Tag Archives: Conversations with Nick Cave

Could It Get More Auspicious??!!

My god.

First, I got out of bed at about 4:48am. Stuck my little feet into my cuddly slippers. Opened the Venetian blind and, lo & behold! SNOW outside!! Everywhere!! Yay!!

And just now, when I opened my laptop to get down to the blog post for today, this was awaiting me! Another ladybug!!

A ladybug inside my laptop in the dead of winter.

I am, of course, taking it as another sign! Of what, I don’t know, but it’s probably really good. It really just sort of blew me away. (See my post from a couple weeks ago re: the other ladybug and Nick Cave’s Red Hand Files thingy about signs, from the summer.)

And I’ll say here that I think the city of Nijmegen, in the Netherlands, is one of those places that is full of rule-followers because very few people have posted anything at all to Instagram from the Conversation Nick Cave had there last night. The main person who did post (some great video stuff!!), was also at the previous night’s show in Eindhoven, where everyone posted tons of amazing stuff. So that person doesn’t count as “someone from Nijmegen.”

Of course, if I’m in attendance at a show, I seriously hate when people use their phones during the performance because they get incredibly distracting. However, if I’m not attending, I really want everybody to use their phones!! How else will I know what it was like??

I know.  They say that you can’t have it both ways. However, I am someone who has dedicated my entire life to getting it both ways! In every way imaginable! So this is cause for consternation.

Grumble, grumble.

Meanwhile. Yesterday, I got this:

Ekouaer Womens Seamless V-Neck Organic Bamboo Chemise Lounge Wear Dress (Blue, Small)

Yes, another chemise and  it’s the dead of winter, but it was indescribably inexpensive.  And I loved the color. So I got it, even though I won’t be able to wear it until spring.

And even though it fits perfectly, it’s one of those clingy kinds. I normally don’t like “clingy” because I am still trying to understand how I became a woman who has curves. Honestly. Forever, it seems, I had always been 34B-32-35. Almost straight up & down.

Post-menopause, even though I only weigh 6 pounds more, I became 40C-32-38. It’s just crazy. I can’t get used to it — that gal in the mirror. And it’s not like I finished menopause yesterday or anything. It’s been 14 years already. I’ve had quite a while to get used to this. (I “changed” early — at age 46.)

There are so many things about being post-menopausal that I absolutely love. But this “curvy” thing. Man. I look like somebody’s mom, without the benefit of being anybody’s mom. And it’s weird to look like a mom when I’m only 12…

Anyway. I decided to keep the chemise because it fits and its soft and the color is really pretty. And I decided that I guess this year is the year I will try to get used to having curves. I’m guessing I’m gonna have them for a really long time now. I don’t see this as a situation that’s going to reverse, or anything.

Okay, well!! Yes, yesterday, I finished the character arc revision to Tell My Bones!! I’m super eager to hear what the director has to say. I’m still not 100% happy with a small chunk of dialogue that comes right before the ending of the play, so I know I will eventually want to focus on that. However, yesterday evening, I got an email from a small press in NYC that I am really intrigued by so I want to take all of today and go over Blessed By Light, from start to finish; make sure I don’t want to tweak it at all, or if I do, then tweak it. Then send the novel off to the publisher.

So I have a long editing day ahead of me here and I’m going to get started.

Have a great Wednesday, wherever you are in the world! Thanks for visiting! I leave you with my breakfast-listening music. Still on Neil Diamond’s Hot August Night, but this time it’s “Sweet Caroline” — probably my most favorite version of this song. All righty. I love you guys. See ya!

“Sweet Caroline”

Where it began
I can’t begin to knowin’
But then I know it’s growin’ strong

Was in the spring
And spring became the summer
Who’d have believed you’d come along

Hands, touchin’ hands
Reachin’ out, touchin’ me, touchin’ you

Sweet Caroline
Good times never seemed so good
I’ve been inclined
To believe they never would
But now I…

…look at the night
And it don’t seem so lonely
We fill it up with only two

And when I hurt
Hurtin’ runs off my shoulders
How can I hurt when I’m holdin’ you?

Warm, touchin’ warm
Reachin’ out, touchin’ me, touchin’ you

Sweet Caroline
Good times never seemed so good
I’ve been inclined
To believe they never would
Oh, no, no

Sweet Caroline
Good times never seemed so good
Sweet Caroline
I believed they never could

Sweet Caroline
Good times never seemed so good…

c – 1969 Neil Diamond

Those Lucky Fuckers!! Jesus!

Man. That show in Eindhoven, Netherlands, last night seems to have been just incredibly great. The photos on Instagram were amazing (Nick Cave’s Conversation). One person had also been to the show in Essen, Germany (which had also looked really great), and said that the show in Eindhoven was even better.

Well, those photos — I couldn’t believe them.

And someone posted a full minute of him singing “Waiting for You,” from Ghosteen, and I really just couldn’t believe how fucking good it was. And it just means that the Ghosteen tour is going to be off the charts.

Crap — you know?! (I say it like that because I will not be attending any of these events.)

Okay, well, tonight he will be back in the Netherlands, in Nijmegen… And I will be so pissed off if it’s really, really good!

Which reminds me, that the other day, when I posted about pre-orders for the Nick Cave art exhibition book — Stranger Than Kindness — I forgot to post the link, which is here.

I’ve also been meaning to post that, at least in the United States, the MP3 edition of Rowland S. Howard’s incredible solo album from 1999, Teenage Snuff Film, will be available for download in early March. You can pre-order it here. (It’s Amazon US, but I don’t know if that means you have to live in the US to download it or not. I’m guessing it will be available for download from everywhere, though.)

Well, gang. The work on Tell My Bones yesterday was really productive — I’m still not finished, but I am really, really close.

The problem is that this one segment deals with racism, Jim Crow and, specifically, lynchings. It is not easy for me to be creative and artistic about all this. I mean, in a sense, it is easy because I feel strongly about it, but it makes me sick to my stomach while I’m doing it. And it wears me out.

And I’m trying to find that balance between making the point and not bombarding the audience with it. Helen, herself, talked to me in only a very minimal way about the racial problems she experienced in her life; her primary focus was her art and her family. Those were the topics that were of utmost importance to her. Plus, her family — even back in 1919, when she was born — were not sharecroppers. They owned their own farm, did reasonably well, and were definitely much better off than the white farmers around them.

She attributed her family’s well-being to their being devout Christians. Still, they were descended from slaves, and they were living in a Jim Crow State. And I felt that something needed to be said about that.

And in wanting to get a better understanding of what Kentucky was like when Helen was born, and specifically in Graves County, I had to research the statistics of lynchings in the State of Kentucky (which, of course, reveals horrible photos, too). It was all just stomach-turning, you know? Even though they did lynch a number of white men, the statistics document that it was overwhelmingly black.

