HAPPY NEW YEAR

got my outfit ready, just need to figure out where to put my money...........

SMELL YA NEXT YEAR!

when did I learn photoshop?
smiling during the daylight hours?
a semi-muscle on my left arm?

ok, so I moved the pic back up, can I help it if I finally found one lousy webcam pic I like?

so, you know how INERTIA has that negative connotation? I have the more "postive" form of it today; I can't stop moving! 4 loads of laundry (miracle of miracles, not a soul in the laundry room this morning); finally tipped the super and his assistant ( I skipped it last year, being unemployed an all; knew I couldn't do that 2 years in a row); post office, grocery store, scannin g pics for eBay auctions... and on and on.

I think it's this tickle in the back of my throat (not that kind, it's been 32 days since I've had that, not that I'm counting) - that this morning turned into a sniffle, so I know a cold is coming on. And while I don't go crazy on New Year's, I do have plans to stop by a pal's, have a ber or two, so when I'm sick as a dog tomorrow and the next day, would be nice if I planned ahead, had plenty of O.J., clean comfy clothes. More later on the LOADS of nice gifts I've received (I still can't get over the SIMPSONS DVD package!!!!!! - such a surprise, and sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo cool!)


......in Bjork news: a decent TIME magazine article

and a very cool OFFICIAL remix of Pagan Poetry - Matthew Herbert Handshake Mix
oh yeah, how could I forget, my great new t-shirt! - and no smart remarks from you who shouldn't even get the unintended irony of the shirt's design!

stop me before i kill again

I'm sure if it was a bicycle, rather than a car, I'd be doing much better, but nonetheless, Pedestrian Killer, with it's groovy looped music, could very well become my next interent game addiction.

HEY!

How cum no one told me the "auction" link above wasn't working? Guess I was trying to clean out old files, and accidentally deleted it. But have a few mags, etc, up now, so take a look. And Sparky has some stuff up, too. Wonder what I'd look like in a Gold Leather Jacket ?

awwwwwwww crap! I accidentally listed some of the mags under "Lesbian"! Shit, I hope I haven't traumatized anyone, seeing pics of Michael Brawn, David Burrill, Lee Ryder, or R.J. Reynolds! all 90's issues of INCHES, so you can imagine (or not, just click the links)

So, while some of you may think that I just sit on my ass all day, watching porno videos, and scouring old issues of HONCHO and MANDATE for tidbits on my favorite porn stars, I actually do venture beyond the realm of big-digged, hairy-assed, heavy-balled men. (heavy-balled?) Like Saturday, I was reading the articles in the Oct '81 issue of Mandate, and saw a rave review of a then new release by Alberta Hunter - someone who I had never heard of, but would guess some of you cooler folks have. So, I did a search on Audiogalaxy, and sorted thru some of the older work versus the newer stuff. Apparently, from the 20's thru the 40's, she sang her way thru the clubs of Chicago, recorded in New York, and toured Europe, did an award-winning stint with the USO, and at age 59 changed careers and became a nurse in Harlem! Then, in 1977, at the age of 81, retired from nursing and returned to music - This great account gives much fuller details of her early days and recordings, plus some great old recordings from the 20's, including the fact that she was a lesbian. Here are a couple recordings from what I believe were later in her career, the late 70's and early 80's.

Black Man
He's Funny That Way - listen up, you unemployed, married guys
I Got Myself A Working Man
My Handy Man Ain't So Handy Anymore

Sorry it's not one of those "fun" personality tests, but still, its mildly diverting for single boys like me on a Saturday night to get it confirmed right here on the internet that I am a "liberal airhead" - rather reassuring, actually - The F(ascist) Scale - (I scored 2.2)

As I'm sure many of you know, Joe Gage's Kansas City Trucking Co. turned 25 this week (opened on Dec 26th or 27th, 1976 - in time to qualify for the 1977 Oscars, but, alas, no nominations!). I was hoping to have a movie trailer video clip ready to show, but I'm just not technically adept enough (yet) to do it. It's about 18MB's, so anyone with a decent connection speed, I can always e-mail the 1-3/4 minute AVI file, if you'd like. I just put the tape in, am making a copy (shhh, don't tell the FBI) for a young new pal, who never had the opportunity to see the film at all, let alone in a dark, sleazy movie theatre like me - I saw it for the first time in 1979, at the Bijou Theatre on Wells St in Chicago. The original soundtrack by Al Steinman is great, and the synth theme song alone gets my cock all fidgety! Can you believe Gage actually used "Surroundsound" and had to outfit the theatres with special speakers to take advantage of the special audio enhancements? I'm gonna scour through some mags and see if I can find some more stills to post.

