Horror Stories … existential variety …

gif jessica langeI’m not quite as caught in the undertow as I was  in yesterday’s post “Homes, Housepets, Husbands, and Heartaches Not My Own; A How Not To Manual” [click it] but, warning, still not as perky as I might be. Trying. Really, I am.

First world existential issues: my internet connection here where I am house/pet sitting is iffy and odd and disconnects me frequently. Being frequently disconnected feels oddly, terrifyingly symbolic. I’ve been disconnecting myself – as it were – anyway, and other than yesterday’s blog, pretty much hiding out in my own weirdness. Too, one of the doggies here has wakened today – and did I mention they make me get up at 4:30-5:00 a.m. here? – with stomach issues. Gwennie didn’t eat her breakfast, has chewed a lot of grass, shat on the rug, and has stomach-growling going on the volume of which challenges mine from a few weeks ago. I sympathize, Gwennie. She is on my lap, passing gas and gastro-gurgling as I type.

Life is hard right now. There is a lot of Continue reading

#GoneGirl … false advertising

gone-girl-poster1Spoilers? Look, sometimes they are a public service. Like this one: Ben Affleck and Neil Patrick Harris do both show penis but the shots are so fast, you can barely appreciate the girth and length and width of their talents. I will be purchasing the DVD. Can you say: Stop. Action.

(LATE NOTE: And, if you need ANY MORE proof that we are immersed in a misogynist male-centric culture – all this discussion – AND I INCLUDE MYSELF IN THIS WHICH IS WHY I HAVE ADDED THIS NOTE ONCE I REALIZED WHAT A BIG DEAL I MADE OF THE PENI AND THOUGHT NOTHING OF THE WOMEN BEING ASKED TO DISROBE – about Affleck and Harris penis – and no discussion of the frequently exposed breasts of Rosamund Pike and Emily Ratajkowski. Female nudity is expected. Male nudity is a topic of discussion. It’s STILL okay to measure women by their breasts and still NOT okay to measure men by their penises. Or, make their penises the measure of the men. Well, except at my gym, in the showers and sauna, and . . . never mind. Where was I?)

I read the book and I marvelled at Gillian Flynn’s technical acumen. The structure and the plotting and the handling of the surprises and twists were all quite breath-taking. But, I hated the ending.

Now, I’ve seen the movie. I thought the script was well-done, the casting was phenomenal — and as my friend said, “I never thought I’d ever say this but Tyler Perry was good.” Yup. Same for Mr. Affleck – although I think he should have cried in the final scene with the sister character. I thought Kim Dickens was especially amazing as Detective Rhonda Boney. Still, I hated the ending.

I did, however, love the long exposure of Neil Patrick Harris’ ass. Would I recommend the film? Well, not if you’re going for Affleck and Harris penis (not that I know ANYONE who did go for that reason) but if you read the book and loved it, this is a very faithful, well done adaptation.

alamosI had a glass (maybe two) of wine before I saw the film – and let me say this about that. I had those glasses along with dinner at Macaroni Grill. Not a huge fan of chain restaurants but local Macaroni Grill shares a parking lot with the cinema complex. Too, the LAST time I was dragged there by another loved one for whom Macaroni Grill mac and cheese is crack, it was literally “a kick in the head”; I shared a booth-back with an out-of-control, nine or ten-year-old, barefoot brat who jiggled, jumped, and jolted so much that I spilled my wine. The ultimate affront was when the beast put his BARE FEET on the seat back and kicked me in the head. After my death-ray glare did nothing but get a sort of raised hand, “what can you do” smile from the demon’s grandfather (I think – I suppose it could have been his father, the age of whose rotted, fetid seed would explain the child’s bestial nature). When I very politely mentioned m the ongoing disruption of my dinner to the manager wandering around in his un-tucked, wrinkled shirt, I was told, “Oh, sorry, wish I could do something.” Unlike him, I DID do something. I wrote to corporate. They sent me a $20 gift card. Uhm, here’s the thing. My dinner that night was considerably more than $20. And last night, well, I had a glass of Alamos Malbec – an acceptable red that can be found for somewhere in the range of $9 to $12 depending on the liquor store and whether or not one buys twelve bottles at a time (don’t ask) – so imagine my chagrin to find A GLASS priced at $8.50 and a bottle at $36. WHAT THE FUCK? The bottle of wine at dinner was TWICE AS MUCH as the gift card they sent me for the ruination of my LAST over-priced dinner there.

