Bette O's Dead Woman Walking

WEATHER REPORT

2007-05-02T17:54:00.000+01:00

It's that time of year, the real Texas weather is here and we're in for a long hot summer. Its been so bloody close (that would be humid for the yanks) yesterday and today that if this keeps up and the humidity gets just a bit higher, we'll all be pregnant, spawning bolts of lightening and rumbles of thunder as we walk the streets seeking surcease from the damp heat.

Sitting on the veranda drinking hot coffee has become a downright stupid endeavor, however, I refuse to give up my ritual.... arise; rocking chair, coffee, smokes and laptop dragged out to the veranda for hours of slovenly idleness.

Damn mother nature, I too am an alpha c*nt and I'll take your best with my finger up and keep on with dancin' with you right to the bloody end.

MUTTON DRESSED AS LAMB?

2007-04-05T16:34:00.000+01:00

The other evening, one of my young neighbours of the male persuasion remarked that my ensemble looked like an attempt on my part to look 20 years younger. I considered his remark and came to the conclusion that whilst I am 60, I certainly don’t want to look like I’m 40. Who would? If I were trying to look younger, I’d at least aim for the vicinity of the 30s. Looking younger is not the motivating factor when I put together an ensemble; looking weirder… yes, looking totally inappropriate… oh my I really do hope so.

And so I have kept the implicit vow I made when I wrote

I’m Ready For My Close Up

Ah ha, you say, just what were you wearing that prompted your neighbour’s remark? I’ll say it again, boys n ‘ girls, I’m 60 so I’m pretty much guessing, as the days n’ nights do tend to run together, but I believe it was black (but of course) knee length trousers…yes the legs are still long and shapely… black leather platform wedges with the de rigueur pointed toes ( I do find it difficult to find exciting shoes here, as much as I like black it just gets a bit dull when that is the only colour on offer)… and a red (surprised you didn’t I? but it is the perfect shade of blue red) cotton camisole-styled top with hanging metal bits just under the low cut bust line, which perfectly showcase my tattooed puppies.

There you go; I’ll leave it up to you. Am I mutton dressed as lamb or will the real Bette O’ please stand up?

TEXAS FRIENDS

2007-04-03T05:47:00.000+01:00

This came from a bulletin from one of My Space friends, Gabrielle Faust. For those of you in London, I expect that you will recognise a London friend in the Texas friend. If I can't be in London, Texas is rather a nice place to be.

Friends Vs. TEXAS Friends

FRIENDS: Tell you not to do something stupid when drunk
TEXAS FRIENDS: Will post 360 degree security so you dont get caught
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FRIENDS: Call your parents Mr. and Mrs
TEXAS FRIENDS: Call your parents drunk as hell
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FRIENDS: Hope the night out drinking goes smoothly, and hope that no one is late for the ride home.
TEXAS FRIENDS: Know some wild shit will happen, and set up rally points and an E & E route.
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FRIENDS: Bail you out of jail and tell you what you did was wrong.
TEXAS FRIENDS: Will be sitting next to you saying, "Damn...that shit was fun "
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FRIENDS: Cry with you.
TEXAS FRIENDS: laugh at you
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FRIENDS: Borrow your stuff for a few days then give it back.
TEXAS FRIENDS: Steal each other's stuff so often nobody remembers who bought it in the first place.
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FRIENDS: Are happy that someone picked up a one night stand and leave them alone.
TEXAS FRIENDS: Will Crawl naked into the room with a camera and hope for the tag team.
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FRIENDS: Know a few things about you.
TEXAS FRIENDS: Could write a book with direct quotes from you.
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FRIENDS: Will leave you behind if that's what the crowd is doing.
TEXAS FRIENDS: Will kick the whole crowds ass that left you.
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FRIENDS: Would knock on your door.
TEXAS FRIENDS: Walk right in and say, "I'm home!"
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FRIENDS: Will try and talk to the bouncer when you get tossed out of the bar.
TEXAS FRIENDS: Will buck up and go after the bouncer for touching you on the way out.
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FRIENDS: Will wish you had enough money to go out that night, and are sorry you couldn't come.
TEXAS FRIENDS: Will share their last dollar with you, drag you along, and try to steal free drinks all night.
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FRIENDS: Will take your drink away when they think you've had enough.
TEXAS FRIENDS: Will look at you stumbling all over the place and say, "Bitch, you better drink the rest of that shit, you know we don't waste. That's alcohol abuse!!!" HAHAHAHA !!!!
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FRIENDS: Want the money they loaned you back next week.
TEXAS Friends: Can't begin to remember who owes who money after taking care of each other for so long.
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FRIENDS: Will say "I can't handle Tequila anymore".
TEXAS FRIENDS: Will say "okay, just one more..." and then 2 minutes later "okay, just one more!".
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FRIENDS: Will talk shit to the person who talks shit about you.
TEXAS FRIENDS: Will knock them the Fuck out!!
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FRIENDS: Will tell you "They'd take a bullet for you."
TEXAS FRIENDS: Will actually take a bullet for you.
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FRIENDS: Will ignore this
TEXAS FRIENDS: Will repost this

MASSACRE ON KINNEY AVENUE

2007-03-20T16:23:00.000Z

This is a typical house on my street. Small, a bit rundown but still well able for it, hey it looks like this is a nice quiet neighbourhood doesn’t it? No, no, no. A few weeks ago a group of us were sitting on the veranda of an evening drinking, smoking and chatting. My good friend and neighbour Bazza decided, just before midnight, to walk downtown, yes I live on this charming, quiet street but still close enough to downtown to walk if one were so inclined. I know you’re all thinking, dude, it just couldn’t get any better than a cool neighbourhood, close to downtown, and a veranda to share with excellent people. Yes well…

About fifteen minutes after Bazza left we saw him come back round the building with his head down and his hand to his face. What the …..? As he neared he took his hand away and we saw the blood pouring out of his mouth as he told us I’ve been shot, call the police. Turns out he was walking down our street and had got a few blocks down when a car drove by and he was shot in the face and the side. The shot in the face shattered his tooth and the bullet lodged in his lip. Fortunately the shot to his side apparently hadn’t penetrated the skin.

The police arrived and told us that this is a regular occurrence in Austin, drive by shootings with high velocity BB guns. Before I go further I’ll tell y’all that Bazza is okay, except needing his tooth repaired, and the fool is still out walking late at night.

Here’s the real massacre. If we had called an ambulance, he definitely needed to get to a hospital; it would have cost him $500 to $600 for the trip. He went to the emergency room the next day and had the bullet removed from his lip, a stitch or two to close the wound, and an x-ray to ensure the bullet in his side had not penetrated the skin and was not traveling to his lungs on its way to kill him. That came in at about $600. A few days later he went to the dentist and after x-rays and a consultation totaling a little over $100, was told that to get his tooth fixed properly, i.e. pulled and replaced, it would cost $4,000. Total massacre damage control, approx $5,300.

Bazza, like so many of us does not have medical or dental insurance, even though he works two jobs. When the police came that night we were asking them about the nearest medical facility that was open and discussing the probable cost. They were a bit helpful as to hospital location but that was pretty much it, until I said I can’t believe that Bazza as a victim of a crime has to pay for his medical costs himself. Then and only then did they mention that there was a Victim’s Assistance fund, with no guarantee of help, and give Bazza the proper application forms.

The moral of this vignette? Don’t get shot unless you’re either rich or have full medical coverage, you’ll probably be fucked (without a kiss) as well as being shot.

P.S. Actually my neighbourhood, all things considered, is very safe.

DAMN I WAS STRIVING FOR 100%

2007-03-14T20:13:00.000Z

I know, I know, I haven't written anything for awhile but I've just not been inspired, been too tired; or, in reality, can't be arsed to post something new. Here's a little something to remind y'all not to chastise me.

You Are 94% Evil

You're the most evil person you know. The devil is even a little scared of you!

How Evil Are You?

Apparently I'm so evil that I can't be arsed to fix the html code on the foregoing link. There you go, adding this silly little bit seems to have done the trick. Guess I can be arsed 'cause I love y'all so much. Not enough, however, to change the code from center to left.

ARE YOU SITTING DOWN?

2007-02-10T00:30:00.000Z

I quit smoking..... cigarettes that is. I just cannot deal with the rise in price since the new tax was added. I have switched to little cigars, which are not subject to cigarette taxes and I will thus be saving half the amount I was paying. I found these charming little cigars that are cherry flavoured. I can't actually taste the cherry but it does leave a lovely odour in the air.