I guess the Texas Ranger badge got me in the mood for a cowpoke...... more later, when i have some more revealing pics of him.

update: I put together 2 more pics and some video info on this cowpoke, Myles Longue (aka Ed Wiley).

wow! went to my post office box, and a whole lot of stuff there! this badge was in a whole box of stuff from a great pal in Kansas! More later after I make some more coffee and open all this stuff!

Miss me?

hehe.... sure ya did! nice week away, but glad to be back. Probably have an exciting night unpacking (mostly 1/2 price Chocolates from Fannie May I bought on the 26th), ordering pizza, and deciding exactly how I want to deal with not having cum for 7 days, 15 hours, and 18 minutes.....

this just in.... looks like I'm having Japanese with a good pal, so may have to postpone even longer dealing with the "not cumming" issue - think I can handle it, though...

so, I'm off to Chicago to celebrate Xmas with some very cool nieces and nephews, and brothers and sisters, and MOM ( who I know I'll be staying up late into the night with, gabbing and eating). Plus a nice Xmas eve with the extended family.

of course, you know that's me on the right (like I'd ever show my naked ass on the internet!)

oh yeah, another Xmas fave - this one from Jimmy Smith

i had the BEST day shooping at the Bronx Zoo!!! I actually think I bought too much, but that's cool - you can never have too many stuffed chirping birds , stretch snakes, organically grown Rainforest Coffee or Chunky Safari storybooks. And then just now picked up a few CD's at Virgin (30% off EVERYTHING with AMEX BLUE).

am i the only person having a frustratingly hard time with BLOGGER for the past 4-5 days???

oh yeah, for some PG fun, Meet Ray Harley

this little monster truck has been outside of my window for the past 2 days! This morning, it started at 7am, pushing dirt around. I know it's a good thing to be getting a city garden outside your window instead of that old parking light with car alarms in the middle of the night, but, gggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.........

........speaking of Bunny, I knew she sang, but never heard this - The Pussycat Song

there is a big noisy truck outside my window pushing dirt around the former parking lot soon-to-be-garden - OWWW!

had a great brunch (lunch for him, breakfast for me) with Andy - he's even more fun off the stage/ off the webpage! I'm still fighting this hangover, and am a bit tipsy, so I can hardly believe I was able to carry on a conversation (or maybe he was just being polite by laughing at my jokes? those were jokes he was laughing at........right?). And last night, Ms. Bunny didn't look quite as, um, airbrushed, as this palmcard promoting her new night at The Hole (is it called 1979, or Bunnyhole, I can't remember). But, it was so fun listening to her talk about old Pyramid Club days, and this new night (which appears to be rather cold - I couldnt quite figure out if they have no heat, or a broken airconditioner) - by the time I get back in town, it'll be THE place to go on Sunday nights. And then all this trashy talk about Lady Kier! We had no idea if she was pulling our leg, just exagerating for effect, or telling some really cool dirty stories about the "early days", but we ate it up like little kids!

Speaking of fun, have you checked out Shane's dirty art - either I hadn't been paying attention, or he recently added a LOT more great stuff!

ow
ow
OWWWWWWW. i am only waking up to take some much-needed aspirin (something I should have done hours ago) I left my cock/ball divider on all night, and ouch it was throbbing a few minutes ago, I couldn't unsnap the damn thing! who the fuck was I dreaming about........?

Merry Cockmas

all i can say (as I eat this really hot garlic salsa) is that you're lucky you're not in my refrigerator. You would be in my face, and down my throat so fast......... Lots of cute boys, Lady Bunny, my pal Jeff, and many. many beers tonight. Bunny was gracious, but didn't want any of my kitchen weed, saying she'd be too paranoid, as she reached into her bra, and then snorted something, We entertained ourselves by tieing some helium balloons to this guy who was passed out. Gosh, think I'll take these chips to bed with me.

is it too late to say Happy Birthday, Handsome?

I have about 50 hours to write an xmas list, and then buy all the stuff - luckily, I have few friends, and they all know I'm lazy, broke, and unemployed - so, really just family (3 nieces, 3 nephews). I have plans for brunch, but after that, I should run up to the Bronx Zoo to get some cool stuff for the kids - I haven't been there in over a year!

Tonight, The Cock is apparently celebrating it's 4th anniversary, and has an open bar for about an hour; might be fun; Monday night, I think Girlina is spinning (gosh, I would never know that sort of thing, except she was so nice to me a few months back). OOH, just talked to Jeffy, he's going, so we might meet up at The Phoneix first, then get to the Cock at 11:58 to take full advantage of that hour of free drinks. "Special Guests" are promised to be there - woo-hoo! Maybe I'll even bring some kitchen weed and celebrate that nice paycheck I got today.

fa la la la la.........

