"We Build Our Own Monsters"

"I want the laws to change so that children aren't property."


Hi gang. Something really important this entry.

On January 14, Vachss will be answering questions about his books, his practice...anything his audience submits on a live webcast. I guarantee that you will be riveted once he opens his mouth. I dare you to dismiss it. TiVo the damn Grey's Anatomy. Don't contribute to the ignorance.

I was at a holiday party speaking with a woman who counsels children from broken homes, foster homes, abusive homes. I felt sure when I mentioned Andrew Vachss that she and I would have a lengthy and passionate dialogue. Not so. She had no idea who Vachss is. Not that I'm an expert in criteria, but everyone from law enforcement and social work to bag boys and ice-skaters should know who this man is.

Readers, do yourselves a favor: take 10 seconds to peruse his site. There is nothing more important than what Andrew stands for. There is horror inflicted on children every second and our laws protect the predators.

There are incest laws that treat predators with more leniencies; the crime is considered less severe because it happens within the family. The prey is returned to same cage as the predator and the laws state that it's not only tolerated, but acceptable.

Did you know this?!
Are you ok with this?!

Prick up your ears, readers. It's effortless, really, to just be a tad more aware of this cycle of abuse and how it's perpetuated and, dare I say, nearly encouraged by our lackadaisical attitudes.

How often do you get coupons in your mailbox for carpet cleaning or RV rentals? Do you ever take a milli-second to check the back of those coupons? Have you seen me?

Children do not have rights until they're 18 years old and by then it's far too late. The abuse has taken place, the child picks up the cycle or the child is dead.

It doesn't cost anything to be aware. Knowledge is free. I'm not asking you to donate anything, sign a petition or call your governor. Just pay attention.

Vachss began as a federal investigator of sexually transmitted diseases. He encountered a case where a tiny baby had contracted syphilis after being sodomized by the father. Vachss sat face to face with this monster who responded with 'It's my kid. I'll do what I want to it and it's no business of the government.'

That was the first of a community of devils that Vachss encountered. And so it began.

In a nutshell, Vachss began writing books that gained a tremendous cult following. They are wicked cool pulp that are journalistic, not fictionalized. They're fantastic reads, but my favorite part about his books is that they fund his practice. He's devoted his life to representing child victims and he does it with razor-sharp precision.

"I try cases where, if I lose, the predator gets to take the victim home. There's no margin for error.”

I don't care if you don't have kids. I don't care if you don't even like kids. We should be humiliated to be part of a species that creates, tolerates, protects monsters who rob and feed off innocents. You can't call them animals. I know of NO other species that permits habitual abuse of its young.

On January 14, Vachss will be answering questions about his books, his practice...anything his audience submits on a live webcast. I guarantee that you will be riveted once he opens his mouth. I dare you to dismiss it.

TiVo the damn Grey's Anatomy. Don't contribute to the ignorance.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andrew_Vachss

http://www.vachss.com/

http://www.vachss.com/anotherlife/webcast_2009.html

http://www.speakupstudios.com/Listen.aspx?ShowUID=256284

http://www.protect.org/

...did i mention that he's a dog lover?

his writing:


Flood (1985)
Strega (1987)
Blue Belle (1988)
Hard Candy (1989)
Blossom (1990)
Sacrifice (1991)
Down in the Zero (1994)
Footsteps of the Hawk (1995)
False Allegations (1996)
Safe House (1998)
Choice of Evil (1999)
Dead and Gone (2000)
Pain Management (2001)
Only Child (2002)
Down Here (2004)
Mask Market (2006)
Terminal (2007)
Another Life (Dec. 30, 2008)

[edit] Other novels
A Bomb Built in Hell (1973)
Shella (1993)
Batman: The Ultimate Evil (1995)
The Getaway Man (2003)
Two Trains Running (2005)

[edit] Short story collections
Born Bad (1994)
Everybody Pays (1999)
Proving It (2001) Audiobook collection.
Dog Stories Online collection.

[edit] Graphic novels and series
Hard Looks (1992-93) Ten-volume series.
Batman: The Ultimate Evil (1995) Two-volume graphic novel.
Cross (1995) Seven-volume series with James Colbert.
Predator: Race War (1993) Five-volume series; (1995) Single-volume graphic novel, collection of 1993 series.
Alamaailma (1997) Finnish graphic novel, illustrating two of the "Underground" short stories from Born Bad.
Hard Looks (1996, 2002) Single-volume trade paperback.
Another Chance To Get It Right: A Children's Book for Adults (1993, 1995) (Reprinted with additional material, 2003.)

[edit] Plays
Placebo (in Antaeus, 1991)
Warlord (in Born Bad, 1994)
Replay (in Born Bad, 1994)

[edit] Non-fiction
The Life-Style Violent Juvenile: The Secure Treatment Approach (Lexington, 1979)
The Child Abuse-Delinquency Connection — A Lawyer's View (Lexington, 1989)
Articles in PARADE Magazine (1985-2006)
Other Articles and Essays (1985-2006)

deeannland, frozen

~"Loose" by Primer. i'm glad i'm too old to be in the audience when they sing this song, but i do miss those mosh-pit days.  last time i was in a mosh-pit, i lost a shoe.  Sandon, if you're reading, thanks for piggy-backing me home.

~Encounters at the end of the world, by W. Herzog.  want a good cry? watch the penguin scene. want to feel fascination, surprise and small? watch the diving scenes.

~"Even when the bird is walking we know that it has wings." ~Victor Hugo because just once, you should walk passed someone, make eye-contact, and just know.  i hope it's happened to you.  something you won't forget.

hi gang.  been dealing with some personal things of late and the blog suffers.  i've never ever been one to write a journal or any such, so i'm always slightly disgusted and amused that i come back.  at least three times a week i hear from someone who says that they watched one of my movies, loved a quote, discovered a song or 'got' what i said and usually adds to it.  this i love. maybe that's why i come back.  not to contribute at all, but to hear from you.  so, i've said it before..thanks again.

a little while back, i wrote something about my memories of driving to mammoth lakes, not very long after i finished chemo.  it still feels relevant.  i have pretty steadfast memories of the trip, the time and introspection.  i went to mammoth to help paint a house.  i saw a big beautiful bear about 3 feet away from me and i saw the stars clearer than anywhere i've ever seen them.  i remember taking an early-morning walk and the silence of the cold was unlike anything. i wanted to strip down and disappear.  i still do.

Driving through hundreds of acres of desert, I didn’t feel the beauty of it, I didn’t listen to the Joshua trees, all I could think was How many rapes happened here? How many bodies buried? How many wide-eyed pleas? Duct-taped mouths? I wanted to ask the driver to stop the car- don’t even pull over, there’s no need, just stop. There was no one before or after us. Let me work my way through the sand. I don’t think I’d have to dig to find a stray tooth or wristwatch. We drove on.
We passed a town called Okinyoke, a name i considered around my tongue. There was a place named Independence that had exactly 14 houses, a playground, 4 tricycles, an impala on blocks, and a functioning jail that is nearly larger than the town. We stopped in a town called Jerkette Junction where a man missing fingers said he lives on a gold-mine that eats strangers, especially government men. He told me he had a dog like mine, but the coyotes got her. There was no expression in his tales and likewise, I felt nothing. Where once I was proud of curiosity, now I sauter interest. I am interested in the wrong things. I know it.
For two years, I lived in an arid scape, very much like these towns, that was peppered with one-room haunts. All of the windows and all of the doors were boarded; those that were pried were dangerously opened, by ruffians and guiltless ne'er-do-wells. The quiet of these stops was unnatural. The towns suddenly just lost. 

There was a long dog chain attached to no dog, but tied to a signpost that read: SEVERED HEAD FALLS: Come make a wish. I dropped many shiny coins into the town well, but never once heard them hit bottom. This is chemo.

a fantasy i'd love to land

~"Rich Girl" by The Virgins because it's funky and good for hip-swayin'.

~'Little Britain', an English comedy series. it's not great like 'Absolutely Fabulous' or 'The Young Ones', but there's a skit that is at once tender and funny between the characters Lou and Andy. i pretty much giggle and say 'aaaohw'.