At the risk of sounding like some weird conspiracy theorist, which it is becoming exceedingly difficult not to do in the US these days given the proliferation of over the top scare mongering tactics which are used to justify the rampant plundering of our rights in the name of Homeland Security (wasn't Nazi Germany called the Homeland?), I believe that the reason cigars are not taxed like cigarettes is that they are predominatly smoked by those of the male persuasion. Let's face it, it is men who dominate our government and big business.

As it is quite clear to anyone living (actually that's a misnomer, one would have to be dead not to notice) in the US, big business is the god to which our politicians kneel to worship. One only has to turn on the television to see that the majority of adverts are for prescription drugs. My recent favourite is for restless legs. For fuck's sake, have you ever heard of anyone with restless legs? Do you find yourself sitting in a chair when your legs begin to twitch? Perhaps you are not sleeping at night as your legs are constantly moving? I just cannot take this seriously especially in this country where the majority of the people seem to have difficulty sleeping because they are ill and have no medical insurance, or they are hungry and have no food, or they are totally stressed becasue they can't pay their bills as they have no job. NOT BECAUSE THEY HAVE RESTLESS FUCKING LEGS. There you go, big drug companies rule the air waves and as sure as I will reach for a smoke as soon as I wake each morning, it is equally likely that they rule the country.

So thanks gents for protecting your own and I'll just quietly slip in and join you in your cheap smoking room.

I will have to purchase a new cigarette case, or in this instance, a new cigar case. Fortunately I have my eye on a sweet little container with, you guessed it, a skull on it.

Never worry my dears, I will still be pursuing my ambition of being the last smoker.

DRAGGED INTO THE 21ST CENTURY

2007-02-03T20:17:00.000Z

After trying my damnest not to create a My Space page, I have finally been convinced by many people that I needed to do this. The straw that broke this camel's back was my inability to up load recordings to my blog. You can now find me at

BETTE O"

I will still be bloggin' here so keep tuned.

WINTERY AUSTIN

2007-01-17T01:59:00.000Z

Yes, it actually snowed in Austin today, I believe this is a once in a century sort of thing. We've had mostly icy rain and the entire city has closed down. No work for me tonight, whahey. I braved the very icy stairs from my veranda to the car park, clutching the equally icy railing and easing my way from step to step like a nonagerian. Went for a walk to the corner shop for, yes you guessed it... fags, when Baza spotted this miniature snowman on the hood of someone's car. Its been rather like having a snow day off from school today, I spent hours at my neighbour's playing Trivial Pursuit, I am indeed in the lead, we took a short break for dinner and I'll be heading back over as soon as I finish this to whip them youngin's asses. Its been fun but is meant to last for a few more days and I'm getting bored with the cold and rain which has restricted my frocks and shoes choices and left me swaddled in layers looking very much like those homeless souls who wear all their clothing at once as they are their own walking wardrobes.

Keep warm darlings if it is cold wherever you are.

SKINT NEW YEAR

2006-12-27T20:55:00.000Z

This cartoon is a cautionary message to all of you youngin's who haven't started smoking, and to those of you who are planning to quit.... please do not start or do quit as you will help me achieve my dream of being THE LAST SMOKER.

I will, however, be a very skint smoker as the new smoking tax, $1, yes one whole entire US dollar will be added to every packet of fags after the new year.

To put this all in perspective for you I have written the following film synopsis. It is an...........

Horror Film

The camera slowly pans from the varnished toes of a woman up her shapely legs to her lap where it closely focuses on her hands holding a cigarette case.

Cue shark music from Jaws

The hands carefully open the cigarette case and….. IT IS EMPTY

Cue shower music from Psycho

Music continues as an underlay to woman’s frenetic raving

Woman: What am I gonna do, what am I gonna do?

FINI

Now I must get the stupidmarket and buy several cartons of fags before the price goes up.

Have a happy New Year, I'll still be smokin', probably eatin' less though.

HAPPY CHRISTMAS

2006-12-18T22:34:00.000Z

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
the scent of nicotine wreathed a wretched old souse
the bottles of whiskey were lined up with care
in hopes that they’d last her till the end of the year
the neighbours were all nestled snug in their beds
with visions of a peaceful night in their heads
when out on the veranda there arose such a clatter
the old bird was ranting, as mad as a hatter
My bloody lighter just ran out of fuel
n’ my fags are all soaked in disgusting cat drool
get me some new fags and get ‘em right quick
or I’ll call for reprisals from nasty Old Nick
then what to her wondering eyes should appear
but a wee tiny man saying Calm down old dear
I’ve brought you some fags, 200 of More
they should just last you, till you get to the store
she fell on her knees and thanked him with glee

shouting Happy Christmas to you n’ especially me

I trust you all will have a very happy holiday. I miss you and I'll be thinking of you whilst I sit on the veranda on Christmas morning, sippin' my whiskey and smokin' them fags.

NOIR VIGNETTE

2006-12-06T23:42:00.000Z

I got tired of reading about female detectives who always ate salad for lunch, are they a bunch of rabbits or what? So I wrote a little something myself for the giggle.

===============================================

It was a gray day in my customary gray life. I had just finished my usual lunch of a double shot of Jameson and ten cigarettes when my door slammed open and a lad stumbled into my office and fell to his knees at my feet. I looked down and said, “so what can I do for you, other than spread my legs?” I’ve always believed that a short, sharp shock is necessary to bring someone to his senses. It worked; he jumped to his feet and looked me in the eye. When I saw his face, I realized this boy was quite beautiful and I was reconsidering putting my question in a more positive vein until I saw the blood on his hands. Damn, I thought, can’t things be simple just for once?

“Okay darlin’ just what is it you think you need from me?” I asked him as I guided him to a chair, offered him a smoke and proffered my treasured skull Zippo to light him up
He replied, “someone just killed my buddy and I know they’ll think it’s me”
“Yeah,” I said, “considering the blood on your hands you’d be my number one candidate. So tell me what happened?”
“Its like this, we were at the local bar havin’ a few drinks the other night when we got into a heated argument and I punched him.” This led to a knock down, drag out fight until the barkeep tossed them both out. They sobered up a bit when they hit the cold, wet pavement, had a good laugh and went their separate ways. That was two nights ago and he hadn’t seen his buddy until this morning. Or more precisely, he’d seen his buddy’s body casually draped over the steering wheel of his car.

“So what kind of car did your buddy drive?” He looked at me stupefied as if I had asked him an idiotic question.
“What difference does it make?” he sputtered.
“I’m looking for a car and figured his was available.”
The lad’s face turned purple and he half rose from his chair shouting at me. “You fuckin’ bitch! He was my friend.” Well, hell you can’t fault a woman for having her priorities straight. If I was gonna chase this case, I’d definitely need wheels.

I poured him a shot, lit him up again and got him back into the chair. “Sweetie, calm down, I’m just trying to cover all the angles.” For the next hour I listened to him as he told me about his buddy, from the day they’d met in prison till that night they hit the bar to celebrate his buddy’s acquittal for manslaughter.

“So honey, tell me when and where you found your buddy this morning?” Turns out they were supposed to meet up at their local gym for an early workout. When he arrived his buddy wasn’t inside so he checked out the parking lot in back where he found his friend’s car. Thinking it was odd that the car was there but his buddy wasn’t he tried to look into the windscreen but it was so filthy he couldn’t see anything. That’s when he decided to try to open the door and where he found his buddy draped over the steering wheel with a bullet right between his eyes. In an effort to comfort the lad I said, “the best way to go is with one right between the eyes, he never felt a thing.”
“Yeah I’ve heard that,” he muttered. He went on to tell me that he moved the body to be sure that it really was his buddy and that’s how he got the blood on his hands.
“Did you call the police?”

“Hell no, I got my ass out of there as fast as I could. I’m an ex-con, they’d be all over me for sure.”
“Do you know anyone who would want to kill your friend?”
“Nah, we’re just small time hoods and the manslaughter thing my buddy was up for was the result of a fight he got into with a neighbor who was roughing up his wife. Everyone hated the guy, he beat the wife and his kids, no one was sorry to see him go.

“There’s one more thing I need to know. Why did you come here?”
“Well, Mom, you’re the detective, where else should I have gone?”
“Damn, kid, is that you? It’s been five years since you bothered to get in touch with me.”
“Yeah, but I was inside for two years and I’ve been laying low since then.”
“You’ve changed, I guess doing time didn’t do you too much harm. Sorry I had to turn you in but I had to draw the line somewhere.”
“Make this go away and I’ll forgive you Mom.”

Kids, they always want something.