And the statistics are so precise, too — which is also sickening in and of itself. The names, the race, the sex, what they were accused of (usually rape, attempted rape, or murder), the date they were lynched, and which county it took place in. If you’ve documented all of this, then why couldn’t it have been stopped? But it was mob justice. There were 135 lynchings listed in a 39-year sampling. I printed out a table and it took up four pages. And that was just for the State of Kentucky.

You know, when I was 14, I was raped by a black guy and a white guy. And the very last thing I would have ever wanted was for either of them to be hanged. It is just so sickening to me.

It was a relief, though, to see that in the county that my own ancestors herald from, there were no reported lynchings — black or white. My great-great grandfather was a Kentucky State senator, notoriously on the side of the Confederacy– to the extent that he was booted out of the Senate. (Kentucky was a split State; part Union, part Confederate.) And he owned house slaves. But the county he lived in bordered Ohio, as opposed to Tennessee, where the lynchings seemed to get seriously out of control. Logan County, specifically.

I hate to use the word “ironic” here, because of its sarcastic connotations, but it is ironic that I’m a white woman descended from Kentucky slave owners, writing about the life of a black woman descended from Kentucky slaves. I mean, it is what it is, but it’s still indicative of something that’s out of balance.  Meaning, I can’t imagine any black writers, descended from slaves, ever writing about me. I could be wrong, of course, but why would they?

Anyway, I undertook the project of writing about Helen’s life primarily because she was a woman and, as a woman myself, I understood her life-long drive to find peace, privacy, and enough money to support herself while she did her art. But there are these other racial elements that, sadly, have to be factored in, as well, even though they were not Helen’s primary concern — in her conversations with me or in her journals.

So, all that considered, I am making good progress with the play. I might even finally finish this new segment today. I am just so close. And then we will be ready for the table-reads in NYC.

Okay, gang. I’m gonna scoot. Got laundry to attend to, then gotta get back to the play.  Thanks for visiting. I hope Tuesday is terrific for you, wherever you are in the world!! I leave you with that truly lovely song from Ghosteen, mentioned above. All righty. I love you guys. See ya.

Strange Timing, Indeed!

Even though I couldn’t care less about basketball (or any sport besides Eastern Conference hockey, or NY Yankees baseball games), like most of America, I was really stunned by the deaths of Kobe Bryant and his daughter, and all the other people in that helicopter crash yesterday.

And, of course, when it became apparent that he left behind a young wife and 3 more daughters, including a 7 month-old baby — well, that just sort of threw off my energy midday yesterday. All that grief. And all those families. That whole chain reaction of sorrow. I wasn’t able to keep working on the play. It just threw me.

So it felt kind of weird to wake-up this morning and be in this spectacularly happy place.

All of my own grief, stemming from my stepmom’s death 12 days ago, was completely and utterly gone this morning. Just when most of the nation is in this state of mourning, I finally woke-up really happy.

Well, who really knows how these things work, but if I’m feeling happy again, I’m just gonna run with it.

(Oh, and oddly enough, today is the 75th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz.) (Below are those horrible train tracks. Today, I’m really going to celebrate that screaming freight train outside my door that’s not going anywhere awful.) (See a previous post from sometime in December, about me growing up in Cleveland, under the specter of Auschwitz.)

Image result for auschwitz liberation
AP photo. Auschwitz

Okay, so. Yes. I did work on Tell My Bones for quite a while yesterday, but then got sort of derailed — if you’ll excuse the timing of that weird sort of unintended pun.

I ended up watching another episode of Ken Burns’ Jazz, while making myself eat something that looked like a reasonable “dinner.” (Reasonable for me, which translates as “indescribably boring” for anyone else on planet Earth.)

And then Peitor started texting me out of the blue and the entire evening changed.

He texted me about a high-profile start-up in Los Angeles that he wants Abstract Absurdity Productions to supply content to.  And I texted back “ok” but also added that we might have to work a little bit faster, if that was his goal…

You know, like, more than one 8-minute film every 10 years.

Seriously, though. He was serious. And even though I initially proposed this co-production company to him because I love being creative with him and I wanted to make our scripts into actual micro-shorts that we could upload to various online platforms, he has always wanted to aim beyond that. Make the company a financial success.

ME: “Well, gosh, if you’re gonna be that way about it, I guess we’ll just have to be a success.”

Kidding aside, though, I still haven’t gotten the website together. Or worked on the Mission Statement, or our bios, or anything, really. I thought it was really neat that we had a logline for Lita’s Got to Go! (More affectionately known as Lita måste gå!) and I figured that eventually I would find time to get back to work on the website. (We have 3 primary micro-scripts, and then about 5 micro-micro shorts after that, to work on, so we have, like, a lot of stuff on our plate here and we’re really lagging behind schedule. Whatever that schedule might be.)

But last night, it became apparent that I have to speed all of that up a bit, and I also had to start getting a spreadsheet together for our contacts list — even though Peitor is the one involved in looking for the right cinematographer, and the actors & crew and all that, I’m the kind of person who likes to know who’s producing what in the world of micro-shorts and who their reps and lawyers are (and all that). (Although, the one key character, who pulls the whole absurd concept of our film together, the only character in the film with speaking lines, and only about 5 lines, at that — there is an A-list actor that I have wanted from the start, and I am committed to getting him. We’ll see.)

(Of course, winning the Pulitzer will make all this easier! Everyone takes calls from people who win Pulitzers!) (And, seriously, I was looking up the criteria for winning a Pulitzer for Drama and I saw that Tell My Bones fits all the criteria for at least getting nominated, so, you know — we’re still pointed in the right direction!!)

Well, last night, it also became apparent that I was eventually going to be having to spend way more time in LA than I’d thought. Which isn’t a bad thing, because I love LA. Still, my brain and my career have been focused more in the direction of NYC. So last night, the potentialities of my life shifted significantly.

And I realized that my life was a little different from what I thought it was.

Okay. Nick Cave’s Conversations resume in the Netherlands tonight. In Eindhoven.  (I want to add, again, that the photos out of Bremen kept coming onto Instagram and they were just so great.) (Oh, and my suspicions were confirmed re: The Bremen Town Musicians. Here is a statue that I saw posted on Instagram (this isn’t the same photo, though; this is a stock photo.)

Image result for bremen town musicians statue in bremen

Okay, I gotta close this and get back to work on the play. I am just about done with the new (and final) segment. Have a good Monday, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting. I’ll leave you with my breakfast listening music from today. Yes!! From Neil Diamond’s massive hit album, Hot August Night, back in 1972, “Cracklin’ Rosie”!

