seemingly positive things into ugly things (a Dallas Cowboys game, a visit to South Dakota, my driving test --- They should have all been special...He turned all of these into shitty, hate-filled memories for me).
I now want a well-deserved break from the supposedly never-ending stupidity.
I now want a well-deserved break from the supposedly never-ending stupidity.
Tuesday, June 28, 2016
"Seven" by Prince
I considered Prince a muse when I was young.
As it turned out, he was way more fucked up and clueless than I EVER was.
As it turned out, he spent most of his time posing A Way and yet never having one.
It's confusing: He, on the surface, was very decadent. Yet he alleged in interviews that he was actually very religious and "pure," at least as far as his diet (vegetarian) and drugs (none) were concerned. And even his sex/love life: He couldn't sustain a relationship, but presented himself as being "honest" and/or a "player"---way beyond his 20s and 30s and even 40s, when being a "player" might still be considered credible. (At some point, even the Player has to get real: You might just be incapable of forming a real bond with another human being. There's nothing "cool" about that deficiency. It's sad, in fact.)
As an onlooker, I bought into it: "Oh, he portrays the power of sex and religion..." Yes, he PORTRAYED the power of it, but in ACTUALITY he desecrated it. There's nothing wrong with being unable to achieve Nirvana. It's hard. But don't pretend that you have, when you haven't. That's sick.
Monday, June 27, 2016
Dillinger is Dead (1969)
Trying to go to sleep Sunday night; instead came upon this on TCM. Since I discovered it halfway through, I missed the opening premise: Ennui-filled designer of gas-masks is openly alienated by society.
Where I came in by accident: Late-night (what I thought was an artistic) man attempting to amuse himself after-hours when everyone else is asleep. He's been influenced by 1969 pop-media gun ads (including a current cover of "Time" magazine). He finds a hidden gun (wrapped in newspaper with a "Dillinger is Dead" headline). He paints it red, and then adds polka-dots. Initially leaves it hanging to let the paint dry while he goes off to snack in the kitchen. Later, he plays with his polka-dot gun. He wanders around his house with gun, wondering what he can do with it. He aims it at himself in mirrors. He aims it at sleeping women (his wife and his live-in maid). Horribly derivative pop music (early Beatles knock-offs in this later year of 1969, plus current Italian pop hits) plays on various radios in the various rooms he's in.
I had no idea what to expect as he went about his late-night prowls. I've been on late-night escapades myself (albeit usually sans any people inside my own home).
Needless to say, this movie didn't make me fall asleep.
Fulcrum
Fulcrum, a word that means "bedpost" in Latin, derives from the verb "fulcire," which means "to prop." When the word first appeared in English in the middle of the 17th century, "fulcrum" referred to the point on which a lever or similar device (such as the oar of a boat) is supported. It did not take long for the word to develop a figurative sense, referring to something used as a spur or justification to support a certain action. In zoology, "fulcrum" can also refer to a part of an animal that serves as a hinge or support, such as the joint supporting a bird's wing.
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/fulcrum
I'm antsy. There come times when "Is that all there is?" kicks in. I've lost everything and built back everything several times now. I'm now in the "Built back, now what?" stage. Don't want to repeat past mistakes, of course. But also am not ready to die right here where I was forced back for lack of any place else to go. If I'd always loved Austin, I'd be grateful. I first came here in 1983. I don't "love" the town. I like it. Thank you, Austin, for taking me back on numerous occasions. But I don't particularly want or need to be here.
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/fulcrum
I'm antsy. There come times when "Is that all there is?" kicks in. I've lost everything and built back everything several times now. I'm now in the "Built back, now what?" stage. Don't want to repeat past mistakes, of course. But also am not ready to die right here where I was forced back for lack of any place else to go. If I'd always loved Austin, I'd be grateful. I first came here in 1983. I don't "love" the town. I like it. Thank you, Austin, for taking me back on numerous occasions. But I don't particularly want or need to be here.
Sunday, June 26, 2016
O say can you see
I'm drinking this right now, just saw the label. (That Budweiser was about to label its beer "America" had been publicized weeks ago, but I thought it was a joke. Here it is in front of me.) A lengthy quote from the "Star-Spangled Banner" at the top. A quote from "America, the Beautiful" below the "America" (once "Budweiser") label. A quote from the Pledge of Allegiance at the bottom of the label. "Land of the Free" and "Home of the Brave" hanging out on the wings.
This is a BEER BOTTLE.
This is why the Left has been dismissing what this country stands for. Because of stupid corporate shit like this.
Angst
"Aaaaaarrrrgh!!! Just because I yell at you doesn't make you ME!"
--Shrieking young woman walking alone on the other side of the street from me today. [She wasn't yelling at me, and I didn't see a phone in her hand.]
--Shrieking young woman walking alone on the other side of the street from me today. [She wasn't yelling at me, and I didn't see a phone in her hand.]
Friday, June 24, 2016
Thursday, June 23, 2016
Brexit
Winston Churchill (May 11, 1953):
"We have our own dream and our own task. We are with Europe, but not of it. We are linked but not combined. We are interested and associated but not absorbed. If Britain must choose between Europe and the open sea, she must always choose the open sea."
Congratulations, Great Britain, for standing up for your sovereignty.
"We have our own dream and our own task. We are with Europe, but not of it. We are linked but not combined. We are interested and associated but not absorbed. If Britain must choose between Europe and the open sea, she must always choose the open sea."