Watching Pee Wee's Christmas special is still hilarious 13 years later (sorry about the recent raid of your "vintage erotica" by the L.A. police (or was that the FBI?) - anyway, I went scrambling for Charo's version of Feliz Navidad, but could only find these two poor, but good in their own right, substitutes -

Feliz Navidad (is that the music from Public Image mixed in?)
Feliz Navidad

.........today, no (paid) work (you'd think 21 hours of painting, cleaning, etc wouldn't be all that bad, but my body aches soooooooo much) so today I clean my own apartment, ship some porno, decorate the tree, sort through some porn for selling in January (did I mention I got a new batch of cockrings? - will be selling after the 1st), finishing that porno tape for a fellow blogger, much coffee drinking, of course, and, thinking alot about this message from blogcrushboy: "c'mon on over and i'll let you work on mine!"

Feliz Naviblah

Merry Christmas, Darling

So, um, that's my skinny tree. In keeping with tradition, I waited until I had several beers in my belly before biking over to the tree stand on 14th and 1st. Interrupting this French guy talking to a homeless guy, he very quickly asked "Are you a buyer?" (no, I'm a seller, need some more trees?). When I showed him my $17.00 dollars, his smile faded quickly; I explained I always come to this lot, and get a tree for around 15 bucks - he sighs, says, "well, I dunno, let's look over here" ( they always walk me over to the ugly trees they set off to the side, I'm used to that) and he pulls out this stupid midget tree, with the 2 pieces of wood nailed in to the bottom (why the hell do they do that?). It just came past my knee in height, and I said "NO NO, this high" gesturing to the top of my head. "Oh, you think you can get a 4-foot tree with only 17 dollars?" the Frenchie asked into the air. "No, I'm a bit taller than 4 feet" "And you're sure you bought from this lot before? Maybe you should come back tomorrow"

Have you ever had a tree salesman NOT find a tree for you at 3 a.m.? Not me! And where was the white trash guy who's usually here at this hour, anyway? Shit, I remember paying that guy with a ten, a few singles, and a couple of subway tokens one year - grrrrrrrrrr. Hoping on the bike, heading home, I knew I could check out a few places on the way. Ahhhh, the lot across from The Cock. Our Lady of Perpetual Sinners or something like that was selling trees - yeah! I pull up, the guy smiles widely, asks "How Can I help you?" and I say "I want a big ass tree, this kind ( I point to one of those short-leaved ones), and I have 17 dollars" "Oh, well, I work for The Church of Perpetual Sinners (or something like that) and they've instructed me to make sure everyone walks away with a tree" - My kinda guy!

"Wanna take a walk through the forest?" Teetering a bit on the bike, I thought "what kinda pick-up line is that?" but aloud I merely said "huh?" - "Why don't you look through the trees, pick one out you like, and we'll take it from there" So, I pedal a few steps, pull out some nice-looking big-ass tree and I hear: "WHOAH WHOAH!! - er, I mean, you sure you like that one?" "What, don't you think it's nice-lookin'?" he agrees, but asks about the size of my............... apartment, I think, showing me skinnier, smaller trees. Chuckling, he pulls out this tree that you see pictured, and he assures me it won't take up too much space (I don't remember saying I didn't have much space, but, it's closing in on 4am, and I want a tree, goddamnit!) OK , cool, I relent ( I really do prefer the goofy-shaped ones anyway, but it's all part of the game of buying). He then gives it a "fresh cut" handing me the piece he just sawed off, insisting I sniff it, and take off my glove and feel how moist it is. I half-expected to have to swirl it in my mouth for a few moments before swallowing, but I made enough ooohs and ahhhhs to make him happy knowing I was happy.

Biking home, getting a few stares from other drunks (er, Happy Holiday Celebrating folks), I got into the apartment quickly, put my tree in the corner (knowing it would be too dangerous to try to set up the stand at that point) and began my late-night search for food. Hours later, I wake up, apartment smells great, remnants of food near my bed, and my head pounding, pounding pounding....... So, later, after the tree gets a chance to breathe, it'll get a ton of lights and ornaments I have collected over 19 Christmases in New York.

tired, but really want to go out for $1.00 draft beers - should I put on my Santa hat and go?

a couple tunes I dig this time of year
(from "a Reggae Christmas - an album my "80's boyfriend" gave me) -

Jingle Bells

Joy To The World

.........aren't you supposed to go shopping when you're down in the dumps? ("so, BJ, that's where you get your clothes!" - ba dum dum) ...............

I didn't know that skinheads wore thongs - - um, Shane, is this true?