You know, my adoptive mom also loved this song (and Neil Diamond) and she also used to drink Crackling Rose wine — the wine this song is based on.  I tried to find a photo of the original wine bottle, but could only find the label:





Anyway, so I leave you with this wonderful song, gang!! Even the cats loved listening to this song this morning! All righty I love you guys.  See ya.

“Cracklin’ Rosie”

Aw, Cracklin’ Rosie, get on board
We’re gonna ride
Till there ain’t no more to go
Taking it slow
And Lord, don’t you know
We’ll have me a time with a poor man’s lady

Hitchin’ on a twilight train
Ain’t nothing here that I care to take along
Maybe a song
To sing when I want
No need to say please to no man
For a happy tune

Oh, I love my Rosie child
You got the way to make me happy
You and me we go in style
Cracklin’ Rose,
You’re a store-bought woman
But you make me sing like a guitar hummin’
So hang on to me, girl,
Our song keeps runnin’ on
Play it now, play it now
Play it now, my baby

Cracklin’ Rosie, make me a smile
Girl, if it lasts for an hour, that’s all right
We got all night to set the world right
Find us a dream that don’t ask no questions

Oh, I love my Rosie child
You got the way to make me happy
You and me we go in style
Cracklin’ Rose,
You’re a store-bought woman
But you make me sing like a guitar hummin’
So hang on to me, girl
Our song keeps runnin’ on
Play it now, play it now
Play it now, my baby

Cracklin’ Rosie, make me a smile
Girl, if it lasts for an hour, that’s all right
We got all night
To set the world right
Find us a dream that don’t ask no questions
Ba ba ba ba ba ……

c – 1970 Neil Diamond

Everything’s Better With A Little Snow On It!

Well, we didn’t get this kind of accumulation, just a dusting on rooftops and parked cars, but it snowed all last evening and on into the night. Just that pretty, swirling, falling snow.

It looks so pretty swirling in the streetlights, too. Makes me wish that my fireplace worked, but oh well.

I’ve had another one of those mornings where it started out as a battle to keep my thoughts in a good place.  But overall, I feel like I’m doing a lot better today.

And my hair, gang — that new stuff really works. I mean, there hasn’t been time for any growth yet, but it does make my hair look fuller without making it frizzy. And definitely less of my hair is falling out. So that’s nice.

Wow, the show in Bremen last night looks like it was another really great show! (Conversation with Nick Cave.) The photos started getting posted to Instagram right away and didn’t stop for a few hours (which is kind of remarkable because it was really late at night where those people were). The photos were all so good!(Black suit.)  And everyone — even though I don’t speak German — was saying it was a fantastic show. Someone posted (in English) that Nick Cave was in a really good mood.

There was a snippet of him singing “Breathless” — I love that song. (I know, I know. I love every song. Maybe from now on I should say that I hate every song, but you will know that it is just my secret code for “love” but it will look to blog-outsiders like I have a wide variety of negative opinions and then the world at large will take me more seriously!)

Okay, anyway. It just looks like it was another really great show. Gosh, I just wish I could be attending these darn things!!!! It’s so frustrating. There are 4 shows left — Netherlands and then Brussels. (And then he’s retiring to some sort of villa in the South of France and he’s not going to work again, ever.) (Oops! I meant to say, he’s just going to keep flying around and working and working and working and working and working and….)


More good work (of my own!) on Tell My Bones yesterday, but I’m still not finished. It’s actually a point in the play where I have to deal with something that truly offends me — racism, Jim Crow stuff, and worse. And so I can’t just sort of sail through it. I have to insert this dark & creepy musical chunk in there and yet still smoothly segue back to what I’ve already written and still end the show at a very high, very uplifting place.

So the process has sort of gone from the ease of “brush strokes” to the precision of “needlepoint” — if you know what I mean. And having to focus so closely on stuff that actually offends me is a little draining, to say the least. But I am almost finished. I don’t know if I’ll finish it today, but if I don’t, I know that by tomorrow it will certainly be done. So that’s exciting.

I love working on this play, but I have these other half-finished projects sitting on my desk (or spilling on to floor, as the case may be) that I really love, as well. And sometimes I wonder, “God, am I ever going to finish all this stuff?”

And they each require such a specific focus, too. Like, In the Shadow of Narcissa is only going to be about 40 or so pages. That’s nothing, really. But it has to be written from the POV of myself when I had a very limited vocabulary and no experience whatsoever of the outside world. It’s sort of like I have to create 40 (meaningful) pages of childhood memories with access to only a handful of words.

And then, of course, basically switch to hardcore sex and jaded ennui for all the other projects.

Sometimes I just don’t understand anything. (Meaning myself, my work, my mind, my life.) Nevertheless, I still think there’s a really great reason why we’re all alive. So I’m gonna push onward.

Oh! Last night, completely by accident, I discovered that I had a YouTube channel. Oh my god. I’d forgotten all about that. According to YouTube, it was 9 years old already.  It was back when my friend Jay was living with me for a few months (in the old house), and I had a nice Nikon digital camera. I was a heavy drinker back then, for sure. Not that I was drunk in any of the videos. Just saying. Those years were not good ones for me. There was some footage of Fluffy, so that was heartbreaking. And my flowers blooming and stuff.  And there were some videos I took in a hotel in Midtown, where my room had a really, really dreadful view. (The Warwick Hotel on W. 54th Street. It used to be one of my favorite hotels and I had totally forgotten about it until last night.)

Anyway, it was a shock to suddenly see all this stuff from my life — online, no less. And also to see that a few hundred strangers had viewed it, and there were even people following the channel. (That must have felt very futile since I had totally forgotten it was even there.)

Well, long story short — I deleted all of it. Let’s just stick with the here & now and move forward, right? Good lord.

Oh, and yesterday I received a FedEx package. It was from Wayne, my ex-husband in NYC. And inside it was a large white (unscented)  pillar candle that he designed, with an inscription on the candle. And the inscription was a parody, or a send-up, of Gwyneth Paltrow’s candle that “smells like her vagina”  but using the name “Mike Hunt”.

Yes, it was in questionable taste. (He had warned me that something vulgar was coming my way, though.) (And he was correct.) (If you’re not grasping this whole thing, the candle is elegantly inscribed: “This candle smells like Mike Hunt” — meaning: my cunt.)

Well, it’s not chocolates and roses, is it? But it’s — I don’t know — the thought that counts? Or at least an indication that I still exist…

Okay! I gotta scoot. I want to get started here. Have a really great Sunday, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting, gang. I was once again back to George Harrison’s “Give Me Love” this morning, so I won’t  post it again. But — oh, here. Let’s do “Breathless.” I just hate this song!!! Okay. I love you guys. See ya.