Worse, the hostess did not get my jokes (and I’m funny, ask my dear-one, A.B.C.) and the waiter kept trying to be amusing but he was not.

No worries. On a sort-of-related note – this is my second under-1000-word – slash – trying to be perky/funny blog entry. Might I mention that the FIRST got about HALF as many hits as do my lugubrious, depressed entries. Hmm, maybe happy isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Whatever. Nothing can bring me down at the moment because in LESS than 24 hours I will be watching Ryan Murphy’s masterpiece starring the incomparable Jessica Lange; AMERICAN HORROR STORY: FREAK SHOW. I am ridiculously excited. Read about it by CLICKING HERE.

Truth is – and we all already know I’m so shallow I only went to GONE GIRL because I heard I would see Affleck and Harris’ dicks – my PRIMARY reason for watching AHS is Evan Peters. He is my Number One Imaginary Lover. And that is NO SMALL FEAT.

ahs evan crazyEvan Peters CovenEvan Peters Coven 2Evan Peters Coven 3 Evan Peters Coven 4ahs tate gif

Later pals.

Zeitbites: Clap Hard to Keep the Fairy Alive!


july 31 breakfast at tiffany'sIt’s back – my fear. That thing causing a twisting in my chest, that sucking-breath, hands-a-tremble certainty that another avalanche of awful is about to happen, something dreadful is ready to drop, disaster about to descend on me, what Truman Capote’s character in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Holly Golightly, called “the mean reds.” Listen:

Holly Golightly: You know those days when you get the mean reds?

Paul Varjak: The mean reds, you mean like the blues?

Holly Golightly: No. The blues are because you’re getting fat and maybe it’s been raining too long, you’re just sad that’s all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you’re afraid and you don’t know what you’re afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?

Paul Varjak: Sure.

Holly Golightly: Well, when I get it the only thing that does any good is to jump in a cab and go to Tiffany’s. Calms me down right away. The quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there. If I could find a real-life place that’d make me feel like Tiffany’s, then – then I’d buy some furniture and give the cat a name!

That’s what hit me yesterday. I had to take action.


Keeping me going is a full-time job and not one the accomplishment of which often seems worth the effort required. I slog, slug, sloth, and slither through life, making do, confused and confounded as to the purpose of all this. It is enough to have a day (or two) wherein I do not hear the narrative voice in my head (which is usually, by the way, Lily Tomlin or Jessica Lange) intoning the final lines of my unpublished novel:

I have no answers

This was The Last of all my stories

So, no, happiness is not something I expect. Making – let alone keeping – me happy would require the lygarde de mayne of an alchemist like Merlin, and since that necromantic enchanter was long ago trapped in the Crystal Caves, in order to avoid one more time disappointing the friends and loved ones I have remaining, I work hard to keep going by arranging my life around moments of joy and methods of distraction. (And when that doesn’t work, I fake it.)

I get joy from reading and writing about books. So, yesterday after my gymming –


gym guys 5 edit(which falls into the Distracting rather than Joy category– unless, by chance, there is an attractive naked man waggling around the locker room – at which point gymming becomes a Joyful Distraction – until I realize that naked man would NEVER want to see me naked, at which point the Joyful Distraction morphs into a Hateful Reminder of why I ought to just surrender to the Tomlin/Lange narration)


– I visited my friends at The Curious Iguana (CLICK HERE), my favorite independent bookstore. These visits give me great joy. I love books, I love people who love books, and Iguana is owned and patronized by just that sort of people. Win. Win. So, I was making my way to Iguana, strolling up the sidewalk on Market Street, when I was forced into the street by a four-wide battalion of stroller moms, goose-stepping their Vera Bradley accessorized way toward me. The quartet took up the entire span of the sidewalk and rudely steamrolled blithely along forcing pedestrians travelling –


(Spell Check is telling me that travelling should be traveling. NO IT SHOULD NOT. I am sick and tired of this current purging of required double consonants when appending suffixes to words in order that characters are saved to make it easier for Tweeting and Texting. I did not spend my formative years being abused by the School Sisters of Notre Dame JUST to have everything they taught me eradicated in my dotage. traveLLing. And while we are at it: canceLLed – just so all airports are clear on that.)