© Bette O’Callaghan

RAMBLING & MUTTERING

2006-12-02T20:13:00.000Z

It has been awhile since I’ve written anything here; I’ve been struck by a strange combination of ennui and excitement. Work continues apace, it is lovely to be off the phones and managing a campaign again, but it’s very much of the same old, same old variety. November was notable for Thea’s 35th birthday and Thanksgiving.

My loveliest memory of a special mum/daughter moment on Thea’s birthday occurred when I took her out to breakfast after she came to mine for coffee and the opening of her prezzies. As it seemed to be taking overlong (to my mind) for our food to come, I asked Thea if it would be really rude if I left her on her own whilst I went out to smoke a fag, her reply, It’s okay ,mom, I don’t want to be around you when you come down. Ah, my child (she’ll kill me for using that word) knows me so well and absolutely knows when it’s best to step away from the mother.

We did up the Thanksgiving thing properly this year; there were six of us, just the right number to fit into my bijou studio flat. I cooked the turkey and mashers and prepared the salad with proper French dressing. Melinda cooked the green bean casserole (thankfully) as I wouldn’t touch it with a ten foot pole and as is the case with food I won’t eat, I really don’t have a clue how to make it… no real interest you see. It looked fabulous and everyone said it was excellent. Bazza baked his famous chocolate cherry cake, which we served with pumpkin pie and ice cream and which everyone adored. I also roasted Thea’s tofurkey and she brought her renowned ratouie (I don’t even have a clue how to spell a food that’s made entirely of vegetables) so all in all we had lots of brill food, drink and good company.

I have been troubled of late by a television advert for a firm of lawyers. Their ad is directed towards people who are trying to obtain their social security disability benefits. The gist of the ad is that individuals represented by lawyers constitute a higher percentage of those awarded benefits. Here’s my problem, if one is disabled one is in many cases unemployed, therefore, how can one pay one’s attorney’s fees? It may be necessary to point out to those of you who are not familiar with US law that many lawyers work on a contingency basis, only taking fees from a percentage of the award, if they win the case. Surely it cannot be legal to take part of a client’s disability benefit? Once more the gap between the haves and have nots broadens, I mean think of all of those people who cannot afford an attorney to secure their basic benefits? What a sad commentary on a country. Lest you think I am a jealous, twisted and bitter individual because I am so low on the food chain, might I remind you that I am perfectly happy living a second-hand life, i.e. filling my life with books, clothing and furniture from thrift/charity shops. It’s true I enjoy the occasional foray to the mall to obtain items on sale from Gap and Old Navy and, my real guilty pleasure, rather expensive cosmetics. I’m not slamming the US once more although I am once again disappointed in the extent of the great divide and to my eternal vexation I’ve discovered that I have to wait 5 years longer than if I had stayed in London, to get a free bus pass here. I do, however, get a senior citizen’s discount at Wendy’s so there you go, better than a stick in the eye.

Lastly, today 1st December, is the Naked Kobrinsky’s birthday. She is 29 again, no really she is 29 for the first and only time. Here’s to you darlin’, lets all hoist a few in her honor. We never have just the one, do we?

Postscript: Due to technical difficulties I wasn't able to post this yesterday, on Sarah's birthday, but this does give me an opportunity to add a congratulations to Clare and Jamie on the birth of their son, Liam. I've seen pictures, he's georgeous!

LONDON AUBADE

2006-10-10T19:42:00.000+01:00

It’s a grey and chilly rainy morning in Austin, very unusual weather for a city in the desert. It’s the very weather with which I used to castigate myself, on almost a daily basis, for choosing to live in London year after year wondering why I would sentence myself to days made even more depressing by the lack of sun. That weather is now an instrument on which I play the tune of homesickness. I recently talked to both Roxanne and Sarah who each are pining for London. Is it because we miss our friends, well certainly that is an ongoing emptiness we face each day. It is, I believe, much more than that. We each have definable and indefinable reasons why London calls to us. I miss the pub culture, meeting with friends over a drink or, as most often happened, too many drinks. The bars in America seem to be highly defined by the pervasive class system of age and job title with a strong whiff of a meat market mentality. I loved the fact that local pubs, in Ireland and the UK were a place that welcomed people from young to old, rich to poor and that they all talked to each other. I remind myself that there are good things here for me, the nearness of Thea of course, and the fact that I can live on part-time wages, can even afford my bijou studio flat with its necessary veranda. None of which were achievable in London. As much as I thought I detested the crowded streets of Central London, I find that now I hunger for throngs of people and feel as if I am truly living in a desert when I am in downtown Austin and the streets are virtually deserted. I do not miss the cacophony of traffic outside my window in London and treasure the relative quiet of my flat in Austin, broken generally only by the thriving wildlife although sometimes the noise of those various species is so persistent I feel as if I am living in a jungle. I do, however, choose the jungle sounds over the incessant and maddening sounds of the automotive engine. Politically there is not much to choose between, as always power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. I do wish the American people would awake from the nightmares encouraged by the current administration, would that they were more like the people in the UK who recognized early on that the war was an unnecessary waste of money and lives and that the best reaction to terrorism is to get on with one’s life. Most of all I miss the poetry, the venues like Shortfuse and express excess where I could read my work and where I could be inspired by hearing so many other poets. I constantly miss the after gig, after hour’s drinks with people who shared my love of words. I feel as if that part of my life, the best part, has gone. Will I ever return to London? I think about it often but know that I could never leave Thea again. I suppose I must start playing the lottery in hopes that I will someday be able to afford to go back for a visit. In the meanwhile I send a bang on the ear to all of you that I love and miss, please hoist a pint for me.

60 ON HER DEATHBED

2006-09-24T18:02:00.000+01:00

Here's a glimpse of my deathbed and me opening birthday prezzies.

BIRTHDAY CAKE

2006-09-24T17:50:00.000+01:00

This is the perfect, well almost except for where the bullet grazed it, birthday cake Thea designed for me. I was very touched by the and Fabulous Darling.

GUILTY PLEASURES

2006-09-23T17:04:00.000+01:00

Some of you may know that I am a dedicated fan of Xena the Warrior Princess. I was very distraught when they cancelled the show and even more so when Channel 5, in London, abruptly stopped running the series, I mean they were way behind the original and could have easily let us see the series' finish, but NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. Whilst I still lived in London and had a video player, I constantly searched for Season Six on video. Once again technology had outpaced me and the only Season Six material was on DVD, which I didn't have. So I moved to the US and a new neighbour sold me his DVD player for $10. I was amazed at this price and quietly congratulated myself for getting such a deal, ha ha, he was just a young man and I scored big time off him. Well actually, I didn't, as I had to buy all sorts of boxes, cables etc to hook the DVD up to my TV (which I did get free so I guess I shouldn't complain) and the whole thing ended up costing me a bit over $30. It took me months, on part-time pay, to get everything sorted and the DVD player hooked up but I finally achieved lift off and celebrated by buying the DVD of the new King Kong film. Yes, I love gorillas and the new King Kong is awesome! Yesterday, with some of my birthday money, I went to the mall. I believe birthday money should be spent on things one really, really wants but can't justify spending one's hard earned part-time cash on. I found it! Xena Season Six! 10 discs for $44.95, a mere $4.49 per disc, and they gave me $10 in pizza money as well. Got home, after a detour with a friend to a bar for a pint, then on to his to smoke a bowl followed by a trip to the stupidmarket to buy stuffed animals (what can I say, that's how to behave when you're 60, and also when you're 31 that's my friend's age). Sat down in my new overstuffed rocker, oh yes more birthday money wisely spent, and put Xena disc one into the DVD sat back, rocked and watched the first episode.........bliss. Here's the feckin' kicker. I don't have a remote for the DVD and I can't seem to get my, alleged, universal remote programmed for the DVD so I have no way to access the menu on the discs. Damnit, I can't watch more than the first episode on each disc. I'm going to ring the alleged universal remote people and see if they can't sort me, otherwise I will be busing up and down Lamar till I find a remote that bloddy well works.

WAITIN' FOR WILLIE

2006-09-21T17:23:00.000+01:00

Here I am with Thea and her friends at the ACL festival just before Willie Nelson came on. The crowd was huge, we do love Willie here in his home town.

Birthday pictures coming soon.

60

2006-09-14T17:08:00.000+01:00

I woke up this morning, yes I was as surprised as you are but there you go, I am now 60. It all started off very nicely with some cherry pie, thanks Melinda. Then a 2am smoke and South Park DVD fest with my neighbour, young Carl. Went out to the veranda this morning to find that the cheddar cheese with port wine and the cigarette fairy, Thea, had left gifts outside my door.