It’s up in the morning and on the downs
Little white clouds like gamboling lambs
And I am breathless over you
And the red-breasted robin beats his wings
His throat it trembles when he sings
For he is helpless before you
The happy hooded bluebells bow
And bend their heads all a-down
Heavied by the early morning dew
At the whispering stream, at the bubbling brook
The fishes leap up to take a look
For they are breathless over you
Still your hands
And still your heart
For still your face comes shining through
And all the morning glows anew

Still your mind
Still your soul
For still, the fire of love is true
And I am breathless without you
The wind circles among the trees
And it bangs about the new-made leaves
For it is breathless without you
The fox chases the rabbit round
The rabbit hides beneath the ground
For he is defenseless without you
The sky of daytime dies away
And all the earthly things they stop to play
For we are all breathless without you
I listen to my juddering bones
The blood in my veins and the wind in my lungs
And I am breathless without you
Still your hands
And still your heart
For still your face comes shining through
And all the morning glows anew
Still your soul
Still your mind
Still, the fire of love is true
And I am breathless without you

c – 2004 Nick Cave

Another Odd Little Morning

I’m having another weird morning. I guess maybe I’m still grieving and trying to pretend that I’m not.

Every morning this week, it seems the moment I’m awake, I’m already in the headspace of — I don’t know what to call it — damage control? Trying not to crumble to pieces?

In the downstairs bathroom, before I fed the cats, I turned on the bathroom light to see how my hair-growth serum was working (it is, gang!), I was appalled by how my face looked. I looked like I’d been crying all night. As far as I know, I was sleeping all night.

And I was in a great frame of mind when I fell asleep. I’d been texting with Peitor about the “Lita” script we’d worked on during the day. And I was looking forward to the work I was going to do today on the play.

Anyway. For whatever reason, I guess my soul is just crying, for now.

However, I am really excited about today, all other things aside, because I can really feel that whole new segment of Tell My Bones shifting into place.  It’s probably still going to take me a couple of days to get it onto paper the way I envision it, but I can just feel it all inside of me. It’s ready to come out.

I was reading over some pages of the play yesterday and happened to read one small chunk of dialogue that the character named “A White Minister” recites, as he’s having a sort of blasphemous meltdown on the pulpit.  And it read so smoothly and it was so direct and straightforward, even though he’s nuts. And I remembered how long I labored over that one chunk of dialogue. I mean, for over a week. I had such a difficult time with that. And now, all these months later, there it is, just part of the overall play. A handful of sentences. Nothing to indicate that I had lost my mind over it — and I think there was some sort of heatwave going on at the time, too.

It’s just funny.  No one would ever know. But at the same time, those kinds of things (multiplied by years of encountering those sorts of stumbling blocks while I’m working — usually on a novel), have just shown me that eventually the words you need do come and they end up surprising you, in a good way. So now, when something takes a while to hit the page, I know that when the right words arrive it is going to be worth the wait.

(I was just now interrupted by Facebook alerting me that a wonderful old friend from my NYC days has a birthday today. So I popped over to FB to wish him a happy birthday, and I noticed that one of my extremely-intense-mob-guy, super-short-lived-fiance’s from the Bronx is having a birthday soon. But guess what? He’s suddenly 10 years younger than me! He used to be one year younger than me. But he looks good — in a sort of intense, scary kind of way.) (I’m on his shit-list now, in a really big way. He has quite an impressive grasp on four-letter-and-more-letter words, gang (including but not limited to a recent phone call: “You fucking cunt, you come to fucking New York and you can’t even fucking call me? What is your fucking problem, you are such a fucking lying cunt” followed closely by “come on, Marilyn, come back to New York, let’s get married. I fucking love you, even though you are so full of shit, why do you have to be such a cunt?”). I didn’t have a ready answer for all that, but anyway, I doubt I will be wishing him a happy birthday on Facebook this year. Although I’m sure he would welcome a reason to pick up the phone and yell at me again. )

Yes, I digress.

Anyway. This morning, at the breakfast table — it was still dark out. I happened to look toward the sink and saw this:

L to R: Huckleberry, Lucy and Weenie, at about 6:30am.

It was so unexpected. I thought I was alone in the kitchen, since they were all done eating. I was so happy I had my phone on the table. I don’t usually have it anywhere near me at that early hour.

You’ll notice that the spot for the dishwasher is a gaping hole… Two years ago, when I bought the house, at the top of my list was: Buy a new dishwasher. I’m not really clear on what happened to that idea.

Well, I submitted the piece from Blessed By Light yesterday for the Literary Arts Fair (see a post below somewhere).  They have a strict word-limit of 1200 words. So I had to remove 428 words from “The Guitar Hero Goes Home” — and, no, it wasn’t 428 uses of the word “fuck.” So I edited it down and made it “family friendly” as requested, and sent it off to them. But if they end up approving the piece itself, I would still have to sort of audition it, if I’m understanding them correctly. You know, read it in front of the Board members to make sure I’m not some droning lunatic, or something. Actually, I don’t really understand it, but I did submit the piece. So we’ll see.

And on that note, I will close by saying that quite a few more photos and little videos from Nick Cave’s Conversation in Essen, Germany, kept coming through on Instagram well into the night, and all of them were really just amazing. So different from the other two shows in Germany this past week. It seemed like it, anyway. Tonight he is in Bremen, Germany. I always just love seeing what all these various theaters look like, you know? They are each just so different.

All righty, I have decided to leave you with this, today. It was the first thing in my head when I awoke at 5:02am. This is another one of those songs that I adored in my girlhood. I was 7, almost 8, when this was a massive hit on AM radio. I had a little transistor radio, it looked like this:

It had one of those tiny ear pieces, and I would lie in my bed at night in the dark, with that ear piece in my ear, and I’d listen to the radio, and whenever this song came on, I was just in heaven, gang. Man, I loved this song!! And my little 7-year-old pelvic area would rock in time to the — what is this, a samba rhythm? A cha-cha? I don’t really know.

Anyway, I leave you with “Somethin’ Stupid” by Frank & Nancy Sinatra.  Have a great Saturday wherever you are in the world! I’m gonna go wash my yucky hair and then get down to work here on Tell My Bones. Thanks for visiting. I love you guys. See ya.

“Somethin’ Stupid”

I know I stand in line until you think you have the time
To spend an evening with me
And if we go someplace to dance, I know that there’s a chance
You won’t be leaving with me
And afterwards we drop into a quiet little place and have a drink or two
And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like “I love you”

I can see it in your eyes
That you despise the same old lies you heard the night before
And though it’s just a line to you, for me it’s true
And never seemed so right before

I practice every day to find some clever lines to say
To make the meaning come through
But then I think I’ll wait until the evening gets late and I’m alone with you
The time is right, your perfume fills my head, the stars get red and, oh, the night’s so blue
And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like “I love you”

The time is right, your perfume fills my head, the stars get red and, oh, the night’s so blue
And then I go and spoil it all by sayin’ something stupid like “I love you”

I love you
I love you
I love you

I love you

c – 1966 C. Carson Parks

No Hurry, Or Anything…

Don’t hurry or anything, because even the pre-orders for the deluxe edition of Stranger Than Kindness — the book that goes along with Nick Cave’s upcoming art exhibition in Copenhagen — is already sold out.

