June 26, 2015

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

Which lives matter?

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

 

Rebel Yell

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

The Monkees - I'm a Believer (1966)

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

 

My New Work Glass

Happiness Is... Disposable Income

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

 

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

 

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

  

 

Kris Jenner: Queen of Fucking Everything

 

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

 

 

Look at the eyes of the boys behind her.

 

 

 

I like 'em a little rough.

 

Maybe not quite this rough.
 

Enough to turn Bruce into a lesbian.

 

She cleans up real nice.



Scorpio eyes.

 

 

Queen of Fucking Everything.

Poor Kris.

Goals Upon Approaching 50

With only 2 months to spare:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Vodka shots off walls cataclysmic

in finality and you take the razor-bath literally

with Gauloises and truth in static overdose run

amuck among brazen angels, the stab of infidelity

struck in bruised reflection and the telephone rings

(darling Pat), banal effortless you laugh

praying in time to head-pound echo and

(flash) sound is one-two blue

chasm widening ever-deep into flesh-fractured

doubt and unflattering in stone you choose your

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

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

stench of fluid wrist confessions.

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

I was the bad one

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

the ever-so addled, standing

hatless in Austin rain,

wondering how five dollars worth of tokens

could have bought so much goddamn trouble.

 

Yes, she's here.

With excuses and a 6am taxi.

The stain on her shoulder where the fat man slept

and a whole lifetime of indecision still

unaccounted for.

 

And you stand --

sane Baptist eyes figuring (rightly)

that she is yours.

With me too stupid

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

that will be hers for the asking.

 

And home she goes (did you ever doubt?)

Stoneage guilt riding low

and your hand on her arm.

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

With so much to offer,

we should have all married

men like you.

Facebook Friend

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good Conversation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joan Crawford, 1968, in a circus picture

(By "circus picture," I mean specifically, "Berserk." And non-specifically, I mean that she didn't have to do a lick of acting to pick up her paycheck in this cheesy latter-day film of hers; she was being paid for her name only. Yet, despite the less-than-MGM surroundings... she ACTED in it.)

Good Vibes

Buried in the earlier juvenile post about "What I Did Over Memorial Day Weekend," I mentioned feeling good about going to my new post office to return something to an eBay seller that was sent to me by mistake. The seller had sent me the wrong item, but didn't ask for the original item back after correcting the error. I knew I should indeed send it back, but was put off by my new neighborhood --- my new post office only open 9-5 (my work hours), and the bus to the post office closest to work (for lunch-hour visits) only running every 40 minutes, which would make me an hour late after lunch... Anyway... it took me a month or so, but I figured out how to mail the item back. Glad I did. Below is the mail that I received from the seller yesterday:

"Thank you so much for returning the little Zodiac Bowl that was sent to you by mistake. I really didn’t expect to see it and it was not necessary for you to send it back. I was, however, delighted that you returned it. It’s kind of a cutie and even though nobody had bought it, I decided to make it special since it came from a special buyer. It’s going on my desktop for paperclips and such and I shall think of you when I use it....

Thanks again for sending me back the little bowl, you have restored my faith in buyers."

Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree (1973)

 

I'm comin' home, I've done my time

Now I've got to know what is and isn't mine

 

Neutral Milk Hotel - In The Aeroplane Over The Sea

What a beautiful face I have found in this place
That is circling all 'round the sun
What a beautiful dream that could flash on the screen
In a blink of an eye and be gone from me
Soft and sweet
Let me hold it close and keep it here with me

And one day we will die and our ashes will fly
From the aeroplane over the sea
But for now we are young let us lay in the sun
And count every beautiful thing we can see
Love to be in the arms of all
I'm keepin' here with me

What a curious life we have found here tonight
There is music that sounds from the street
There are lights in the clouds, Anna's ghost all around
Hear her voice as it's rolling and ringing through me
Soft and sweet
How the notes all bend and reach above the trees

Now how I remember you
How I would push my fingers through
Your mouth to make those muscles move
That made your voice so smooth and sweet
But now we keep where we don't know
All secrets sleep in winter clothes
With one you loved so long ago
Now we don't even know his name

What a beautiful face I have found in this place
That is circling all 'round the sun
And when we meet on a cloud I'll be laughing out loud
I'll be laughing with everyone I see
Can't believe how strange it is to be anything at all
 

 

Live and Let Die (1973)

When you were young and your heart was an open book...

