FIRST (through SEVENTH) OF ALLS . . .
Honestly, this aging bullshit. Let me say, I am ready to die and wish it would just happen.
First of all, I am soon going to have to move again and I’ve neither the money nor the will to do so. I just can’t face packing and carrying and all that shit again. It’s exhausting and one always does it alone, it seems. (So, if you’ve a situation wherein is required a fellow with no employable skills, but who can clean like a demon, loves pets and old people, and has all the charm and elan of those Walkers of old – AND it has a two bedroom abode which has a roommate floor plan – meaning, the bedrooms don’t share walls, washer and dryer, parking, preferably a den/office, and is near 1000 a month – or can be traded for fellow’s cleaning/sitting.walking skills – let me know. But soon, I’ve ordered my copy of the Peaceful Pill handbook.)
BEING AN OLD MAN SUCKS – and sixteen year olds are taking over the world.
Second of all, I’ve neither the stamina nor fortitude to survive another election cycle. The world is just too damned noisy. I can’t stand the drone of people, TV, endless blather. I need silence and solitude. (Peaceful Pills, again.)
Third of all, I don’t know what to make of being approached by tatted, pierced, usually married (well, wearing rings anyway) young men and smooth, even younger, naked men at the gym – I see my sagging ass, third-rate body, not-very-pretty face – and I never know their names and why me? I mean, do I look like the kind of person who does shower/sauna hook-ups? And, see, THIS is the ONLY sort of man I attract – the kind who wishes to remain anonymous. It’s kind of lonely.
Fourth of all, I’m exhausted from being sick for so long (and old) and so my reading is being cut into because I keep nodding off – and why WHY can’t I – if I’ve got to nod – do the BIG NOD and be done with it?
Fifth of all, I hate it when one engages with people on Twitter and they ignore you. I’m talking about mutual-follow people, not those I am stalking. Twitter sometimes makes me feel like the unpopular kid in high school – again – which ties in nicely with third of all – because in high school I was also fucking around with guys who didn’t want anyone to know they were fucking around with me. Although, then, my ass wasn’t saggy and I had only one chin.
Sixth of all, being at (some days at, other days near-ish) my goal weight is not changing the entire world in the way I had hoped. You know, like Christmas Morning disappointment?
Seventh of all – well, there is just too much ALL and too many stops along the way – I will spare you any more. (Right now.)
NOW ON TO THE JOURNAL . . .
Yesterday. Morning. Readying to cross town to retrieve my aged Mother for a day of hairdo-ing and mater-genda, I walked down the slightly-sloped drive to get a better view of the street, needing to see if the neighborhood had put out trashcans. Monday was a holiday so there had been no collection and while I have lived here three years, I am, technically, a visitor (and have I mentioned that I need to move – again – and can’t face it?), and though I knew there was a second trash pick-up day, I didn’t know what it was. I stepped off the drive, into the yard, to get a better angle and somehow landed in a slight hole, the slightness of which did not stop me from twisting my ankle, falling to the ground, twisting my left knee, scraping both knees and right hip as I rolled down the very slight hill, backpack firmly in place.
Should anyone be interested: a backpack does seem to break a fall, but when filled with the four books one is carrying to fill the downtime while Mother shops and has her hair teased and tortured, it is not a soft, loving fall-breakage. Once again, I am bruised by my hardbacks.
I am an old man. It hurts. The ankle, knees, scrapes, hip, bruises, and embarrassment. But, mostly, the fear. I didn’t see the hole. It wasn’t much of a hole, probably didn’t even qualify as “hole” but, rather, an indentation or a dip. And I fell. Hard. And rolled. Far. I mean, it is funny now but this is how people break hips. I didn’t see this coming. And, I am pretty much alone in life. When I fall and can’t get up – there isn’t going to be anyone there to lift me.
I spent hours with my Mom, which I do, a lot, I have spent lots of hours with lots of people doing what they wanted, doing what they needed, taking care of, holding up, helping with their dreams and agendas – and, again, when I fall, when I have an agenda, there isn’t going to be anyone to lift me, to serve it. There is never anyone to pack my boxes. I’m always doing the packing and the lifting and the snow clearing and the – where the hell is that Peaceful Pill book?
The fall scared me. And I’m not going to talk about it. Instead, the following things.
A PROPOSAL … and Tyne Daly
I think marriage is ridiculous. The need to codify, the need to name, the need to have church or state validate, it all seems like over-sharing and boasting to me. Plus, I have seen in my long life maybe three relationships that were even close to unions in which I’d consider participating. Okay, I’m a curmudgeonly, bitter old man. I will give you this. I think romantic love is a myth and the emphasis we place on it a mistake and a patriarchal plot to keep us all too busy to see what the men in charge are getting away with. I also think monogamy is a joke and foolish aim. Even, however, having said all that, this on-stage proposal at “IT SHOULDA BEEN YOU” (is that still open?) had me near tears – but I think that’s because they got to be jumped up and down for and hugged by Tyne Daly. Tyne Freaking Daly!
TATIANA … TATIANA … TATIANA …
But enough of the curmudgeon for a minute or two. Here. I love LOVE LOVE BBC America’s “Orphan Black”. Tatiana Maslany is my spirit animal. If you haven’t seen the show, watch it. Tatiana plays clones. She is an amazing actress. Each character is so specific and different, it is a miraculous feat. She should have multiple Emmys by now. Instead, she’s never even been nominated. My favorite of her characters (at the moment) is Alison. Crazed soccer mom. Look:
You really, REALLY need to watch this show to appreciate this underwear dancing being done by two suburban former-vanilla-ites, now reveling in the money they’ve accumulated by drug dealing. Hilarious.
Tatiana also seems to be a fantastic human being. Listen:
Right? Love her.
GREY GARDENS … with Betty Buckley?!?!?
I am a well-known freak for all things Grey Gardens.
(Aside: No. You are NOT well-known at all. For anything. You can’t even get published. You were never famous. In fact, despite calling yourself a “book blogger” – your BIGGEST hits STILL come from people looking for pictures of Derek Hough and the Jonas Brothers naked. Life. Is. Not. Funny. You are not. Known. So. Shut. Up.)
I saw the Broadway production six times, including closing day. I was (am) obsessed. It reminded me of the home in which my aunt and grandparents lived, the family home, Libertytown, subject of my great (whatever – fuck you) unpublished novel, and, Little Edie with her outfits of torn pantyhose reminded me of my dearest aunt, Sissie, who was a little eccentric and on whom I have modeled myself. Although, I cannot carry off pantyhose.
(Aside: NOT TRUE. You looked fabulous in pantyhose both times you played Sylvia St. Croix in RUTHLESS. Many MANY people complimented you on your legs.)
And, I am also a HUGE Betty Buckley fan. I have seen her in “Sunset Boulevard” and in concert, more than once. SO, to read that Ms. Buckley will be doing “Grey Gardens” in Sag Harbor. OH. MY. HEAVENS. HERE’S THE ARTICLE – CLICK IT!
There then. I got my mind off moving. Whoops. Back again.
Bye kids. Happy weekending.