Thursday Morning Pages

So I've decided that of the Jeff-Lloyd trilogy, Where The Boys Are is the one I flat-out enjoyed, page by page, the most, with its predecessor, The Men from the Boys, a thisclose second. Stunning cover art, too. I wonder if there's any possibility these books will ever be serialized for cable or maybe condensed into a movie? Who would Bill want to see play Jeff O'Brien? Lloyd? Henry? and most importantly, Javitz?

This bacon is sooooo good.

I love bacon, wish I could eat it every single day (like I used to, in one of my past lives). But with its sky-high fat and sodium content it's one of the absolute worst things you could possibly put in your mouth, then chew and swallow. Why? (I've often asked total strangers) Why does something that tastes so good--that smells even better when it's cooking--have to be so bad for you?

It's off-putting, is what it is.

These particular strips remind me of the glorious Farmer John brand I used to enjoy most mornings when I was living in California, many years ago. I'd never heard of that brand before and you should have seen the look I gave my Aunt Max when, during an evening grocery run, she ignored the Oscar Mayer and eagerly grabbed not one but several plain white rectangular boxes and dumped them into the cart. "This is better," she said breezily as I stared perplexed at the nondescript black lettering. Better? This stuff? This stuff looked for all the world like that dreaded Brand X crap you avoided at all cost even if it was cheaper and you were between paydays.

But no. Max was right as usual. Its generic packaging notwithstanding, Farmer John bacon was scrumptious, delicious, lip-smackingly tasty stuff--and that's saying a lot because, really, it's hard to get it wrong with a food like bacon. Most everyone--everyone who still eats bacon, that is--has their favorite but almost any brand, carefully cooked, is good (I know what I said before. Don't interrupt.) and Farmer John, with its woody, slightly smoky, very big flavor, was exceptional. I'm telling you people, the pigs that gave up their porky little lives for Farmer John brand bacon must have been raised on ambrosia or heather or something similar.

Hog heaven, friends. Hog heaven.

Wednesday Morning Blahs

It's a gray, gray, gray day out there, gang. Low, brooding, moody clouds. Matches my frame of mind perfectly.

I've just punched the mute button on this 1998 Spin City rerun because suddenly I can't stand it. This is a '90's sitcom that could usually be relied upon to give me a chuckle or three, mainly because of affable oddball Richard Kind who, if he's not careful, is on his way to being a TV sidekick national treasure assuming he's not there already. And Michael J. Fox is fine, I've liked him since his Family Ties/Back from the Future glory days, and Heather Locklear is...well...she's very Heather Locklear, but I swear to the God I no longer believe in that if I have to watch the dating dilemmas of one more adorable white het TV couple I'm going to lose my breakfast.

In the next hour Frasier will come on and there'll be the continuing saga (circa 1999) of the romantic misadventures of the lovestruck Niles and the charmingly oblivious Daphne who (come on, you know I'm right on this) became a LOT less appealing after she and Niles finally hooked up in Season Whenever. After which neurotic singleton Grace Adler gets to french every guy she encounters while her other half, Will, gets to frown with concern and make quippy wisecracks on the sidelines with the antic, boy-crazy Jack who never--not once--is allowed similar lip-locks with any of the boys.

Just--enough already, okay? For today, anyway.

Spin City does have a queer black character, the reliable Michael Boatman as Carter Heywood, Minority Affairs honcho of the fictional NY City Hall office of Mayor Randall Winston, but therein lies the rub. Boatman is funny and does the best he can with what he's given, but what's he given? Some witty throwaway lines as he wryly observes the office absurdities, romantic and otherwise, all around him? Both before and after Ellen's groundbreaking "Puppy Episode" the closest thing to a serious love affair Carter was allowed--by which I mean that we the audience were allowed to see--involved him hugging goodbye some hunky closet-case whose "issues" meant neither we nor Carter were ever going to see him again.

Well, there's always LOGO later.

All my zen serenity of this time yesterday has evaporated and I am back to being on pins and needles of anxiety about the artistic workshop Bill had proposed on Sunday. Monday he did another, more extensive email blast to gauge interest and I've not heard anything further since. I'm not sure what to think. I want to put positive energy out there, you know, good karma, but my naturally pessimistic nature is fighting me every step of the way. If Bill gets X number of encouraging reponses will it happen? Great; but what would that mean for me? I'd basically be right back where I started, unable to afford the trip.

On the other hand if he gets qualified responses, where people indicate that like me they want to participate but can't deal with the various costs, an online workshop might well be a go, which would work for me though frankly, I'd rather travel and do the classwork in P-Town (preferably) or Palm Springs.

And what of Tim Huber's participation if Bill decides to try for it online? Can Tim do what he does best (I mean professionally you guys, come on now, behave) electronically? Could Bill and Tim double-team on this electronically? Would they really want to? How would it work?

For that matter how would it work were we all able to meet in person? Could a 2 or 3 day seminar or class that attempted to blend psychological counseling with artistic coaching really yield the desired results? Which would be... what, exactly? What would everyone's expectations be and could they all be met? Bill noted in his blog that he and Tim Miller had done this before with great success, and Tim Miller responded to Bill's blog that he'd just returned from Chicago (He was here? Hello? Where the hell was he? Where the hell was I??) having done something similar (or was it?) with great results (What? What results? What did TM do? What did the two of them do previously?)

I need to get going. (In more ways than one, gang.)

The Daydream Deferred

Feeling so deflated right at this moment. Just heard from Bill regarding the workshop and it doesn't look like it will be a go--the response he's gotten so far has not been strong enough. So many folks have been Bush-whacked by this Gilded Age economy, me included. Ten years ago, five years ago, I could have made the trip; not now.