OK, so maybe Earring Magic Ken is "gay interest"

but a 6 inch penis? "gay interest"? I DON'T THINK SO!

.......I need to get ready for work, but I had a troubling conversation with a very good friend last night. Without going into details, it was rather upsetting to me, because, after the fact, I realized I did what I had feared I might do regarding the 9/11 attacks - seeing any related stories in that cynical, jaded, over-it point of view which we all seem to do after seemingly too much exposure to anything.

Here it was about a tax-break one of the victims wives was advocating, and while I still have trouble with the particulars of that plan, my comments were more about her, and we got into a whole, awful argument about deserving, nondeserving, comparison of pain and loss, etc. What troubles me is that I went in the direction of thinking of her as just another political animal, like the big airlines that were ready with their hands out only hours after the attacks. Clearly, that is wrong-headed on my part. And while we all make mistakes, and beating myself up doesn't necessarily do much good, what really bothers me are the implications of this. If only 3 months after the attacks, someone who lives right here in NYC, who pledged to be "better" and "different" and more caring and all that crap, can't sustain that feeling, what is happening in the rest of the country, the world?

And I think that the way we express ourselves is very important, that we need to make distinctions between differences of opinions on ideas, and getting personal and second-guessing agendas and motivations. While I still feel it's reasonable to scream and name-call Saudi Arabia, American Airlines, this current government and the past few administrations, baggage-check companies, etc etc etc - that's a no-brainer - these folks didn't do what they should have done BEFORE these attacks, and in some way (and we can argue how much, but certainly there is blame here) their deriliction of duty made it easier for the "evil ones" to stage, and succeed, in this attack. And some of the victims are being used by these folks, and others, for their own agendas (i.e estate tax breaks up to $8.5 million seems excessive, but you know which political party wants to open the door here, and then expand it..), but we (I) need to be careful about name-calling the folks who took an unbearable loss, and are struggling with how to go on, how to "give meaning" to this, or honor thier loved ones, etc. It's easy to see a middle/ upper-middle class woman hobnob with Senators trying to get a tax break and then sneer, but how do we know that her intentions aren't more than self-aimed, that she may be aware of the inequities, and sees that while people ARE still paying attention, she needs to be out their, advocating for something that may well help others like her who can't be out there, or god-forbid, future victims of this "war" that takes only a few military casualties, and thousands of civilian ones.

..........okay, i'm getting really tired of these rotten, restless nights of NO SLEEP; from that solitary West Nile Virus mosquito buzzing around my head, to the creepy half awake/half asleep dreams, and me roaming around the apartment looking for something to make me sleepy.......... I need a volunteer, just for a few days, to come over, have hot sweaty sex, and cuddle up with me until you've seen me sleep for a minimum of 2 hours - then you can go home, and come back the next night................... anyone?

meanwhile, check out these great pics of a lovely snow-covered home (grrrrrrrrr, I'll keep my nasty envious comments to myself, it looks sooooooooo nice!)

man! it's cold out there!

after dinner, it's snuggling up on the couch, watching some Joe Gage porn, and whacking it 'til it fuckin' falls off!

Anyone want to explain to me why this is of "gay interest"?
or what makes this gay?

nice nuts

pretty good day today - got 15 porn packages shipped out (probably a record for me!) got a package from a great online pal, with these delcious cookies (pecanmeal as the secret ingredient - fuckin' amazing!), and some beautiful homegrown walnuts - whadya think? wonder how often someone tells her - "nice nuts"?

plus, got a rare, brief, live netmeeting glimpse of blogcrushboy (i think he came after like 5 seconds, then disconnected, oh well) - it's cold and rainy, finally feeling more like December in New York, so time to look through the xmas stuff, and it's SATURDAY NIGHT IN MANHATTAN - you know what that means!!!!!!!!!! PIZZA! yeah, two boots pizza - my usual: fresh garlic, sundried tomatoes, spinach, mushroom, and crawfish (see, sometimes it's really nice not to have to worry about what a boyfriend might think about your eating habits)

paycheck

another day working - painting, cleaning, hauling more garbage, BUT, got my first check - woohoo!!!! It's turned into more work than I had expected, which is good. Even better, she seems happy with my work, and raised my payrate that we had agreed upon a couple weeks back. So, a few more days, mostly painting, is great. Meanwhile, haven't had an on-line chat with blogcrushboy in days........ oops, was I supposed to stop (s)talking about him?

Porn-wise, I got a video called Tease Me which claimed it starred Casey Donovan and Val Martin (one of, if not the first, leather daddies) - fortunately, I figured it must have been a scene from a 1974 Wakefield Poole film called Moving, and not only was I right, but it has at least one more scene from the old film - (I only watched the Casey/Val poolside scene yesterday morning - quite "inspiring").