– in the opposite direction into traffic. Thus, I entered the bookstore saying, “What the hell is wrong with you people?” Marlene, owner and heart and soul of Iguana, knows me well enough to know I was not speaking to her. I launched into my curmudgeonly ranting and we were soon joined by Marlene’s husband, Tom, and I was off on one of my long-winded raving raging wildly furious fits, this one about my recent adventures in the medical profession.

July 31 passion flowerAfter listening patiently, (Marlene and Tom are absolute darlings about letting me rail, as if they’ve nothing better to do than listen to the crazy old man) Tom suggested I hie my way to the local patchouli scented – tofu loving – green market and procure some tincture of Passion Flower, drops of which, he assured me, would calm my anxiety.


I know you thousand or so people who check me daily are saying, “Where is a book review? We are not interested in your existential whining.” Well, true confession: I only started writing book reviews to lure you in so you’d be FORCED to click on my existential whining. So there.

Now keep clicking or I’ll never share my opinion on books again. (I know, I’m hubristic and delusional to think you give a damn. Perhaps, but at least I own it) But, this morning, I’ve a long, full day of writing and gymming and reading and cookie baking in front of me, so, just a fast (for me) and brief (again, for me) few things … I promise.

Peter Pan LIVE!

When NBC presented The Sound of Music, I wrote about it nicely. I was hoping that it would be the first of many live musical theatre presentations and they had sense enough to fill the supporting cast with genius actors Audra McDonald, Laura Benanti, Christian Borle, so, one made allowances for other casting misfires.

And I don’t like The Sound of Music. But, now, this has gone too far. They have announced that — yet again — they have eschewed casting an actual Broadway musical actress in the iconic role of Peter Pan (CLICK HERE TO READ ABOUT IT – I’m not typing the name. I don’t want to trash anybody – not really – it’s not her fault.). Mary Martin — even dead — can only be expected to take so much and when the second of her iconic roles is repugnantly miscast with someone who has NO BUSINESS BEING ENTRUSTED WITH THE LEAD IN A MUSICAL, it reeks of such disregard and disrespect for the art of the musical that surely, something MUST be done.

marymartin_peterpanOh, wait, I wonder if THIS miscasting tragedy was the disaster I was intuiting yesterday? Ugh(a-wug) indeed. Of course, that number will be cut. And, this isn’t like Carrie Underwood with her huge country fan base meant to boost the ratings; this actress has a mostly hipster/gay man following and the hipster contingent is never going to watch the show — they don’t do television — and the gay man population was ALREADY going to be on board so, uhm W.T.F.? All I have to say (well, left to say) is that Tink is hardly going to be the only fairy pissed off and poisoned by this piece of shit disastrous-ness.

PASSION FLOWER (again … I keep forgetting)

So, I did get some Passion Flower essence and I have been swirling the muddy swill into two ounces of water and downing it like crazy and, I don’t know, maybe I am better? I’m having such strange, horrifying dreams of late and really not sleeping well, terrorized by that fever-like, half-awake, delusional thing that goes on. Which has NOT been helped by reading Edan Lepucki’s debut novel, California (CLICK HERE), about which I will soon be blogging.

After I go to the gym (I hope there are pretty naked men) and hurry back here — I’m housesitting out in the country — and make cookies. Because, like I said, I went to the health food place and I got some pure natural butter because it was the only ingredient (I thought) missing here for my world famous chocolate chip cookies, and, like I said, I need to do things to make me feel better and/or distract me and making cookies does that. And I feel like shit and can barely breathe — something bad (besides Peter Pan casting) is DEFINITELY HAPPENING. So, I’m going to bake.

THE DOG IS ANXIOUS TOO … could it be 20-something hottie?

I would, normally, drive my Mom around on Thursday, but, I can’t be away from my Judah for that long. Judah has anxiety too. I’m usually MUCH calmer when I’m out here in the middle of nowhere but for the past few days I have been sharing the house. The tenant who lives in the in-law-ish apartment was here. And not only was she here, but both nights she brought in her 20-something boyfriend who was RIDICULOUSLY good-looking and seeing the two of them together — even for those few brief seconds when she walked him by me in his really worn, tight white t-shirt and cropped, dark, black hair and unbelievable ass — undid my vow to myself to feel okay about being un-partnered, un-dated, un-anythinged. I felt all un-wanted and un-all-over again and it sucked. Thank goodness she has now left for the weekend.