So I wonder how did a mispent life lead to a rocking chair on a veranda in the heart of Texas? I was thinkin' as I drank, smoked, dropped whatever drugs were available and frequently went home with strangers throughout my life; that I would have ended up in a box or an urn years ago. Am I disappointed? Perhaps a little, I mean being dissolute should be its own reward imortalising one in dodgy glory. There was also the allure of dying young whilst one is still beautiful. I feel as if I may have overstayed my welcome on that one.

The truth? I don't feel any wiser, older or uglier than I did at 11:59pm last night. So there you go, a birthday is just another day after all. Hey, I'm still lookin' forward to the celebrations tonight. There will be food, music, dancing and, I asked for it and I'm gettin' it, a chocolate cake with a skull on it. Wha hey!

The Pleasure of Public Smoking

2006-08-23T04:44:00.000+01:00

I often enjoy sauntering down the road smoking a fag. I expect y’all in London don’t saunter overmuch but we Texans are definitely disposed to sauntering, especially when the temperature hits triple digits. It’s the last frontier of freedom for smokers, the one place we can still enjoy a smoke without being legislated into oblivion. Damn, I’m probably tempting the fates by even writing this.

What I loathe is the number of people who, when they see me smoking, come up and ask for a cigarette. People, I do not work to pay for your fags and no, there isn’t such a thing as a spare fag; only the next fag, which I will be smoking myself thank you.

So there I was Sunday evening sitting on a bench at the bus stop enjoying a smoke when a car pulls up to the stop light and someone shouts at me. No, they weren’t in the lane next to the pavement; they were in the middle lane. What did they shout, you ask? Here’s the script.

Youngish girl in car, shouting: Have you got a cigarette?
Me: What?
Youngish girl in car, shouting: Have you got a cigarette?
Me, holding up my freshly lit fag: Why yes I do, thank you.

Words were mumbled from the car, no doubt casting aspersions on my character and lineage but I just smiled and puffed away.

At Her Majesty's Request

2006-08-22T21:29:00.000+01:00

The lovely Alice sent me an email from my blog asking for an up date. Perhaps when you read this, you’ll know why I haven’t been in the mood for writing. Hey, life goes up and down.

It all started last Tuesday night. One of the lads who works with me was giving me a lift home and suggested we stop for a drink. Just the one, is it possible to have one drink? I can’t remember ever having just the one even when my resolve was as concrete as the block a hit man would carefully affix to the leg of the poor sod he was sending to sleep with the fishes.

Of course I awoke on Wednesday morning hung over and totally enervated. In an effort to work off the double whammy inflicted by too much drink, I dragged my sorry arse over to the pool for a, I hoped, restorative swim. But noooooooooooo, the pool was filthy, no swimming for me. Unfortunately I had to be at work early as I had people to interview so I rushed off to the bus stop, 100+ degrees, with minutes to spare to get the bus. I arrived at said bus stop and sheltered under a tree seeking what little shade it offered and found some solace in that I only had perhaps one minute to wait before I could get on the, thankfully, air conditioned bus. But noooooooooooo, I stood there for a half an hour waiting for a bus that never arrived. I managed to get to work, deal with all of that shite and then I get a telephone call from Evan, the Operations Manager for the company, saying he was going to stop by to drop off some supplies for me. He arrives about 10 minutes before my troops are due and drops the bomb. The campaign he was managing was finishing on Sunday and he was taking over my campaign. So as of last night, Monday, I’m back on the telephones (actually this may not be horrible, other than the brain dead aspect of the job, as there is an opportunity for me to work less hours and make more money). Meanwhile back to the day from hell… I get home and am just starting to relax when I see a giant flying roach on the wall above my bed. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, not only do we have these huge motherfucking bugs here, but they fucking have bloody wings and are almost indestructible. One of those suckers can land on its back and lie there for weeks and still be alive when it’s turned over. So I grab the fly swatter and bat the little bastard who falls on my bed, not good at all at all. I hit him again and knock him on to the floor where he disappears. I did a CSI investigation, got out the flashlight and checked everyplace I could get to. But noooooooooooo, he was nowhere to be found. There endeth my day from hell.

The good news is that I was still awake late into the night and at 1:00am, I heard a rustling and tracked that little (excuse me, fecking huge) bugger down. I cornered him and then moved heaven and earth (okay furniture) and chopped him into pieces. So Thursday started a bit better.

Then came Friday, I had drinks and dinner with Sarah and Auggie, always a nice thing to do; only this time it was our last. They were off to Auggie’s cousin’s wedding in the Carolinas and then back to San Francisco early the next morning. Yes, it was sad, yes, I cried a bit. Damn I’m getting tired of saying goodbye to Sarah, at least this time she’s not so far away and we can talk on the telephone regularly.

Possible good news, I hired a lovely young bloke who is a poet and he’s arranging a gig for me, it will be my first for a year.

Meanwhile the heat continues to hit triple digits and my electric bill is climbing along with the temperature.

There you go, young Alice, thanks for reminding me I needed to write something new for the blog.

SUNDAY LUNCH

2006-07-21T01:50:00.000+01:00

I had lunch on Sunday, the day after their 1st anniversary, with Sarah and August and a friend of theirs, Jim, who was in town from San Francisco. The San Francisco connection felt very strong to me, especially as Jim and August are of my generation, and it seemed quite natural to share memories of the halcyon days I spent there in the sixties.

I found myself reminiscing about nights riding side saddle on the back of my lover’s Harley dressed in a Jean Harlowesque vintage long satin gown and a top hat, crossing the Bay Bridge from Berkeley to San Francisco on our way to the Avalon Ballroom. Recounting the time I stood next to Janis Joplin as she sang at the Hell’s Angels birthday party at the Filmore Ballroom, and as we were leaving, I watched some Angels threaten to toss another of my lovers down a deep stairwell if he didn’t give up his hat, which I had just decorated with feathers. The Angels got the hat. Relating the night I was in San Francisco with Pallas and Sharon walking the late night streets when a crazed man grabbed Sharon and tried to take her with him. I took Sharon’s other arm and held on with grim determination whilst trying to appear as menacing as possible. Suddenly our white knight appeared, driving by in a pick up truck, he leaned out the window and gruffly addressed the maniac who thankfully fled. He then drove us to his, where his wife made us tea and gave us a chance to calm down. That’s how I met Lenore Kandel, one of the most notorious and renowned poets of our time.

It was a natural segue for the four of us to talk about the poets and songwriters of that generation, who we liked, who we didn’t and to squabble, in a friendly manner, about our differences. It was a lovely Sunday afternoon and to make it perfect for me (I was skint as usual) August generously hosted our lunch.

The sixties were a seminal part of my life and that got me thinking about the times in my life, which were true markers of abandon and contentment. The sixties in California and then traveling across the country to the east coast where I lived for awhile when Bobby and I owned a leather shop where I designed and made clothing then crossing the US again back to California where we opened another leather shop. It was not until I moved to Ireland in the late eighties that I was able to find that same sense of freedom.

Ireland was magical. Tom and I lived in Summer Cove, across the bay from Kinsale, just on the southernmost tip of Cork. I both loathed and loved walking up the hill from Summer Cove, a hill that was so steep I had to bend forward as I walked just to get up it. My reward when I achieved the top was to stop at the place where one could turn and see all of Summer Cove, Kinsale and right out to the ocean. Sometimes on Sundays I would stand there watching the boats and I could hear the music drift across the bay from Jury’s Hotel, the sound of the bodhran, fiddle and pipes soothing my aching muscles as I paused to both catch my breath and have it taken away by the beauty of the scene before me. I adored the celebration we made of dole day, or as we called it, free money day, when Tom and I would go into Kinsale and I would wait at Patsy’s Café eating amazing lemon meringue pie and drinking coffee while he was signing on. We would then drink our way back to Summer Cove, starting at the Greyhound in Kinsale, working our way up the hill around the cove to the Spaniard and then back home to the Bullman. The light in summer lingered long into the night as we would sit outside the Bullman, which sat just across the road from the slip, drinking till last orders. We’d nip into the pub get some drag out and pile into small boats and head out into the ocean, drinking, talking, laughing and sometimes just quietly listening to the waves lap against the boat whilst the ocean was lighted from the phosphorus just beneath the water.

When I left London I was very sad to leave all of my friends but I only wept when I realised that I would never see Ireland again.

WHAT'S IN A NAME

2006-07-15T03:44:00.000+01:00

Whilst sitting in my rocking chair this morning, yes indeed I finally talked the young lady into selling it to me and it is now gracing my front room and in the mornings can be found on my veranda, I was thinking about my current name. It quite surprises me, the number of people who remark that my name is lovely. The carnivore in me loves the meatiness of O'Callaghan. I'm also enamoured of the softness of the initial O and the surprising crunchiness of the ghan. I have never been fond of the name Bette, but then who could be when all of their life people have constantly said, Is your real name Elizabeth or is it just plain Bette? I suppose that's why I changed the spelling when I was in my early twenties.