However, the standard edition from all the other outlets — including, yes, Amazon UK, where, if you’re an American, you get to pay the higher BPS rate and if, comme moi, you live in the middle-of-fucking-nowhere America, you get to pay through your nose for shipping, also at the higher BPS rate (meaning higher than what the US dollar is worth) — all that is available for pre-ordering right now!! So hurry for that part.

And don’t worry — you don’t have to pay now. It’s just a pre-order. You won’t have to pay for it until you’ve totally forgotten you even ordered the thing, and on the very day when something horribly urgent & expensive has befallen your economic world, you’ll suddenly get an alert that 17 million fucking dollars has been randomly deducted from your checking account. and you’re, like: Why??!! What the fuck??!! And you’ll scroll through your checking account in a panic, and then realize — oh. that. I forgot.

And then you only have to wait another 2 weeks for it to get across the pond by some sort of really, really slow boat.

You know, not that I need a deluxe edition of anything, because I’m just not that kind of person. But it is interesting to me that every imaginable known or unknown photo of Keanu can shove its way into my Instagram feed, but by the time I get the single Nick Cave announcement about the book into my feed, over 17,000 people have already seen it and the deluxe edition pre-order is super sold out.

I find that interesting.

Anyway! On a similar note.

Wow. For some reason, that show in Essen, Germany, last night seems like it was really good. (Nick Cave’s Conversation there.) I mean, I’m saying it like that because I can only judge these things by what other people are posting to their Instagram feeds — total strangers, who usually don’t speak the same language I do. And they just post photos or micro-short videos. Still it seems like you can get a feel for these things, even from that. (And also, I guess if you’re me and you ponder every single fucking thing that has come out of every single one of these fucking shows for the last 2 years or whatever it’s been. I guess then you get a feel for it.) (Brown suit, btw. I think. It’s weird how the lighting can change that in some of the photos.)

Anyway, there was something about the vibe coming out of those postings last night that was just really good. And even the micro videos — the songs seemed to have, I don’t know, some sort of vitality to them? It was sort of palpable, even in under 20 seconds. But the photos! Wow, some really great photos came out of last night. I mean, really great.

The next Conversation is in Bremen, Germany (tomorrow), where I think one of my favorite fairy tales from my wee bonny girlhood hails from — “The Bremen Town Musicians”? Do you remember that one? That was an intense story.

When I was little (I actually still own it, but I don’t play it anymore) I had a record by Danny Kaye, where he recited some of the Grimm’s Fairy Tales. And the “Bremen Town Musicians” was on that. The record was really cool — well, by wee bonny girlhood standards of cool:

Image result for danny kaye record grimms fairy tales
I’m being told it came out in 1964, and that you can listen to the whole thing on YouTube.

All right, well. I seem to have digressed, but now is as good a time as any to just change the subject entirely.

I made great progress on the new character arc in Tell My Bones yesterday. I should have the whole thing finished by the end of the weekend. I am super happy with how it’s turning out, gang. I’m not entirely sure yet how I’m going to execute this final chunk with the new song, but I know it’s coming. And I know it’s going to be powerful and disturbing, which will really bring the whole play together. For some reason, I’m finding it in me to go out on a limb with this final part.

Well, this being Friday morning, I have to get all my notes together now for my phone call with Peitor — he’s back in West Hollywood now, and I am, of course, home from the funeral. We have to continue our work on the micro-short script for “Lita’s Got to Go.” I’m guessing we’ll work several hours and only be at the end of scene 4, which is, literally, about 50 seconds long… it is amazing how long it is taking us to write this script! Just too funny.

But it’s about the journey, not the destination, right, gang? And I just love working with Peitor. I love his mind. We talked at length on the phone last week, right after my stepmom died and I needed someone to unleash my torrent of complicated grief emotions upon and, as always, he dropped everything for me. He was in the studio, doing the final mix of a song when I texted him and said that my stepmom died. He texted right back and said, “Do you need to talk?” and then he dropped everything for me.  He was really helpful. And kind. I felt worlds better after he and I talked. And at the end of the conversation, he said, “I’m sorry to cut this short, but it’s Charo’s birthday and she’s outside waiting for me.”

That just sort of cracked me up and helped me process my grief right there. Actually, Charo’s been through some very tragic stuff lately, so I’m not making a joke. Just that, you know, it just seemed kind of funny — for him to go from an hour of listening to all my grief, to celebrating Charo’s birthday.

Image result for charo on her birthday
The inimitable Charo

Okay. I’m gonna close this. Oh, wait — also, it looks like Mystify, the Michael Hutchence documentary is now available to be streamed on pretty much all platforms. So it’s now on my watchlist.  I know it’s going to be super sad, but I’ll probably watch it before I watch anything else.

Mystify, Michael Hutchence film poster.jpeg

Okay, now I’m really gonna close this. Have a really nice Friday, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting.  As much as I’d love to leave you with a snippet of Danny Kaye performing children’s fairy tales, I’ll leave you instead with another favorite record from my wee bonny girlhood! I used to listen to this song all the fucking time! I just loved it!! And I love you guys, too. All righty. See ya!

A Little Too Industrious For My Taste!

Wow, gang.  When it was all said and done, yesterday sorta, kinda sucked.

I probably shouldn’t say it like that and should look at the positive stuff instead, but for whatever petulant reason, I don’t feel like doing that right now.

Just as I was getting down to work on the play yesterday, something — I don’t recall now what it was — reminded me that I had to update the Life Story Rights for two (living) people who are characters in Tell My Bones and that I also still needed to send them their additional option money. And if I don’t do this stuff, it doesn’t matter how good the play is, no one will produce it.

Funny how you can sort of happily overlook stuff like that in your creative frenzy of being a writer!

What this means is that I had to stop everything and do a whole lot of fucking typing yesterday. Boring legal typing. Pages of it. So boring that you would rather do anything else imaginable.

I would type about half a page and then have to flop down onto the bed and stare out the window, I was so bored. Or take a nap. Or go take a shower. Or discover a Pinterest page with a whole lot of sexy photos of the (now very) late Tom Petty from when he was about 31 years old and try not to cry.

You know, really important stuff like that.