Congratulations, Great Britain, for standing up for your sovereignty.
Wednesday, June 22, 2016
Old Loves in the News
http://www.texasmonthly.com/the-culture/will-the-real-smithville-bank-robber-please-stand-up/
My very first lover (1989 to 1991; I was 23, she was 36.). Recently profiled in a March 2016 "Texas Monthly" article.
I knew her story from what she'd told me, but what stood out from the article to me: that I hated sleeping in complete darkness with her; that the "This Week in Texas" cover appeared the very week we moved in together in 1989; that I hated her teen-asshole goth friends (the ones accused of the Yoghurt Shop murders in Austin in '91); that her "problem with authority" extended to my request (!) that she not sleep around. I also found it interesting that, in the article, she blamed her parents and her cohorts for getting jail time --- rather than blaming herself for robbing a bank!
Back when I first knew her beginning in 1989 when she was 36, I had a clue that, because she'd been imprisoned at age 18, she was stuck mentally at age 18 and seeking out age-18 experiences and kids... True. I came from a traditional home, where Christmases and birthdays were celebrated. On my first Christmas with M., she took me to a party at an apartment occupied by a group of punk-kids who couldn't afford an apartment on their own. We sat around a tree playing some sort of "alphabet" game: "A is for Asshole, B is for Butthole, C is for Cunt..." Not my idea of Christmas.
I knew her story from what she'd told me, but what stood out from the article to me: that I hated sleeping in complete darkness with her; that the "This Week in Texas" cover appeared the very week we moved in together in 1989; that I hated her teen-asshole goth friends (the ones accused of the Yoghurt Shop murders in Austin in '91); that her "problem with authority" extended to my request (!) that she not sleep around. I also found it interesting that, in the article, she blamed her parents and her cohorts for getting jail time --- rather than blaming herself for robbing a bank!
Back when I first knew her beginning in 1989 when she was 36, I had a clue that, because she'd been imprisoned at age 18, she was stuck mentally at age 18 and seeking out age-18 experiences and kids... True. I came from a traditional home, where Christmases and birthdays were celebrated. On my first Christmas with M., she took me to a party at an apartment occupied by a group of punk-kids who couldn't afford an apartment on their own. We sat around a tree playing some sort of "alphabet" game: "A is for Asshole, B is for Butthole, C is for Cunt..." Not my idea of Christmas.
Someone today asked me if I were interested in re-connecting with her... Ugh, no. She was awful, not bright at all, despite her cloaking herself in an "artistic" veil. She painted and claimed to "write," but... She couldn't paint, and she couldn't write. And she was pretty sleazy; sleeping around constantly. It's interesting that "Texas Monthly" is covering her, and I still think she's an interesting person. And I'm actually kind of weirdly proud that my first lover was someone rather extreme. But would I ever want to be with someone like that again? No. I was only with someone like that to begin with because I was lost and didn't know any better. The clubbing, the weirdness was exciting at 23. I still hadn't completed my Bachelor's degree, I was floundering, I thought the decadent nightlife was cool and impressive.
My attempts at relations with her messed me up for quite a few years. We broke up in '91. Since then, I've gotten a BA and an MA. I've lived in San Francisco and New York City. I've created a Joan Crawford website from scratch. I'm now an academic editor. She, in 2016, at age 63, is still talking about her heyday of 1989 thru 1991, and her '72 bank robbery. I couldn't glean from the article that she'd done anything with herself since 1991.
My attempts at relations with her messed me up for quite a few years. We broke up in '91. Since then, I've gotten a BA and an MA. I've lived in San Francisco and New York City. I've created a Joan Crawford website from scratch. I'm now an academic editor. She, in 2016, at age 63, is still talking about her heyday of 1989 thru 1991, and her '72 bank robbery. I couldn't glean from the article that she'd done anything with herself since 1991.
Tuesday, June 21, 2016
Shovels & Rope // Gasoline
Seeing this for the first time recently didn't make me cry or anything, but it did give me chills and a sense of hope for humanity (in the sense that perhaps someday non-bullshit will once again prevail, in both music and in life). I don't particularly desire this as my "soundtrack-for-life" or anything, but... I do appreciate it being out there. It means way more to me than any idiotic stylized video with group dancers, as has been the wont for the past 20 years.
Monday, June 20, 2016
Mary Gauthier: How You Learn To Live Alone
You sit there in the rubble, 'til the rubble feels like home...
Mary Gauthier: I Drink
A week or so ago, I woke up on the couch in front of the TV at 4am to hear this playing.
Austin City Limits or Artists Den, I dunno -- something on PBS after-hours. I'd never heard of "Mary Gauthier" before, and I initially didn't like her stereotypical "butchiness," but by the end of the song, I was crying --- the gently stated utterly brutal honesty/horror.
Sunday, June 19, 2016
OJ Simpson: Made in America
I've been watching ESPN's "OJ Simpson: Made in America" program all week. Very, very heavy and sad. I understand (as I did at the time) that black Americans were disgruntled by long-term and more recent abuses at the hands of the LAPD (e.g., Rodney King in 1991). But I also could not fathom the cheering by blacks at Simpson's "Not Guilty" verdict. To me, that reaction was sick.
The murder/Bronco chase/verdict were all tied up for me with my own personal plans to go to San Francisco for grad school in a writing program in the fall of 1994. The murder happened on June 13, 1994; the Bronco "low-speed chase" happened four days later on-air during the NBA playoffs (with the Rockets) that I was watching while still in Austin.