And I'm annoyed at myself for letting myself get excited. Because I knew, even as I read his post, that I wouldn't be able to put the funds together for the trip. But I so loved what he was proposing that I got carried away anyway in spite of myself.

A ray of hope: There may be the possibility for an online class of some kind, and if so I would like very much to participate. Maybe the response will be stronger to something like that.

Would have been so nice to do this in P-Town, though.

Maybe next year...

Daydreaming An Impossible Little Dream

I'm still breathless from Bill Mann's latest blog posting, in which he asks if anyone out there is interested in a creative writing workshop. In Palm Springs maybe, or Provincetown.

Godamighty. Is he kidding? Is anyone "interested"?? Let me just take a deep breath and see if I can get my tumbling, caroming thoughts in some kind of coherent order.

I would--well, not kill, exactly--but I would do a lot to be able to participate in such an event, even if it's only for 2-3 days. Also I would dearly love to go to Provincetown, Mass and see for myself what it is Bill raves about: the fascinating parade of people, the flow of queer locals and curious tourists, and the water and sun and the unique interplay between the two that produces (he says, others say) the kind of light one doesn't find anywhere else. I'm sure Palm Springs is lovely, but Provincetown is magical, or so I've heard, or so I'd love to see.

And I need a change. I really do. I need to break out of the prison existence I've been living for so long, this soul-deadening routine of work, home, work, home. I long ago walked away from my artwork and my writing, save for this blog, is going nowhere. I need to see other places, meet new people, make more friends, find my joy.

I need to work, but at something that really matters to me, that will make me feel alive and engaged with the world. I don't know if, realistically, a 3 day seminar would help me accomplish all that--that may be asking too much of any sort of class or workshop. But a start. It could be the start of a new path and a new sense of purpose.

If I could go.

I don't see how I possibly could; I'm barely making ends meet as it is. How many hundreds of dollars would a 3 day workshop in Provincetown or Palm Springs cost? How to get there from here? I'm getting depressed just thinking about this now, to think I could be a part of something like this--it's out of the question.

But if I could......

Lulu, Slappy, Mother and Me

From a December 2005 diary:

Reading about Lulu Guinness and her amazing success with her elegantly whimsical handbags for some reason puts me in mind of a Fats Waller song. A period thing, I guess. In the Vanity Fair profile Mrs. Guinness emerges as a witty singular personality, confident from the start about her affinity for the glamour of a bygone era. As young as age 9 she knows who she is and trusts her instincts enough to let her creative impulses lead her to a happy (and lucrative) adult life.

Lulu Guinness, I salute you.

Lulu Guinness, rescue me.

I had Lulu's kind of confidence once. Didn't last long, sadly. If I'd been luckier in the gene pool lottery or if my parents had been simultaneously more mature and adventurous... i know. It's cheap and easy to blame mom and dad for your adult failures. Then again there is an argument to made for how your beginnings can seal--or at least strongly influence--your fate. Personally, I cringe when I remember how my mother--

Oh, hell. That is too easy.

But you know, my pre-adult life might have been happier and fuller if only my mother had had the wisdom, or the confidence, or both, to take advantage of certain unique opportunities that came her way.

Like the offer in the late 50's to be a straight man, er, woman, to Redd Foxx--or was it Slappy White?--when she was a barely-twenty-something nightclub dancer at the Club DeLisa; Mom was pretty, curvy and funny, an apparently rare combination.

Mom said she spurned the offer because she didn't want to have to deal with a reportedly pathologically jealous wife and also she suspected, not without some justification, that Mr. White's--or was it Mr. Foxx's?--interest in partnering her was not strictly professional. Under the circumstances I suppose I can understand Mother's disinclination to follow that one up.

And then there was the offer in the early 70's to move to Denmark as the guest of her coworker friend, N, who was returning to her homeland with her young son, A.

N assured my mom there would be plenty of room for all of us on the family estate, regaling her with all the cultural and educational opportunities for Joey and me; Mom said thanks, really, thank you--but, no.

When some years later Mother told me about all of this, I wanted to throttle her. I really did. She passed on great adventures for herself and the possibility of untold opportunities for her family. What was she thinking, turning all of that down? Where was her spirit?

But all my mother could see looming ahead was the stress and confusion of packing up and starting over and the challenges, the unknown difficulties, of navigating strange new worlds...

Typical. If someone had ever made such offers to me, I'd have... um...... Without hesitation, I'd've.... hmmm.

*sigh*

Too Stressed Tonight To Write

Oh, fuck!

Is Spybot worth the trouble or not? I just don't know anymore.

First of all, it takes a frikkin' year for the thing to load and do its stuff whenever you try to open the program to download updates and run a scan... Now, apparently, in trying to download what I (obviously mistakenly) thought was a legit updated version of Spybot on my mom's PC, I've unleashed something nasty enough to disable her BitDefender anti-virus. (I have to monitor and run her PC security because she won't, because she forgets how it all works, and anyway she forgets to do it, and anyway she doesn't really want to have to deal with stuff like this. That's what her daughter is for. Among other things.)

Now I sit here anxiously waiting to hear from BitDefender support for instructions on what to do next, praying the damage, if there is any, is negligible. I can't concentrate on anything else until this is resolved...

Oh, fuck! I had none of these headaches back in 1995. If Gates, Allen and Microsoft really want to impress me, they'll come up with a System Restore that will return me--forget the damn computer; me--to a younger, less techno-stressful time.

Pressed For Time

Unnngghh..! I really have some things to say, really feel like writing, but no time just now to type. (Should have gotten up and out earlier this morning...)

Oh, well. Maybe tonight. If not, tomorrow first thing. Promise.