I didn’t finish typing the darn documents (10 pages) until after 6pm. It dragged out for the whole darn day because I just couldn’t stay focused. It was just so boring. (And every single word has to be correct or it won’t hold up in a court of law, which you hope it won’t come to anyway.)

And then I realized that I am still sort of grieving. Definitely, things are still not 100% right with me, emotionally. And I did that thing again, where I ate half a bag of tortilla chips last night instead of forcing myself to eat a real dinner. I hate when I do that because it just ends up making me feel sick. Even though they’re organic, non-GMO, multi-grain chips, they still have a ton of salt and carbs. That’s the 2nd night this week that I’ve done that, so I think I just won’t bring those chips into the house anymore. (Depriving myself of something I love is always my “fallback” response.)

Normally, I have the most stupidly healthy diet that you can possibly imagine. You wouldn’t even want to imagine it because it would just bore you to tears. (For instance, if I do eat chips, I eat only seven, because it gives me 3 grams of protein and not too many calories. I am that weird — seven chips. I count them out and then that’s what I eat.  Or I allow myself 28 grams of dark chocolate a day — primarily for brain health, although I love dark chocolate. This amounts to 5 tiny squares, that I space throughout the day.  It’s really that insane around here.) But because of that, a half a bag of chips at once is a real assault on me now and it made me feel so sick. For hours.

(And I don’t think of this as being neurotic, per se. And it’s not that I wish to live forever, because I sure don’t. But if I’m going to be even still alive next week, I want to be healthy and look as good as I possibly can. I’m fucking past middle age here. This is about vanity, gang; not neurosis.)

Crap. Anyway.

But grief is so weird, right? It just gets in there and short-circuits your brain. Even while you can see it happening, you just don’t get in there and stop it. It would take too much out of you. (Or out of me, in this instance.)

I wound up going to bed at 9:30pm because I was just so emotionally exhausted. I didn’t want to cry or be depressed; I just wanted to sleep and forget. And I turned out the light and THEN I happened to glance at my phone (ringer off) and noticed a TON of texts! From my friend in Houston, battling the cancer; from my sister, going in for surgery today. From some people I don’t know on Instagram. It was crazy. I was trying so hard to be polite, you know? Reply to the texts, then turn over and try to go to sleep. But I’d turn over and only see that whole corner of the room behind my head  light up with more texts.

Jesus, this went on for over an hour. All these texts. And a couple of the conversations were upsetting me — and I was trying to tell myself not to judge; to be tolerant. To just let people live their own lives and make their own choices.

But then I thought, I better make sure my (birth) mom is okay, so then I texted her. But she of course is more rational and didn’t reply; she was likely having a beer and a cigarette and thinking: fuck if I’m gonna get in the middle of these crazy-texting daughters of mine…

Anyway, I finally fell asleep while in the middle of my friend in Houston sending me photos of meteorites and chondrites that he works on at NASA that have fallen from the sky and are billions of years old… (It was actually cool but I fell asleep anyway.)

So that was me, yesterday. I got a lot done but I went kicking and screaming into doing it. (Oh, except that I am now up to Episode 4 of Ken Burns’ Jazz and it is just a great episode. Each episode is about 2 hours, so it’s taking me awhile.)

One really cool thing that happened yesterday: Nick Cave’s Red Hand Files thing was amazing! He essentially gave a fan in Serbia the clothes off his back!! You can read it here.

Tonight, his Conversations resume in Essen, Germany.  I’m guessing no one can top that theater in Wiesenbad, though. So far, Wiesenbad, Montreal, and (I think) Helsinki (?) had the most beautiful theaters.

Oh, and if you check out the a1000Mistakes blog out of Australia, he has a link to a long but really cool bunch of interviews regarding an upcoming tribute to Rowland S. Howard: Pop Crimes — The Songs of Rowland S. Howard. You can read it here.

Rowland S. Howard_4

Okay, well. The director of the play just texted me from NYC and asked how I was doing with the throughline of the new character arc, so I have to get moving here. Because my reply to his question was probably not as forthcoming as it could have been… So let me get at it here.

I hope Thursday is good to you, gang, wherever you are in the world. We don’t get out of this world alive — as we all know if we read that Jim Morrison bio from about 30 years ago:


However, it still seems like a wanted thing — making the best of being here while we are. So I hope you have a good day. I leave you with more Duke Ellington, just because it makes me feel good. If you’re having an iffy sort of day, give it a spin and it’ll get you on a better track — all puns intended. All righty. I love you guys. Thanks for visiting. See ya.

Just So Intensely Strange — Even for Me!!

Okay. Well. I’m having a good morning here.  I honestly am.

I slept in until 6am. Awoke happy. The first thing I did was start streaming “Clementine” by Jean Goldkette & His Orchestra, featuring Bix Beiderbecke (1927).

If you don’t know this tune then that’s probably why there’s a big hole in your life (listen now and everything will finally be fine!):

Anyway, I continued streaming it while getting the cats fed and getting my own breakfast together. (And it was quite a surreal tune to listen to while watching 7 feral cats pace about the floor in anticipation of breakfast.) But I finally turned it off while I was actually eating my own breakfast.

But the whole time, I was thinking intensely about Nick Cave. (I want to say again that the theater he had his Conversation in last night, in Wiesenbad, Germany, was just jaw-dropping. All the Instagram posts were so beautiful. There were quite a few more posts by this morning.)

After breakfast, I took my coffee cup and went back upstairs to meditate, like I always do. I set my coffee cup on my night table and suddenly realized that I had a totally different coffee cup from the one I thought I had!

This is really intensely bizarre for someone like me, because I guarantee you my cups and my breakfast bowls always match, and they are always seasonal. For instance, I would never, ever in a million years, use my summer coffee cup with the brightly colored flowers on it in the dead of winter. It’s just never gonna happen. Ever.

But I thought I was drinking out of my red vintage  Kellogg’s mug that I use all during January, when I suddenly realized I was drinking out of this one instead — and  I’d been drinking out of it for nearly an hour already before I noticed it:

I don’t know. You’d think I would sort of notice a skull & cross bones at my breakfast table. Yet, I didn’t.

If you’re new to this blog — like, if this is your first day here — you’ll just think I’m superficially crazy. But I have a thing about dishes. A seriously deep-rooted addiction to them. I’m deeply crazy — it’s not superficial. I would never sit down to breakfast (in my own kitchen) with a cup that didn’t match my bowl.

And this one is my pre-Easter coffee cup. I use this cup and its matching bowl from Mardis Gras up until Easter. (Seriously — and on Easter morning, I change to the pastel yellow set with the single bas relief fleur de lis on it.)

So weird that I reached for this one today, filled it, drank from it, re-filled it, took it upstairs…. without noticing I’d done it. But what’s even sort of weirder, in my opinion, is that it’s the only coffee cup I own that was made in Germany.