The murder/Bronco chase/verdict were all tied up for me with my own personal plans to go to San Francisco for grad school in a writing program in the fall of 1994. The murder happened on June 13, 1994; the Bronco "low-speed chase" happened four days later on-air during the NBA playoffs (with the Rockets) that I was watching while still in Austin.
The verdict came down a year later, at 10am on October 3, 1995, while I was waiting at a bus-stop on Geary Street in San Francisco to take me to the San Francisco State University campus and my job there. I'd been watching the trial coverage on the news that morning, finally had to leave home for my job. Learned of the verdict at the stop when a carload of black guys drove by whooping and shouting out some version of "Go, OJ!"
I felt sick to my stomach.When I arrived at my library job, my older white female boss (who had heard the news) and I just looked at each other. A little bit later in the morning, a black student came in to the library office for some mundane matter... My boss and I looked at each other again. My boss was the most liberal of San Franciscans, and I was a liberal Democrat at the time. But we both at that moment were silently, angrily ANTI any black person that happened to walk into the office at that moment.
This week's ESPN program made it clear that previous abuses of blacks at the hands of the LAPD contributed greatly to the sense of triumph that some black people might have felt at the announcement of OJ Simpson's "Not Guilty" verdict. As interviewees from the program stated: "Now you [white people] know how it feels." And "This is payback for Rodney King and for 400 years." And then there was the statement by one black commentator that the OJ verdict was "like the day Jackie Robinson opened the door for black players." (Really?? You sick fuck.)
I understand blacks' anger at past treatment. But I don't, however, give any credence whatsoever to their nearly uniform approval of OJ Simpson's murder of his ex-wife. Such approval seems both sick and unintelligent and irrational. I'll never support any group of people who agreed (77%) that OJ was innocent of the murder of his ex-wife.
See the murder "pics" below. You happy with this, "Black Community"?
A p.s. One of the last times that I spoke to my father was while I was in San Francisco during the OJ trial. At that time, while we were discussing the case on the phone, he actually said to me, his daughter, re Nicole Simpson, "She was bought and paid for." See the murder "pics" below, Daddy. That's what happens when men like you think your girlfriend/wife/daughter is "bought and paid for."
I felt sick to my stomach.When I arrived at my library job, my older white female boss (who had heard the news) and I just looked at each other. A little bit later in the morning, a black student came in to the library office for some mundane matter... My boss and I looked at each other again. My boss was the most liberal of San Franciscans, and I was a liberal Democrat at the time. But we both at that moment were silently, angrily ANTI any black person that happened to walk into the office at that moment.
This week's ESPN program made it clear that previous abuses of blacks at the hands of the LAPD contributed greatly to the sense of triumph that some black people might have felt at the announcement of OJ Simpson's "Not Guilty" verdict. As interviewees from the program stated: "Now you [white people] know how it feels." And "This is payback for Rodney King and for 400 years." And then there was the statement by one black commentator that the OJ verdict was "like the day Jackie Robinson opened the door for black players." (Really?? You sick fuck.)
I understand blacks' anger at past treatment. But I don't, however, give any credence whatsoever to their nearly uniform approval of OJ Simpson's murder of his ex-wife. Such approval seems both sick and unintelligent and irrational. I'll never support any group of people who agreed (77%) that OJ was innocent of the murder of his ex-wife.
See the murder "pics" below. You happy with this, "Black Community"?
A p.s. One of the last times that I spoke to my father was while I was in San Francisco during the OJ trial. At that time, while we were discussing the case on the phone, he actually said to me, his daughter, re Nicole Simpson, "She was bought and paid for." See the murder "pics" below, Daddy. That's what happens when men like you think your girlfriend/wife/daughter is "bought and paid for."
Wednesday, June 15, 2016
Joan Crawford on the set of "The Bride Wore Red" (1937)
I think the middle finger was an accident of pose (in 1937, I don't know that MGM stars were so brazen). But I kinda like the idea of Joan "accidentally on purpose" flipping viewers off. I also like her unstudied intent gaze, which is common among her actual (rare) candids.
Monday, June 13, 2016
My Mom in NYC
She's only been in NYC for 2 days, but already 4 people have asked to borrow her subway card to swipe themselves in. I don't get it. I lived there for 3 years, and not once did anyone ask me for a borrowed swipe!
Is it a "thing" nowadays? A DeBlasio thing? Does she just look kind because she's a small older woman?
As I write this, it's 11pm Central, midnight Eastern: Hope she made it back to her hotel OK from the Broadway play that I insisted she see (after hours)! :)
Is it a "thing" nowadays? A DeBlasio thing? Does she just look kind because she's a small older woman?
As I write this, it's 11pm Central, midnight Eastern: Hope she made it back to her hotel OK from the Broadway play that I insisted she see (after hours)! :)
Sunday, June 12, 2016
Sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep
Yes, I understand the concept of "Sleep when you're dead," but... sometimes extra sleep is quite appropriately appreciated in your living years.
I woke up at 8:15am today (Saturday), not having done laundry for 3 weeks. In my complex, I've tried to be the early-bird on either Saturday or Sunday morning, but have usually been flummoxed by one guy (a fat-ass schlemiel who also used to live on the east-side with me) who obviously gets up earlier than me and doesn't have any qualms about disturbing the neighbor next door pre 8am...
Today, got to the laundry first. Did 3 loads' worth. Took until 10:30am to get everything done.