BRING ON THE BAKING AND THE BOOK BUYING AND READING! But first, I have to get to the gym and back.

NOTE:  I understand that this generalized anxiety and dread is very likely due to all the horrifyingly hateful energy roiling in the world at the moment; I cannot discuss — rationally — all the wars and the bombings and the borders and the children and the hate crimes and the disregard for life and dignity going on, let alone the suing of our President while ALL THE SHIT GOING ON IN THE WORLD IS GOING ON, and all our Congress can do is bicker? If the end is nigh, good, because if this is the middle, I have had enough.


ZeitBites Friday … all my conflicting loves (kind of) and junk like that there …


june 6 2014 2Before the weekend long cocktail hour leading to the Sunday night broadcast of the Tony Awards begins (at which point it will have been ONE YEAR SINCE I HAVE HAD A CIGARETTE! — isn’t it nice of the Broadway Community to be acknowledging that — I wish they’d send me gifts or cards — oh wait, they didn’t send those for my birthday — why would they send them for me not smoking — oh wait, that wasn’t the Broadway community — that was my family — oh wait, my family is my friends and they did — oh wait — OH NEVER MIND)… I’ve a few notes … I’ve lost four pounds this week by eating properly and doing ridiculous amounts of gym and bike time for my 150 mile Ride to Conquer Cancer (and I haven’t gotten any donations in two days — come on now, CLICK HERE to give me one) and I have a HUGE pile of books for “summer reading” (I’m out of control) and these shootings … really people? Can’t we do better than this? AND, I was trolled on Twitter by someone who told me I had “no business promoting the sins of men who have anal sex with boys” — oh, okay, well, after I’m done reporting your IDIOT ANAL ASS, I will FORTHWITH start promoting the sins of men who have anal sex with girls. Happy now? I continue to MARVEL at the surprising ways in which surprising people behave — I mean, I understand that I am NO PRIZE MYSELF — I truly, TRULY do get that — but must I continue to be a magnet for every kind of crazy — every kind of dysfunction — ever variety of NUT JOB who wanders and wonders the earth being drawn to me as if I am somehow the vortex of ALL THAT IS INSANE? Can’t I — just once — have a nBrando sneerice, sane sort of someone like — say, young Marlon Brando? Oh, right,he was crazy too. Well, whatever, I will NEVER understand human beings. I am not even sure I want to anymore.

We’ve all got our junk … and my junk is … I’m in love with more than one, always have been, and remain conflicted about what constitutes “loyalty” and “truth” and “fidelity” and “relationship” and, most of all, “love”.

books june 6I love books. The physical, actual, glorious, sensual pleasure of holding, smelling, communing with a book. I’m not alone. The Paris Review turned me on to an article from Compound Interest [click here] a site dedicated to the “every day exploration of chemical compounds” about the smell of books. Fascinating. CLICK HERE FOR THE LINK.

BooksSpeaking of books, I spent Tuesday with my Mom — who I also love very much — the first time I’d seen her since a few weeks of beaching and house sitting, and I wanted to make sure she had enough large print books to keep her going. She told me she had two and a half. I suggested we use the gift cards she has accumulated to get some more. She demurred, “I don’t want to get too far ahead.” I asked why that might be. In a tone of voice that made it clear we had once again boarded the train for Smith-Baltzell-GenePool-Crazy-Town, she replied, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Momma,” I sneered, “Are you saying you don’t want any books left over when you die?”

“Well it could happen any time, and I don’t want to waste money in case it does.”

Now, I suppose there are some of you who would have found such a sentiment touching or noble or something, but I am not one of you. First of all, my mother has a closet full of clothes and shoes that would shame Imelda Marcos and Anna Wintour, such a clothes horse and fashion plate that she is nicknamed for it at Country Meadows, where she lives. It doesn’t seem to bother her to buy a few new clothing items every week, nor does it worry her that when she goes she’ll be leaving behind outfits she has never worn. Uhm, I could maybe READ a book left behind, but I doubt I’ll be wearing a sweater set from Boscovs. And second, she is saying this to one of her multiple children (I won’t mention the others) who has enough books to last not only my lifetime, but the lifetime of the population of a small third-world nation, and still, I continue to accumulate more at EVERY OPPORTUNITY.