I was thinking about Nick Cave in Germany and I picked up that cup! And it was made at Waechtersbach, which is only about an hour from Wiesbaden. Don’t you think that’s so weird?

Well, anyway. I do.

So, what I was thinking about Nick Cave is that these snippets of him singing (on Instagram) — the songs are all slowed down from their normal tempos (as were yesterday’s posts from Baden-Baden). And I keep feeling like he’s sad.

And then I think that I’m just projecting something on to these songs because there’s no way to really know, since the videos are micro-short, and none of the videos are of him talking to the audience.  The photos of him talking to the audience are really lovely, though, even though he’s not smiling in any of them, but then he almost never smiles. (I don’t know, maybe at home he smiles constantly so, by the time he’s out in public, he’s just tired of it.) Although, here’s a photo I love. I don’t remember when this is from, but it’s not that long ago.

Anyway, this wasn’t supposed to be a Nick Cave tribute or anything. I was actually really thinking about the difference between projecting feelings that come from within us, and receiving information that comes from outside of us. Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say: receiving information that comes from deeper within us.

Receiving is just way more accurate than projecting, but you really have to tune in to your feelings, or thoughts, and get clarity, you know? Is this feeling coming from me — a sort of reflexive reaction from my brain– or is it coming to me from somewhere deeper?

This is something I think about a lot — ever since I began keeping the Inner Being journals every morning.  It’s been 7 months now that I’ve been doing it — what I call “dialogues” with my Inner Being. Writing them down, right after meditation. Or, if for some reason I don’t meditate (which is rare, but it happens), then I do it right before I sit down at my desk.

I haven’t missed a day dialoguing with my Inner Being in 7 months.

And I am really learning to be wary of coming to conclusions that are based on projecting rather than on receiving. I don’t know why I’m so obsessed with always wanting clarity on everything, but I am. Which was why this thing with the coffee cup this morning just really startled me. I’m usually just so intensely aware of every single fucking moment

I know! You’re wondering: Gosh, how come she lives alone? She’d be so nice to come home to!!

In fact, I don’t usually even say “hello”. Instead:

ME (seeing you coming up the walk from a long, hard day, then I open the screen door): “You know what I was thinking?” (then I proceed to tell you exactly what I was thinking. All day.)

YOU: (complete silence, as you hope against hope that there’s still beer in the fridge.)


Well, this is something else I’ve been curious about.  I have this sort of pronounced feeling that “all is well” in my life now. And it seems to be coming from this relationship I have with my adoptive dad, which, to put it in the tiniest nutshell you can possibly imagine, has not been easy.  And this morning, I was wondering why I’m feeling that way right now, and I realized that this is the first time, since I was a really young girl, that there hasn’t been a wife between him and me. (This doesn’t include my adoptive mother because he was actually the person who protected me from my adoptive mother.) Even though I loved both of my stepmoms, I really did — they were both really nice to me. It just feels different now that the wives are gone. There’s no longer another person there that, you know, means everything to him. (Even though, obviously, he’s still thinking about my stepmom constantly, and grieving deeply for her.)

But this is a new feeling for me. Almost like I exist again. Something like that.

Okay. I’m now seeing that there’s a new Red Hand Files thingy from Nick Cave in my inbox! I shall go investigate it. And then get on with my day. I’m expecting to get some really good stuff done with the revisions of Tell My Bones today, because I finally got some good insights yesterday.

Have a great Wednesday, wherever it leads you! Feel free to come visit, if you’d like to know every single thing I’ve been thinking about while you were away… (yes, there’s beer in the fridge — leftover from when my birth mom was here). I leave you with what I was listening to last night, while drifting off to sleep. “Black & Tan Fantasie” by Duke Ellington, 1928. An erotic little tune, actually. (Although, probably my favorite Duke Ellington song is “Take the A Train.”) All righty. I love you guys. See ya.

Tiny Little Updates

Wow, that Wiesenbad theater was unbelievably beautiful. (Meaning Nick Cave’s Conversation in Wiesenbad, Germany tonight.) It looks like it was just a stunning place. Several people began posting to Instagram right away, and each photo was prettier than the next.

Oh man, there were a couple of photos of him that I just wish I could figure out how to get off of Instagram and onto my phone!!

Well, I made some good progress with Tell My Bones this afternoon. I’m pretty sure now where I want the new song to go (well, the song’s not new — it’s from 1828. But I only recently decided to add it to the play). I think the placement of the song — almost at the end — is going to help make its message that much more pronounced. (Racist “Jim Crow” stuff.)

So I feel encouraged about that.

This evening, I watched Once Upon A Time in Hollywood, finally. I thought it was way too long but it was, nevertheless, really good. I’m not sure how younger people react to the film — people who weren’t alive back then, who don’t remember what it was like, culturally, or how horrible what happened actually was. For me, though, it felt sort of cathartic — possibly even for the whole nation — to have those key members of the Manson Family so brutally killed.

I don’t like violence and, even while I usually really love Tarantino films, his violence is always just off the charts. But in this film, there was a sort of need to see those killers be pulverized. Just that deep-rooted need to see Sharon Tate’s killers utterly destroyed — even for a pacifist, like me. And even though it was just a fantasy. The ending of the film was just sad to me, bittersweet; it brought tears to my eyes. Those poor people, in reality, were just so brutally murdered (as well as the Labiancas) and a Hollywood fairy tale obviously can’t ever erase that.

Anyway, I’m glad I finally saw it. Next in line is either The Joker or Rocketman. Although I’m still watching Ken Burns’ Jazz.

If you saw one of my posts while I was away for the funeral, you saw that I am now the owner of my late stepmom’s large flat screen TV. It turns out that it’s a smart TV, with a built-in DVD player, too. However, my dad neglected to give me the power cord to plug it into the wall. Hopefully he has it in the house somewhere and can just mail it to me. I don’t really like smart TVs — I don’t like any kind of potential eavesdropping devices in my home because I’m paranoid. But we’ll just see how that unfolds.

And my hair stuff did indeed arrive. It burns my scalp a tiny bit, however, it’s already working. I mean, it hasn’t made my hair grow yet, but it did make the roots look thicker within a couple of hours, without making my hair look frizzy. Kind of amazing. So we’ll see how it goes.

If it really does work, I’ll probably have to use it every day now for the rest of my life, but at least it’s not very expensive. Kind of a drop in the bucket when you add up everything else I use each day: eye creme, face creme (separate cremes pour nuit et jour!), hand creme, foot creme, cellulite-appearance reducing creme, lip plumping balm!! (Wouldn’t it be cool if writers could apply for “vanity” grants? It costs a lot to keep this aging physique looking 43 and a half years old… Now I have to win a Pulitzer Prize in order to afford to keep looking so fucking youthful and lovely! You betcha!!)