I'd planned to go into work today to do overtime, but... When I was done with laundry, I was worn out. Went to sleep again on my couch. When I woke up at 2, I was again too groggy to start a day; went back to sleep. Finally woke up for real at 6pm... Now here I am at 1am, still writing on my blog because I can't/don't want to go to sleep...
I woke up at 8:15am today (Saturday), not having done laundry for 3 weeks. In my complex, I've tried to be the early-bird on either Saturday or Sunday morning, but have usually been flummoxed by one guy (a fat-ass schlemiel who also used to live on the east-side with me) who obviously gets up earlier than me and doesn't have any qualms about disturbing the neighbor next door pre 8am...
Today, got to the laundry first. Did 3 loads' worth. Took until 10:30am to get everything done.
I'd planned to go into work today to do overtime, but... When I was done with laundry, I was worn out. Went to sleep again on my couch. When I woke up at 2, I was again too groggy to start a day; went back to sleep. Finally woke up for real at 6pm... Now here I am at 1am, still writing on my blog because I can't/don't want to go to sleep...
Moving On
In 1991 or so, after having dropped out of college for a couple of years, I finally realized: "College" doesn't equal "Enlightenment." All of your friends have graduated or are graduating. You must, too, or you're going to be seen as a "loser." I got my degree in 1993.
Seriously, at 18 I went into college thinking/expecting that I was going to be "enlightened" intellectually, thinking that that was what college was for.
Along the way, I realized that it was a shill. No professor really cared about my enlightenment. They were just there.
I first entered UT-Austin in 1983 after graduating from Azle High that spring. Attended full-time for 3 years, then drifted in and out. Finally perceived realism in '91 and took the classes necessary to finish up. Sans any Romanticism about "college life."
At 50, and never married, I'm pretty sure that "marriage" was (and is) such a thing: If you're not feeling it for so long, better just go ahead and get married and have the babies. Just to do it.
With college, I never "felt it." But I finally just "did it" because I knew it would help me career-wise in the future.
With marriage/child-bearing: Was it the same thing? Women, if they didn't FEEL it, finally just doing it for the sake of doing it.
What I personally always wanted was a mate to talk to and travel/discover things with. At age 50, I haven't found such a person. But I'm currently mightily lonely and bereft. I wonder if, in the future, I'll find someone just to find someone. I hope not. But... "just making do" happened with college. I suppose it could happen with a companion.
When I "settled" re my college degrees (BA at UT and later my MA at SF State, where I also felt nothing but disdain), I also ultimately got some cold satisfaction out of it: the degrees and the subsequent "respect." The Something being better than the absolute Nothing I would have received from the Universe before.
Seriously, at 18 I went into college thinking/expecting that I was going to be "enlightened" intellectually, thinking that that was what college was for.
Along the way, I realized that it was a shill. No professor really cared about my enlightenment. They were just there.
I first entered UT-Austin in 1983 after graduating from Azle High that spring. Attended full-time for 3 years, then drifted in and out. Finally perceived realism in '91 and took the classes necessary to finish up. Sans any Romanticism about "college life."
At 50, and never married, I'm pretty sure that "marriage" was (and is) such a thing: If you're not feeling it for so long, better just go ahead and get married and have the babies. Just to do it.
With college, I never "felt it." But I finally just "did it" because I knew it would help me career-wise in the future.
With marriage/child-bearing: Was it the same thing? Women, if they didn't FEEL it, finally just doing it for the sake of doing it.
What I personally always wanted was a mate to talk to and travel/discover things with. At age 50, I haven't found such a person. But I'm currently mightily lonely and bereft. I wonder if, in the future, I'll find someone just to find someone. I hope not. But... "just making do" happened with college. I suppose it could happen with a companion.
When I "settled" re my college degrees (BA at UT and later my MA at SF State, where I also felt nothing but disdain), I also ultimately got some cold satisfaction out of it: the degrees and the subsequent "respect." The Something being better than the absolute Nothing I would have received from the Universe before.
Thursday, June 09, 2016
Car-Loan Reality Check
While I've been schlepping around on buses for the past 9 years (after selling off my car to move to NYC in 2007, then coming back home in 2010 and trying to put a brave face on not having a car for the past 6 years after being back), there's been something more serious going on: I've lost my actual ability to get a car loan! I'd thought that my not having a car since 2007 was all of my own volition, but no! My bank of 30 years just rejected my very reasonable/low-class request for a car loan (for $6000, $2000 down, $200 a month) because I have no credit score. (I cut up all of my credit cards over 10 years ago; since then have paid everything as I go.) Fuck.
I'm 50 years old. My car history: In '81, at 16, received my dad's old Ford Pinto for free. I later got my mom's hand-me-down Mazda 323 for free. And then my mom bought a Dodge Shadow for me from a dealer in San Antonio. In '05, my mom charged a '99 Ford Contour on her credit card (for me to pay back) --- I loved that car, but I only paid my mom back for a few months, then sold it off in '07 when I moved to NYC. I haven't had a car since.
This time around, I vowed to get a car on my own: "I'm 50 years old. It's fucking ridiculous to continue to rely on hand-me-downs, etc."
Whoops! Cars were easy when I relied on my parents! And I just got rejected by my bank... I've asked around, and the alternative is pretty much: going to small dealers who charge big interest rates (18% as opposed to 3%).
OK. A Real World that doesn't exactly correspond with my own timeline. (In my mind, 9 years without a car was quite enough. But I was thinking philosophically instead of financially.)
