Me, As Usual — Getting My Ducks In A Row!

I’ll tell you, it is really starting to feel like Spring, gang!

The starlings arrived, en masse, this morning. They are out there flying about, everywhere. The cats are very excited! I’m not sure how long it will take the birds to move in under the soffit outside my backdoor and start building nests again and then really making my cats crazy, but I tell you — they are everywhere this morning!

I love that they have arrived. But it also makes me feel a little anxious, because Spring means I need to get to NYC to begin the table reads for Tell My Bones at the Dramatist Guild. And even though I know that is going to go great — I just know it; I feel it in my own bones. It also means that then Summer will be right around the corner and you know that summers are so tricky for me.

I don’t want to set myself up to fail, or anything. But once Summer arrives, it is so emotionally hard for me to let it go. Once Summer leaves, it means I am one summer farther from the man who died. And even though I know for certain that life is meant to be that way — the cycles of the seasons, of life/love/death — it’s still a heartbreaking specter, always in the background for me. I’m never 100% sure how I’m going to handle that kind of stuff until it’s upon me, you know?

I try not to use all this as a reason to throw myself into my work. However, I’m doing it anyway.

Well, yesterdays’ script-writing session with Peitor was actually incredibly productive. We completed Scene 5, the scene of primary importance in the whole (very short) film. I was impressed with us, because we achieved this 2-page scene in 3 sessions, instead of our usual 20 and a half.

And when I re-read what we had managed to capture in the script (4 lines of very brief dialogue and then the shots, the blocking, camera angles, and lenses), I was really pleased with it.

That said, though, wow. Yesterday. I had a wee bit of a bad attitude. And I guarantee you, I was trying really really really hard to keep a lid on it.  First, he showed up late for the call. Not something I actually mind, because I can usually just lie around on my bed, and scroll through an unending cavalcade of Nick Cave photos on Instagram. Not the worst torture ever.

ME (scrolling on Instagram): like, like, like, save, like, save, save, ooh — really like, save, oh my god— like like like [ad infinitum].

Still, it was getting kind of really late and then I remembered that I had yet to figure out how to edit the video that he had sent me on Saturday — a thing we need for the web site. So I got off the bed and sat down at my desk and proceeded to drive myself completely insane because I couldn’t get the program on my desk top to do what I needed it to do.

When he finally called, I was really pissed off at my computer and trying not to transfer my pissed-off-ness to his now being really late for the call. But when I’m in that state , I really need to use the “f” word a lot.  The “f” word is my escape valve and helps me get back to normal. However, Peitor is not really keen on my use of the “f” word — at all. He has this weird reasoning that I have developed an impressive and wide-ranging vocabulary for a reason and that I should use it as a way of communicating without the “f” word.

So I tried to just sort of not be pissed-off and not use the “f” word and not have a bad attitude but I was struggling miserably with all 3.

And as we worked on the script — both of us on speaker, and me getting monosyllabic because I was perched so  precariously on needing to bleat out a long and sputtering “f” word stream — I suddenly hear him moving around his apartment, doing a ton of stuff while we were working. It was distracting, but I was trying to let everything go because I really hate having a bad attitude. I really do.

But then I finally said, “Peitor, what are you doing? It sounds like you’re outside.”

HIM: “I’m driving. I need to get to a lunch engagement.”

Oh my god. A lunch engagement. Tootling around West Hollywood  in his vintage convertible coupe, heading out to lunch. And I’m stuck at my mini-desk, typing away.  I’m not sure yet what I will say in my acceptance speech when I get my Academy Award but I know I’m going to get one because I managed to sound like a reasonable human being for the remainder of that call.

It was not easy. At all.

Because what I really, really wanted to say were things like: “Glad you could fit me in, between the Tibetan singing bowls and a lunch date,” and “So what am I now — the typist?” or get really churlish with: “Does it really matter what my opinion is on this shot? We’re just going to do what you want anyway. We always do” (which is not true, btw).  And then a whole lot of  FUCKS thrown in, too.

I did none of that. Thank god. Because he is one of my best friend’s, and now a business partner, and I seriously do not want to fuck that up. But, wow. Did I struggle with that.

Luckily, directly after that call, I spoke for over an hour with Val in Brooklyn. And we laughed a lot and got caught up on stuff and I got over the Abstract Absurdity Productions call.