Another one of those restless nights - I keep waking up, roaming around the apartment, check e-mail, have something to drink from the fridge, wander back into the bed. Finally seemed to be in a good sleep, and had a dream. Fairly vague, of course, but some new bar, in a suburban bungalo-type house. It had a backroom in it's basement (surprised I dreamt about a bar with a backroom?) that you had to go outside to get to. And it was a fairly small one, with all the clutter of someone's overstuffed basement - broken chairs, strug-up Xmas lights that didn't quite work, etc. So, I have a beer upstairs, come outside, through a bit of snow to reach the basement/backroom, and am in there a bit, roaming around, and there are couplings and people standing, staring into space - but funny, nothing realy explicitly sexual, or at least I don't remember any body parts or actual sexual activity. So, as I am watching, my-most-recent Ex comes in, stands in the middle of the room, just sort of looks around for a few minutes, doesn't seem to see me, then leaves.

Just as in real life, in the dream my heart stops, and races, simultaneously. I can't decide what to do, so I let my legs do my thinking. They take me outside, where I quickly unlock my bike, hop on, and race in the direction I figure he must have gone, eventually getting to someone who turns out not to be him. Frustrated, I return to the bar (the upstairs BAR part of the bar) to have another beer, and feel foolish. I don't actually get a beer, cuz he's there - he's the bartender. Oddly, I don't see his face, I don't even look at him, I can just sense that it's him, and so I slowly move around the edges of the room, cat-like, deciding what to do. Soon I am outside, in the snow, thinking "he's the bartender at my new hangout! ferchrisskes, when will this end!!?" as I pace around in the snow, saddened, and frustrated.

A few minutes later, I am in the kitchen making coffee, sad, and thinking about the dream. I guess I should've known it was coming, I've spent most of the past 2 weeks in a pretty good mood, somehow putting aside my fears of going anywhere near an airport, and buying a ticket to see my family for Xmas, having a few days' worth of work to do, and other things that seem to have cheered me up. But, alas, my favorite Xmas was 3 years ago, with him. So, of course, how can I really get into this season without dipping into some of that emotion. We had gotten back together just after Thanksgiving, early December, and then decided to spend Xmas day together, him cooking a big meal, and all that. Meanwhile, I had gotten hit by a cab while riding my bike home from work - nothing too serious, just a fractured shoulder, arm in sling (yeah, wise guys, just the arm!). We even did shopping for the big meal together, me being completely useless, but having the time of my life, never having seen this side of him, this desire to make a big terrific meal. Some sort of old-fashioned stuffing for the turkey, tons of side dishes, etc. So, he carries 3 bags of stuff; and me just one bag on my one useful arm, on the subway. We wound up spending 3 nights in a row together, something we had never done, but it was easier for preparing for the big day together. He worked in retail, so worked Xmas eve, so I was home, under my lit-up Xmas tree ( I bought it the night before my accident, thank god!) and, with only one arm, I managed to make some great chocolate chip cookies (I don't even have a mixer, I just nestled the bowl in my lap, and did all the mixing, one-armed).

We met up early evening, me with my gifts, assigned last-minute kitchen stuff, and some tidbits of food, plus the cookies (well-hidden). See, we had developed this silly routine, where I would make cookies at home, and on a visit, I would hide a blue-lidded tupperware of them somewhere in his kitchen, and he would not find them til after I had left, sometimes, a day or two later. I'd get a phone call, maybe just an answering machine message, with him thanking me, usually with the sound of him eating a cookie while speaking. So, we had a nice Xmas Eve dinner, watched some t.v., had great sex, and fell asleep in each other's arms, me as high as a kite. During the night, I woke up, as I often do, did the bathroom thing, then went into my bag, and got out the cookies. I hadn't planned this, but it seemed silly enough, so....... I took out a small plate, put a couple cookies on it, and got a glass of milk. I drank most of the milk, and broke up one of the cookies to leave crumbs, leaving the dish and the glass on the dining room table, then went back to sleep. In the morning, he got up and out of bed before me, and I could hear him in the kitchen, getting the coffee ready. Suddenly, I hear him run into the bedroom, he grabs me, all smiley, and exclaims "Santa came! Santa came!"