I'm 50 years old. My car history: In '81, at 16, received my dad's old Ford Pinto for free. I later got my mom's hand-me-down Mazda 323 for free. And then my mom bought a Dodge Shadow for me from a dealer in San Antonio. In '05, my mom charged a '99 Ford Contour on her credit card (for me to pay back) --- I loved that car, but I only paid my mom back for a few months, then sold it off in '07 when I moved to NYC. I haven't had a car since.
This time around, I vowed to get a car on my own: "I'm 50 years old. It's fucking ridiculous to continue to rely on hand-me-downs, etc."
Whoops! Cars were easy when I relied on my parents! And I just got rejected by my bank... I've asked around, and the alternative is pretty much: going to small dealers who charge big interest rates (18% as opposed to 3%).
OK. A Real World that doesn't exactly correspond with my own timeline. (In my mind, 9 years without a car was quite enough. But I was thinking philosophically instead of financially.)
Tuesday, June 07, 2016
My apartment complex is messing with my head!
It's been quiet for the past few days --- and when it's quiet, I get to thinking, "Well, why not just stay here? It's perfectly OK!" Which is what I WANT to believe, since I don't quite have enough money to both get a used car in the next month AND move (deposit + moving company) by August...
But I know it's a trick! Any second now, that loud dick downstairs is going to start yelling, as he has constantly for the past year. The screaming kids have also been silent for the past few weeks... But I know that family's car -- they're still here -- and I know that they're also going to kick in at any time!
I do not want to move --- it's a huge hassle, and it's $1000 down the drain for nothing if you can help it. But, gawd, I want some "protection"! A garage apartment or a duplex, where my chances of disturbance are greatly minimized.
That said: A duplex is no guarantee of peacefulness! Back in the late '90s, I had a duplex in a semi-bad part of town. The next-door neighbor was a working Hispanic woman with a teenaged kid; she was apparently often out of town, or else asleep, because on several occasions, her kid and his friends were whooping it up around their "house" --- at one point, actually climbing on and running around the ROOF of the house, to the point where I had to call the cops. Not that the police then did anything... I only lived in that place for about 8 months; during that time, my duplex was burgled --- I'm pretty sure by the kid next door, only... he thought it was MY place he was burgling after I'd left for Christmas vacation... Because of the way the duplex was laid out, though, he was actually trying to break into my duplex-mate's portion of the dwelling --- and THAT guy had a big-ass dog that scared the would-be burglar away -- only after a broken window, etc.
In short, that duplex was a constant bunch of shit, in more ways than one. Aside from the juvenile delinquent kid next door, there was also a scourge of lizards that gathered on the side of the building whenever I'd go out and leave the porch-light on. Also the location where a random driver crashed his car into my bedroom wall and then left his car there after he ran off --- the police didn't arrive for 6 hours after I called them! (The idiot left a job application to a gay bar on the passenger seat. He was ultimately easily tracked down.) And, to top it off: When workers were later in my home to repair the wall that the driver had crashed into, one of them took a royal shit in my toilet --- spewing shit all over and under the toilet bowl; when I called the management company to complain, they didn't seem to comprehend what I was telling them: "Seriously: One of your workers literally left SHIT all over my toilet!" Since they played dumb, I had to clean that nastiness up myself.
I would say that THAT place was most likely the worst I'd ever lived in. They were shady up until the very end: The deposit was low to begin with, and one of the caveats was that I, the tenant, was responsible for mowing the lawn of the backyard. Now, a week before I moved out, I had specifically asked my brother, as a birthday gift, for a lawn-mowing, which he did for me. Yet, the leasing company STILL tried to charge me at the end for NOT having mowed the lawn... I think they were used to tenants not bothering; when they found out that I'd indeed bothered, they backed down. At the end of it all, I got maybe $50 back out of an initial $300 or so.
But I know it's a trick! Any second now, that loud dick downstairs is going to start yelling, as he has constantly for the past year. The screaming kids have also been silent for the past few weeks... But I know that family's car -- they're still here -- and I know that they're also going to kick in at any time!
I do not want to move --- it's a huge hassle, and it's $1000 down the drain for nothing if you can help it. But, gawd, I want some "protection"! A garage apartment or a duplex, where my chances of disturbance are greatly minimized.
That said: A duplex is no guarantee of peacefulness! Back in the late '90s, I had a duplex in a semi-bad part of town. The next-door neighbor was a working Hispanic woman with a teenaged kid; she was apparently often out of town, or else asleep, because on several occasions, her kid and his friends were whooping it up around their "house" --- at one point, actually climbing on and running around the ROOF of the house, to the point where I had to call the cops. Not that the police then did anything... I only lived in that place for about 8 months; during that time, my duplex was burgled --- I'm pretty sure by the kid next door, only... he thought it was MY place he was burgling after I'd left for Christmas vacation... Because of the way the duplex was laid out, though, he was actually trying to break into my duplex-mate's portion of the dwelling --- and THAT guy had a big-ass dog that scared the would-be burglar away -- only after a broken window, etc.
In short, that duplex was a constant bunch of shit, in more ways than one. Aside from the juvenile delinquent kid next door, there was also a scourge of lizards that gathered on the side of the building whenever I'd go out and leave the porch-light on. Also the location where a random driver crashed his car into my bedroom wall and then left his car there after he ran off --- the police didn't arrive for 6 hours after I called them! (The idiot left a job application to a gay bar on the passenger seat. He was ultimately easily tracked down.) And, to top it off: When workers were later in my home to repair the wall that the driver had crashed into, one of them took a royal shit in my toilet --- spewing shit all over and under the toilet bowl; when I called the management company to complain, they didn't seem to comprehend what I was telling them: "Seriously: One of your workers literally left SHIT all over my toilet!" Since they played dumb, I had to clean that nastiness up myself.