And then when I re-read Scene 5 in the script, as I was readying it to send over to Peitor, I saw that we had done a really good job, regardless. The scene was amazing. And I was able to text him during his lunch engagement to say: “Scene 5 is AMAZING.” And he texted back: “Great!!”

So that was yesterday. And I am hoping that today is all about Thug Luckless: Welcome to P-Town. Because I really, really want to just get lost in my work. We shall see.

Well, late last evening, while sitting at my desk and staring, I made the mistake of listening to Amy Winehouse’s “Back to Black,” a song I really, really love — I love the whole album, actually. But I have always just loved that song. And because I identify perhaps too much with that song — meaning, that if I’d been able to sustain any sort of meaningful relationship with anyone ever, I wouldn’t be the gal that I am.

Anyway, I began to get super depressed. Real quick.

So I closed up shop, went downstairs and watched a little more of the final episode of Ken Burns’ Jazz documentary. (This final episode is primarily covering Sonny Rollins and Miles Davis.) And I actually learned stuff about Miles Davis’s music from the mid-1950s, post-heroin addiction, that I never knew before.  And it was really beautiful. Very romantic — in that big city/cocktails/cigarettes/little-black-dress-on-and-then-off kind of way. Just lovely stuff.

So I managed to survive yesterday. And I am back at it today.

I am going to get started with Thug now. I hope you have a really good Wednesday, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting, gang. I’ll leave you with both my breakfast-listening music from this morning — “When I Fall in Love,” by Miles Davis, which brought more than a couple of wistful tears to eyes, as I sat at the kitchen table and watched the cats and drank my coffee — and Amy’s “Back to Black” because it really is just a great song. Enjoy — or just think about life if “enjoy” is asking too much of you right now. I love you guys. See ya.

“Back To Black”

He left no time to regret
Kept his dick wet
With his same old safe bet
Me and my head high
And my tears dry
Get on without my guy

You went back to what you knew
So far removed from all that we went through
And I tread a troubled track
My odds are stacked
I’ll go back to black

We only said goodbye with words
I died a hundred times
You go back to her
And I go back to…

I go back to us

I love you much
It’s not enough
You love blow and I love puff
And life is like a pipe
And I’m a tiny penny rolling up the walls inside

We only said goodbye with words
I died a hundred times
You go back to her
And I go back to…

We only said goodbye with words
I died a hundred times
You go back to her
And I go back to…

Black, black, black, black, black, black, black
I go back to…
I go back to…

We only said goodbye with words
I died a hundred times
You go back to her
And I go back to…

We only said goodbye with words
I died a hundred times
You go back to her
And I go back to black

c – 2007 Amy Winehouse, Mark Ronson

Where Is This Day Going To??!!

Well, I am trying to get started here today!

For some weird reason, I was just about to get out of bed at around 5am, when I decided to take mental inventory of the day ahead of me, and voila! — I was sound asleep for two and half more hours! WTF???

The glucosamine is finally beginning to work and I am starting to notice a bit of a positive difference in my legs. That same feeling, like: I hadn’t realized that things were changing and so now that there is the ease coming back into my joints, I am recalling how it feels to  just move really freely. It does feel great, but I still went to bed last night feeling some pain in my legs. I think that disrupted my sleep — well, that and this weird habit I have now of being on Instagram at all hours. Anyway.  I think that’s why I suddenly slept like a rock — the inflammation in my legs finally died down.

All righty!!

So I’m trying to do laundry here. Trying to get ready for my several hours of script work today with Peitor. I’d been hoping to get to answering some emails this morning, too, but I’m also feeling frustrated by the lack of productive time I am finding to spend on Thug Luckless: Welcome to P-Town.

Yesterday, I stared at the file, open in front of me on the desk top, for hours. Literally And only made about 3 changes to what was already there, and then came up with the name that P-Town had before the “accident.” (And that is: Sandover — in honor of James Merrill’s epic multi-volume poem from 1976-1980, The Changing Light at Sandover.)

(In my novel, so far I am only calling the accident: “the terrible accident at the factory.” I’m not sure yet, but I don’t think I’m ever going to say what the accident was or what they did at the factory because everything comes from Thug’s POV and he is an AI robot and only “knows” what people tell him.)