"I always wake up at the crack of ice." -Joe Lewis. kids, i know drinking too much is bad just like i know smoking and sex in a gas station bathroom that doesn't have a lock on the door is bad, but it's the only vice i've got left (except for high heels. shut up.)

hi gang. been a while. i used to be disciplined about my writing when i was younger. that's not true. not disciplined, exactly. if i went a day without writing i felt oogy. now, not so much. with a lot of things that come with age, there are a lot of things that go with age. anyhow, i was thinking about my perfect day(s). because today was definitely less-than. i've got a few perfect day fantasies. i think this one qualifies as a perfect day-in-the-life fantasy. here's what i got:

i've never been to montana. but i think about it. it could be anywhere, i suppose. i fantasize that i live on several acres in a state or country that has red dirt. even though i live on several acres, somehow, dolly parton and sia are my close neighbors. naturally, we all have sun rooms and porches with swings. on an ideal day, dolly knocks on my door about 10.30am and wants to know if i've got any baking soda. of course i do because i bake. she takes it and as she's stepping off the porch, sia is coming through the picket fence with two bottles of champagne in each hand. i say, "come on up, but what are YOU gonna drink?" sia giggles and we're wearing matching pink high-tops. dolly decides that her banana bread can wait and sits on the porch with sia and i and we drink and laugh about boys and how weird feet are. i've got goats and dogs running in and out of the house. their names, collectively, are Tallulah, Louie, George, Hank, Lulu, Darla, Dahlia, Daisy, Sarge, Boogie, Buster and Dude. the weather is warm warm warm. oh! and there's a law&order marathon playing on mute in the front room and we're listening to a mix of salsa and dido (who's moving to our neighborhood, too). i put out a cheese plate, dance salsa with sia (who's plays the part of the man. ahem), and dolly tries on some of my heels even though they're too big for her. the sun falls, i turn on the xmas lights. the gals go home and i take a bath. the next afternoon, dolly and sia come over with fresh banana bread and a movie. and dido.

i've got a dozen perfect days. stay tuned. thanks for staying with me, gang. it's been a rough ride and this life is a strange strange cargo.

velvet

"...the sea is a collector, quick to return a rapacious look. There are others besides you who have worn that look--"
~~Marianne Moore, because i like to remember that i'm not invisible

'Don't believe in love' by Dido because, o boy, it's as if she took a page out of the diary i don't keep.

Rocky Balboa, because it is one of my favorite romantic movies...and i hate romantic movies.  

hiya gang.  short entry tonite.  kind of cheating, really. i'm going to list things i like.  i feel bad for seeming like a real grump in my last few entries (still pissed about cancer.  it just claimed a pal i know who is 19 years old.  she's not even old enough to drink away reality for a time.  so yea, still pissed, yea.)

here are some neat things.

-sock monkeys

-gardenias.  i was at the opera tonite.  there was an old fella, in a wheelchair and bad state, but bless his sweet biscuits, he wore a vibrant and fragrant gardenia on his lapel.  no other flower like the gardenia.  looks like it should be strong with its thick waxy leaves and substantial petals, but one touch and it turns brown.  there's a huge metaphor in that flower.

-email and cocktail waitressing.  neither involve talking on the telephone, and both allow you to stay a safe distance from your audience (and still look super-fine).

-pie. there's an episode of 'Pushing Daisies' in which the gal with the voice asks the gal with the bangs if a 'pear pie with gruyere cheese baked in the crust' would make her feel better.  i feel better just thinking about it.

-cake. champagne cake, specifically (my gal pal made one for my birthday that made me cry it was so awesome)(thanks sweet lori)

-mustard

-wearing necklaces in my bubble bath

-slow dancing in a spaghetti strap dress, super super if it's orange.

-green high heels

-birthdays

-istvan banyai's sense of humor and smell

-grey hair

-lipstick

-bath robes

-sleep

-age

-priests who smoke

-large noses

-soil

-the sound of gravel under foot

-corvettes

-saturday morning

-the sound of a dog snoring

-pearls

-cardigans

-bernie mac

-the pizza at Carinos in la jolla.  best in california. 

-old-fashioned microphones

-dancing with abandon

-zero phone calls

-someone happy to see me, genuine

-jellyfish

-fireplaces

-great heights

cheese louise, this list could just go on and on, but i'm a bit sleepy. 

thanks for sticking with...and, maybe try to do what i do and think of 5 things for which i'm thankful.  i try to do it in the morning, but sometimes it only works after a long day.

dee ann's dating rules, an on-going list

~'From the Hip', by Lloyd Cole because he makes resignation sound like a relief instead of a surrendering of standards.

~"Actions lie louder than words." -Carolyn Wells

~Notorious - does anyone in that movie get what phenomenal job Bergman's Alicia did? Talk about above and beyond in the name of sacrifice. How far do you go for a country of men?


hi gang. this list, i predict, will get longer, the longer i live. if any of you have anything to add, hit me up. spoken or unspoken, i'm sure we all have our yes, no, and maybes.
so,

This one goes out to the date who did nothing:

>Don’t pinch my knee. I'm ticklish there. Ticklish is not playful; it's annoying.
>Don't ask me a question that you want to answer.
>Don't give me a ride home. That's creepy. Besides, you're never going to get lucky with the car running in front of my apartment complex.
>Let's try something different: Assume that I'm intelligent.
>Do not ogle other women while you're sitting with me.
>I can smell it on you: There's no need to tell me that you make a lot of money. What I want to know is if your soul is intact.
...Even if I threw a headache party, you still wouldn't be invited.

hate to seem, with all of my 'don't do' that i'm being pessimistic and negative. to counteract that, maybe my next list will be full of 'do do'. same difference, ain't it?

cheers. stay light. clink. slink.

face skyward

~“Why would you play by the rules?”, Dave Matthews because today i didn't.

~'Hit 'em up style (oops!)' by Blu Cantrell because it's a hip-swayin', bubble-blowin', wash-that-man-outta-my-hair ditty

~Sexy Beast, it's one of my favorite movies anyway, but when Winstone's character looks at his wife DeeDee with such obvious devotion...it melts my heart.  (then i remember-  ...acting)

hi y'all.  sit for a drink, pull up a spell.

what an incredibly different day. thank zeus. i couldn't take another yesterday.

today was great.  it started last nite. for those of you who don't know of it, go. here. now.

http://imtooyoungforthis.org/

you can check on facebook, but on the first thursday of each month,  there's a Stupid Cancer Happy Hour at a select san francisco bar.  a group of us get together, talk or don't talk about what we've gone through, give advice, complain, kiss, and most importantly drink and toast to being around to toast to being around.  it is such a fun group.  it isn't necessarily about cancer, but it's definitely a cohesive factor.  and we don't check at the door, so if you don't or haven't had a tumor, you can still come.  i've made a terrific connection with a gal named ellen and i just don't know what i was before i met her, but i'm much happier now.  her smile brings me back to the surface.  which is tonite's theme: smiling and laughing.

my gal pal and i went to a post-election dance party last nite at a club that is normally reserved for the meat-market mentality and creepy older guys trolling for skank.  BUT, last nite, it was full of people who volunteered during the obama campaign.  instead of slimy old guys drinking martinis and scotch trying to get up-the-skirt views, it was full of happy people dancing the last 8 years off.  kinky hair, straight hair, yellow hair, pink. no hair, greasy hair, afros & sweat.  it was just a room of feelin' good.

i guess i got home around 2am.  i think i ate a whole round of cheese and probably a whole crate of crackers, watched Bigger, Stronger, Faster a doc about a family on steroids.  sad, but frustrating and tough to understand.  i reluctantly got out of bed around 7am and thanked zeus that my job is my job.  in other words, i'm not a brain surgeon today.

in fact, as i told my gals, i was thinking sometimes how nice it would be to have a mimosa at work some mornings.  i'd bring with me a little chilled thermos and happily type away into lunch.  mimosa + thermos = thermosa. et voila.  

i'm getting to the point, i swear.  and the point is laughter. through emails and im's today, i laughed, giggled, chuckled, snickered, joked all day with two of my best gals. jokes bring out imagination in me and imagination makes me feel alive. even if the creativity from it goes nowhere, it's like taking a languorous swim.  the back-and-forth, the give-and-take is good for you.  the hang-over gods were kind to me: i sauntered into the office; there was a fresh pot of coffee; i was actually early; i made my deadline. ok, that's nice.  but it was the best day i've had in a long long time because i spent the day laughing. and it lasts. it's carrying me into my quests tonite and i feel positively jaunty.  i'm positive that it's contagious. so, don't forget to laugh as much and often as you can. seek it. make it. give it. you deserve it. 

cheers to you all.  thanks for playing.  clink. fin.

far enough away, not to be seen

~"Four be the things I'd have been better without:
Love, curiosity, freckles and doubt." Dorothy Parker. yes, again. i could probably do us all a favor, stop writing this ludicrous blog and just submit a Parker quote each day. let the old broad speak for me in that ways she does.

~‘Good Feeling’ by The Violent Femmes. Valid questions in lyrics to a tune that sounds like it’s in a rowboat in a lake with no direction whatsoever.

~ Portrait of a Lady, because restraint and being nice only get you so far and it's usually to the cul-de-sac in the neighborhood of Feeling Foolish.


ever feel like you need to take your eyeballs out and wash them? some of the things i see i don’t want to make passed my eyes and into my head. why aren’t my eyes better gatekeepers? or is it the brain’s fault for being so voracious? i’m starting to envy delusional ignorants. can i just, jesus tap-dancing christ, stop thinking for a little bit? turn it off. cover it up. make it stop. curiosity hurts sometimes. how do i shut down, power out, quit this life?