 

Fetish

The fetish is You moved on, the wishing for what's not now, though you once had your chance, or at least worshipped from afar.

The sickness in pressing this upon others, insisting that it, long since lost to you in particular, must still be true for The Universe.

Despite my yelling (to myself here) at my neighbor...

...over the weekend, I actually had a VERY productive 4 days off.

Thursday night: Cleaned the toilet and sink and bathroom floor. Which I'd been waiting to do before I'd allow myself to put down the new rug and toilet-seat cover I'd bought over a month ago.

Friday: Went to the post office for the first time since moving to my new place in February so I could return an incorrect item that someone on eBay sent me. Figuring out my new post office was another thing I'd been putting off this whole time; the one online info said was closest to my new apt was only open 9-5 M-F, and I didn't want to take time off work. Plus, according to my bus schedule, it would have taken over a half hour to get there. Instead, found a different one -- not in my ZIP code, but only 10 minutes by bus from my apt. And in a wealthy Old Austin neighborhood, meaning... counters fully staffed, very short wait. (Unlike, say, the nightmare of a PO in my old Eastside neighborhood that was always a writhing, chaotic mess, from customers to staff.) This little excursion also made me feel good because the eBay person I was returning the item to had made the error and hadn't asked for the item back...but it felt good to do the right thing!

Afterwards, having nothing else to do, I decided to ride the bus to the end of the line just to see where it went. NOT FUN. UGLY places. Didn't learn about anything interesting. 2 hours wasted.

Once the bus swung back to my area, went and tried out a Dairy Queen I'd been seeing on my way to work. Had a Country Basket for the first time in probably 10 years. (That used to be my favorite meal back in my hometown.) The times, though, they have a-changed: A 4-piece steak-finger basket with fries, toast, and gravy plus a small Coke is now... $8.64! And it wasn't even that good. So I won't ever be eating that again! (For $5.99, maybe. But not $8.64!)

On the way home from the DQ, did my grocery shopping for 2 weeks.

Saturday: As I posted earlier, went and checked out a consignment store that I'd been curious about. Not only did I find some bargains, I also found a place to take a couple of lamps I'd bought on eBay but don't need, to sell on consignment. Afterwards, went to Walmart to buy some DIRT and a clay pot (my front porch area needs plants), then had a GOOD meal at McAllister's on the way home. (For under $8, a really DELICIOUS half-French Dip sandwich and DELICIOUS, big Italian salad. I WILL be eating that again!)

Sunday: Wasted hangover day, lying on couch and watching TV. :( :(

Monday: Got up bright-n-early, did 3 loads of my regular clothes, plus my winter comforter and other blanket so I could pack them away and put on my new summer sheets/bedspread that I'd bought months ago. (Despite my excitement at the new bedding, I don't really like how it looks --- the "winter bedding" is wine-colored and rich, the new stuff too beige; the room doesn't really pop like it used to. : (  Even so, gonna keep the new stuff there for the season; maybe I'll get to like it better. Next spring, maybe I'll buy a similar wine-colored spread, just thinner.)

Noon-ish, after 3-1/2 hours of laundry-doin', went and had a pedicure for the first time since November or so. After moving to my new 'hood in February, I just had no idea about where to go and so kept putting it off, in the meantime feeling shabby since all my toenail polish was peeling off. There are two places within walking distance, so I picked one. It was fine. Asian ladies, like at the old Eastside 'hood. Better chairs. Slightly more expensive, but also longer calf and foot massage.

When I was finished and walking home, it was starting to sprinkle. An hour or so later, all sky-ish hell broke loose for the next 4 hours! Massive flooding all over town, including the creek I walk across to get to the bus-stop, which completely overflowed the bridge. After the rain slowed, I went to take a look at the raging creek---completely forgetting my camera! I'm so mad at myself --- I could have had a REAL event to show here, instead of just recounting my boring moods.

Oh well. No crick-crossin's here. Instead: Here's how I finished up my Monday evening: Finally hanging my Guatemalan festival masks that had been sitting around, along with my bath mats and comforters, et al., all waiting for me to clean stuff up before decorating!