All righty. Have a good night, wherever you are in the world. I did my yoga and now I’m gonna go watch some Jazz. I love you guys. Thanks for visiting. See ya.

Image result for ken burns' jazz
Ken Burns’ Jazz, PBS

Getting My Quite Comely Behind Outta Bed

Yes, a  flock of noisy blue jays landed in the maple tree outside my window and finally got me out of bed.

If you aren’t familiar with blue jays, they screech really loudly.

As you know, I love birds, though. All kinds of birds. And so when the blue jays alighted, I got out of bed to get a better look at them. And they made me feel so happy and then I managed to not get back into bed.

I’m doing a lot better today, though, overall. I had a ton of dreams early this morning that seem to have done wonders for me, emotionally.

At about 3am, I awoke and my mind immediately started slipping into those dark places. I tried to focus on Nick Cave’s Conversations — he’s going to be in Wiesbaden, Germany,  tonight. But even that was making me sad because I wished I could be there. (I wish I could attend every one of those things, but I have this issue, you know — it’s called “my life.” I sort of have to actually live it.)

But even though I am so much better at reining in my thoughts before things get too dark — my thoughts are still like a box full of puppies, you know. They keep wanting to get out of the box and scurry off and I have to be keep grabbing at them and putting them back in the box. So, even while I laid awake for over an hour, trying not to feel sad and lost, I did do a good job at not letting it get out of control. I’ve just gotten so much better at it.

Eventually, 3 of the cats jumped up onto the bed and started walking all over me, which I love, and so I calmed down and I drifted back to sleep. But then I had some pretty intense dreams. Full of tears and sorrow and feelings of defeat and helplessness and even a lot rage. It was all family-related stuff, too. (Adoptive family stuff, only. Cousins, aunts, uncles, my mother.)

There was only one person in those dreams that was not related to me — this young black woman I’m friends with, who I’ll say more about in a minute. But my whole family had gathered out on the front lawn at this enormous table (it was my own house — not the one I live in, though) and I was supposed to feed all of them. Well, you know how I am about my dishes, and I was searching for a specific set of dishes that I wanted to put out on the table and I couldn’t find them anywhere. The girlfriend was trying to help me locate the right dishes in all these various cupboards in my kitchen,  but I just kept finding the wrong ones.

Then I happened to glance out the window and I saw that my family had just used any old dishes and were starting the meal without me. And I just started sobbing. I felt so frustrated and defeated by all of them. (Which is how I feel about my adoptive family in real life. I haven’t talked to most of them in many years now.)

Anyway, the dreams progressed to something pretty awful — my adoptive mother purposely poisoned one of my cats and I watched her do it and couldn’t stop her. I was so filled with rage and grief that I attacked her.

But you know, dreams full of crying and rage and bewilderment — I woke up feeling really in a much better place. Just worlds better. So I guess I was able to work out a lot of my grief that way. So that’s good.

And I talked to my dad this morning and he sounded really good, as well. I mean, all things considered. He’s going to go play poker — he always plays poker on Tuesday mornings, and then some people are taking him out to dinner tonight. So I felt really good about that. He wasn’t going to be just sitting at home, crying.

He did inform me that all of my step-siblings and their spouses will be flying back this summer to celebrate our birthdays. (I will be 60 and my dad will be 90.) I was kind of stunned by this. I’m not a big birthday-celebrator type of gal. Normally, I like to either be alone, or just with one other person or just something small. But obviously I’m not going to refuse to attend. Unless I have to be in Toronto, but otherwise, I guess I know where I’ll be on my birthday this year. So strange. My stepbrother lives out in Northern California so, honestly, I didn’t think I’d ever see him again now that his mom has died.

Well, on an entirely different topic (my vanity), but involving the girlfriend I mentioned above. At some point, she had either a hair weave or braids or something, that were too tight and she lost a patch of hair, and she used this all-natural biotin-based hairspray that made all her hair grow back, so I bought some and it should be delivered today! I am losing hair all over the place these days.

Until recently, I took biotin supplements, and they do work but they make hair grow all over your darn body, not just your head — which is the only place I wish for more of it to grow. Since I really don’t have time to devote to 24/7 hair removal, yet I am entirely vain, I finally got fed up with having thick, luxurious hair all over my body and I quit taking the fucking biotin. But then, of course, my hair started falling out again (they call it “thinning,” whereas I call it falling out. Everywhere.). So I’m excited to see if this topical stuff will work. We shall see! God knows, my hair is stupefyingly important to me.

Okay. I’ve got the laundry almost finished here. I’m gonna get back now to the new character arc in Tell My Bones. It’s been about a week since I could focus on it.

I leave you with one of my most favorite songs from my wee bonny girlhood — “I Could Have Danced All Night” from My Fair Lady. It’s a song I always think about now when I remember that Conversation with Nick Cave at Lincoln Center last September. (I didn’t actually feel exactly that way after the show was over, but I kinda did.) Seeing all the posts to Instagram from his Conversation last night, made me play this song during breakfast this morning. So enjoy, okay? Thanks for visiting. Hope life’s good, wherever you are in the world. I love you guys. See ya.

“I Could Have Danced All Night”

Bed, bed I couldn’t go to bed
My head’s too light to try to set it down
Sleep, sleep I couldn’t sleep tonight
Not for all the jewels in the crown

I could have danced all night
I could have danced all night
And still have begged for more
I could have spread my wings
And done a thousand things
I’ve never done before

I’ll never know what made it so exciting
Why all at once my heart took flight
I only know when he
Began to dance with me
I could have danced, danced, danced all night

(It’s after three now
Don’t you agree now?
She ought to be in bed)

I could have danced all night (You’re tired out, you must be dead)
I could have danced all night (Your face is drawn, your eyes are red)
And still have begged for more (Now say goodnight, please, turn out the light, please)
(It’s really time for you to be in bed)

I could have spread my wings (Do come along, do as you’re told)
And done a thousand things (Or Mrs. Pierce is apt to scold)
I’ve never done before (You’re up too late, please, fix your estate, please)
(You’ll catch a cold)

I’ll never know what made it so exciting
Why all at once my heart took flight
I only know when he (Put down your book, the work’ll keep)
Began to dance with me (Now settle down and go to sleep)
I could have danced, danced, danced all night

(I understand, dear
It’s all been grand, dear
But now it’s time to sleep)

I could have danced all night
I could have danced all night
And still have begged for more
I could have spread my wings
And done a thousand things
I’ve never done before

I’ll never know what made it so exciting
Why all at once my heart took flight
I only know when he began to dance with me
I could have danced, danced, danced all night

c – 1956 Lerner/Loewe