I took the The Art Test thingee off the page, since it seems I am the last kid on my block to do it - I usually don't do these tests (ok, I did the animal one, and only posted it cuz I was an otter) - but it made me laugh, cuz not only do I love the pic ( an ex gave me this in a postcard, in fact) but the cool blogger who I found the test thru also was the same work of art!

so, i got out, had 2 beers, but not before blogcrushboy sends me 3, count-them-three!, pics! one, shirt with beautiful cock pointing right at me shot, next with great smile and (niece/nephew) on lap shot, then, a silly pulling-up-the-shirt-see-my-hairy-nipples shot! - cynical BJ would be thinking "awww crap, how can i go out and drink and try to pick up some guy after seeing such a cutie" ...........................but.................. I haven't seen cynical BJ in hours! so, instead, I just grinned while I sloshed down those 2 beers, one courtesy of a pal I hadn't seen in awhile. And my buddy asked me if I had my Xmas tree yet; then said he was just telling another guy of when he and I met 12-15 years ago, we did the old slurp-slurp, slosh-slosh at my place, and, "done" he asked "should I turn the Xmas tree lights out" as we began to snuggle up for some sleep - and I exclaimed "NO!, if I wake up in the middle of the night, I like to see the lights on!" - I'm such a kid, sometimes........

good day

ahhhhhh, good day working. I don't mean sitting on yer ass, making a few phonecalls, pushing some employees around, kissing your boss's ass, and deciding between saladbar or BurgerKing; I mean 9 hours of breaking your back carrying stinky garbage down a couple flights of stairs, painting walls several times with white paint and seeing that the blue walls are, um, still blue; scrubbing a toilet that won't quite come clean, and just before hopping on a subway train, grabbing a $3.00 Mango Mama that makes you feel sooo good, clicking on the discthing and realizing, again, that Exene is GOD.

2 from Old Wives' Tales:

Biggest Memory
Famous Barmaid

..............working today - EEEEEEGAD! and I woke up late!

a friend of mine swore she saw some leather pants in a trailer for Kansas City Trucking, and after a day of looking at way too much porn, I still had to see if she was right (yes, the shot of a guy unzipping leather pants is in the trailer, but I am pretty sure it got put in there by mistake). I was trying earlier today to update my Video Collection page, but I wound up totally fascinated by this guy in a 70's film called Anything Goes using an ACCU-JAC while lying on a water bed (I admit, I was getting a bit dizzy, and when he pulled out this skinny, long dildo........!) anyway, did you know you can get your old ACCU-JAC repaired??? I promise to try to get some screen captures from the film in the next day or two; but that machine really looks like it could be the answer to all my problems!

somebody was asking me about my video BJ GETS WET - like, "what's the plot?" um, er, I just , um, get wet, ya know?

ok, so I didn't go right to bed. damn! I watched an Al Parker movie, (well, not all of one, but enough - wink, wink) then some ice cream ( which I sprinkled bits of hello dollies on, which one reader wrote were suspiciously like these), then microwave popcorn - fortunately I was just dozing off before I could warm up some chili - and gosh do I have a junkfood hangover this morning - owwwwwwwwww!

must
not
think about blogcrush
must ignore another
2 hour fun on-line chat
and try to get some
sleep

but it's so cool to fall asleep smiling.........................

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.........late last night I managed to find a place to grab most of the songs from Bjork's Sept 5th concert here in NYC (the small one at Riverside Chapel, with about 100 of us in attendance); the downloading was erratic, so I "napped" on the couch right here, occasionally getting up to try to snatch more music; I only got about 5-6 full songs, but this morning, with more grim pictures on the news, I need more than ever to bury myself in that beautiful evening I had 3 months ago, when everything seemed so wonderful ...........

All Is Full of Love (9/5 live)

Pagan Poetry (9/5 live)

think I'll just listen to Bjork, and watch porno until all this stupid shit is over - I guess I'm never leaving this apartment......

Travessia


not sure why it never made it to RED HOT + RIO, the album she recorded it for (either she changed her mind, or they rejected it, depending on which source you believe); apparently, it's this song by Milton Nascimento that introduced Bjork to the work of arranger Eumir Deodato (do your own google search to check out his amazing career). Nonetheless, the translated-from-Portuguese lyrics should give you an idea why she picked the song in the first place.


When you went away
Night came into my life
I'm strong but I can't handle
Today i am gonna have to cry
My house isn't mine
Neither is the place i stand
I am lonely and don't exist
I have so much to say

I free my voice in the streets
I don't want to stop now
My path is made of stone
So how can I dream
Dream made of a breeze
Wind come and finish this
I'm going to end my sorrow
I want to take my life

I'm going through life
Letting you go
I don't want to die anymore
I have plenty to live for
I want to love again,
And if things don't work, I won't suffer
I don't dream anymore
These days I keep going only with my strength

First Avenue Bus

I don't take public transportation much, I prefer riding my bike around town, and even when working, for years I've managed to stay clear of the MTA. But when I need to go uptown on the eastside, I prefer to take the 1st Avenue bus, as opposed to the subway, because I like to look out the window, daydream, sort things out, remember stuff. The most common thoughts come from seeing the many hospitals on the route: Beth Israel, NYU Medical, Bellevue, etc.

