IDA WHO?

I had a date with a real bitch last night.  She was so bad that I had to take extra blood-pressure medication, and spend almost $100 in preparation.  Her name was Ida, and fortunately she stood me up!  Here on the Gulf Coast, we actually measure time by hurricanes.  For example, I haven’t had a girlfriend since before Ivan hit.  I forget the month, and even the year–but I know that’s a hell of a long time! 

The only Ida I’ve ever known was a friend of my mom’s, Ida Colvin.  She had the longest Southern drawl I’ve ever heard–Northern men probably drooled, just listening to her.  She sold Avon, so she visited our house often.  She was quite attractive; my eyes followed her up and down the driveway, and I was not even a teen yet.  She was married, as most of my mom’s friends were, and she’s probably still married to the same man.  Lucky guy.

 

THERAPEUTIC WRITING

I’ve been on medical leave, so to speak.  My vision is blurry–I have difficulty reading.  But I have to get back to writing again, so here I am.  The experience I’ve had has brought me close to death several times, and I feel somewhat reborn.  In Chinese, there is no character for “crisis”–only “crisis-opportunity”.  And this crisis has been an opportunity for me to become more humble and compassionate toward others.

THE WAVE OF THE PAST, THE PRESENT, AND THE FUTURE

I have a shortwave radio, and don’t know anyone else who has one.  It’s a Radio Shack brand, only cost me $100.  It has FM and AM too, but I almost never listen to those.  Why should I–when I can pick up stations from anywhere in the world!  Alot of them are always in English.  Some of them are are in English part of the time, and in other languages part of the time. 

Instead of reading before trying to sleep, I listen to my shortwave.  This way I don’t have to have the lights on–so I can get to sleep more easily.  And it wouldn’t matter anyway–who needs a book, when he/she can have the whole world at his/her fingertips!   I pick up different stations at different times, any time of day.  And my shortwave is programmable, so I can just push buttons to get what I want. 

Right now I have the buttons set on Radio Australia, Radio Japan, Radio Spain, Deutsche Welle (Germany), and other stations I can’t identify.  And if there’s nothing on any of these (which is very rare) I just scan till I find something I want.  Often I do this with my eyes closed, just by feeling my way around–a blind person could easily do it.

And you can get one of these!  It’s too late to call Radio Shack, at this time, but I’m reasonably sure they still carry them.  And if I’m wrong, some other store carries them, no matter where you are.

Shortwave radio receivers have existed for decades.  This is probably why I don’t know anyone else who has one–they’re somewhat forgotten. 

So buy one, or have someone else buy you one.  No matter who you are, you’ll have fun listening to it–I guarantee it!

A BLESSED ENCOUNTER I’LL ALWAYS REMEMBER

As I waited for my after-breakfast coffee, less than two hours ago–I saw a hawk, through my sliding-glass door.   This was the closest I’d ever come to a hawk, in the wild.  It was perched on the rail of my deck.  Of course, I didn’t dare open the glass door.  And every time it looked in my direction, I froze, until it looked away again.  I got as close to the glass as possible.  I was in awe, to say the least!  I examined every detail of this magnificent, beautiful bird–and watched it’s every movement.  After a long while, it flew to the camellia bush, and perched on a limb.  Then it flew to the azalea bushes, on the other side of the backyard–and I could no longer see it.  (From there, it probably flew into the neighbors’ backyard.)  I silently, naturally thanked the Creator for this privilege!

I had seen many hawks in the sky.  I had even seen and heard them swoop down into my front yard, grab a squirrel, then swoop back up–this happening so fast, I could barely see it at all.  But I had never seen a hawk–like this! 

Uncanny: I found a hawk’s feather in my front yard just two days ago.  Of course I brought it inside, putting it in a safe place–until I’d decide where to display it.  I thought that was the closest I’d ever come, to a hawk–I had no idea how close I’d come, today!

A BLOG WITHIN A BLOG

Saturday, June 6

My used car (never had a new one in my life) is in the shop.  It’s been in the shop ten days, and won’t be repaired for another two or three.   In this place (the Pensacola, Florida area), there’s no sufficient public transportation, and everything’s spread-out.  So if you have no car, and have no one to drive you anywhere, you’re stuck!

And I’m stuck!  And I live alone!  So I’m stir-crazy!  It could be worse.  At least I’m stuck in a spacious, air-conditioned house–and have Internet-access!  But I mention all this because I’m likely going to digress alot, in this post (stir-craziness makes you more creative and expressive).  So as “Ralph Cramden” says, “And away we go!”