OMG 08ama!

no quotes, songs, or movies tonite, folks.

i'm almost too jazzed to type.  i don't know what is more thrilling: president obama, or ...the fact that mccain and palin got their collective asses WHIPPED. 

ladies and gentlemen,

History.

you may not have been alive to witness the coming on of television, integrated schools, or microwave popcorn, but look around and feel this and don't stop paying attention.  

my hopeful cynic has been elevated.  

i'm satisfied for now.

i still want to see a woman in the office.  i want to live long enough to see the differences between a *(%)#$(*#&$, a ($(*$@$$#*%&!, Obama, and a woman.

i'm proud that the polling stations were packed.  in all of my  years of voting, i've never seen this kind of comeback and it makes my heart swell.  

i also kind of get a warm, wet feeling because i'm looking at mccain and palin on tv right now...here's what pleases me:

1. cindy mccain can self-medicate now without the interference of the press.  burn, baby, burn.

2. Palin is deflating before my very eyes.  i couldn't have asked for better coverage of her demise.  

3. mccain will die soon.

4. and then his wife can self-medicate without the interference of anybody.

when i turned 18, one of the first things i did was register to vote.  not buy a lottery ticket or get a tattoo.  i couldn't wait! 

i always said that i love this country, but the government scares the shit out of me.

my theory used to be: apathy reigns.  i'm re-thinking that.

and now...i must look at the local initiatives.  fingers, toes, eyes crossed.

my best to you all.  and----my thanks.

sweet hearts on fire

holy crap. thanks to all of you who have left comments about my last angry post. i never knew anybody really read me, but i knew i couldn't afford the 200$/week for therapy. i didn't want to bother anyone by talking about it, so here i came.

while i realize the importance of maintaining your humor and high spirits, sometimes that can wear you down just as much as treatment.

i hope i didn't come off as a total crank, but dammit....i really did consider getting one of those bozo clown punching bags. but i swear to you, the way i'm feeling, it wouldn't last 10 minutes with me. i'd punch it, then pin it down and stab it with a fork. repeatedly.

...i'ma go on craigslist and find one!

and, to flanthrower, please tell your mom that it is largely due to women like her that help us get through it. my diagnosing doctor was a real piece of work -horrible, cold bedside manner. i ended up using my mom's oncologist who was an angel (props to doc weisman), but his nurses and staff got me through the hours, days, months, years. thank her for me, please.

cheers to you all. go fix yourself a mimosa and know that you're always invited to deeannland.

love to you all. i swear, i'm right there with you.

my best gal, tricia

hey kids.

one more thing.  my gal tricia wrote this for me.  she's my favorite poet.  i went to grad school with her.  she awed me then and she continues to amaze me now.  terrific sensibilities and tremendous humor.

thanks, babe.  you've no idea.

Bee Collector in Hospital

When they couldn't find her among the ceanothus, black sage, buckwheat, and poppies, the bees swarmed the attic, into the bedroom sanctuary

where they sought her in the mesh of nets, glass jars, rows of tweezers and pins.
In furious confusion they tossed their velvet bodies against windows, each tap,

a storm that gilded the draperies and bed clothes with their harvest of dust.
There was no one home to see it.

Each bee-- bumble, honey, carpenter, and mason-- lost its dance, held its cellophane
wings close, mumbled a song in sill corners until the heat, finally, took them.

She returned late, dazed and stitched, found her insect-loves brittle with sacrifice
and held each one as tenderly as a raindrop, inspecting mandible, proboscis, and stinger.

Then, head to thorax, she pinned it to the homasote with the grace of a queen.




-Tricia Caspers-Ross
for dee ann

mad

~"I know that there are things that never have been funny, and never will be. And I know that ridicule may be a shield, but it is not a weapon." -Dorothy Parker (expect Dorothy to make several appearances in deeannland)

~'So Broken', Bjork, because it's cautious about how clever it is. And it has the tempo of certainty, necessary for persistence of the human-kind.

~Noise, properly conveys how something can mean so much to one person while everyone around that person responds with "so what?" and the resulting frustration.  It's a comedy.

hi gang.  pull up a strong one because i'm going to go on a teeny-tiny rant.  and yes, sigh, eye-roll, it's about cancer.  for those of you with the above "so what?" attitude, please, i implore you, stop reading.

but i think, after three years of being mostly out of the muck, i'm finally pissed off about it.  i never got mad while i was going through surgeries or chemo; it was just something that happened.  and it is, that, too.  but it's starting to dawn on me that i've got this fire-eyed, clawed-creature in me that is ferocious over:  pharmaceutical companies being in bed with insurance companies being in bed with the government being in bed with the doctors...and i'm most angry about: breasts.

when my first diagnosis was that i had 8 months or so to live (god that reads so dramatic), i self-denied like any good girl does, didn't tell anyone, and promised my HR department that i'd work up until the day i started losing my hair. after i had to tell my boss about the diagnosis she asked, "What is your plan of action moving forward? I'll need to know for my schedule." heh heh. what?

i told HR that i'd eventually like it if they could arrange for me to work from home because i was pretty sure, despite how i'd seen my mother dissolve, that i could do it. O readers. Sweet readers. sure, a lot of people can still work, provided adjustments. but many cannot. take a short stroll with me through Chemo Gardens!

before you begin chemotherapy (bear in mind that it's tailor-made for each type of cancer, stage, person and age), you're given The Literature. it's full of bald, smiling women with beautiful teeth and adoring husbands. i get that. for shit's sake you sure don't want the marketing company who really tells it like it is. if they passed out pamphlets showing people hugging the toilet for the sixth hour that day, or gripping their insides until their skin turns grey, or hallucinating that someone has stolen their car when they don't even own a car, i guess that marketing company wouldn't exist very long and would give over their mini-mall storefront to a bagel café or somesuch. 

for nearly two years, every other week, we made a two-hour drive to my 5-hour chemo appointments. when i had surgeries scheduled, we'd stay at some hotel by the hospital. guess what they put next to the breast care center? Hooters.  so, while the wives, daughters, sisters, mothers are getting their mastectomies, at least the fellas can go get a greasy burger and ogle. pisses me off.

besides losing weight to the point of being unrecognizable, you're bald as a ping-pong ball, you lose your eyelashes, eyebrows, will to live, everything you eat, if you're lucky, only a couple of toenails/fingernails will fall off. BUT, if you're lucky like i was, you still have enough leg hair to shave every other day. where the hell is the justice in that?

and, of course, no one knows what to say if you don't cut them off at the pass and make a joke of everything, and you have to make a joke of everything because people don't like sad or cranky sick people. you're supposed to have a great attitude so people can say "s/he's amazing. What a great spirit." (do the bullshit-cha-cha with me, kids.) so they're sublimely uncomfortable around you. i heard "hey you're lucky; you're saving a fortune on shampoo." how, again, is that lucky? in other words "hey you're lucky you've got this terminal illness and have lost your hair, etc". yea! hey, that's neat! i never thought of that!

my unsolicited advice: If you don't know what to say, shut up and just smile. it really does means a lot.

when i finally had the nerve and strength to leave the house after nearly two years, i had some hair. my first trip -and i was so scared because i was paranoid of getting sick or doing something wrong that made me sick again- was to see my beautiful sis LL in Petaluma. i'd not seen her since she moved up there and i made the drive. going over my gorgeous Golden Gate felt like a real milestone. we went to Bodega Bay and stopped to eat (because i could). there was a couple behind us, dining. my sister had gone to the bathroom. the young man said to his date, "I don't know why any woman would cut her hair that short. It reminds me of my gym teacher in high school...and he was a guy."

back in San Diego i went to a music festival with my other fabu sister. we were at an outdoor Italian place waiting for a pitcher of sweet, lusty beer when this drunken guy came over with a camera and said, "You know, I'm a photographer. I would have liked to take your picture, but I don't know why you've done that to your hair. You could have a nice face, but…."

what makes it even more difficult is our breast-obsessed society. they're everywhere, and it hurts. i'm trying to think of how the fellas would feel if the proverbial tables were turned. what if you saw penises everywhere you looked? billboards, calendars, jokes, men's and women's magazine covers, napkins, coasters, newspapers, television, restaurants, t-shirts, video games, postcards screen savers. it's bad enough that the images are *i'm so sorry for this* shoved down your throat, but then, what if you suffered this awful disease and survived…without your penis?

everywhere you look a reminder of what you went through and what you are without. people say "you're not your body". i am. i can't have one without the other. i want people to step back and consider, be mindful. i want to scream that cancer is fucking ugly and hard and savage. and that the "treatments" are worse than that and last forever. you are never cancer-free. it's a whole multi-dimensional miscalculated mess. i think it's happening to me now: There was no point in being angry when i was sick, but. now. i am mad. 

this is cheaper than therapy.  i'm going to go watch mitch hedburg and fix a drink.  guh.  cheers i guess. 

a dark room that isn't empty can be dangerous, lonely or lovely

~"…words are slippery and thought is viscous." -Henry Brooks Adams

~'Banderilla' by Calexico because it has no words and it's the type of song to which you sway with yourself, by yourself, alone with yourself, maybe in a crowd.