On 16th street is Beth Israel, where Paul died many years ago. He lived right on 14th st, just off First, right across the street from where I get my Xmas tree. Paul was the first person I knew who took AZT, back when you had to take shitloads of the stuff; he was also the first friend who I thought "why him and not me, he's been a good guy, sweet, monogamous; I've been the slut, cheating, sleeping around". He had been in the hospital for awhile, and I was in one of my unemployed periods, so, while riding my bike, I thought I could stop by, mid-afternoon, and visit when no one else was around, just a nice, casual, unplanned visit. I had done it before, sometimes he'd be asleep, and I'd just watchover him, looking, hoping. Anyway, pulling my walkman off, I approach his room, and see his boyfriend, and a woman, in the room, Paul sleeping. the boyfriend spotted me, pulled me aside, quietly telling me that it was "that time" , Paul's sister was there, the rest of the family would be here soon - and would I tell the others, so they could say goodbye. Naively stunned, it was probably one of the few times I'd gone into a hospital and didn't think about death. I went home, and before calling my boyfriend, or the other friends I was assigned to tell, I sat on the couch, having put on The Buzzcock's I Believe, for no reason other than I had just seen them at a reunion gig. I don't think it was anything Paul liked, but it was a good blast-the-stereo-sing-and-scream song. I played it several times, screaming the lyrics "There is; no love; in this; world anymore" over and over, blasting it louder each time, trying to force myself to get the tears out of the way, so I could properly make my calls to my friends, and tell them Paul would soon be dead.

A few days later, we're sitting in Paul and Mark's apartment, discussing plans for the service - Lesbian Rabbi, Frank Zappa cassette (I was assigned that), a checklist of things to do, arrangements to be made. I was useless, not at all interacting, as everyone acted like it was just this thing that needed to get done, and I felt the room get smaller and smaller, and the fact that no one was SCREAMING was making me more and more insular, and angry. We certainly didn't discuss our feelings, our loss, our anger, nothing. I know, I guess it's pretty obvious that you can assume all that, afterall, we're friends; but I just felt this huge gap between myself and the rest of the world, I wanted to explode, and instead I am dutifully jotting down a few notes of the tunes to record. When the service was over, and everyone was leaving, and just the boombox was up there, Frank Zappa noises screaching out, I began to realize why we had all just gone through the motions - it was too scarey to articulate what we were really thinking, looking around this room, or the livingroom a few nights earlier, "who's next?"

Bellevue is up around 27th and First; Rick was there only a short while. He hated the place, probably because it was a Public Hospital, and he had "issues" with stuff like that. Each person who came into the room commented on the great view he had of the East River, and he grimaced each time he heard it. Each time I'd come, I'd be taking cans of Ensure out of a bag, trying to find a place for them, encouraging him to drink them, like he was a little kid who needed coaxing. His sister had moved in with him, to help take care of him. He had bought a "fixer-upper" apartment (we all wondered how he lived there so long without a toilet......), and soon his parents were in town, finishing up his apartment, buying a refrigerator, carpeting, comfy easy chair, all this nice shit, so that whatever time he had left, he would be comfortable. Eventually Rick was in St Vincent's in the Village, and one evening, just the two of us, we had a talk about how sorry we were that we had that stupid fight the previous summer about welfare, and poor people, not speaking for months, and all the time we lost. Rick didn't express his feelings often, and it all poured out, each of us challenging the other "no no, I was the idiot, I'm sorry" and we laughed, and cried, and hugged, something we had never done before. This was the roughest; he was the closest friend who had gotten sick, and we were panicked, not knowing what the hell to do for him, but his folks were great, sweet people. I can even remember the outfit Rick would wear to WonderBar on Wednesdays for the cheap beer/backroom. This dingy knit cap, dingy yellowish t-shirt, his "grunge" look. And I remember when he and Mark quit drinking, occasionally going to those meetings, and talking about the cute guys afterwards, and our replacement activity: Scrabble. We'd just listen to music, and play Scrabble late into the night - I still can't listen to the Cranberries since then, Mark and Rick would do this stupid sing-along during the chorus of Linger, simulatameously irritating the crap out of me, and making me laugh my ass off - and now it's the quickest way to get me to cry, playing that song. But then, one Saturday at work, I got the call. "Come to the hospital, Rick wants to say goodbye." Apparently, he had had enough, too much time in the hospital, not getting better, feeling like crap, he wanted to go home to his parents house, and just see what would happen. We all knew what would happen, of course. The doctor's told him explicity that he was unlikely to survive the drive. I got there, got out of the cab, and standing there, on the corner, was David Byrne and a small child, who got into my cab. I have no idea why that sticks out, but I got into the hospital, found Mark, Rick's best friend, and we stood at the elevator for a minute or two, looked at each other, and ran to the stairs. Just as we began to go up, I stopped him, and said "I need one minute, one minute to be ready to pretend I'm not totally against this, and angry as hell at him for quitting, and giving up, and not trying hard enough; we have to go in there and tell him that whatever he decides is the right decision, and it's cool with us". We got upstairs, and of course, several friends, the whole family, our good friend Larry, the social worker. We had to take turns. In the waiting room was his father, stoic all this long time of trying his best to do whatever needed to be done; his eyes full, he very quietly said "I can't believe I'm letting my son do this, it's the wrong decision, but what can I do, it's his life, and it must be awful for him."