I would say that THAT place was most likely the worst I'd ever lived in. They were shady up until the very end: The deposit was low to begin with, and one of the caveats was that I, the tenant, was responsible for mowing the lawn of the backyard. Now, a week before I moved out, I had specifically asked my brother, as a birthday gift, for a lawn-mowing, which he did for me. Yet, the leasing company STILL tried to charge me at the end for NOT having mowed the lawn... I think they were used to tenants not bothering; when they found out that I'd indeed bothered, they backed down. At the end of it all, I got maybe $50 back out of an initial $300 or so.
Tuesday, May 31, 2016
Should I Stay or Should I Go
Financial decisions abound: As I've mentioned, I don't think I can BOTH get a car AND leave my current apartment complex when the lease is up at the end of August (with lease decision having to be made by the end of June, and car having to be bought by the time Trump is declared the Republican nominee in July -- the latter is my own deadline!).
I clearly have enough money for ONE of the two. (Car comes first.) I ALMOST have the money for both --- but coming up with the extra for both will be stressful. I don't know how I'm feeling about exerting myself right now. Trust me, I had enough stress over the past 8 or so years to last me a long, long time, and I don't want to create unnecessary stress. (But I'm also not averse to getting pumped up, as some are... Some days I lie around like a slug, but other days, I wake up thinking/knowing: "Just do it.")
WHY NOT TO MOVE:
My apartment is in a great location, only a few miles from work.
My apartment is a perfect size for me (800 sq ft).
I'd be saving so much money by not moving. (I took the apt over as a sublet in Feb. 2015 and didn't have to pay any deposit. It's also only $925 a month, a real bargain for Austin right now. If I moved, I'd have to come up with probably at least $1200 in a new deposit, plus pay $1000 to get all of my furniture moved.)
I like how my apartment looks; I'm happy here when it's quiet.
WHY MOVE:
Annoying neighbors.
Constantly yelling guy downstairs, accompanied by constant door slamming. The 50-something black couple has lived there, according to apt manager after I complained about the guy last year, for the past 15 years; they're not going anywhere. But then the man also "travels a lot." The times when he's traveling are delightful. Because he's NOT traveling most of the time, though, I've had to completely give up my spare room that I wanted in the beginning for a study, because the guy hangs out in the room right below and shouts. A full quarter of my apartment has been lost to me for the past year; I just use that room for storage now, moving my computer to the kitchen table out front --- where I then have to listen to all of the comings and goings in the parking lot out front... which I normally wouldn't have had to hear had I had my "study" available to me!
Screaming kids. This problem fades in and out. The initial family 2 doors down with 3 little kids who rode their trikes and scribbled in chalk in front of my apartment and played on the staircase right next to my living-room wall have calmed down a LOT. Guess the young parents have been taking them to their grandparents' or something. There's also the trio of 12-year-old boys who like to skateboard up and down the sidewalks on the floor below -- also not heard from recently, but they sucked when they were active.
More minor annoying people. During the day, a student in one apartment likes to keep his door open while playing music. The gay couple next door used to have "dramatic" conversations in the stairwell next to my living room wall (not recently, though). The biker guy that I wrote about over the Memorial Day weekend is usually quiet except for his obnoxiously loud revving of his bike every time he comes or goes. The seemingly gay guy and his "mother figure" like to hang out in the parking out (which my apartment overlooks in the front) and hug and talk constantly when the weather's good.
If the nasty, yelling guy left, I probably could stand the rest of it. Given that guy's constant loudness, though, I always feel on edge, waiting for the next SLAM of the door or the daily (when he's home) hours-long barrage of BLAH-BLAH-BLAH. Reminds me of living on edge with my father as a youngster. It's disgusting to me that I'm still feeling on edge at age 50 because of yet another asshole (and this one not even within my own home -- again, no control!).
Financially, and a little bit aesthetically, I feel I should stay. Psychologically, I want to get the hell out of here. I think I need to go with trying to avoid being constantly DISTURBED. (Though... Things could always be worse... And I will seriously have to live a more constricted way of life if I do move to a more expensive place to avoid creeps.)
I clearly have enough money for ONE of the two. (Car comes first.) I ALMOST have the money for both --- but coming up with the extra for both will be stressful. I don't know how I'm feeling about exerting myself right now. Trust me, I had enough stress over the past 8 or so years to last me a long, long time, and I don't want to create unnecessary stress. (But I'm also not averse to getting pumped up, as some are... Some days I lie around like a slug, but other days, I wake up thinking/knowing: "Just do it.")
WHY NOT TO MOVE:
My apartment is in a great location, only a few miles from work.
My apartment is a perfect size for me (800 sq ft).
I'd be saving so much money by not moving. (I took the apt over as a sublet in Feb. 2015 and didn't have to pay any deposit. It's also only $925 a month, a real bargain for Austin right now. If I moved, I'd have to come up with probably at least $1200 in a new deposit, plus pay $1000 to get all of my furniture moved.)
I like how my apartment looks; I'm happy here when it's quiet.
WHY MOVE:
Annoying neighbors.
