How’s It Going to End?

  • I’VE BEEN BUSY (sort of)

Sorry about the lack of new entries. I don’t want to jinx it by speaking too much of it – I am having some success with my writing efforts. Not, mind you, at achieving publication, but, rather, at the actual act of composing. I’m not sure I even care much anymore if anyone ever reads any of it. I used to think I knew who were the regular readers of this blog, but, conversations of late – real and virtual – have made me realize that I was once again wrong.

I am wrong so often, it doesn’t even surprise me anymore. And I am also – final-ish-straw time – no longer phased, hurt, even bump-in-the-road-shocked when people I thought were listening to me turn out not to have ever much heard anything I actually said.

People are busy. And I guess I’ve never been much fun. It’s a Tom Waits sort of morning.


In other news, the child on whom I happily showered massive love through his formative years, he who has always been so kind, so there (here) and never once sold me up the river; he has scored ridiculously well on the LSAT. I am wonderfully happy for him and hope when he goes to law school he has Annalise Keating for a professor. And a lover who is not a murder suspect. Or crazy. His luck with women has been rather . . . well, he is a magnet for crazy. Thus, our long-standing devotion to one another. Speaking of, ever since our night of too-much-wine more than a week ago . . .

  • I’VE BEEN SICK (sort of)

Yes, though I’ll spare you the details, I have been experiencing some sort of intestinal disorder for eleven days now. Its initial strike the day after Mr. Soon-To-Be-Lawyer and I over-imbibed is what prompted my decision to – again – quit drinking. So, I have. But, alas, the dysentery-like-mystery-illness has yet to subside.

Good news, I’ve lost six pounds. And while I frequently feel slightly nauseated and have a minor-league headache, I do not have any fever and mostly, have an appetite – although any sort of food ingestion quickly involves a visit to a restroom, INSTANT availability of which is non-negotiable, LOL.

My approach to all things medical: Wait. It will go away. So, I’m hoping.

  • AND AMERICAN HORROR STORY … my weekly Jessica fix …

And while hoping, I am doing my writing and watching my programs. Last night’s AMERICAN HORROR STORY: FREAK SHOW – as always, loved. I am devoted. It’s fashionable for the hip and the reviewers and the arty types to do all sorts of cavilling and complaining and carping about Mr. Ryan Murphy on blogs and Twitter and such. Fuck ’em. Jealous of his empire. Jealous that he’s living his dream. Why don’t they all shut the hell up and expend their energy on making their own art rather than denigrating his? People are such assholes.

Segue there. Last night’s episode featured a near-naked Thor as trick for Dennis O’Hare’s character. I’ve never been a fan of superhero genre types, so, Thor was pretty and all (and count on Ryan to give us hot-man-ass — BUT WHEN DO WE SEE EVAN NAKED THIS YEAR? HMMM?) but I have had a thing for Denis O’Hare since I saw him on Broadway in Take Me Out, where he was virtually the only cast member who didn’t get naked. If he’s typecast in AHS, I seem to have missed something special.

AHS Freak O'Hare & Thor

And, in addition, we got another Jessica cabaret number:

And Frances Conroy -which is enough in itself – and Patti LaBelle doing a turn as Woody Woodpecker. Yes. That. And Finn Wittrock.

AHS Freak Finn

He may well be my new imaginary lover. I didn’t like the way Evan Peters looked at Emma Roberts last night. If he can’t understand that she is no good for him, well, I won’t wait forever. Except, maybe I will — I mean, look:

ahs evan crazyEvan Peters Coven 4Evan Peters Coven 3Evan Peters Coven 2

I forgive you, Evan. Until I see Wittrock’s ass. And I trust Ryan Murphy. I think we have the same taste in men. Which never ends well … or, never has so far. But . . .


I have no idea. And, you know what, this illness – which is sort of dehydrating and a bit tiring – is nicely metaphorical for my recent feelings about life; Doesn’t much matter what I put into it, same ridiculous, endless shit is the result.

Things to do. Must run.


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