I was also ruminating on whether I should have given up the O'Callaghan after I killed Tom, I had to you know I just loved him too much. I know many women who have gone back to their maiden names after a divorce, I even know women who have changed back to their maiden names whilst still married. Of course there are some women who never take their husband's name at all. Here's the thing, most women who either keep their maiden names whilst married, or go back to their maiden names, generally say its because they don't want to be encumbered by a man's name. I'm not up to date on laws regarding naming a child but in Ohio (USA) the law was that the child's surname must be the same name as the mother's legal name at the time of birth, I believe this is law throughout the US. This is why my daughter's surname is the same as my maiden name, as I was your basic unwed mother when she was born. Of course this means that her name came from my father, yes there's that male gender supremacy thing rearing its ugly head a generation on. I did really like my father so no problems there.

So what is important in choosing a name? My tide mark has always been that if the majority of people, in any given place where I am living, know me or know of me by a certain name, it may be best to use it thus avoiding confusion and requiring my friends to have to reprogramme their mobile telephone entries for me. It's the polite thing to do, don't you agree?

Perhaps the fact that I was adopted makes a choice of names redundant as I will never be able to use my real name unless I go to the trouble of having my name legally changed. I actually do know my real name but it seems as alien to me as any other name I have had in my life.

Does a name define a person? Some names seem to, for example would Cary Grant have been the heart throb he became had he kept his real name of Archibald MacLeish (or however it was spelled)? I think not. Would I have been a more sucessful, or better, person if I lived my entire life with my real name of Marcia (apparently pronounced, Marceea)?

I do like the way Bette O rolls off of Andy's tongue, as he has almost always called me that.

Then again, my dear friend Sharon and I always address each other as Miss Sharon and Miss Bette. Maybe that's the answer, first names only and no worries about male domination of surnames.

So there you go, I sit in my rocking chair on the veranda each morning, drinking my coffee and chainsmoking whilst thinking about inane things like names.

I suppose at the end of the day it doesn't matter what anyone calls you.... as long as they do, indeed, call you.

MERMAIDS

2006-06-28T22:14:00.000+01:00

Last Friday evening the Pussy Posse came to mine to celebrate my purchase of four new wine glasses. The number of glasses was significant as we inducted Thea into the Posse that night. Melinda was the first to arrive followed quite closely by Sarah so we repaired to the veranda to drink, smoke and chat until Thea finished work. It was a humid and hot night, the wind had apparently decided it was a virgin bride on it's wedding night and it wasn't going to blow anyone! Melinda and Sarah had each brought a bottle of wine, and as you do, we quaffed those two bottles very quickly. Fortunately it was just then that Thea appeared with an extra large bottle of red and a bottle of white, we were saved. We took a break from fags and drink and went inside for dinner. I showed off my new Death Bed, a day bed that I had adorned with Death himself sitting atop the middle spire and skulls on each bed post (pictures soon, I promise). After dinner we took our chairs, glasses, fags and wine back out to the veranda for the usual trash talk and inebriated consideration of life's meaning. It was then that Sarah was inspired and suggested we go down to the pool in my complex. Oh joy, we were going to cool off! Oh sorrow, when we arrived at the pool there was a sign saying no swiming, pump broken. Did this stop us, not the Pussy Posse, we preceeded to drape ourselves along the side of the pool dangling our feet in the water. It was cool, it was divine and yet we were still suffering the unwanted attentions of the heat. It was about this time that the Naked One jumped up, stripped down to her knickers and leapt into the pool (by the by she later lived up to her name by disposing of those pesky knickers as well). She was in heaven and we wanted to be as well so we all stripped down to our knickers and, pump be damned, we were swmming in the moonlight and laughing delightedly. I called for a Best Breast contest (do not fret children, I was not a contestant, I was the Judge, as befits the Alpha Cunt) and the posse came over all vain and insisted that they be allowed to pose with their arms upraised, something about uplift I believe. At the end of the day, I had to declare a three-way tie, assuring them they were all perfect in their own way, as there was no feckin' way I was going to choose between an old friend, a new friend and my daughter. The interesting thing was that we were surrounded by flats, we were making rather a lot of noise and no one came out for a look, perhaps there was a twitching of curtains that we didn't notice. After several hours of watery bliss we trooped back to mine for pud and finished off the evening, almost perfectly for me, with Sarah and I waltzing to our favourite Leonard Cohen waltz, Take This Waltz.

It would have been a perfect evening if the London branch of the posse had been there. Alice, Buffy, Claire, and Jen - a toast to you. Here's to swimmin' with bowlegged women.

THE MEANING OF LIFE

2006-06-06T22:38:00.000+01:00

I apologise for not writing anything new for weeks and weeks and would like to thank those of you who keep having a look in. I never wanted this blog to be about the minutiae of my life; get up, smoke, drink coffee, smoke, go to work, smoke, come home, smoke, eat dinner, smoke, watch TV, smoke, read, smoke, go to bed, smoke etc. Suffice it to say that I have been very busy managing a new campaign at the theatre which has required me to put in an excess of extra hours. Here are some of the things I've been planning to write about, in shortened versions.

Are white teeth the new accessory? There are so many print and TV ads for teeth whitening, capping, enamling etc that I believe this country has taken the perfect teeth thing to a risible level. If the truth were told, Do you really think your gleaming pearly whites are actually going to distract me from seeing the mounds of flesh rolling off your body? When I see all of you out there with glow in the dark teeth and excessively large bodies, I can only think y'all give new meaning to the phrase, All The Better To Eat You With My Dear.

Governor Rick Perry of Texas has wrangled a new tax bill through the state government which is meant to benefit the schools. He has cut property taxes and levied a $1 per pack tax on cigarettes. Herewith an open letter to Governor Perry.

Dear Governor Perry,
As a long time confirmed smoker who has spent these last many years being villified by people for my nasty habit, I wish to thank you for giving me new dignity as a smoker. After all, I'm now smoking for the children. To ensure that I can smoke more and, therefore, educate more children, could you please get the City of Austin to rescind its ordinance against smoking in public places? Additionally, as you have cut the property taxes, could you not get my landlord to lower my rent so that I can afford to pay the new cigarette tax and smoke more, for the children? Oh yes, one more thing, which would enable me to smoke even more and provide a better level of education for the children, could you make it illegal for a landlord to deny an individual the right to smoke in the home for which they pay rent? I would really appreciate your help with these issues, I want to smoke more and it is for the children after all.
Thank you for your consideration.

Buses in Austin don't come in three's like they do in London. I used to have salacious visions of Route Masters humping each other down alleys and side streets in an effort to remain on the road. It was the only reason I could think that so many buses came in threes. In Austin I often see a mirage of buses. The heat here is so papable it creates a haze that rises from the ground draping the street in a gauzy curtain of hallucination. Each day as I wither on the bus bench and peer hopefully up the road I think I see my bus approaching, but wait, it is just another mirage, it's really a tree, or a sign or a house that only appears to be moving as the heat imbues it with a life of its own.

This morning I was thinking about running a lonelyhearts advert.
I'd like to be your widow. Relax I'm not looking for a long term relationship, just a bit of financial security. If you're about to shuffle off this mortal coil and have a few dollars that you can't take with you, I would make a perfect widow. I can make you infamous writing about all of the cheating, drinking and partying you've done, and let's face it, that's not such a bad epitaph. Or if you prefer I can summon all of my latent skills and paint a picture of you as the perfect lover, husband and father (you will of course have to provide the children yourself).

Lastly, the meaning of life. I was going to save this till my 60th, which is right round the corner but then I thought, no, y'all deserve to get this message right now. If you want to have a meaningful life, you need only remember this, If you talk to yourself, you'll never be alone.

YES, I'M APPARENTLY SCARY

2006-05-05T01:30:00.000+01:00

Just too stressed, hungry, nicotine deprived to write much so I thought I'd just post this. Found the site through the lovely Alice's Dark Place.

You Are Scary

You even scare scary people sometimes!

How Scary Are You?

Just so y'all know, I didn't choose the skulls, the skulls chose me. Just how accurate is this test? Pretty feckin' dead on, I'd say.