When I was a kid (in Mobile, Alabama) I liked comic books–not unusual for a kid.  What was unusual was the kind of comic books I liked.  The other boys and I walked to the Pack-a-Sack (which was later a Seven-Eleven, then a Circle K, then a video store, before it was finally demolished for more parking-space) to get our comic books.  They bought the superhero comics, but I bought the horror/sci-fi/fantasy comics, like “The Witching Hour” and “The Unexpected”. 

Anyway, in one of these, there was a story entitled something like, “Any Car You Want, Red or Blue”.  And the story went something like this:

These auto stores open-up everywhere.  The dealers (men and women) display beautiful cars.  The cars only come in two colors–red and blue.  But they’re free!  Only rule is, one car per customer.  Of course no one thinks to ask why they’re free.  Everyone just picks a car, and drives it home.  The engine (which is the same in every car) runs perfectly–no problems at all! 

Eventually, everybody on Earth has one of these beautiful cars!  Of course the roads are packed, and new roads have to be paved every day–but who cares?  Then all the cars explode simultaneously, killing the drivers and passengers.  The dealers shift back to their true, unearthly appearance.  They have just conquered another planet!

Sunday, June 7:

Something in the first paragraph of yesterday’s entry is similar to the first lines of  a 1980’s Kinks song entitled “Come Dancing”:  They put a parking lot on a piece of land, where the supermarket used to stand.  Before that, they put up a bowling alley, on the site that used to be the local parley.  That’s where the big bands used to come and play.  My sister went there on a Saturday.

It’s also similar to a series of drawings, by Robert Crumb, entitled something like “A Brief History of America”–in which, frame-by-frame, a single piece of land changes from a beautiful meadow to an ugly city block.  You can see this in the 1990’s film, “Crumb”–which I consider the best documentary ever made

I was skeptical about human-induced global warming–until Hurricane Ivan drove a live-oak limb into the ceiling above my bed, threatening to impale me, in my sleep (in fact, had the ceiling been made of Sheetrock, rather than wooden planks, it probably would have impaled me)!  

I’ve been a believer, ever since!  But in my opinion, the leading cause of human-induced global warming is not factories–it’s cars!  According to The Learning Channel (and these figures are several years old), there are 500,000,000 cars on the roads, worldwide–over 200,000,000 in the United States, alone!  That’s alot of fossil-fuel burning! 

Of course the new cars include filters for this.  But how many of us can afford them?  If I could afford a new car, I’d definitely get one.  Yet I can barely afford the repairs on my 1996 vehicle!  And I understand they’re working on hybrid (corn-gas fuel) cars,  and even electric cars–but how many of us will be able to afford those?

We all have to be environmentalists–but we must include the human-need factor, in the equation. 

You know what they use for antifreeze in Siberia?  According to “More of Paul Harvey’s the Rest of the Story”, by Paul Aurandt (his son)–they use vodka!  And since it probably works as coolant, too, I’d use it myself (if it weren’t so expensive here)–because I hate vodka!  I’ve always hated it–tastes awful, to me!  They’ve got a place here (Paddy O’Toole’s) that serves “The James Bond Martini”.  I tried it once (what man wouldn’t want to be like “James Bond”).  It tasted horrible, so I asked the bartender what was in it.  Guess what? Vodka!  It’s the only liquor I hate!  Strange how different our tastes are, isn’t it?

Monday, June 8

There’s an old joke that goes like this:

Research has shown that 90% of American men masturbate in the shower.  The remaining 10% sing.  Do you know what they sing?  I didn’t think so! 

I’m one of those who sing (seriously)!  I sing in the shower, I sing in bed, I sing in my living room, I sing outside, I sing in bars (karaoke), and I especially sing while driving!  I’ve got dozens of songs memorized, over the years, so I have alot to choose from.  Right now, I’m learning “Little Red Riding Hood”, by Sam The Sham And The Pharaohs.  I’ve got it on audiocassette somewhere, amidst all my household clutter (my cassette player is broken), so I haven’t heard it in years.  But I printed-out the lyrics, from the Internet, and I can still remember how it’s sung!  So I’m adding it to my repertoire!

And since my car’s air-conditioner is broken, and I can’t afford to fix it–I sing with the windows down!  I hate that loud bass that so many assholes play in their cars–that damned “boombox” shit!  They’re so unbelievably inconsiderate of other drivers–not to mention stupid (guess who’s going to pay for their hearing-aids)! 