Constantly yelling guy downstairs, accompanied by constant door slamming. The 50-something black couple has lived there, according to apt manager after I complained about the guy last year, for the past 15 years; they're not going anywhere. But then the man also "travels a lot." The times when he's traveling are delightful. Because he's NOT traveling most of the time, though, I've had to completely give up my spare room that I wanted in the beginning for a study, because the guy hangs out in the room right below and shouts. A full quarter of my apartment has been lost to me for the past year; I just use that room for storage now, moving my computer to the kitchen table out front --- where I then have to listen to all of the comings and goings in the parking lot out front... which I normally wouldn't have had to hear had I had my "study" available to me!
Screaming kids. This problem fades in and out. The initial family 2 doors down with 3 little kids who rode their trikes and scribbled in chalk in front of my apartment and played on the staircase right next to my living-room wall have calmed down a LOT. Guess the young parents have been taking them to their grandparents' or something. There's also the trio of 12-year-old boys who like to skateboard up and down the sidewalks on the floor below -- also not heard from recently, but they sucked when they were active.
More minor annoying people. During the day, a student in one apartment likes to keep his door open while playing music. The gay couple next door used to have "dramatic" conversations in the stairwell next to my living room wall (not recently, though). The biker guy that I wrote about over the Memorial Day weekend is usually quiet except for his obnoxiously loud revving of his bike every time he comes or goes. The seemingly gay guy and his "mother figure" like to hang out in the parking out (which my apartment overlooks in the front) and hug and talk constantly when the weather's good.
If the nasty, yelling guy left, I probably could stand the rest of it. Given that guy's constant loudness, though, I always feel on edge, waiting for the next SLAM of the door or the daily (when he's home) hours-long barrage of BLAH-BLAH-BLAH. Reminds me of living on edge with my father as a youngster. It's disgusting to me that I'm still feeling on edge at age 50 because of yet another asshole (and this one not even within my own home -- again, no control!).
Financially, and a little bit aesthetically, I feel I should stay. Psychologically, I want to get the hell out of here. I think I need to go with trying to avoid being constantly DISTURBED. (Though... Things could always be worse... And I will seriously have to live a more constricted way of life if I do move to a more expensive place to avoid creeps.)
Monday, May 30, 2016
Willie Nelson and My Grandma
I posted this video ('84 live in Austin, from a '73 song) on my Facebook page a couple of days ago. Got the following response from my cousin Lisa (a year younger than me; we were good friends as kids when our families would visit regularly):
"You know good music !! I love this music because of grandma fern !"
This surprised me because I don't remember my Me-maw (grandma Fern) playing any music at all when I visited. She lived in East Texas, and we would go out there maybe once a year until I was 12, when my parents divorced. My cousin Lisa and her dad and family lived in the same town, so she knew her more.
My main memories of Me-maw were when I got to stay with her for a whole week when I was 7 or so (in '72). I remember getting to rummage through her box of costume jewelry. I remember the fancily sculpted and nice-smelling tid-bits of soap by the sink in my bathroom. I remember the glamorous black-velvet paintings of Spanish ladies in her living room. I remember her mildly chastising me for saying the "beans, beans, a musical fruit" ditty while I was giggling in the back seat of her car.
Once I got home to my parents, I remember bursting out in tears; at the time, I didn't know why, but I later figured out: Me-maw had listened to me; she was nice to me. My parents weren't nice to me. My Me-maw hadn't coddled me, but...she'd listened to me. I could talk to a "big person."
It's interesting to me to hear my cousin Lisa say that she remembers our grandmother Fern via Willie's music. As I said, Lisa, living in the same town, knew her much better than I did. I just experienced my Me-maw's "polite" side. There was apparently a much earlier, wilder side that I'd also heard hints of. I missed the mid-point: what she really liked, in retrospect. And, pretty importantly, what she liked to listen to.
A side-note: While I was growing up, my parents had a total of about 8 albums in the house. An Elvis "Golden Greats" album (Dad). A Caterina Valente album (Mom). A Jim Nabors patriotic-songs album (Dad). A Mozart album (Mom). A Bill Cosby comedy album (Dad). Janis Joplin's "Pearl" (Dad). "Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang" and "Jungle Book" soundtrack albums garnered from gas-station promotions.
Orange Tortoise-shell Cat
On my way out to my bus travels Sunday, found an unknown orange tortoise-shell cat huddled by the legs of my porch table. I said a friendly "Hi, Beautiful Cat" to him/her (whom I'd never seen before, but who meow'd back at me), then went on my way. When I got home 3 hours later, the cat was still there, in exactly the same position. I again said "Hello," and he/she meow'd back.
I started to worry: Had the cat come here to die or something? Why would a cat be in exactly the same position after 3 hours?? Who would I call to get rid of the dead cat?
I put a container of water out (while wondering: Should I put out food, too? But I didn't want that much responsibility). Then I took a nap. By the time I checked again a few hours later, the cat was gone. It was a skinny thing, not at all like the picture here (which I found online just to show the orange-ness).
It was on May 29. I wonder if I know someone who died on that day. Or if it was just a cat who found a comfortable place to sleep for 3 hours.
Car vs. New Place
In the Ongoing Saga of Making over 40K Per Year But Still Not Being Able to Afford Both a Car AND a Better Apartment (AKA, "Austin Sucks: Because of this and because of my 3 dead cats being buried underneath bars now")...
Today (Sunday) had to return something to Old Navy. A 15-minute car trip, but a 30-minute bus trip, plus the walking-a-mile in 90-degree-weather to the bus stop and the waiting at the bus stop (both before and after). Most people don't have to be sweaty in order to go to a store.