SMOKING KILLS - ALMOST

2006-04-20T01:13:00.000+01:00

Left the theatre last night as lightening cracked and roared in the night sky, by the time I almost got to the bus stop, it started lashing down. Bummer. Good thing was that by the time I got off the bus, the rain had stopped but the lightening continued. So I did what I always do when I get off the bus, prepared to light up a fag. Got out my metal cigarette case and my metal lighter and thought to myself, shite, wouldn't it be ironic if lightening struck me down just as I was lighting up? I was rather taken with the idea that smoking kills in, perhaps an unusual way, but no such luck.

Earlier in the day I had another interesting encounter at the bus stop on my way to work. Approached the bench where two blokes were sitting, one of them offered me his seat but I said that I reckoned if he moved over a bit I'd be fine. We than had the following conversation (not verbatim, for feck's sake I'm gettin' too old to remember anything word for word).

Me: I was just wondering if I looked fat in this frock and since you didn't think there was room for me on the bench, you must have thought I did.
Him: You must be crazy, what do you weigh, all of 129 pounds?
Me: Don't know, haven't got a scale.
Him: Now I'm big (with a bit of a glower).
Me: Yes, you certainly are.
Him: Can I introduce myself (holding out his hand).
Me: I'm Bette (shaking his hand).
Him: My name is Monster.
Me: So what do you do Monster?
Monster: My job is to scare people, haven't you seen me around?
Me: No but I haven't been in Austin very long. Just don't scare my daughter, 'cause I can be pretty scary too.
Monster: GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!
Me: GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!

Then Monster smiled, we decided we really admired each other and I handed off the remainder of my fag to him as I boarded the bus and he continued to hang out on the bench drinkin' beer from a can in a paper sack.

Altogether a good day.

3 WOMEN, 2 FOAM MATTRESSES & A BED

2006-04-14T00:05:00.000+01:00

Sarah picked me up from work in a cab the other night, which was especially nice as I had missed my bus, and we went to mine. I rang Thea who arrived a bit later with a very nice extra large bottle of red and the three of us brought all of the chairs (exactly 3, serendipity indeed) in my flat out to the veranda where we sat in the warm night air and smoked, drank (sorry, no wine glasses, I guess I need to make a Goodwill/Sally Army run for those) and delved into all the dramas of young women’s lives (I was playing my usual role of wise old crone). Some of our discourse was crucial, some possibly life changing and a lot of it was more of a smack on the head realisation that the grass is indeed not greener on the other side of the fence. Personally, I believe the grass is greener ranks right up there with the cheque’s in the post and, of course, my all time favourite, I’ll pull out before it’s too late. Why do we all want what we don’t have, get it and then long for what we used to have? Perhaps more importantly, is the urge to procreate so strong that we forget that head smacking epiphany and consider our lives a failure if we don’t pair up; or is there some innate hunger for love that makes us seek it out as if it is our most important mission in life? I was thinking about all the men I thought I was in love with and realised there was actually only one man I truly loved. How did I come to that conclusion? He was the only man who didn’t bore me. So there you go, there’s my tide mark. As the young ones faded, yep I was the last man standing, not bad for an old broad; I doled out the mattresses, pillows and blankets gave my girls ibuprofen to forestall the morning after headache and got them both settled on the floor then retired to my bed for a little reading. The next morning was a cacophony of moans, groans and where’s my coffee? Still we all made it into the day with a minimum of damage and grateful that we had each other as friends. Ah women….. good friends are there for you forever… men come and go.

THE HIDEOUT

2006-04-06T20:18:00.000+01:00

I'm sitting in The Hideout, the coffee shop where Kobrinsky works, using her fabulous laptop (Sarah made me edit this so I could tell y'all that her laptop is named Wolfgang - I'm a bit disturbed by her insistence on naming things), I'm very covetous of her widescreen. I thought it would be appropo to write this here as it all started here. What's that, you ask? The Austin branch of the Pussy Posse is offically established. Was hangin' out here last Friday night whilst Kobrinsky worked and got to talking to one of her co-workers, the lovely Melinda. Kobrinsky finished early and suggested we all go for just one drink. I'm sure you all know how that turned out. Anyway several glasses of wine and good conversation later, I inducted Melinda into the Pussy Posse. Not surprsingly, perhaps, Melinda is.................. a Brit. She's from Bury St Edmunds and has been in Austin a little over a year. Her husband plays blues harp in Porterdavis, a band that is often away touring, so that's good for the Posse as Melinda is available and up for trouble. I did tell her that the first thing I told my daughter, when she was old enough to notice boys, was Don't marry a musician. As soon as I said it I realised that Thea's mystery dad is indeed a musician. Doh... I didn't ignore my advice totally, however, as I conveniently didn't marry him. We're both oh so glad about that.

Other than that, the weather here is in the 90's and we're all workin' so life ain't too bad at all, at all.

AUSTIN LIFE

2006-03-31T01:41:00.000+01:00

I don't have any rants or raves for y'all at the moment so I thought I would just give you some tidbits about what's new.

Sarah Kobrinsky, Lana (work mate) and I were standing in front of the theatre the other afternoon trying to gee ourselves up to go in and start work when who should walk by but Quentin Tarrantino, f.y.i. he's getting quite pudgy.

Speaking of the theatre, I have been promoted to Campaign Manager so no more phone calls for me. I aspire to be Wendy Kroy in The Last Seduction. I'm usually very nice to the troops but I had to do a Wendy last night and it worked!

I was on TV news yesterday evening, was smoking outside the cafe where Sarah K works when we were approached to be interviewed regarding the Governor's plan to lower property tax and put an extra $1 tax on a packet a fags. As y'all can imagine, I was outraged and said so. Didn't see it, I was working, but a friend of Thea's did. Apparently I didn't look like a crack whore and was intelligent and articulate, will wonders never cease.

Found a new blog, through CHERYL B. It's W O M B a blog for women poets. Would be an excellent site to visit. We have exchanged links. Always nice to find new people to share the poetry.

Speaking of which, I'm writing a pulp fiction style short story. I think it may take a while but we'll see where it goes. I just got tired of reading about all of these women DA's, detectives etc who lunch on salad and Diet Coke. Sarah is kindly reading it as I go along and being encouraging.

That's about it darlings. Miss everyone in London, up North (yes, Nottingham especially) and my friends all over the US. I've got space in my flat for guests, so y'all come on down. We got music, we got drink and hell since the weather is gettin' nicer every day, we got lots of outside venues where we can smoke.

WE'LL BE BACK

2006-03-24T23:40:00.000Z

Right After These Messages.

It appears as if the US has turned into a nation of hypochondriacs given the numerous advertisements for drugs on television. Sure you used to get the old standbys like I can’t believe I ate the whole thing for a little something to provide stomach acid relief, or an advert for aspirin for the day after the drinking binge headache, all over the counter remedies for those irksome, yet relatively mundane, common ailments. Now the drug companies are advertising serious drugs for more serious diseases, drugs that are only available on prescription from a doctor. There are three things I find really interesting about this, first the ads are no longer overtly amusing, secondly they scare the bejesus out of you with a list of possible side effects and thirdly so few people here have health insurance, one wonders who can afford to pay for these drugs.

One of my favourite adverts is for a drug aimed at men with diabetes. Apparently either the illness, or the drugs one takes to sort that out, can cause ED, yes that’s what the bloke in the ad ingenuously calls it. ED my dears is the dreaded Erectile Dysfunction, so if that’s the correct way to describe a limp dick would Erectile Function be the correct way to describe a hard one? It could be the new foreplay in today’s politically correct America, Hey honey I’ve got EF, get ‘em off.

Sorry, I digress. So this drug purports to sort out that very problem and sure enough there’s the bloke in the ad with his lovely wife who just can’t get that satisfied smile off her face. So far so good, but then the disembodied voice starts to recite the list of possible side effects and contraindications. Now if I were a bloke and I heard all the nasty stuff that could happen if I took this drug I’d be all like, My old lady can just take matters into her own hands ‘cause I ain’t goin’ anywhere near that nasty shit. Then I hear the last possible side effect, as the voice gravely intones If you have an erection that lasts more than four hours contact your doctor, and I think, Wow this stuff is the business. I mean, I’m not a bloke but from all I’ve heard most blokes would kill for that sort of endurance.

So I watch these adverts and I wonder who can afford these drugs? I haven’t had to buy more than some ibuprofen here so I don’t know what the cost of prescription drugs are but I’m guessin’ they are outrageously high. This would be somewhat of an educated guess based on a documentary I watched when I was still in London, about a group of US senior citizens from a retirement home who arrange to be bussed over the border to Canada to get their scripts filled as it is so much cheaper there, even with the cost of travel factored in. I recently overheard a pharmacist, in a local drug store (yes boys n’ girls, in America they call Chemist shops, drug stores and what a lovely image that conjures up for those of us who had some fun in the sixties and other decades for that matter), talking to a colleague about someone who had rung concerning their drug needs. Yes, he said, she’s coming in and then added in a very dismissive and disdainful tone of voice but she’s got no insurance. It was like hearing someone being condemned to death, no reprieve, no hope.