(I’m starting to see very clearly now that Thug Luckless is going to be another experimental novel. Which of course translates into “small press/no money.” But you know what? I just can’t go there anymore. I can’t worry about it. According to international legal resources, the book has already been pirated anyway, and it hasn’t even been written yet!!)

(And I’m not sure why all this stuff is in parentheses, but it is.)

Whatever. If money were the thing motivating me ever in my entire life — well. I don’t even have to explain what the rest of that sentence might look like. (i.e.: My life would look nothing at all like how I live.)

Last night, it occurred to me that my home-ownership priorities are just so strange. I’ve been here 2 years now and I don’t have a dishwasher yet — just a gaping space for it in the kitchen. Or central AC — although I’m not likely to ever get that because I have this love affair with open windows. I still haven’t put the door back on the linen closet in the upstairs hall (the door is out in the barn, so it’s not as if the door is just somewhere handy.) But the light at the top of the stairs went out last night so I replaced the bulb because I have a whole stockpile of energy efficient light bulbs. And then the battery in one of the smoke detectors went out and I got out of bed and replaced that because I have a plethora of batteries around here of various voltages.

I mean, I have so many batteries and light bulbs, and paper towels, and toilet paper and Kleenex. And a stockpile of filters for the vacuum cleaner. And I have just tons of cloth dish towels, even though I only always use the same one. And I have 17 thousand-million dishes, and glassware, and bar ware — including cocktail shakers and ice buckets and ice tongs, etc., that never get used.  And I have so many bed linens in this place that you’d think I was running a dormitory (I even have linens for twin beds, which I don’t even own).  And of course, the tidal wall of age-defying products from France bursting from the storage closets of both bathrooms…

Weird, right? I think that’s weird, anyway.  Such an extreme amount of only certain things.

Including leaves. Even I was forced to sigh heavily and shake my head this morning, as I glanced outside my backdoor window and saw just the enormous pile of dead leaves that had blown into a massive heap outside my backdoor — where my neighbor’s privacy fence meets my yard. And try as they might, all those leaves cannot get up enough velocity to blow themselves up over that really tall fence and settle nicely into my neighbor’s yard.

I have no idea what to do about those leaves.  Because I am definitely not raking them. But I can just see my lawn guy getting right back into his truck when he comes to cut the grass for the first time next month and sees something like that.

Or the gutters. We are not even going to talk about the gutters, although I am at least aware that I need to deal with my gutters.

What I really need, though, is someone to be the actual homeowner here so that I can just wear the title: Homeowner. And then just sit at my desk for hours on end crafting masterpieces of fiction that most people the world over will not understand. (Starting with my father.)

Okey-dokey!!! On that lofty note! I gotta scoot, gang. The morning is almost officially over. I need to get ready for Peitor.  (Who is out there in West Hollywood right now, doing yoga and meditating to the sound of Tibetan bowls and all sorts of spiritual goodness type stuff.) (He’s even a vegan– he recently one-upped me on my vegetarianism.) So I’m gonna get crackin’ here.

Have a terrific Tuesday, wherever you are in the world!! (And while I was typing here, a little fruit fly landed in my coffee cup and had all the limp signs of being horribly drowned to death. But I scooped him out of the coffee with my fingertip, put him on the back of my hand, blew on him a little bit and then let him just dry out for awhile. And after several minutes, guess what? He came back to life, walked around on the back of my hand and then flew away! Tiny miracles everywhere, gang. You just gotta know where to look. And you’ve gotta make up your mind that you’re gonna see them when they happen!!)

So! I leave you with my listening-music from last evening!! Turn it up and just smile (or, you know, grab onto someone you’re super  hot for & swing.) Have a great day. I love you guys. See ya!!

Talk About Living in Biblical Times!!

Man. Now China is being urged to prepare for an invasion of a plague of locusts.  I don’t even want to think about what’s coming next.


So, yesterday was interesting. Well, every day is interesting. Oh, first of all — we are sorry to say goodbye to our Booty Core Graduation Day photo!! Hopefully, you were able to peruse it to your heart’s content because it is now gone.