~Dead Man, because of its quiet oddservation.

this is  all for tonite, kids.  read on if you will.  it's just stream of c, because that's all i can seem to formulate today.  thanks. cheers and all.

The Clinical Effects of Idiocy on Relations, Intimate and Otherwise
A free pamphlet to be distributed among doctors' offices nation-wide.   
 
 
Polka-dots flirt

Hands make sandwiches

Driving caps revv my libido

Does sadness wake you up?

Sweater dresses keep me honest

Lee Remick died before I met her

I'd like to buy Mrs. Orbach a meal

Stuffed animals have souls that I don't want to be responsible for

Why do I understand 'the less I eat the better I feel' and 'the better I love the more I reel'? 

I've got in my mind's eye the image of an empty car with the back door ajar

What stories would you find if you dragged the ocean?

I feel better when I touch my toes

There should be a peccadillo tree

> or <

read and enjoy. or not. today's dwight yoakam's birthday. as you may or may not know by now, i love the marking of a year gone by with a celebration. it's a congratulations of sorts. getting older is a serious pain in the ass and i love it. when you hear "you've got 6 months or so; might want to get your things in order" it's fun to count every month after that.

i was watching this kinda lousy movie called Constantine and there's this actor in it named Pruitt Taylor Vince.  i forgot about him.  he drools and wriggles like nobody's business. he's from baton rouge and came into acting by mistake; a computer mishap enrolled him in an acting class by mistake. lucky us.

i'm going to sign off.  this blog is pretty dumb.  there are a million topics i want to touch. there are a billion injustices that make me angry.  ...but not tonite.  i've always been taught to keep that stuff to myself.  maybe i will.  in the meantime, here are some fancy quotes and whatnots.

A stiff apology is a second insult. The injured party does not want to be
compensated because he has been wronged; he wants to be healed because he
has been hurt. -G.K. Chesterton

If they can get you asking the wrong questions, they don't have to worry about the answers. -Thomas Pynchon

“Just me and a thousand good-byes.”
-MichaelTimmins

"Not that I want to be a god or a hero. Just to change into a tree,
grow for ages, not hurt anyone."
-Czeslaw Milosz

tropism (TRO-piz-uhm) noun
The turning or bending (typically by growth instead of movement)
of an organism in response to an external stimulus.

“When I was young, I admired clever people. Now that I am old, I admire kind people.” -Abraham Joshua Heschel

"...the sea is a collector, quick to return a rapacious look. There are others besides you who have worn that look--"
~~Marianne Moore

"People sense a home where love is dying."
~~Martin Roper 'Our House'

volitant (VOL-i-tuhnt) adjective
1. Flying or capable of flight.
2. Active; moving about rapidly.

mulligrubs (MUL-i-grubz) noun
1. Grumpiness; colic; low spirits.
2. An ill-tempered person.

"Kindness is more important than wisdom, and the recognition of this is the
beginning of wisdom." -Theodore Rubin

We in America do not have government by the majority. We have government by the majority who participate. -Thomas Jefferson

Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get
better. It's not." -Dr. Seuss

“The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new.”
-Samuel Beckett

“In the beginning, sometimes I left messages in the street.”
-David Markson, Wittgenstein’s Mistress

conversations with my broken pencil

~"I'm never going to be famous. My name will never be writ large on the roster of Those Who Do Things. I don't do any thing. Not one single thing. I used to bite my nails, but I don't even do that any more." -Dorothy Parker. i think i'd adore her. i think i'd abore her.

~'Words so Leisured', by Franz Ferdinand because it's a confused-reverence/observation about a clever woman.

~The Secret Life of Words, i love her silence. i love her methodical way. i loathe the reason. crimes against women.  never explanation, never justification. neverending.

hi gang. pull up.

i don't feel much like writing.  did you know that reading this blog also gives you free access to dee ann's Contributions to Crappy Copy?

it's true, and it's free.  i write for men's clothing.  it's a supreme-o job and i dig it, but sometimes, when i have to write for crewneck #79 that looks like crewnecks  #1-78, i've got to break out and do a little bit of stream of consciousness. 

every now and again, i'll submit it here as i'm sure to get sacked if i submit it there.  

sleep, my friends.  sleep as much and long as you can.  and don't sleep with those you love. cheers and i continue to be thankful for my readers.

Triple-blend jacket
Hi. My name is jackety-jack. I'll be serving as your layer this evening, and any other evening that you don't take out your girlfriend because you're a lout. Pay no attention to the little spot of vomit on the sleeve. I don't even think it's mine--the vomit, not the sleeve. Two front button-flap pockets hold your cell phone and condom/cocaine packets. Make sure to write out the "they aren't mine!" excuse and practice it for when your girlfriend catches you. You can even keep your excuse in the button-flap pocket, but make sure to take it out so your g/f doesn't catch you a third time prompting you to come up with even one more excuse to explain the excuse. You know what? Relationships are complicated. Break up with her, but keep the jacket. It's nice.
The essential outer layer crafted in substantial cotton, wool and nylon provides warmth and style for every season.
Ribbed mock collar, cuffs and hem. Two front button-flap pockets.
86% Cotton, 10% Wool, 4% Nylon.
Dry clean.

Cotton crewneck
Why would anyone pay 45$ for something that's already faded? Why don't you just hand me the 45$ and I'll tell you what to wear. For starters, you're not fooling anyone with that sporty half-tucked shirt. You're old. Deal with it. Next, how about wearing pants that actually make you look like you have an ass? If your butt gets invaded by aliens who deflate it with supernatural hoses, then you have my permission to wear baggy-ass pants.
While we're at it, wash that shit out of your hair. Save "edgy" for the Grand god-damned Canyon.
Great on its own or as a layering piece, this comfortable go-everywhere shirt is a wardrobe essential.
Crewneck, long sleeves.
100% Cotton.
Machine wash.

'Healing is Difficult'

~'Henry Lee' by PJ Harvey and Nick Cave, because, as all things Cave, it's a tale of irrational beauty. youtube the video of those two and by the end of it you'll be thinking that they're the most gorgeous creatures on the planet. maybe they are.

~"The way I see it really doesn't matter/Why do you cock your head to the side when you look at me?"-Sia. she is a wise naif if ever there was one. Sia, if you're reading, i will clean your ears for free if you'd ask me.

~Head On, see PJ/Nick quote above.  i can't believe i don't own this movie already. it's a love story complete with a turkish chorus. when people find each other and all is right even with the wrong, hold on. for chrissake, hold on.

hi gang.  pull up a spell, sit for a drink.

i was going to go into a couple of complex topics tonite (complexity? in a frikken blog?), but thought better of it.  i'm just going to share musings.  for those of you reading, what are you still doing here?  and thank you.

 

i hate to combine these two topics, but before i get started on my useless rant, i'd like to draw your attention to my best gal, rachael.  bless her golden, bold heart, she's running 13+ miles.  if you're so inclined, visit the site that is dedicated to her ma.  donate if you can.  janette was a woman like my mom: worthy of extreme comfort, wealth and sainthood.  humility and generosity are underrated today, but they're traits that janette passed on to rachael and that's why i love her.  

http://www.active.com/donate/umbrellamarathon08/rachaelnike

go.  i feel i owe janette a lifetime of gratitude for her daughters.  it isn't right that she's gone. quite frankly, i'm pissed about it.  i can't...just...it's just too much all the time already.

next topic.  i was looking up grave sites of famous people.  i used to have a print out of billy wilder's tombstone at my desk because, i don't know, it just seemed whimsical.  so i found it again along with jack lemmon's and i thought i'd share.  then, i thought about what my tombstone would say.  since i'll be cremated and tossed in the ocean, or wherever the poor sod who is left with the task decides is convenient, i won't have one, but if i did have a tombstone, what would it say?

~blah blah blah

~what are you lookin' at?

~details, details

~it's not what you think

~one last good stiff one

~drop dead fabulous

~Godka

ok.  it's dumb.  but i'm tired and my appetite is nil. enjoy the pics.  i'm out.

cheers. i guess. clink. 

happiness is a warm spud

~'She's talking to someone (she's not talking to me)' by BR-549. great band. great name. perfect rockin' chair song for the hopeful lamenting.


~“Animal factories are one more sign of the extent to which our technological capacities have advanced faster than our ethics.” -Peter Singer. ain't it the truth?



~The Search for One-Eyed Jimmy because it is the finest ever ever ever performance by John Turturro. too brief, John, far too brief. hear me now.


hey folks, sit for a spell. knowing my unhealthy lust for french fries, my pal Lori said that i should blog about good places to get french fries. she wants to know where to get waffle-cut fries...i was lacking in recommendations, so now i'm on a tiny quest. i'm sure there are already several hundred tramillion fry-bloggers out there, but ok, Lori, here's a few off the top. and by the way, the pursuit is happiness.