Anyway, the worst ones are those who do this with their car windows open–talk about belligerence!  But what can I do when I’m stuck at a red light beside them?  I can’t tell them to turn it down–they’ll just turn it up, or even shoot me (never know who’s got a black-market firearm in his/her car).  So I do this: I sing as loudly as possible, while looking straight-ahead–as if  blissfully unaware of them!  Of course I could still be shot.  But everybody’s gotta go sometime–might as well go, not knowing what hit me!   

Tuesday, June 9

I finally got my car back today!  I didn’t have enough money to get the air conditioner fixed, too (and it’s extremely hot and humid, this time of year).  But at least the engine works again!  And just in time–I have a doctor appointment tomorrow. 

Still, I must say I’d much rather have a horse–which takes me to another topic entirely.  I’ve never fit-in, in this era.  Even when I was a kid, I felt something was wrong.  I didn’t quite have any out-of-body experiences.  But I remember sitting alone in the gym at school, and wondering if this was really my life.  It seemed as if my reality was actually a dream, from which I couldn’t wake.  And I think I know why now.  I’m in the wrong time!  I belong in 1909!  I’m serious–I’ve even prayed that I’d be sent back a hundred years.  Of course the Creator’s answer was ”no”, and obviously remains so.

But what if the Creator’s answer were “yes”?  Well, I’d find myself in a forest, but I figure I could find my way into the “civilized” outskirts of Pensacola, and into the City, itself–which was then a thriving seaport.  When asked who I was, I could tell them my name, and explain that I was from Mobile (which would be the truth)!  Then I’d get a job as a schoolteacher, or a librarian, or even a psychologist!  Wouldn’t need a resume or application (or proof of identification, for that matter)–I’d just show potential employers my 2009 skills (though I wouldn’t dare claim to be from the future)!

I’d reside in a boarding-house, on credit, until I earned enough money to buy my own house.  And I’d find a beautiful young woman with a visionary mind.  And I’d court her, eventually marrying her.

And if things didn’t work out here as planned, I’d simply take the train to Mobile (which was much larger then, and still is).

What about my mental illness?  Well, it probably would no longer surface, because life would be so much less stressful.  And if it did, I’d just drink beer with every meal, to keep it under control!

Of course I’d miss alot of things, like air-conditioning, television, and the Internet.  But it’d still be worth it.  And hurricanes (of which there’d be no warnings)?  At least I’d know to not to venture outside in the eye of the storm–which is how most people got killed back then.  What about disease (no antibiotics)–hell, I’d risk it!

Now of course all (or most) of the above might not go, as planned.  But life never goes for anyone, as planned–in any era!  The only certainty in life is the end of life.  And besides, if the Creator zapped me back a hundred years, I’d know I belonged there then, after all!

So ends this post–this ”blog within a blog”.  

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ANOTHER MOVIE REVIEW? WELL, SORT OF

Now I’m watching “The Butterfly Effect 3″.  I haven’t finished it, but I’ve seen most of it.  And from what I’ve seen, it’s better than “The Butterfly Effect 2″.  But of course it’s not as good as “The Butterfly Effect”.

For those of you who haven’t seen “The Butterfly Effect”, it’s about a young man who has the ability to travel to his past, thereby altering his present.  He does this by transferring his present mind to his past body, and possessing it.  We all think, ‘If I could go back…’  Well this guy can!

At 43, I have more than my share of regrets–some about things I did, but most about things I did not do.  If I could transfer my 43-year-old mind to my past body, and take possession of it (‘If I could go back…’), I’d choose 1979.  Why?  I’d go back as far as possible–but not further than the age at which I reached sexual maturity (which would be hell).  And it was in 1979 that, at age thirteen, I accidentally discovered my penis-power!

So here’s what I’d do.

At home:

I’d make it clear, to my dad, that I would no longer allow him to relentlessly whip me.

I’d make it clear, to my mom, that I would no longer allow her to sic my dad on me.

I’d enjoy my mom’s delicious, nourishing meals–rather than snub them.

I’d gladly do my normal household chores–but I would refuse to be slave-driven into doing my parents’ compulsive, irrational yard-work.

I’d stop pestering my older sister, Elaine–and treat her with respect.

At school:

I’d warn the white bullies never to call me a “fag” again–and follow-through, with my fists, if necessary.

I’d warn the black bullies never to kick me in the groin again–and follow-through, with my fists, if necessary.

I’d establish a network of friends (male and female, black and white)–by reaching out, and being a friend.

In the neighborhood:

I’d introduce myself to all the neighbors–and regularly visit them, if they so desired.