I saw my young deaf friend over the weekend and he asked if I had a facebook page and could he friend me. Without thinking, I said yes. And I even helped him do that — on his phone. Right there and then, on the spot.  We became friends on facebook. And then, with alarming speed,  he proceeded to look at every single one of my photos, 100% of which I could no longer even recall because I am almost never on facebook — but I assumed that if the photos were on chaste & friendly facebook, it was okay to look at them.

Still. The one photo he was drawn to like a moth to the proverbial flame, was the one of “my pretty necklace.” In fact, he said, “Oh, I really like your pretty necklace!”

I instantly remembered it. And it is a pretty necklace. I love that necklace. But the photo (10 years old already) was cropped to highlight the lovely necklace and remove the lovelies directly beneath it because I was completely topless in the original photo.

Which made me just sort of gasp, you know?

I had completely forgotten that my facebook page is a hop, skip & a jump to my website. Even though he can’t read — he is mentally handicapped — he very quickly got very fond of looking at my pictures and poking around on my facebook page. Judging by how he responded to the necklace photo, it didn’t seem like he would be likely to survive the Booty Core Graduation Day photo, should he discover it. And even though I was wearing a sports bra and black boy shorts in the Booty Core Graduation Day photo, the joy of that photo was that you couldn’t tell that!! At all! Not even a little bit!! I looked totally freakin’ naked!!

So I thought it best to just nip that in the bud. And I deleted the photo.

grumble grumble grumble. I loved that photo. But here’s the necklace, as a sort of consolation prize, in case you’re interested.

My necklace!!








All righty.  The main interesting thing that happened yesterday, is that I saw this guy that I almost never get to see and I really, really like him.  I like to talk to him because he’s on his own intense planet. He’s about 30, smokes, he’s tatted-up, and he lives with a girl and they have a couple of really young kids. Toddlers. A boy and a girl.

But he owns a Hellcat, which is my dream car. I like him a lot, but I love that fucking car. He has told me for over a year now that I can drive it whenever I want to — try it out on the freeway here in Muskingum County, where the Sheriff never is, and I could go 200 mph.

I really, really want to do this. But so far, I haven’t taken him up on it. And part of it, I think, is because he’s the horniest guy on planet Earth (or that intense other planet he’s on), and also because, in my novel Blessed By Light, the main guy has sex with his naked girlfriend in the backseat of a Hellcat while his best friend is driving the car at 200 mph on a deserted freeway in the middle of the night.

I feel that were I actually to drive this guy’s Hellcat, with him in the car too being incredibly horny and 30 and me being just shy of 60,  is setting us up for some sort of intense (although probably quite memorable) disaster. So, maybe someday I’ll just get my own Hellcat.

Anyway, I saw him briefly, yesterday.  And really, out of nowhere, he said, “You’re really beautiful, you know that? Why you’re not married is just beyond me. If I were older, I’d scoop you right up.”

(Of course, I’m not sure where the girlfriend and the two toddlers would fit into that scenario, but anyway.)

I was completely taken aback, and I took it as the compliment it was meant to be, but that kind of statement is just so loaded, isn’t it? I mean, it implies that if I’m beautiful, I should be legally owned by somebody. And I just don’t really know how to respond to that. I know he didn’t mean it that way, but that’s how I respond inside.

But then he added, “Of course, maybe I don’t have to be older. I never did ask you how you actually feel about younger guys…”

Wow. Just fully loaded, right?? And on a Sunday. The Lord’s Day. I didn’t actually reply to that because I had no words. I just kind of smiled and walked away then. But think of it — I could be the proud owner of a Hellcat, by way of marriage & joint property, and have a couple of cute toddlers calling me “stepmom” on the weekends. And on every other holiday! Plus, he’s got money — he inherited it. So many possibilities for dreams to come true there and yet something’s just not quite right with that picture, but I can’t put my finger on it…

Honestly. I can’t. But something’s not right.