To be fair, one can get cheap drugs in the UK through the NHS, the only drawback is that if one is seriously ill, it will take so long to see a specialist that by the time one gets the script for the drugs its often too late.

Speaking of messages, now for a laugh, at my expense. When I lived in Kinsail, Ireland Tom, my late husband, and I used to go to the small local supermarket. I was absolutely mystified by a sign at the till, which read If you want your messages taken to your car, please ask the clerk. I thought about this till it maddened me, I knew most people didn’t have telephones but I just couldn’t figure out why, if they got their phone messages at the supermarket (why not, we used to get ours at the local pub), they would need them taken to their car. I finally gave up and asked Tom who had a good laugh as he explained to me that the groceries were called messages. Why, you ask? This comes from people sending someone to the store with a grocery list, or message. Doh!

Check out the link to my poetry blog, top right side of page. Sarah Kobrinsky and I have been writing poetry together, I’ve posted our first two Naked and The Dead collaborations.

SXSW

2006-03-14T16:32:00.000Z

It’s all started… last night I went to work and had to crawl under crime scene tape (it was yellow and read do not cross), through numerous people’s legs, to get in the front door of the State Theatre as there was an event for the SXSW Film Festival at the Paramount Theatre next door. Were they being overly dramatic using crime scene tape to channel people into the Paramount? Hey after all it’s a film festival, if you can’t be dramatic then, when can you be?

Lots of people roaming the streets, more or less purposefully, wearing badges hung round their necks. Don’t know why but I’ve always found that sort of badge a rather unfortunate fashion accessory. Second only to the sticky name badges, earnestly and rather dictatorially, handed out at business functions which they actually expect one to adhere to one’s clothing. Adhesive on silk, fine wool or linen, I think fuckin’ not! Maybe it’s just because I’ve always believed in keeping a low profile or because I hate running with, or being identified by, the herd.

It occurred to me this morning that SXSW has a feel to it much like the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. Its one of the things I really like about Austin, a relatively small town that turns into a major player for awhile. There does seem to be one big difference between SXSW and The Fringe, other than the obvious fact that SXSW is pretty much all about music, with some film and interactive stuff thrown in. I haven’t seen anyone handing out flyers for shows. Okay, I hated flyering but loved it in a weird way as well. It was always a challenge to get someone to take your flyer when there were thousands of other people handing out flyers for their shows but then there was also a real sense of, Damn, I did it, when you looked out into the audience at your show and saw those people, to whom you had personally handed a flyer (okay if truth be told, you had shoved the flyer into their hand with a bit of quick repartee about your show) sitting there waiting for you to do your stuff.

The music starts Wednesday and I’m having fantasies of, surprisingly enough, not running into a famous musical hero, but the possibility of rockin’ the world of some music addled young lad.

CHANGES

2006-03-11T19:06:00.000Z

Changes, I've been through a few in the last 6 months but first let's step into the way back machine when Changes was the title of an album by Jim and Jean and I fell in love with their voices and his picture on the cover. Little did I know then that I would end up meeting him (he and Jean had finished by then, I may be a slut but I do draw a line somewhere) and getting knocked up with my amazingly talented daughter, Thea (that's right, Jim is Thea's Mystery Dad). Enough of that, Jim and Jean are having a reunion concert in New York, with Vince Martin and other singin' guests at the Peoples Voice Cafe on Saturday, March 18th. The concert starts at 8 at 45 East 33rd St. This is their first musical reunion since Phil Ochs died in 76. So if all y'all in NY go along, please say hey for me.

Sorry about the lapse in new blog stuff but one of the major changes for me, at the moment, is I no longer have Internet access at home, which makes it difficult, bloody frustrating etc etc and nigh on impossible to write when the spirit moves. If the truth were told, now that I have a TV I find I spend way too much fuckin' time when I get home from work, zoning out in front of it and getting more brain dead by the minute.

The flat is coming along, thanks to Goodwill, the Salvation Army and friends. I feel as if its almost mine but it never actually will be because of the no smoking rule. FECK THAT! At least I have fewer burn holes in my clothing, is that a positive, I'm not sure?

The Naked Kobrinsky and I are planning a joint assualt on the poetry scene here in Austin. There are mostly open mike nights with round robin readings. Sarah is working (YES, she's leagal now!) at a local coffe house and we'll probably target them as a venue. I really miss doing gigs, can't believe its been six months since my last.

I've turfed in the day job, wasn't gettin' paid the dime for the time and I can't have that. Fortunately I'm doing well on the evening job so I can pay the rent and buy food and fags but its very tight. Meg, you were absofuckin'lutely right, you can live in the US on a part time job.

South By South West (SXSW) has just started and if Austin was music city USA before, during SXSW it may well be the music capital of the world. Lots of bands from everywhere, including the UK. Hope to get out to see some of them. There's also some free events which I definitely mean to take advantage of, like Roseanne Cash.

LOVERS, AFFAIRS, LIVE-INS & ONE NIGHT STANDS

2006-02-18T00:07:00.000Z

These words carelessly rolled off my tongue in a conversation with Kobrinsky who reckoned I should take them further…

Kenny, Jim and Kevin you were my first. Did I learn anything from you; sorry darlin’s probably not much. I was young and you were young, groping in the back seats of cars and trucks at drive-in movies and down country lanes only taught me that there is something to be said about proper surroundings for certain activities. I do, however, still count you as lovers.

All my one night stands, too many to remember your names, even if I knew them in the first place, which in many cases I didn’t. Thanks for a touch of flesh on flesh and a brief encounter, all of which helped make me the woman I am today. No thanks to the bastard who picked me up hitchhiking in San Francisco and took me back to his in Berkeley and attempted to strangle me whilst we were having sex. You suck buddy! Special thanks to the lovely older man who used to buy me food at the Mediterranean Coffee house on Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley and took me back to his to roll me round the black satin sheets on his bed. Oh, by the way, the pet boa constrictors were a bit much; I could have done without them.

Nameless guy affair no. 1, married to a stripper and still looking’ for strange. Lessons learned, where to keep your stash… in a safe deposit box at the bank, who would think to look there. Hangin’, smoking’, makin’ out and talkin’ in the cemetery. You may have ignited my on going love affair with death. Cheers darlin’.

Bob H, you were both lover, live-in and affair, although I did have an affair whilst we were living together. Thanks for sneaking me into the medical experiment in which you were participating, for an hour or so of taboo hot sex and little conversation. I believe you may be the only triple crown winner in my life.

Nameless guy lover, shit I can’t believe I can’t remember your name, ‘cause I remember your Harley and frequently riding sidesaddle on its back across the Bay Bridge from Berkeley to San Francisco, dressed in a long silk gown and a top hot. Lots of rides, lots of sex and lots of music at the Avalon Ballroom where you did the puppet shows between sets.

Bobby how fuckin’ hot was I for you? I was a persistent hippie chick until you broke under my insistence and swept me off my feet to travel across the country from California to New England, and back again. Best night? Dropping mescaline and tripping at your place. Somehow we ended up in Ohio and as a consequence I eventually got pregnant with Thea but not by you.

Jim, I fell in love with you listening to your music and gazing at your picture on the cover of your album. How feckin’ excited was I when I met your mother, Frieda, an amazing woman, who introduced us. Cheers darlin’ for giving me Thea, sorry I didn’t sort out you two until she was almost 30, okay so I was a bit confused about who’s the daddy, but I am glad you all finally met up.

George, affair number three in my on going quest to be the other woman, yep you almost were the daddy. Loved the trip to Lexington when I discovered the gun in your suitcase. Most enduring memory? You piercing my nose whilst I was sitting in your dental chair at the Free Clinic.

Fred, you hard assed bar fighter. Thanks for the chipped tooth (never drink out of a bottle when riding in a car driven by a drunk) ‘cause whenever I look in the mirror I always think of you. The night on Quaaludes was interesting indeed, no inhibitions, no worries.

Nameless guy and my longest affair, I still can‘t remember your name. Your lover was in England and we were in Cleveland doin’ the naughty. Too fuckin’ bad you had to come over all honest and tell her ‘cause I wasn’t half please that she showed up at my house and tried to beat me up. She was a little thing so it was only a matter of straight arming her to a safe distance so I could get her out the door. My advice for future reference… discretion is the better part of honour.

Jeffery - you fuckin’ sick bastard.

