Sunday, April 22, 2018

Morrissey - Suedehead (1988)

Morrissey tribute to James Dean and his hometown.

Sharing a space

When you share a space with someone, one of the two has to be rather tolerant. Both have to be, but one moreso.

For a couple of days now, I've contemplated the idea of sharing my 1200-sq-ft apartment. I surely have enough space. I rarely sleep in my very nice bed because I usually go to sleep on the couch in front of the TV in the living room; so I could offer that room with bath to someone (I have 2 baths, and I usually use the other one). I have enough closet space to share one of the three with someone else.

I don't think I want anyone else to watch me sleep, though. Half of my days during the work-week, I come home and work on my Joan Crawford website; those days are fine if someone else is wandering around the house; I could easily chat during Joan. The other half, though, I come home and just want to collapse on my couch and channel-surf and doze off. Sometimes I sleep from 6 to 10pm, then wake up and read/watch TV, then go back to sleep from 3 to 7am. Sometimes I channel-surf for hours, finally going to sleep from 12 to 7am.

Weekends have no schedule. This Friday/Saturday, for instance:  I initially went to sleep on the couch at 10pm Friday, woke up at 3am Saturday, read a bit and ate something, went back asleep until 9am... Went in to work Saturday to do overtime hours, got my hair cut, came home @5pm and felt utterly compelled to lie back down on my couch and watch TV and sleep until 10:30pm, then woke up and cleaned various parts of my house and painted a table and hand-washed a sweater and then went online.

What if someone else were around the house? (1) I'd feel guilty about disturbing my guest after 10:30pm. (2) I'd probably be angry if the guest were moving innocently around the house earlier while I was trying to sleep.

Sigh. I don't know that I should share a space unless the other is willing to put up with me.

Wednesday, April 18, 2018

Morrissey - Everyday Is Like Sunday (1988)

Trudging slowly over wet sand
Back to the bench
Where your clothes were stolen

This is the coastal town
That they forgot to close down
Armageddon—come, Armageddon! Come, Armageddon! Come!

Everyday is like Sunday
Everyday is silent and grey

Hide on the promenade
Etch a postcard,
"How I dearly wish I was not here."

In the seaside town
...that they forgot to bomb
Come! Come! Come—nuclear bomb!

Everyday is like Sunday
Everyday is silent and grey

Trudging back over pebbles and sand
And a strange dust lands on your hands
And on your face, on your face, on your face, on your face

Everyday is like Sunday
"Win Yourself A Cheap Tray"
Share some greased tea with me
Everyday is silent and grey

Tuesday, April 17, 2018

False Memories of Barbara Bush?

Barbara Bush, former Second Lady ('80-'88) and First Lady ('88-92), and mother of President George Dubya (2000-2008), died today at 92.

I have only limited memories of her. She was known as an independent-minded woman who was pro-choice and pro-Equal Rights Amendment--as was her husband George H.W. Bush, BEFORE he became Reagan's running mate in '80. (Post '80, he towed the social conservative line.)

After GHWBush left office, I remember reading several things about her that have stuck with me all these years: One, that when she found out her husband was having an affair (in the '70s?), she was deeply depressed but found solace in constant work (in her case, volunteer work). And that when she discussed leaving GHWBush with him, he replied: "Where exactly are you going to go?"

The attempt to get over the affair and the cold "Where are you going to go?" line have stayed with me. But why exactly? ARE those actual things? I tried to look up these memories tonight, thinking that the Internet was surely the repository of EVERYTHING, but... even in mentions of her 1994 autobiography (pre-Internet), I found nothing. Did I make these up?

Another Barbara Bush "memory" is what I thought was a quote from an Ice-T song on his 1991 album "Original Gangster." I could have sworn that there was a line: "fuck George Bush and his bug-eyed bitch." Why this stands out in my memory is that this was the first (and only) rap album that me and my liberal white friends had bought at that point (in our mid-20s). We were righteously into the beats and politics and anger, but I remember us first giggling, then kind of cringing at the "Bush and his bug-eyed bitch" line ---"well, she has a thyroid problem that makes her eyes look like that."

That said, I own the Ice-T "OG" CD today, and it has lyrics written out in the booklet... I glanced over them twice, and could not find said "Bush and his bug-eyed bitch" line. Did I make this up?? Again, a search on the Internet found nothing re this line.

Why are my memories of Barbara Bush so ostensibly nonsensical and completely un-backed up by facts? Why would I make this shit up?

Monday, April 16, 2018

Productive Sunday

No drink at all Saturday night; wake up Sunday at 6:15am... Contemplate sleeping more, but then see on Turner Classic Movies that "The Women" is starting at 6:30... Perfect opportunity for getting hyped up and getting stuff done... I jump up and shower before the film starts. Knowing that Joan Crawford doesn't appear for awhile, get my laundry together and into the apartment machines. Drive to Whataburger for a breakfast taquito meal. Get home for Joan, switch laundry to dryers, spend the rest of the film retrieving and folding. By the time the film's over at 9, ready to go into work to get in 4 hours of overtime. After work: Return a shirt to Old Navy, check out candles at Pier 1 (no Asian Spice and no Lavendar, and the shopgirls don't think those scents will ever be back), get a crispy taco meal from Taco Cabana.