Okay. Today would have been Lou Reed’s 123rd birthday!!  Or his 88th, or something like that.  So I want to leave you with one of his songs. Probably my most favorite is “Walk on the Wild Side” since it was the first song I ever heard of his, and I was only 12 when I heard it (on my radio, alone in my room) and I was just blown away. (12 was just an amazing year for me; I guess that’s why I have sort of remained 12 all this time…)

But I’ve posted “Walk on the Wild Side” here on the blog a couple of times already.  So I’m going to leave you with a couple of songs from an album of his that I really loved. The album was Growing Up in Public, from 1980. Just some really, really great songs on that one! Below are both the titular song, “Growing Up in Public,” and then “How Do You Speak to An Angel?” (Both of them, songs that spoke to my extreme shyness and heart-wrenching inability to let people know just how much I loved them.) (Things that I hope I’ve grown out of, at least a little bit.)

All righty. Thanks for visiting, gang. I’m gonna go hang with Thug Luckless now, see if I can make my way deeper into Chapter One. Have a cool Monday, wherever it takes you, okay? As always, I love you guys. See ya.

“Growing Up In Public”

Some people are into the power of power
The absolute corrupting power, that makes great men insane
While some people find their refreshment in action
The manipulation, encroachment and destruction of their inferiors

Growing up in public, growing up in public
Growing up in public, growing up in public with your pants down

Some people are into sadistic pleasures
They whet their desires and drool in your ears
They’re quasi-effeminate characters in love with oral gratification
They edify your integrities, so they can play on your fears

They’re gonna do you in public, ’cause you’re growing up in public
They’re gonna do it to you in public,
‘Cause you’re growing up in public with your pants down

Some people think being a man is unmanly
Some people think that the whole concept’s a joke
But some people think being a man is the whole point
And then some people wish they’d never awoke

Up from a dream of nightmarish proportions
Down to a size neither regal nor calm
A Prince Hamlet caught in the middle between reason and instinct
Caught in the middle with your pants down again

Caught in the middle, I’m really caught in the middle
I’m caught in the middle, caught in the middle deciding about you

c- 1980 Lou Reed

“How Do You Speak To An Angel”

A son who is cursed with a harridan mother
or a weak simpering father at best
Is raised to play out the timeless classical motives
of filial love and incest

How does he speak to a
How does he speak to the prettiest girl
How does he talk to her
What does he say for an opening line
What does he say if he’s shy

What do you do with your pragmatic passions
with your classically neurotic style
How do you deal with your vague self-comprehensions
what do you do when you lie

How do you speak to a
How do you speak to the prettiest girl
How do you speak to her
How do you dance on the head of a pin
When you’re on the outside looking in

How do you speak to a
How do you speak to the prettiest girl
How do you speak to a
How do you speak to the prettiest girl
How do you speak to a
How do you speak to the prettiest girl
How do you speak to a
How do you speak to the prettiest girl

How do you speak to a
How do you speak to the prettiest girl
How do you speak to a
How do you speak to the prettiest girl
You just say, Hello, (hello) Baby (hello)

Baby, angel, how do you talk to the prettiest girl, you say
Hello baby, hello baby, angel, angel, pretty little girl
Angel, angel ….

c – 1980 Lou Reed, Michael Fonfara

Just Another Joyful Little Morning in Crazeysburg!

All righty, gang. Things are really looking good over here. Day #2 out of  the psychological morass, sometimes known as “moi.” (And thanks for all your emotional support — I really appreciate it, so much. I do.)

It’s quite freezing outside there in Crazeysburg, but it’s a sunny, sunny morning once again. Birds are still singing. It’s March 1st, and Spring is on its way.

I know it’s uppermost in your  minds, so I want to start off by assuring you that I have managed to choose a suitable breakfast bowl/coffee mug/ juice glass combination to take me through until Easter, without actually purchasing more dishes.

That said, though, we’re not completely out of the woods yet, because, if I find myself in some sort of shopping location where dishes can be perused, I might peruse. We’ll see.

If life proceeds like it usually does, though, I won’t have time to go to any sort of store and shop. I don’t even understand what having that kind of free time even means!

Well, part of that is because I live a million light years away from any sort of “shopping area.” Because I guarantee you, when/if I do find myself in a place that sells dishes — even used dishes or vintage dishes in consignment shops — oh my god. That’s like heaven to me. The world stands still. Time stops.  For instance, antique malls in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania? Holy McMoly!!They have the best stuff.  I’m not going to have an orgasm over it or anything, but if, like, you’re there with me and offer to buy me a bunch of that stuff? Whoa.  We will likely find ourselves in a position where orgasms for everybody are rapidly approaching on the multi-hued horizon.