Arghh. LOVE. Books. My Mom. And the Tony Awards. I’m a bit irritated this year, as I have repeatedly mentioned, about the snubbing of BIG FISH and why in the world BRIDGES OF MADISON COUNTY did not get a Best Musical nod, but, still, I will watch the broadcast — but the question is, where and with whom? I found this HILARIOUS video. WATCH:

Love that. Love. So many kinds … so many definitions … all of which are suspect. I was having a brief Twitter convo yesterday about “criticism” and my belief that everything you need to know about this culture is encapsulated in the fact that we have elevated “Criticism” and “Critical Thinking” into careers and educational/philosophical disciplines — rather than having evolved as a people who consider “Appreciation” and “Appreciative Thinking” to be things to which to aspire.

This is one of my current obsessions, the way I seem programmed to be critical rather than appreciative — and I do not spare myself in this; it is my foundational belief that I am all loser, all fail, all the time. (Dare I attribute it to Smith-Baltzell-GenePool-Crazy-Town?) I cannot describe what it feels like to have lived all these decades and believed that I was/am less-than. I am so exhausted, it is, well, and a new phase seems to have begun where I have managed to reach a certain level of what appears as “happiness” by having accepted that I am completely fucked up, just when I think things are getting better-picking up, there will be aknock on the door with bad news reminding me I am a loser and my life is very likely (as in — FOR SURE) going to end with me a babbling, homeless crazy man like some combination of a Bette Midler/Lily Tomlin comical egg-on-the-head bag-lady and tragic Paul Bowles existentially tortured nut-job, going through trash cans looking — not for cans to turn in for cash — but, for books and magazines to read. I’ll have a shopping cart full of words.

June 6 2014But, see now, it’s the weekend. Forget this. It’s time for cocktails and Tony Awards and … judging myself by the narcissistic self-flagellating standards of the body-conscious, youth-obsessed culture and finding myself a loser? (As in — finding MYSELF to BE a loser, as well as, finding myself a LOSER to convince myself is NOT a loser only to be proven — again and again — that if there is ONE THING at which I can win — it is FINDING LOSERS) And having a toast!



Brando shirt on

brando stellllaaaa

gif rebel without a cause dean kiss mineo

gif sunset blvd2

Lange Horror Monsters


READING: This IS a BookBlog, dammit!

I read so you don’t have to. And so I stay sane. Sort of. I have been told that my blog is too wide-ranging, unfocused, that one cannot land here and know what to expect. I have been told that my blog is too personal. That I over-share. That my dysthymic and bipolar ups and downs are too extreme and sometimes frightening. I have been told that there are lots of people who don’t want to come to my blog and run into posts featuring half-naked men or penis. I’ve been warned that I am too screedy and harridan-like about GLBT issues and politics. I have been told that I have too many personalities. I have been told I make people sad. I make people angry. I think too much and so make others think too much. Or that my thinking makes them feel guilty for not thinking enough, or for not wanting to think, or for not having thought or seen the things I see that upset me. I have been told my writing makes people feel judged. I have been told . . .  and told . . .  and told . . . and warned, “If you want to [FILL IN THE BLANK: Make money / Get an agent / Have more regular readers / Get a job / Get a lover / Keep friends / etc] you are going to have to [FILL IN THE BLANK WITH WHATEVER ADVICE YOU CAN IMAGINE TELLING ME WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME AND HOW I SHOULD HIDE OR FIX IT]. I thank you all for the advice and the help, but, I am who I am.

And, honestly, people, REAL readers of REAL books WANT to be challenged and expanded and surprised and GROWN. And, so, no, I don’t talk about BOOKS every day, every entry. BUT IT IS MY READING THAT HAS MADE ME THIS WIDE RANGING, UNRELIABLE NARRATOR, UNPREDICTABLE TYPE – and so, in essence and in truth and at its foundation, ALL of what I write is about having read – and the reading I am doing every day. So, please, I beg you – in this rather LONGEST EVER intro – READ ME. SHARE ME. FOLLOW ME. LOVE ME.