I also have a penchant for Target's generic Woolite and face cleanser; the Target's to/from the Old Navy route, and I halfway meant to stop there, too. But I left my home at 11:15am; by the time the bus arrived after I was finished with Old Navy, it was near 2:30 pm. I was tired. Had I hopped off the bus at the Target, I would have added another hour-and-a-half to my final return time home.
Good argument for getting a car!
But here's an argument for leaving my current apartment (aside from the ongoing loud guy downstairs):
Saturday night around 11pm, the biker guy (who makes a point of revving his bike every time he either leaves or departs the complex) had a couple of chicks over. He's usually, aside from his bike, pretty quiet, but this time his guests obviously inspired him: Hootin' and hollerin' aplenty! After a half-hour of countless "Whoooo-hoooooo"s and "Fuckin' [this and that]," I finally jerked open my door and stood out on my stoop staring over at the "party" going on across the way. They stopped whoo-hooing and stared back.
Now, at 50, and after years of being in apartments, I'd finally learned that the way was NOT to start yelling. Here's the key: "Hi! Can I ask a favor?" (Kind of like making eye contact with the person in the car next to you on the highway and waving/smiling when you're trying to cut in, rather than just edging in and cutting them off.)
So I stepped out and called over, "Hi! Can I ask a favor?" Silence and stares. Me: "Can you not yell?" Silence. Then, "Sure." Me: "Thanks, I appreciate it."
I didn't even want to learn the results of my request, so I retreated to the bedroom at the back of my apartment to read the latest Ted Hughes bio that I'd abandoned months ago because of its boring-ness but that I'd felt guilty about not finishing... I'd made the "shut-up request" around 11pm, ventured back into the front of my apartment around 1am (to make some popcorn to accompany my book but also to see what was going on out front)... The "party" was still going on on the stoop, albeit slightly more toned down, although I could still hear "fuckin'" this/that... I made the popcorn, retreated again.
I just don't think I should have to do the stereotypical school-marmish "you kids keep it down/you kids stay off my lawn" shit. Yes, grown people in an apartment complex should pretty much know how to act, how not to be hootin' and hollerin' at midnight. But on the other hand, I, with a Master's degree, and an editor's job, and at age 50, should also not be living in proximity with people who don't know how to act --- but I simply don't have the income to escape those types of people.
It's frustrating. I feel like I've done everything in the world to better myself, but I can't seem to better myself. I'm still stuck living around the same types of people that I lived around when I was a student and in my 20s and early 30s. Yahoos screaming at midnight aren't "interesting" or "cool" any more.
Today (Sunday) had to return something to Old Navy. A 15-minute car trip, but a 30-minute bus trip, plus the walking-a-mile in 90-degree-weather to the bus stop and the waiting at the bus stop (both before and after). Most people don't have to be sweaty in order to go to a store.
I also have a penchant for Target's generic Woolite and face cleanser; the Target's to/from the Old Navy route, and I halfway meant to stop there, too. But I left my home at 11:15am; by the time the bus arrived after I was finished with Old Navy, it was near 2:30 pm. I was tired. Had I hopped off the bus at the Target, I would have added another hour-and-a-half to my final return time home.
Good argument for getting a car!
But here's an argument for leaving my current apartment (aside from the ongoing loud guy downstairs):
Saturday night around 11pm, the biker guy (who makes a point of revving his bike every time he either leaves or departs the complex) had a couple of chicks over. He's usually, aside from his bike, pretty quiet, but this time his guests obviously inspired him: Hootin' and hollerin' aplenty! After a half-hour of countless "Whoooo-hoooooo"s and "Fuckin' [this and that]," I finally jerked open my door and stood out on my stoop staring over at the "party" going on across the way. They stopped whoo-hooing and stared back.
Now, at 50, and after years of being in apartments, I'd finally learned that the way was NOT to start yelling. Here's the key: "Hi! Can I ask a favor?" (Kind of like making eye contact with the person in the car next to you on the highway and waving/smiling when you're trying to cut in, rather than just edging in and cutting them off.)
So I stepped out and called over, "Hi! Can I ask a favor?" Silence and stares. Me: "Can you not yell?" Silence. Then, "Sure." Me: "Thanks, I appreciate it."
I didn't even want to learn the results of my request, so I retreated to the bedroom at the back of my apartment to read the latest Ted Hughes bio that I'd abandoned months ago because of its boring-ness but that I'd felt guilty about not finishing... I'd made the "shut-up request" around 11pm, ventured back into the front of my apartment around 1am (to make some popcorn to accompany my book but also to see what was going on out front)... The "party" was still going on on the stoop, albeit slightly more toned down, although I could still hear "fuckin'" this/that... I made the popcorn, retreated again.
I just don't think I should have to do the stereotypical school-marmish "you kids keep it down/you kids stay off my lawn" shit. Yes, grown people in an apartment complex should pretty much know how to act, how not to be hootin' and hollerin' at midnight. But on the other hand, I, with a Master's degree, and an editor's job, and at age 50, should also not be living in proximity with people who don't know how to act --- but I simply don't have the income to escape those types of people.
It's frustrating. I feel like I've done everything in the world to better myself, but I can't seem to better myself. I'm still stuck living around the same types of people that I lived around when I was a student and in my 20s and early 30s. Yahoos screaming at midnight aren't "interesting" or "cool" any more.
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