Maxfield's -2 montgomery street inside the palace hotel. truffle oil fries. it's like if someone were to give you a 1954 corvette and it just happened to be your favorite color. fortune! truffle oil is earthy and ash-like. you don't necessarily taste the oil on your tongue, it's more of an aroma in your throat that you thank the spud gods for. they are not as greasy as one would expect- it's my understanding that they double-fry the spuds- but when they turn cold, you do get that sort of post-BJ film on the roof of your mouth. apologies for my indelicate comparison. that ain't puddin', folks!
http://www.maxfields-restaurant.com/

Hotel Utah - 500 fourth street. all you need if you want love in a basket. they are plentiful and delicious: slightly crispy in all the right places, a great tooth-feel and there's almost always at least one really long potato in every bunch. why is a long fry so exciting? because if you're eating them with someone you love, then you can give the Gift of Long Fry to your sweetie. there's no question that they use real potatoes. i've never had bad service at the utah, though it can get noisy. one time, the couple sitting next to me had a chihuahua in their laps. when they went out for smokes, they asked if i'd mind cradling the little angel. happy-making on top of happy-making.
www.thehotelutahsaloon.com

Brickhouse -426 brannan street. 'big ass fries' is what the menu boasts, but the basket isn't really as big as all that. it's still a fair amount and really all you need if you're filling up on a fat tire or seven. the fries are sometimes limp, the texture smooth, but they always arrive hot hot hot and brickhouse has a trunkload of hot sauces from which to choose. pretty important stuff in deeannland. two legs-up for friendly service.
www.brickhousesf.com

21st Amendment -563 second street. good, smooth texture. the chef performs some sort of hoodoo magic on them so there's no need to salt them when they arrive in front of you. some could find that annoying, but i'm a salted nut, so i don't mind a bit. they aren't greasy and the cuts are thick as a hitchhiker's thumb. they aren't, however, crispy either. a bummer in my book, but not a deal-killer. i will also note that 21st deserves a two legs-up for their onion rings: a delicate but determined crisp, hot, and the cuts of onions are substantial enough so that you don't get that weird slither that leaves you looking like you're panting with a flaccid onion tongue. they rival the fries, uh-huh.
www.21st-amendment.com


thank you, babies, for stayin' on. indulge a little. it's good for your soul. cheers. clink. chow.

pearly whites and spicy blues

~'White boots', by Stevie Ray Vaughn because it's a spicy little ditty and, weird teeth or not, Stevie was a god to me in high school.  Poor guy never got to meet me.

~"You have no idea what a long-legged gal can do without doing anything." -The Palm Beach Story

~Sweet Dreams: The Patsy Cline Story because Patsy was a true inspiration to me when i was growing up. she still is. and, for that matter, so is jessica lange.  a true beauty with a wonderful speaking voice.

hey gang,

recently, my company had an off-site picnic at angel island. couldn't have asked for better weather, great ferry trip to and from. the theme, loosely, was country/western complete with old timey photos, bluegrass music and a washboard band. the food was free, the beer free-flowing, but to me the best part was meeting Chyrle Bacon. Chyrle is a record-breaking cowgirl rope artist and, man, is she the real thing. what a broad! she was trained by Gene Autry and Will Rogers.
as i was walking around the island i heard people tittering about this lady with a cackle. to be honest, it didn't seem like they were being very nice. well, then i heard it: a cackle that would strip a porcupine. and then i saw her: a tall, bleach-blond in sizzling blue dress with hot-white fringe and dusty white cowboy boots. she was trying to teach the kids how to do rope tricks, and not with much success. she's an older gal, to be sure, but if i manage to maintain a figure like that when i'm up there in years, then hot damn!

i like to know people's stories. so i went up and marveled, maybe gushed a little, completely genuine. you'd have thought i just gave her a free side of beef, but she's the one who gave me a gift. what a smile; what a personable and gracious gal.

she said she'd love to open up a school for young girls to learn rope tricks and whip-cracking and i said Sign. Me. Up. not only is the act graceful, but as far as i'm concerned, give a girl a whip and watch shit get done, honey.

so yea, Chyrle did have a cackle and it was loud, but gosh, it matched her outfit.
check her out. thanks kids. have fun with your selves. laugh as much as you can.

www.cowgirlchyrle.com

Hell's soundtrack

~'Bad Reputation' by Joan Jett. a good song forever and a good reminder to be super-fine.

~"Women like me can only submit to men capable of dominating them, and I have never found anyone capable of dominating me." -Anna Magnani, but it's fun to keep looking!

~Serpico, i will watch this film several times a year. who's a bigger bad-ass than Frank Serpico? Seriously.

Hi kids. Thanks for coming. Sit for spell while i spill, why don't you?
i've been thinking about bar names. i always thought The Augur Inn would be a good name for a dump. i guess it's pretty juvenile, but i still get chuckles out of bars with names like The Office and The Library. then i wonder about all the bars in new york and how they must have some pretty fabulous names (i love the name Hell's Kitchen).
then i kept thinking when i should have stopped thinking.
there should be two different hells. one for pedophiles and politicians, and one for me and my friends. stay with me here: if heaven is full of chaste, clean-living teetotalers, i'm not sure i wanna play. here's my vision of hell: descend in the same elevator that Katherine Hepburn used in Suddenly, Last Summer --so wicked! cigarette, cigar and pipe smoke slither through the elevator gate. there's also the smell of marshmallows- have you ever opened a bag of marshmallows and huffed? you should because it smells like birthdays and birthdays are awesome. 

the lighting is low and pink with sparkly flecks from the multiple disco balls glittering the gigantic dance floor. naturally, hell is an open bar with several able and attentive barkeeps, but it's not a meat-market. none of that. the only "checking out" people are doing is in the other room which happens to be a library, floor to ceiling books and mags. sound-proof walls and a fireplace (tee hee hee- a fireplace in hell. i crack myself up).
ok back to the dance floor. here's where i get self-flagellating, but not without a sense of humor. nobody's really dancing because, after all, this is hell and we've done something "wrong" to be there, let's be fair. so nobody's dancing because not only are the 8 foot screens showing Michael Bolton videos on a loop, but the massive speakers are blasting Kenny G tunes! baHA! but you know what? it's totally ok with me and my friends because Bolton and G are fodder for humor and jokes and sin-spirited jabs. and every 2 hours the barkeeps ring a bell for the "How lame is he?" game: for example "Michael Bolton is so lame…." "How lame is he?" …and the person with the funniest jab gets, well, the biggest laugh (drinks are already free, what could possibly be a better prize?).
i know that's a mean game, but when you're in hell you have to do something to pass the time.

cheers. clink. enjoy your self.

new photos n' not much else

~"People with courage and character always seem sinister to the rest." -Hermann Hesse

~'From the hip', by Lloyd Cole and the Commotions, because nobody does throaty melancholy like Lloyd ("sick and i'm tired and i don't care anymore"?) and when i saw his vid for 'Perfect Skin' in jr. high, it confirmed a lot of things.

~Sex & the City,  baaahahahahahhaha!  just kidding. gross.

hi gang-

brief entry.  haven't felt much like saying hi lately.  pretty sure you're ok with that.

i've been missing my girlfriends lately: sweet virginia has a new beau and we've different schedules; trish lives over there -- i know she has a family and all, but i want to escape somewhere with her.  i'm selfish that way.  and rachael has a rich, fascinating life with dogs n' stuff.  stephanie, bicycle-face, do you remember our sketchbook?

i want to talk just a bit about the Walk.  the susan g. komen walk spanned 3 days and 60 miles.  i gotta say, i'm super glad that i did it alone because i'm a fast walker.  i go crazy with slow walkers.  but i can't wait to do it again next year.  in fact, next year can't come soon enough (funny, most of the other gals who've been through the C-muck don't mind getting older, either.  bring on another year, more hair, eyebrows, toenails, sunsets and yay, birthdays!)

i had the best tent-mate a gal could ask for: Laurie was a doll.  and funny funny.  

so here are some more pics from the weekend, and i think i'm done blogging about cancer for a while.  i've got enough of it in my daily slog and i'm pretty sure it's boring for you.  as it happens, this blog is my only outlet.  there are times when i feel i need to talk about what i went through and the things it permanently changed, so you, poor dear readers, get the blah blah.   

thanks for hanging out, kids.  check back for more intelligent talk soon.  guuuuuh.

cheers,

clink.

drool.

vagina tents and unshaven legs

~"Even when the bird is walking we know that it has wings." -Victor Hugo, because it seems appropriate not only for this weekend, but it might be a nice, sideways commentary about underestimating people.

~'Stronger' by Kanye West.  good beats, decent lyrics...good beats.  funny opening.