They got an ambulance to take him from Manhattan to Rhode Island; the next morning his sister called, he made it home, he died in his bed, the bedroom he grew up in, it was peaceful, he was happy to be home.

Alden wasn't really a friend of mine, but we had that Act-Up connection, having done several "actions" together, particularly on Day of Desperation (just as the Gulf War started). I actually fucked something up on our banner over the FDR Drive that Alden had to fix, and then he got stopped by the cops. Oh yeah, and he had an affair with my boyfriend. Even friends of mine said I couldn't blame Jim, after all Alden was that cool Act-Upper who always knew what to say, what to do (and it was true, he was amazing). Anyway, here I am, standing out in front of NYU Medical (in the 30's somewhere?) talking to Jim, who I had just spent part of the day with, and I hand him a tupperware container of oatmeal cookies, thinking maybe Alden could eat them, I didn't really know. While they weren't "dating" any longer, they had become very close, and when he got sick, Jim did everything and anything he could for him. He went to the hospital all the time, did errands, took care of stuff. Here he is, taking care of an ex, someone he dated while he was seeing me, really weird, but this was not the time to worry about my own discomfort, of course. I don't remember how long he was in the hospital, but sometime after he got out, Jim called me in a panic. He hadn't heard from Alden in a day or two, no answer at his apartment, on his phone; totally unusual for him. We called the police, and our fears were proven right when we got into the apartment - he had passed away, alone, at home, watching t.v. There was the memorial through the streets of the East Village, very loud, very angry, very disturbing having his face on these huge placards; of course, this time, I wasn't chanting loud, or holding a placard, just quietly walking with the crowd, lost in my own thoughts - the image of that very strong man naked on the floor, frail, dead. The next few days, weeks, were tough; Jim was very depressed, and unable to talk to me. But he had other friends, friends who were closer to Alden like he was, friends he could talk to, and cry with. Sometimes I would be making something for dinner, and he'd be on the phone, crying, and I knew that it was good, at least he had someone he was comfortable sharing this with. I just made sure Jim ate, and had my warm body to sleep with, and just made sure I was available, not being able to take the pain away, but just in case, just in case I could say, or do something....

Up on 66th st, just east of First Avenue is the church where they had the funeral for Paul (a diferent Paul from the other pal above). Paul worked for MTV, and when he got sick, he managed some disability arrangement that helped him live in Brazil for awhile. Paul was the guy who I invented the "east Village handshake" with - no one really remembers it, cuz it was just a little inside joke for a few of us, basically you went up to your buddy and just stuck your hand in his crotch - obviously we thought of it at one of the many drunken parties Mark and I had on Norfolk St. Not sure when Paul got back to the States, but when he died, his family came here, and had the funeral at this little church on the upper east side. I remember everyone in the family had little red ribbons on. This was the first time I had seen them and didn't snear - all us cocky Act-Uppers thought it was just some trendy Hollywood fashion thing "look, look, I'm concerned" - but here was his family, in a not very supportive Catholic Church, making sure it was clear their son had died of AIDS. They talked about it from the pulpit, that while they were robbed of their son, he had had a good life, good friends, etc. They took genuine interest in meeting us all. Several of us went out together, to some pub restaurant nearby. Very odd, but somehow fitting, to be in this Irish saloon , on the day of a friend's funeral, drinking beer in the middle of the day, telling stories.

I think about stuff like that when I'm on this bus, going uptown, the bus stopping to let some old folks off, or taking forever while a wheelchair unloads, the rest of the bus riders clearly irritated by these delays; ah, if only it was a matter of a brief inconvenience, eh?

Remember the dead, and fight like hell for the living.