  • And, if every so often (or, well, you know, often) there is dick and swearing and politics and ranting and anger and INSANITY and witness to my decline involved – hey, that’s what friends (and readers) are for. And now, on to today’s entry . . .

headmasters_wifeYesterday was Tuesday, which – to me – means NEW BOOK RELEASE DAY! So, as I do every Tuesday, I headed to one of my very favorite places in the entire world, THE CURIOUS IGUANA (click here to visit their site) and did one of my very favorite things, perused the books. I came home with The Headmaster’s Wife by Thomas Christopher Greene, (CLICK HERE FOR THE U.S.MACMILLAN/ST.MARTIN’S PRESS PAGE FOR THE BOOK) for which I have been waiting, and I started it last night. I stayed up way too late, rapt, hypnotized, and I will share at length once I have completed it. I must note NOW that it is published under the St. Martin’s Press aegis, and that has ALWAYS been one of the houses I dreamed would publish my novel. Still dreaming. Still waiting to snag an agent.

In the meantime, turns out that the owners of The Curious Iguana, Marlene and Tom England, are hosting a – well – here, read for yourself:

By now you’ve probably noticed the phrase “Get to know your world” on our front window, on our business cards, and so on.

Before we opened Curious Iguana, we labored over this five-word tagline. We wanted just the right phrase to express our big dreams for our little bookstore…a place where people could discover books that open windows to the wider world, a place that could help broaden the definition of “community.” 

This Saturday, March 8, at 7 pm, we are hosting a very special event that rings true to our “Get to know your world” objective. Please join us for Inspiring Change – Microfinance, Fonkoze, and Women with Fonkoze USA executive director Leigh Carter and film producer/director Rob Rooy.

There’s not enough room in this email to describe all the wonderful work that Fonkoze, Haiti’s largest microfinance institution, is undertaking “shoulder to shoulder” with women in Haiti. Please take a few moments to read about Fonkoze here.

At our March 8 event, Leigh will share extraordinary stories of how Fonkoze is serving 250,000 Haitians–not only with micro-loans and other financial services, but with comprehensive education and health programs as well. Rob will show clips from Going the Distance, his powerful documentary on Fonkoze’s role in helping Haitians rise above poverty. There will be an opportunity to ask questions and to hear Rob and Leigh’s firsthand encounters with Haitian women who are overcoming tremendous challenges to achieve their dreams.

The March 8 event is free, and you will not be asked to make a donation (we promise!). Just come, bring a friend, listen and learn, and be inspired by what’s happening in a country that rarely makes the news these days. Please know that if you decide to shop at the Iguana this Saturday, or any day this month, a percentage of your purchase will support Fonkoze.

We hope to see you this Saturday!

Tom and Marlene England

Amazing, right? Not only are they booklovers, they are worldlovers. Truthlovers. And, as fate would have it, I know Rob Rooy! His daughter, Andrea, was one of my ALL-TIME-FAVORITE students EVER! I still have the fondest of memories of her singing I Am So Easily Assimilated from Candide. She is now a tenure-track professor AND a member of Cirque Du Soleil. IN CHINA. Yeah. That’s right. Two kinds of genius. Oh, and she has a HILARIOUS Twitter feed as well. Small world, right?

And Mr. Rooy, like the Englands, has always listened to my UNRELIABLE NARRATOR self with patience and seeming amusement. You know, like I asked all of you to do in today’s intro? The world needs more people like Rooy and the Englands, who not only let others be who they are, but welcome and encourage their explorations.

Anyway, this IS a BookBlog, dammit. It’s just a really discursive, meandering, rambling – some might even say PROLIX – one. Check out yesterday’s entry (CLICK HERE) – it was all about books. And my sad love-life. Because, people, we ALL read in a context. We read to inform (and escape – which is a way of informing) our world. So, come on. LOVE ME. Because I am feeling a little . . . well, let me let Jessica explain for me . . .

Lange Horror Monsters

But, dealing with my current demons . . . has left me . . .

Lange Horror ANcient

And I may need some assistance . . . DB, get ready, the end is nigh.

Lange Paulson Horror Hiding

I know you’ll come looking for me . . . right? RIGHT? HEY, IS ANYBODY OUT THERE?

Sunday briefs … or, sweatpants, actually …

I need to get a grip – TOO MANY THINGS GETTING MY GRIP! Breathe.

Coke homophobia

I need to get a grip. Therefore, I am NOT heading out for a New York Times today. I have huge piles of un-read magazines and New York Times I have not yet read dating back to … never mind. I’m going to DEAL with this backlog.

I need to get a grip. I am in mourning because this Wednesday is the FINALE of AMERICAN HORROR STORY: COVEN and I will now have to wait none months for new Jessica Lange, Sarah Paulson, Evan Peters deliciousness from Ryan Murphy. PLEASE KILL ME!