Romance. won't say why.  it's just a personal, subjective choice.

hi gang,

at the request of a dear friend, i got The Bucket List on netflix.  i haven't gotten more than 5 minutes into it- turns out nicholson and freeman have cancer. so i'll let you know how it goes. 

i got back yesterday afternoon from the susan g. komen 3-day walk.  60miles (66 for me, story to post next time. i'm tired tired).  i'm not a camper and i don't use port-a-potties very well.  i opted to camp out with the rest of the gals/guys instead of going back to my apartment at the end of the days.  the Foundation supplied the tents which were new, nice, small and very hot pink.  it was hot this week.  when my dad and mom (bless their hearts) set up the tent and my old sweaty bod got into it, it was hot pink inside, hot inside, and i felt like i was setting in a vagina.  

but my tent-mate turned out to be awesome and, as i said, more details to follow.

i'm just gonna post some pictures for y'all. i need to go ice my ankle.

thanks for coming! thanks for staying with me, kids.  means a lot.

cheers,

zzzz

if i should die before i wake

~"If you can give your son or daughter only one gift, let it be enthusiasm." -Bruce Barton.  and let enthusiasm be contagious.

'The best is yet to come' by Tony Bennett.  it's not that i'm feeling hopeful - it's that i'd like to feel hopeful.

Riding in Cars with Boys, because paths, hearts, plans get broken. you can roll with it and wash your armpits or throw your hands up and fall asleep with potato chips. 

haven't really felt much like relaying anything lately, so i'll make a list.  things i dream about doing before i expire.  no doubt i'll add to the list as my life goes on.

if you see anything on here that you also want to do, maybe we should get together and make it happen.  just a thought. 

+go into a shark cage

+swim with sharks

+bungee jump off a bridge in canada

+visit canada

+operate a crane.  a big one

+own a home

+own acres: adopt animals, foster children, grow a big garden, let us all take care of each other (assuming the kids aren't violent and the animals aren't vicious and the tomatoes aren't poisonous)

+join the peace corps

+work for/with andrew vachss

+travel europe, but not stay in hostels

+own a pair of 4.5" green satin high heels- and wear them descending  a....

+descend a grand staircase

+not be ashamed of my body. even for just a moment.

+work on a movie set

+have dinner with john goodman and pals (mark your calendars: june 20 is john's birthday.  we're celebrating (probably without john))

++sleep

good nite for now, gang.  the fog has settled and i'm seeing stars.  cheers.

a curious attempt to honor Curious Hermits and such?

~"It feels so good to be so gone." -Miracle Legion.  Fascinating to discover the things we bring along on this weird trip.

~'Back in the Car Park' by The Lilac Time because much of their lyrics are in the past tense. except not this one. not entirely. it's nice. have a listen.

It Was a Wonderful Life, a documentary about women who once had it all, still appear as though they have it all, but are brushing their teeth with their index fingers with 'recycled' water, scrounging 3$ to shower at the Y- for a semi-weekly shower in order to appear as though they have it all together so someone will hire them.  Just a small slice of the proverbial pie, homeless (women) of this sort, but it got me thinking about leaving things behind--those who do it on purpose versus, well, those who don't.

hiya gang.  hope ya'll are doing fine. 

i'm working off about 2.5 hours sleep so bear with-.  OK, so i watched that movie and of course it had the intended aaw -people-are-shit!-effect coupled with  "s'right, Woman! No self-pity just Keep Moving with ferver and that's how we do!" (Jodie Foster narrated, so, duh).  but it got me curious about people who opt to become marginalized, if i may refer to it as such. i started looking up 'hermits'.  i was only mildly familiar with the history of the term, so read up if you're curious:

regarding hermits in the middle ages: some people couldn't get close enough to god even though they'd committed their lives to a monastery or nunnery (wasn't that a shakespearean reference to a brothel?  remind me to look that up).  so these kids would shake it all off and go live in the wild, a deserted found-location, a cave, or self-built hut. they ate food that they harvested, found, or were given by passers-by. their days were spent praying and/or reflecting upon god's ways. 

sometimes the nuns would opt for life in a tiny cell with a tinier window that faced the church. the nuns called themselves anchoresses.  anchors of faith. steadfast bearers. sound familiar?

fast forward to 1883 when a fella name Noah John Rondeau was born. he ran away from home (new york) as a teenager with an 8th-grade education (what i'd like to know is what family life was like at the Rondeau house that prompted his flight.  remind me to look that up).  one thing>to another=astronomy studies, caretaker gigs, taking up with an Abenaki indian, stints in jail.

fast forward to 1929.   Noah decides to go ahead and live as a veritable, disappointed-with-the-world hermit.  he takes up residence in the adirondack mountains (cold river, for those of you without wikipedia).  he kept journals that i'm anxious to read just as soon as my neglected other-reads stop whispering you suck. 

fast forward to 1943. in response to being a WWii draft dodger, Noah writes the following:

"I never went to Cold River to dodge anything, unless it was from 1930 to 1940 when it might be said that I dodged the American labor failure at which time I could not get enough in civilization to get along even as well as I could at Cold River under hard circumstances in the back woods. Since I'm not evading I did not make my first appearance at Cold River on the day that Pearl Harbor was bombed. What I'm doing toward the war effort looks like nothing, but that's all I can do and I'm doing it and it is this -- I'm self sustained."

o snap.  atta boy, Noah! draw your own comparisons, folks.

so long story made longer, he didn't stay a hermit.  people got interested; he "toured"; he got kicked outta his place in 1950; worked as Santa in Wilmington and died in August 1967. 

Y'all know about Christopher McCandless, of course (Into the Wild).  there's something to that kid, too.  i admit, the maternal part of me thinks, o gawd to put people who love you through that kind of prolonged anxiety, but this hermit kind of flight speaks to a pretty intense need to 'be so gone'. it all goes beyond escapism, yea.

i return, briefly because i'm losing steam, to my initial that vs. this. 

obviously the gals in my documentary aren't hermits in an original sense of the word. evidently their situations aren't voluntary. they're trying to hold on to what they can to stay part of this life. no doubt they've had a few revelations and disappointments in the "American labor failure at which time [they] could not get enough in civilization to get along...." hermits on the other hand...well, good riddance to bad rubbish, say they.  

far be it from me to have any sort of intriguing philosophy regarding the above.  i don't. i just record stuff i find and think about. there are no answers here, kiddos.

so what do we hold onto and what do we discard and for what reasons? and what, if anything, do we learn in the process?

wealth of senses

~"In the market, the wood carvings and pearls went unbought, and the festively painted Ice Cream Shoppe was always empty." -John Seabrook, because tonite is about smells and i think i know what that market smells like.

~'If you go away' by Emiliana Torrini, because it's 'Ne me quitte pas' by Nina Simone.  sorta. lamenting, lilting.

~Whale Rider, because the actress should have won best, and the story is unique and genuine and i love love love the endurance of myths.

hi kids. pull up a drink and sit for a tiny spell.  took a lengthy walk tonite, but had to cut it short on account of some achey joints. i had a shot recently and... I'M 35!!!!  yaaaay! had a birthday, loved it, lived to tell about it (only i'm not gonna because that would be dull).

i just want to make a quick entry about the smells i encountered tonite--not all bad, but all beautiful.  the power of smells overtook me after i went to europe (quince pie with new cream, fog that smells sweet, vinegar on carrots, and a canal that smells of mold and wet socks and sweat between lovers' hands) and then greece (basil in the street, salt rocks, juniper, broken daphne leaves, hot rocks, thick gardenia swarm, warm honey'd syrup, the heat of sex and meat, and head&shoulders shampoo).  i still smell things that take me back to those places, only, sadly, they're fleeting.  the resonance of smell is all-powerful.  it'd be a sad sense to lose. not the worst, but sad.

so, tonite, in my beloved city. no order of import or notice:

seagulls

sewage

cigarettes

salt

sourdough

fish

cigar

rubber

cucumbers

newspaper

oil-based paint

charcoal

grass

feet

ink

basil

crab

sweet peas

rosemary

charbroiled steak

fire

lavendar

chlorine

sweat

aluminum

sunset. colors have a smell and you know it.

sorry i haven't updated in a while, folks.  and sorry this post is less-than.  proust was kind of a pansy fella, but he knew what he meant when he wrote 'Remembrances of Things Past'. or maybe it just aged pretty well and Proust hit on something.  i like memories for the most part, but sometimes they really are a tremendous responsibility.

good nite, all.  i wish you the warmest and fairest.

Hide n' hide

~"I have said nothing because there is nothing I can say that would describe how I feel as perfectly as you deserve it." -Kyle Schmidt. and here i am saying stuff.

~'Hide and seek' by Imogen Heap because it's propelling in the same way that anger and i've-had-enough are great motivators to take flight, little bird.