‘Nuff said!!

(I am, of course, 90% not kidding…)

Okay!! Anyway.

So, a couple weeks ago, I made up this schedule for the Abstract Absurdity Productions web site, and how to best keep us on track if we wanted to launch a basic website with a companion YouTube channel by April 1st.

Luckily, a whole lot of the stuff on that To-Do list was in Peitor’s court!! Yay!! I could sit back and do nothing because I’d made the list!! And that part was (deceptively) easy to do!

However!! He appears to be really good at following schedules and timelines and To-Do lists, because a whole heck of a lot of stuff is now making it’s way into my inbox and on to my desk top and now I have to actually do something with it. Who the fuck has time for this??!!

Man! And who’s brilliant idea was this in the first place??!! It is amazing the amount of work I can create for myself. And truth be told — some of this stuff I asked him to send me — I don’t know how to fucking do this stuff! I only know that we need it.

So I’m sort of winging it, as they say. (He doesn’t read my blog so it’s okay — I can be perfectly candid here among my discreet and loyal readers.) And he is really appreciative.

HIM: “Thanks for taking care of all this stuff, Marilyn. I really appreciate it.”

ME (out loud): “No problem. ”

ME (not so loud): I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.

(That’s not really true. I’ve been working on web sites since 1997 — and DON’T tell me that was long before you were born. However, that doesn’t mean I can figure out how to use all these “user friendly” templates that they have nowadays. It’s amazing how complicated they can now make “simple” stuff.) (And then if you need to click on the “?” button — man, the explanations there are even harder to figure out.)

But anyway. Eventually it all gets done. And we live/laugh/love in the process, right?? All I know is that when Peitor and I are working together, we have so much fun and that matters most to me. (I have had quite a few business partners in the past who were seriously not fun in any way, shape, or form, and so I know just how precious it is to have someone who simply respects me.) (And he has this sort of regal disposition that makes me have to keep my mind out of the gutter for a few hours at a time, and so the whole world benefits!)

And so — onward!

Okay. I’m not gonna tarry here this morning! Have a beautiful Sunday, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting, gang! I leave you with my breakfast-listening music from today — unlikely choice as it may seem for a sunny morning in Crazeysburg! But I fucking LOVE this song!!!!! “No Pussy Blues,” from Grinderman, 2007. (I love this whole album! I like Grinderman 2 — well, I love the songs themselves, but, man, is that album LOUD.  It always makes me jump and then scurry for the volume control.) Anyway. Enjoy, gang!! Have a fun Sunday. I love you guys. See ya!

“No Pussy Blues”

My face is finished, my body’s gone.
And I can’t help but think, standing up here
in all this applause and gazing down
at all the young and the beautiful.
With their questioning eyes.
That I must above all things love myself.
That I must above all things love myself.
That I must above all things love myself.

I saw a girl in the crowd,
I ran over I shouted out,
I asked if I could take her out,
But she said that she didn’t want to.

I changed the sheets on my bed,
I combed the hairs across my head,
I sucked in my gut and still she said
That she just didn’t want to.

I read her Eliot, read her Yeats,
I tried my best to stay up late,
I fixed the hinges on her gate,
But still she just never wanted to.

I bought her a dozen snow-white doves,
I did her dishes in rubber gloves,
I called her Honeybee, I called her Love,
But she just still didn’t want to.
She just never wants to.

I sent her every type of flower,
I played her guitar by the hour,
I patted her revolting little chihuahua,
But still she just didn’t want to.

I wrote a song with a hundred lines,
I picked a bunch of dandelions,
I walked her through the trembling pines,
But she just even then didn’t want to.
She just never wants to.

I thought I’d try another tack,
I drank a liter of cognac,
I threw her down upon her back,
But she just laughed and said
that she just didn’t want to.

I thought I’d have another go,
I called her my little ho,
I felt like Marcel Marceau
must feel when she said
that she just never wanted to.
She just didn’t want to.

I got the no pussy blues.
I got the no pussy blues.

I got the no pussy blues.

I got the no pussy blues.
I got the no pussy blues.
I got the no pussy blues.
I got the no pussy blues.

c – 2007 Nick Cave, Warren Ellis, Martyn Casey, James Sclavunos