I need to get a grip. I have been eating in a less than optimally healthy way and slacking on gym visits; on a steady decline since Thanksgiving, blaming holiday season, snow and depression. Enough.  Therefore, once I finish this Chocolate Fudge Pop-Tart (box) – which will be today – I “take care of your body” ways. Back to daily gym and good-bye to sugar, flour, gluten, chips, cookies. carbs and Slim Jims; I will miss you all. It’s been fun.

I need to get a grip. I got a question from someone, a request, actually, for some advice, about faith, about not believing in god, about how to recover from not being loved the way you thought you were/wanted to be. I’ve been working on a response – carefully working – but it becomes increasingly difficult for me; ME, who spent DECADES being a sort of “go-to” person for those in need of therapy who couldn’t afford a therapist; ME, whose office and days and life were filled up with people needing a safe place to talk or be; ME, who put his own stuff and needs on hold to tend to the stuff and needs of everyone else; ME, yeah, that ME, now has a hard time advising, counseling, answering. Lots of reasons, not the least of which is, often, what I sort of understood before and eventually came to see with terrifying clarity is, the people doing the asking all too often are not seeking an answer to the “questions” they are posing or a solution to their “problems” – but, really and rather, they are looking to develop what amount to tactics for deluding themselves into “happiness” and “acceptance” that fits into this ridiculous pseudo-reality we’ve all made in which “happiness” has to do with conforming to idiotic and un-achievable economic, romantic, socio-cultural standards. I can’t pretend to care about that shit anymore. And I can’t encourage people to do things to conform to it. It is now IMPOSSIBLE for me not to say, “You see that what you want is brainwashed bogus bullshit you’ve swallowed without really examining, right?”

So, grip. Yeah. And brief. I meant not to go over 500 words and so – I SHUT UP and offer a few videos worth seeing. Two to make you think. One to make you really think. Happy Sunday.

… can’t write today … i’m marked …


We are all marked … one way or another …

I promised (myself, mostly) that I would do a blog entry at least six days a week. There is much about which to write today, not the least of which is the genius of Mr. Ryan Murphy and last night’s Season 3 Premiere episode of AMERICAN HORROR STORY: COVEN, which was brilliant on so many levels, one of those being the way in which Mr. Murphy somehow always manages to address those zeitgeist issues which are the foundation of that nagging feeling of ennui and dissatisfaction we are all feeling and have yet to pinpoint: Mr. Murphy pinpoints it. He has a magical way of tapping into the soul of the culture and illuminating the questions, and I worship him. COVEN is already about many things, but Continue reading


I can just barely contain myself. I have a million things I ought to be doing but I am out of control, all existential ADD in anticipation of tonight’s premiere of AMERICAN HORROR STORY: COVEN ((OFFICIAL WEBSITE CLICK HERE)).

COVEN Bates, Murphy, Lange COVEN Farmiga, Murphy, Peters

Yes, it’s the genius, Mr Ryan Murphy. In top photo he’s with Kathy Bates and the Queen of all Things, Jessica Lange. In the next photo he is with Taissa Farmiga and my future ex-trade-trick, Evan Peters ((click HERE for his AHS official BIO – he doesn’t mention me, of course)).

Evan Peters. Oh, Evan Peters. Wait, did I type that out loud?


I’m moving to L.A. and stalking him. I will find him! I’m behind every bathroom stall door.

bathroom selfie

And other than that hobby, I’m also looking for Evan Peters.

Oh, on a less pathological sociopathic note, a friend of mine – who I won’t identify because, well, some people would just rather NOT be identified as my friend – sent me this YouTube clip in which Continue reading

the sun will go DOWN tomorrow … it’s only a day away … AMERICAN HORROR STORY: COVEN …

I am so excited. AMERICAN HORROR STORY: COVEN. Tomorrow night.

So much genius. Starting with Ryan Murphy. And, I am bowed down; Miss Jessica Lange.


I am thinking of actually eating tomorrow night in celebration.


It is rumored that one of the themes of this season is the discrimination and disrespect toward the aging in this culture; I am all in on that and have been thinking about that very thing quite a lot lately, which – of course – makes me once again think that Mr. Ryan Murphy((CLICK HERE TO SEE HIS TWITTER)) and I are OFONEMIND. I love that man. I wish he knew who I was. Oh well. ((CLICK HERE TO SEE MY TWITTER))