~still The Fall and i promise to go into it. it deserves the highest praise from someone far smarter, more clever, and more savvy than yours truly, but i'll sing its praises anyway. tomorrow maybe.

gang, i want to take this opportunity to thank those of you who read me. there seem to be quite a few which is a shocker because, well...see my first May entry about diarrhea.

on my way home from work, i decided to just keep walking. today, i stopped being bothered by crowds. today, i stopped. i had many thoughts to filter today and here's what came out, for enquiring minds (remember that commercial?).

a lot came out. the more i think and the more i see and hear, the less i really want to talk. but here i am saying stuff. i'm ok not saying stuff, though- it's not a need. i don't feel a physical need to communicate- i used to think i did (writing, etc, bla bla bla). the second time i came back from greece, i didn't talk to anyone for a month. i was alone in the apartment and i guess it was a decompression of sorts, but it felt pretty spot-on, not talking. solitude is welcome and cherished and prized. solitary and nomadic at heart, i find myself surprised to find myself where i'm at.

what else came out in the crowds on market street tonite? i realized that i've managed to fall into some really, genuinely phenomenal people. if you're reading this (poor things), then you're one of them. kid you not. i took stock tonite, gang. i am one fortunate hag. and it's because of the people i know. i had a bout of clarity (don't worry- it always passes) and i remembered what went through my mind, how stark and clear i felt when i found the first clump of hair on my pillow, was permitted to submerge my body in water without the drainage tubes, lost my first fingernail--sick, mystified, completely bewildered, pissed, funny, and fortunate. i realized today that not a lot has changed much in deeannland. so pull up a barstool.

a pal who's close close close to my heart sent me an interview with Mike Peters from The Alarm (i thought he had just about the neatest face when i was young--think Howard Jones's face with Paul Young's coiffure) (Warning: personal message entry: shirley, i know you don't know these references, but your SFMoMma loves you the same as the rest of the kids).

the reason i'm relaying this, and it probably sounds trite and hallmarkish, but if it sounds that way to you, then you've never been effected and i don't know whether to congratulate you, or to wag a finger at you for being such an oblivious wag.

i think i started to get soap-box on y'all. sorry.

Mike talks about anger...maybe better let him talk now.

so here he is:

interviewer: Getting cancer again and recovering again, what was the biggest influence that had on your music?

...there's a certain reality you have to face in that post-diagnosis and then having the treatment. when someone's talking to you and you have to come to terms with it, there's a finality to it, or an end in sight, you have to...thinkg about , "wow, what if this was the last journey i'm going to go on?" that brings a certain realism and bring you back down to Earth, really. you have to focus on what is important and the things in life that you hold dear and the things in life that help to define you as a person. and that is the focus and becomes the background...."

"i started to write some really fast songs...i suppose there's almost an anger under there as well, that you maybe don't bring out in your speech or your actions to people. but if you are faced with the fact that you might be...you have to face the reality that this journey could result in losing your life, there is an anger...and it might be an anger that's not shown in aggressive acts, but there is definitely an anger that drives it."

"it's a bit like, you're riding this wave that's bubbling under you. you're just thinking, hanging on for dear life, there's a whole wave of emotions coming through you...conflicting emotions, confusing, and then a certain amount of grasping hold of what's real and then trying to push the certainty that you want to hold onto through all this wave of confusion. i tried to...focus on the the most direct things i could think of. rather than running away from it, i dived headlong into it and be as sort of straightforward and i could...."

Mr. Peters, you may write my copy anytime.

bless your hearts for staying with me, gang. i can't explain it; i don't understand it; i'm not going to try.

cheers. clink. fin.

jasmine flowers, parking places, and shin splints

~"We either make ourselves happy or miserable. The amount of work is the same." -Carlos Castenada.  i don't know, Carlos, man. some days i'm not devout enough or existential enough.  then again, begs the question-  why aren't i?

~'Lead me upstairs' by David Gray, because it's gripping.  i care little for my body, she says.

 

The Fall, the 'why' of which i will relay in detail in my next posting. i'm thinking it may be the best movie of my year.

hiya gang. pull up another drink. i just got home from a 4 hour training walk.  felt good.  felt really good. part of my walk included some fancy neighborhoods.  rich people's streets smell good.  but rich people don't stop for pedestrians.

well, they don't stop for pedestrians who look like me.

have a good one. i'm quiet tonite.

cheers. clink. fin.

tribute

hey gang-

no quotes or anything today.  i got some terribly upsetting news this morning. a very dear friend and wonderful woman who is close to my heart has lost her mother to cancer. this is the second death of a friend of mine in the last 5 weeks, and if i were to go back 5 months...well, i've lost count. as you may remember from a previous post, i'll be walking the susan g. komen in september. i'm having t-shirts made up with everyone's name on it--those who have lived through this goddamn muck, and those who didn't.  i had to get multiple t-shirts to fit all the names. it's a small, maybe stupid thing, but if you know someone (who doesn't?) who's been through it, send me his/her name and i'll pay tribute the only way i know how.  i remember my gal Tricia swam for a cancer charity thing and wrote my name and her gramma's name on the back of her calves. i'm choked up just typing it and this was years ago. where the hell did i put that picture? i'm not sure Trish understood how much that meant to me. anyway, Crazy Hair Mama, if you're reading- you really got me that time.

take a look around, folks. we're all in it together at the end of the day.

thanks for reading.

My Ma

~"The farther behind I leave the past, the closer I am to forging my own character." -Isabelle Eberhardt.  I think she's got something there.  It's like i always say memories are too much responsibility.  When is anybody gonna start quoting me, for cryin' out loud??

~'Streets of Bakersfield' by Buck Owens because i'd give my right toe to be 1/2 the storyteller that Buck is.  and the song has a little bit of "check yourself, pal" to it.

~East of Eden, because some people are so cold, and others need to be told a thing or two.

hiya gang.  started the new job today.  it's going to be ok, but i had the first-day dummies:  they didn't really have too much for me to do; they were working toward a deadline so there wasn't much time to explain procedure, protocol, etc. so there's that.

but here's what i wanted to relay to y'all:  the days at the beach with my ma.  she's so great.  i was craving beach-time when i went south.  as you know, the ocean and sand are good good good to my soul.  i convinced ma to come with me, get a little vitamin d and vitamin dee, and vitamin v (vodka, for you rookies).  the first day we packed up mimosas.  so much fun, we went the next day with screwdrivers.  school's out for summer so there were a lot of preteens and families...and a lot of old bastard pervert pencil dicks.  they stand up on the sidewalk and ogle.  gawd they're gross.  so mom says something awesome:  "They're here for the fantasy; we're here for the laughs."

bless her heart!

i've got this problem, as anyone who's paying attention could figure:  i take things kinda seriously.  too seriously. i let things bother and get to me to the point where i'm almost debilitated. for example, the other day i started crying while watching "E/R".  and i hate that show! it's not sentimentality; it's hyperhyper-awareness and just plain stubborn stupidity. many days, i wish i didn't know what i know.  so to hear my ma say that was inspirational.  i just need to repeat it to myself every 2 minutes.  i'm workin' on it, kids.  i'm workin' on it.  i've got bile for brains, mud in my mouth, and cherry pits for a heart. but i'm trying to be better.

ciao and thanks for reading. guh. cheers, clink.  bah.

~"A stiff apology is a second insult. The injured party does not want to be compensated because he has been wronged; he wants to be healed because he has been hurt." -G.K. Chesterson.  no comment.

~'Blackbird on a Wire', by The Beautiful South because it reminds me of the devastating effects of passion.

Into the Wild, because i need to do some exploring in deeannland and the movie is a testament to movement on all levels.

hi gang. pull up a drink and sit for a spell.

i just got back from a somewhat whirlwind trip south; san luis, LA, san diego.  needed to get some thinking done before starting my new job tomorrow.  

i couldn't get far enough away fast enough.  some dreams are just not worth having, folks.  

while i was sitting in traffic- or what i call: The Great Equilizer- don't matter what you're driving, we're all here sitting- i had some thoughts.

there are forgotten things that shouldn't be.  here's a list.

1. Lou Graham of Foreigner

2. Eddy Grant (We're gonna rock down to/Electric Avenue/And then we'll take you higher)

3. Manners.  Learn them. Use them.

4. The beauty of a sigh

5. The remake of Eddy Grant's song that goes like this:  we're gonna walk down to/Kmart and buy some shoes/they only cost a dollar

6. The quiet toil and unwarranted respectfulness of trees

7. Ralphie in the Simpsons.  gawd he's good.

8. the definition of CONSIDERATION

i was also thinking that i'd like to have a bumper sticker that reads: "I brake for revenge"

and why aren't tail lights shaped like hearts? wouldn't that be ironic kinda if you paired them with my bumper sticker?

i got a few bumper sticker/t-shirt ideas:

>Help Fight Bedwetting

>Shedonism

>Strong enough for a man, but made for a woman (t-shirt for my gal pal Rachael- probably a copyright issue, methinks)

>Regard Structures. Salute Waters.