Once home and tacos scarfed down, lie on couch, '61's "A Taste of Honey" on TCM --- I've never seen it before, though heard about it: Tony Richardson-directed, "kitchen sink," et al. Working-class girl who doesn't get along with her partying mother gets knocked up by nice black sailor and moves in with nice gay guy... I fall asleep an hour into it, read later on the IMDb that the mother later returns, the sailor never returns...

Wake up around 7pm, work on my Joan Crawford website.

My idea of a good, productive day!

Thursday, April 12, 2018

Sleeping with, loving: Whatever happened to?

I've only slept with 5 people (though have been in love with several more), so every now and then when I'm bored I have to do an Internet search to see what might be up with the Fab Five.

(1) First girlfriend, first lover (Scorpio) is pretty much the same today. I was 23, she was 36 when we first met in '89. She was a dominatrix, heavy into Austin's goth club scene and teenaged girls. Today, I'm 52, she's 65 (!) --- and, according to random online sources, she's STILL posting suggestive photos and asking teenaged girls to tell her about their masturbation habits (!); heavy PhotoShopping involved in her photos!

HOW does that creepy shit not change in nearly 30 years??

(2)  Second lover (Virgo) was a rebound from the first in the early '90s; met her via the Austin Chronicle personals (Female seeking Female) section, back before there was "online" and people actually wrote letters and sent photos to each other. We slept together occasionally for about 3 months. At the time, she'd just gotten out of the military, was living in a one-room boarding house (bathroom at the end of the hall), and was about to enroll in the local junior college. The sex was boring (and I hated going down on her specifically, though I've usually not had a problem with that), and she disapproved of the fact that I'd dated the above-mentioned dominatrix, who was known around town in the cloistered "lesbian community." I wasn't very in to her sexually, but I liked her to hang out with... but SHE ended it.

Here she is (center) in the late '90s, a couple of years after we'd dated (singer Sarah McLachlan at left). She was a DJ for a local Austin radio station at this point (I had always listened to the station that she DJ'd for and would actually hear her on the air), and I remember feeling envious: I'd just gotten out of grad school in San Francisco and was jobless and back in Austin --- and here was this random person that I'd once slept with supposedly living the high life.

A few years after this, she enrolled in the film department at UT Austin and went on to make several gay-oriented short films. She's now living in West Hollywood, still making short films and appearing at gay film fests, and she now looks like this:

According to her Instagram, she had the sex change a couple of years ago. 

(3) A young woman I met at the campus library where I worked (Aquarius). After being friends for months at work, after going out to clubs dancing, after weekly drinking sessions with a group of friends at Austin's Les Amis cafe, after her taking me home to meet her parents (she and I had rented "What Ever Happened to Baby Jane," which her father didn't want to watch; he left the room in a huff)...we finally slept together at a party at her house. Her much-older boyfriend knocked and knocked and knocked and knocked at the bedroom door the next morning; he finally left after I got up and greeted him. (He had gone home from the party at an early hour, after which she and I drunkenly slept and spent the night together; he was a very polite person.) Prior to this, she had often told me how boring he was and how bisexual she was. After this, she made a point of telling me what her plans were with him that weekend. We never hung out again after we slept together. Last time I checked, she was working as a psychiatric nurse in Seattle or someplace (I couldn't ever figure out if the nice, older boyfriend went with her and married her up there).

(4) My male boss at the office where I worked (Leo, like me). I was 28, he was 54. The first, and only, man I've ever had sex with (though I've made out with several more men). Despite my often being furious because he had other things to do (like... his marriage and his job!), I probably had the best time with him. We had fun bar-hopping, he was fun in bed, and he was a great conversationalist --- very interesting all around. I dated him for about 8 months right before I went off to grad school in San Fran. We talked a few times on the phone while I was there. Once I got back to Austin, he avoided me completely. He had a heart attack that I read about in the local paper (I sent him a get-well card) a couple of years later, and retired from state service about 10 years ago.

(5) A young woman I met at a gay club a couple of times before I finally slept with her (sign unknown). I honestly don't remember her name---oh, wait: Katie. She was bright, and at one time after we'd first met, she came right up to me at a club and bit my lower lip, which I thought was hot. Sex: Her: "What do you want me to do?" Me: "Fuck me." (Next morning, all I had to offer her for breakfast was a banana and orange juice.) After this, we spoke a couple of times on the phone, but I was still into my first ex (see #1 above), who was still hanging around, and this never went anywhere.

Between and after all of these, there were/have been various make-outs and various long-distance loves on my part, but these were the actual.

Love/lust, but no sex at various points between 1983 and 2018: Ginny (Libra), Elena (unknown sign), Sandra (Scorpio), Murrah (Aquarius), Alex (Scorpio), Julie (Pisces), Sandra again. I'm pretty sure that all of these remained women over the years.