I’d begin a romantic relationship with Vanessa (literally, the girl next door), eventually sharing my penis-power with her!

Now–if you could go back, in this manner, what age would you choose?  And what would you do?

IT’S IN THE CREDITS

A few hours ago, I finished my first film (no I’m not a “filmmaker”, though I wish I made that kind of money) since “Twilight”. This is quite an accomplishment for me, and I’m proud of myself (see “PERSONAL PRIORITIES IN THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY”).

This film is “Deception” (2008).  And despite it’s deceptively-cliched title (there were two previous “Deception”s–one in 1946, another in 1993), it is not a remake.  And it’s an excellent film, written by Mark Bomback.

Who cares who the screenwriter is? 

I do!

I’m one of those weird sons of bitches who stays for the credits (end-titles).  I say “weird” because I’m the only person I’ve ever known who does this.  Maybe it’s my OCD (“watch/read/listen to it completely, or not at all”), maybe not.  I’ve done this at least since I saw “Star Wars”, at age ten–probably because of the music.  Now I do it, whether there’s music or not. 

You can learn a hell of alot by staying for the credits (at the theater, or at home).  Of course, before the 1970’s there were no end-titles.  The meager credits were flashed at the beginning of the film, and that was it.  Now it’s the reverse–everyone involved is listed, and you realize how many roles there are in the making of a film. 

Then you see that “No animals were harmed in the making of this film”–which always cracks me up, not just because I can’t even remember if there were animals in the film, but because it’s never said whether any humans were harmed!   And if the movie’s on DVD or VHS (or Blu-ray–fuck that planned-obsolescence), you see the INTERPOL (International Criminal Police Organization) warning–which cracks me up even more, since “Criminal Police” is such an obvious oxymoron!  

But these long credit-rolls are okay with me, because I believe we should give credit where it’s due.  And this is the intended subject of this admittedly long, drawn-out post.  In the making of a film (or TV program, for that matter), who (if anyone) should get the most credit?

This is why I put “filmmaker” in quotes.  These days, the director is considered the filmmaker.  What about the producer (as pointed-out by Dustin Hoffman’s character, in “Wag the Dog”)? 

And what about the screenwriter?  Like Mark Bomback?  Remember the Screenwriters’-Guild Strike?  Brought Hollywood to a halt.  Why?  Because without screenwriters (for television or film), there could be no new films (or TV-episodes).

If I were involved in the making of a film, I’d be the screenwriter.  Of course I’d get no recognition from the viewing public.  (The only writers who do are also the directors, M. Night Shyamalan, for example.)  But I’d get the satisfaction of knowing that my role was every bit as important as that of the director–if not moreso.

AN APOLOGY TO MY MILLIONS OF FANS

For personal reasons, I deleted a post I had just written and added–but mistakenly deleted “HUMANS AND OTHER ANIMALS”, in the process.  I mention this because my millions of fans (including Rachelle Lafevre and Rachel Hunter) deserve an explanation!

INSIGHT-OUTSIGHT #5

It’s best to do the right thing for the right reason.  But it’s better to do the right thing for the wrong reason, than the wrong thing for the right reason.

A MOMENT OF REALIZATION

As I checked my mail a moment ago, a little boy bicycled by.  Though I didn’t know him, I acknowledged him (as is still customary in this region), saying, “How’re you doin’,” with a brief nod.  There was no mail, but I noticed the milkweed on the lawn.

There is one advantage of having mental illness: Since you’re already “crazy”, you can do whatever you want (within the law of course), without ruining your reputation!  And I do!  I sing outside, talk to myself outside, bless my beloved bamboo outside, and blow on milkweed outside, among other things!  I have always been enchanted by this–how the milkweed seeds parachute!

The only two prolific blooms were beside the mailbox, so I returned to that spot, and picked one.  But the parachuting seeds were barely visible, because there was no dark background.  So I picked the other one, and positioned it alongside an azalea bush.  Ah, it was wonderful–I could see them now!

Then I heard “…dude?“  It was the boy, having stopped and begun talking to two little girls, next door.  Since I wasn’t certain he was addressing me, I ignored him, and continued blowing on the seeds.

Yet then I heard the boy say, “He’s…fag!”  I looked back around the bush.  I couldn’t hear the girls’ response, but I did hear him say, “Well he must be!”

Having been called a “fag” countless times in middle school (simply for keeping to myself, out of shyness), my impulse was to come to my defense, and sharply correct him.  Then I found myself softly laughing!  He’s just a kid, I thought, and I’m no longer a kid!  So I released the remaining parachutes, and proudly came back inside!