>Honk if You Hate the Gilmore Girls (my favorite)

>Sex&The City Blows

and so on.

i'm gonna go.  you have a good one, kids.  remember manners.

cheers, clink. 

disappointment reigns

"with rocks in my dress/and smoke in my hair/I walked into a lake/to get some sleep down in there." -Sparklehorse, because, readers, water is honest.

'This Train Don't Stop There Anymore' by Elton John, because i'd like to think i'm getting to the point where i know better and can not only say "No" with conviction, but say it with a kick in the groin, too.

no movie to reference today.  am not feelin' it.

i'll just leave you with this, if you don't mind too much.

a heavy mother's armpits that

smell of chive flowers;

she speaks what sounds like a 

positive blip or, the opposite of motherhood.

a name overheard that 

recalls water.  all the stories it could tell or,

the opposite of the world.

something sparkling, a sugar cube

dissolving secrets on two tongues,

rowing to the middle of a lake

to douse the magnificence or, the opposite

of baptism.

presents of skin, warm like the sidewalk

holding up the head of one who decides

that memories are too much responsibility.

thanks for reading. fin.

7 years

When it dies I go to the same

            hardware store

            twist in another

                yellow bulb

      so you can be sure of

            which house

                in case

             you decide

        to come back.

two different fellas. two kinds of jobs.

"Only way to guarantee an outcome, honey, is contracting to be fucked.  Everything else is chance."  -Elizabeth Sarnoff.  Hats off to Liz for putting the truth to poetry.

'Typical Situation' by Dave Matthews Band, because the lyrics are understated but Dave is a master at growling and making me feel urgent.  and if you know me, you know i like the sound of urgency.

The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, because O.MY.GAWD it was a beautiful story full of ethical questions and quandaries from beginning to end.  AND:  Roger Deakins is cinematographer extraordinaire.  the man is golden.  not to mention that Casey Affleck proves he's an actor- complete and total.  kid's got chops uh huh.

hiya gang.  pull up a drink and sit for a spell.

when's the last time you drank grape juice?  i know, me too!  i just bought some frozen grape juice from concentrate (not grape drink a la Dave Chappelle) so you know what that means:  grape juice and vodka!  i'm sipping it as i type.  

ok, so let me relay to you my observations from yesterday.  nothing fancy or photo-worthy, just more reasons to be vexed by this crazy town of mine.  i'll start with a little fella i'll name Mr. Dis Orient.  on my way back from the hospital, i happened upon an elderly gentleman on the corner of bush and octavia. he was holding a piece of paper with chinese writing on it.  he motioned to me and it was apparent that he was lost.  he could only say "i speak no english".  he needed to go 3 blocks north, judging by the address written on the paper. so i motioned as much and said "i'll take you. come with me." but he insisted that it was south- that i was wrong. then he said, "you call".  so i called the number on the paper and it was a restaurant- apparently the man was supposed to go there for a job as a dishwasher.  i told the gal on the other end  (she spoke chinese)to please tell the fella to come with me.  she asked, "who are you?" and i said, "i don't know!"  baahahahah.  seriously, i was this close to just picking the little guy up and carrying him there piggyback-like.  about 10 minutes later, he resigned himself to follow me and ended up apologizing all the way to the restaurant for being lost.  i know he didn't understand what i said, but i said it was alright, that i'd spent my whole life getting lost, in fact i still don't know who i am or what i'm going to do with my life but i like helping people, and little kids who aren't mine and animals and that someday i hope to be married and living in the country with a house that has a big kitchen and a fireplace and maybe a garden with radishes and definitely tomatoes, and that whatever i ended up doing for work that i hoped i could work from home so that i could drink as much vodka as i wanted without worrying about having a hangover at the office.  we bid each other farewell and i walked home wondering how the heck i was gonna pay for that hospital visit.

on my way TO the hospital, not so much...walking down post street i noticed a car parked facing the wrong direction in front of a driveway of an empty walgreen's.  then i saw a silhouette behind what looked like a map or something.  so i figured it was someone who had pulled over to find out where s/he was headed (join the club- it's all about discovery these days, huh kids?).  i got closer and saw that it was a security guard- i could tell by the little uniform.  i got even closer and realized that he had one hand out the open car window, and the other hand...was vigorously shifting his gear/fumbling with his key/sparking his plug. 

readers dear readers, i want to know:  is it really that urgent?  remember what i said up there about liking the sound of urgency?  NOT what i meant. can you not wait until you get home, or at least on the freeway, until you rub one out?? ok, he's a security guard and being a security guard is boring, but...christ on a cracker! do a crossword puzzle! 

anyway. the security guard at the empty walgreen's on post street is right-handed.

thanks for playing.  cheers. fin.

elevate, don't expectorate

"In the market, the wood carvings and pearls went unbought, and the festively painted Ice Cream Shoppe was always empty." -John Seabrook, because today felt deserted.

'Black Boys on Mopeds' by Sinead O'Connor, because her voice sounds lonesome.  The song is an echo.

Bleu because it's all yearning and resignation and loss and beginnings.  When Juliette Binoche eats the hell out of that blue lollipop it's a moment of cinematic brilliance, not to mention the seamless montage at film's end.

appalling things today.  hi.  pull up a drink. take a load off.

when i feel oogy and wonky, i head to the ocean.  nothing cures the oogies and wonkies like the smell and sound of the ocean.  since this is a city full of character and characters,  ya gotta expect to see some spectacular, nutty, awful things.  nothing oustanding today, but i saw two different women on two sidewalks spit.  just spit.  HWOQ-TOOEY.  one of the women was walking in front of me and very nearly hit my shoe.  look, it's bad enough when men spit, the nasty creatures, but come ON, sisters!!!  can we find another path to equality?  how about raising the bar of behaviors instead of stooping to those of filthy fellas?  the other thing i saw today made me at once nauseous and perturbed.  walking toward me was a trio of pre-teens, two gals and a guy.  they were maybe 12, 13 years old, max.  one of the girls was wearing a Hooters t-shirt.  HOOTERS???!  stop. think about that.  a pre-teen, barely developed, walking around a city of cuckoos and pervies in a t-shirt like that.  o, dear readers. tsk tsk doesn't seem enough of a reaction.  i wanted to shake her.  this got me to thinking about whether or not i'm a prude.  does not having a sense of humor about things like that make me a prude?  does wanting to see women elevate themselves within themselves, amongst themselves without the concern of whether men find them fuck-able make me a prude?  well, then, oki doki.  i've lived long enough to know that if it has legs, guys will pound it.  this includes tables and chairs.  i've also lived long enough to know that if it doesn't have legs, they'll mount it anyway.  being considered fuck-able is not a compliment.  

i said this blog wasn't going to be me ranting, but i guess i can toss that promise out the window.  

thanks for playing.  fin.

~"I hope that I won't be that wrong anymore, but maybe I've learned this time.  I hope that I find what I'm reaching for, the way that it is in my mind...but I won't let it change me, not if I can.  I'd rather believe in love and give it away as much as I can to those that I'm fondest of." -Waylon Jennings, the Cowboy Junkies, because i feel tenderness toward many and  got a lot of love to give

~'Southern Girl' by Incubus, because it's a slow, but urgent invitation to passion

~Year of the Dog with Molly Shannon, because i completely understand her neurosis and applaud the character's every move, laughing.

hey gang.  pull up a drink.  

the state of our nation has got me into a bit of a lather.  i won't go into politics with this...whatsit? blog, 'cause that's private to me.  i vote. i get excited to vote. but i tend to walk away with my hands on my cheeks and shaking my head, fingers crossed.  i couldn't wait to turn 18 so that i could vote.  and i've always voted.  but i'm a cynic.  BUT i'm a hopeful cynic.  politics. 

today, i drove to Colma to pick up Potato's ashes.  very strange.  he's in a box the size of a recipe card holder.  i didn't know what to do. the weather was hot, the way i like it, so we drove.  i had no idea where i was going, not caring when i didn't recognize the neighborhoods, but we ended up at the Golden Gate.  so i parked, pulled his little box out and carried him across the Bridge for one last time.  

may i ask you something???  why the FUCK don't people make an effort to scoot or move when they see you coming?  limited walking space means that you drop back and make room...not so apparently.  i knocked shoulders with no fewer than 8 people today.  i've got my best buddy in a box- don't fucking elbow me.  i guess i was a little sensitive.  i didn't cry!  ok then so i walked back to the rental car, and drove over the bridge because i thought i'd want to go to stinson beach.  i got tired of the twists of the road so decided to make a turn-around when next i could.  turns out it was the pelican inn.  i have certain, sad, thoughts about that place, but i stopped anyhow.  lousy fish n' chips and a glorious smithwick's with my best buddy in a box next to me.  i was this [   ]  close to getting a room there so that i could just drink all nite.  but i've an interview in the city in the morning that i reeeeaaaally want to nail.

this blog has turned extremely boring.  i promise to be less "i" and more "other".  i put myself to sleep.. bless anyone who bothers to read it.

best to you and yours.  cheers,

d - p = 0