John, what a great dancer! You were so good, I asked you when we met if you were gay. Turned out you weren’t. Thanks for the trip to Toronto, the silk g-strings and the many, many dances.

Tom, my first orgasm, achieved at the x rated drive-in theatre. Yes, I was serious about the proper surroundings. A digression… I always insisted that my men were willing to take a fucking break (get it?) so I could light up and enjoy a smoke. You were always willing to take a break to tell me a joke, thanks for the many laughs. Best memory… driving down the boulevard when you screeched to a stop in front of a church and grabbed me to passionately kiss me only then pointing out the sign in front of the church, Thou shalt not park here.

Tom O’, the love of my life.

Thus endth this installment, I suspect there may be more. Come on, folks I’m an old lady and memories come and go.

THRIFTY OR SKINT?

2006-02-15T17:29:00.000Z

Almost six months in Austin and I’m learning more and more about the US everyday. Austin is unique in some respects being rather liberal, casual and very much into accepting people and ideas, no matter how strange, hence the official city motto Keep Austin Weird. I am beginning to think, though, that Austin may well be as good a microcosm of what is happening in America, as anywhere else. Because my evening job requires me to telephone one person after another and I have, no doubt, spoken with thousands of people in the last months, I have discovered that unemployment and underemployment are rife. I suspect that may be why so many people, like myself, shop at the proliferation of thrift and charity shops around town. Are we being thrifty, or are we unable to afford anything new? In these shops one can buy anything from clothing to furniture, well actually one can fit out an entire life with the gear you can find at relatively amazingly low prices. One step above these shops are the stores selling new merchandise at usually decent prices, like Target and Wal-Mart (I love this, the spell check just automatically corrected the way I spelled Wal-Mart, just another indication of how big business has invaded our lives), although in many cases their prices are too high for the likes of me who is only working two jobs. Homelessness is pandemic, no one seems to have medical insurance and yet there are people driving around in their huge SUVs spending $130 each time they fill their tank with petrol. When I left America to move to Ireland, in the eighties, I felt then that the divide between the haves and have nots was increasing daily. The current administration, I will not write that evil name, has taken this divide to new and extreme heights by sucking up to big business in a way never before embraced in this country. One only has to look at the way the government handled and continues to handle the Katrina debacle (billion dollar no bid contracts handed out to political cronies whilst people made homeless by the hurricane are being told the government will no longer pay to house them or help them repair their homes) to understand that commercialism, not democracy, is the basis for its policies. A recent article in the newspaper cited the number of low income people being investigated by the IRS for underpayment and/or fraud (N.B. turned out almost none of them were fraudulent and many had over paid) whilst big business gets more and more tax relief and a pass on any scrutiny by the IRS.

Damn, I really did not want to make this a political diatribe but I used to believe in this country and the freedoms on which it was founded. I learned, as one can possibly only do best from a distance, that many of my beliefs were erroneous but still felt that there was a sound foundation on which the US, if it woke up, could provide a quality of life that was reasonable and affordable. Now…. well I spend my free time scouring the thrift shops for a spoon for 25 cents so I can eat my soup, which is about all I can afford.

SERIOUSLY BAD KARMA

2006-02-07T05:04:00.000Z

Well darlin', I moved into my own place, Thea is thrilled and I am intrigued by the possibilities of living totally on my own, which I have not done for 34+ years. Its a small studio but way big enough for me, lots of things need fixing, so many that I believe I have finally achieved my ambition of transforming myself into trailer trash. Okay its not a trailer but it ain't no posh place either. My window looks out onto the back of the buiding (its brick, its yellow - that's all folks) in front of mine and the lovely asphalt car park. None of these things are bad enough for me to have used the title I chose for this posting. Are you ready... lord knows I'm not (and sorry Mary Anne, I couldn't bring myself to tell you this on the phone)... my lease had a special clause. Oh shit this is harder than I thought it would be, I just can't but I know I must. Special clause - the tenant will absolutely not allow any smoking inside the property, violation will be cause for instant termination of lease and loss of deposit. Yes, when I read this the words gun and head came instantly to my mind but unfortunately I had neither a gun, nor to be honest a head that could think clearly. Long story short, I had promised Thea I would move out by 1st February, it was too late to turn back. There is a balcony outside my flat (I'm on the 2nd floor US - 1st floor UK) so I spend my leisure time leaning on the rail inhaling tar and nicotine and wondering what the fuck happened to freewill and personal freedoms.

CHILDREN OF THE NIGHT

2006-01-21T21:33:00.000Z

Each night at sunset I take a break from my evening job and descend to the outside balcony of the State Theatre, overlooking Congress Avenue, to wait for the arrival of the grackels. The sky becomes absolutely black with hundreds of birds flocking into the downtown area. These flocks are so dense it is easy to mistake them for a colony of bats. They fly round the tops of the buildings circling them repeatedly, each flock following a different path. After about five minutes of traversing the skies round the buildings many of the birds perch on the ledges of buildings along the street. They do not perch on all of the buildings but always the same ones, others fly directly to the trees lining each side of Congress Avenue. This flight into the area is accompanied by loud shrieks, whistles and cackles evoking a Hitchcockian response in people who saw The Birds. Slowly, as it becomes darker and darker, the birds descend from the building ledges to roost in the trees. In about twenty minutes all of the trees are filled with birds delicately balancing on a branch. A few nights ago it pissed down rain and the wind was extremely high. Each grackel surfed it's tree branch without a ruffled feather or the flap of a wing for balance. The noise rises as there is some shifting of position from tree to tree and continues as all of the birds are settled into the trees. I find it fascinating to hear them in the dark as one usually associates bird sound with early morning and sunrise. Are they speaking to each other or warning us of an attack that seems imminent? As time passes the birds become quieter and quieter until by the time I leave work, they are a completely silent yet malevolent presence.

Grackels are known as pest birds, they are both vegetarian and carnivore, they may also become extremely nest aggressive and are known to attack if humans should venture too close to nesting places. Apparently, in urban areas, they will also attack humans who are carrying food in open containers. The most important thing to know, if you spot one near where you are sitting, is that they shit constantly (the lovely Kobrinsky discovered this yesterday as we were sitting outside at a cafe - I had warned her). All of the vehicles and benches under the roosting trees on Congress Avenue are saturated with bird shit.

Grackels are pretty much loathed in Austin; I call them my Children of the Night. I feel a strong affinity for these black birds who are my new audience as I, dressed in black, declaim my poetry from the State Theatre’s balcony. Quoth the grackel, Encore!

THE NAKED AND THE DEAD

2006-01-18T20:51:00.000Z

Yes, boys n' girls, the Naked Kobrinsky is indeed in Austin and is sitting next to me as I write this. She found a really sweet wireless place just near her house. Bar, food, coffee and even plug in points outside in the garden where, of course, one can smoke. I have been to the very posh house she and August are renting. (Sarah just made me take out an interesting tidbit (not about her and August) so if you want to know all the dope, ring me). Sarah's house has an awesome screened-in porch where I took my morning coffee accompanied by my ever present fags, when we had a little sleep over last week. I have yet to meet August, although Sarah assures me he really does exist. He's been very busy preparing to start classes so I expect to meet him sometime next week.

The reason, other than the obvious that I am the Dead, is that I now have two jobs, a day one and an evening one. I think it may kill me but it appears as if I will be able to move into my own place at the beginning of February. More about this later.

NEW YEARS EVE VARIATIONS

2005-12-28T17:14:00.000Z

As the world watched the sunset on New Years Eve, people were filled with hopeful expectation of a better year… then night fell. Night broke its hip. In America it had no health insurance so the powers that be decided it had to be put down and immediately put a bullet through night’s head thus bringing on millenniums of total darkness. In the UK, Night went to its doctor and was put on a waiting list for corrective surgery. Years passed and by the time Night’s hospital appointment came round it was deemed that Night was too old for a hip replacement. Night went on sick benefit, hung round its local pub and became a drunk reeling across the UK and pissing itself regularly. The stench of Night’s urine gave new meaning to the U in UK.

As the world watched the sunset on New Years Eve, people were filled with hopeful expectation of a better year… then night fell. Night fell for the Moon and went totally mad from unrequited love. Night was institutionalised and spent the remainder of its existence in a straightjacket mumbling rhymes like, The Moon in June left me too soon. Consequently the world put to death all the poets whose singsong delivery reminded them of Night.

As the world watched the sunset on New Years Eve, people were filled with hopeful expectation of a better year… then night fell. Night managed to catch itself, only suffering scraped knees and a bruised ego. The shame of the fall turned Night into a recluse who lived under a bridge refusing to come out. The world was seared by the Sun 24 hours a day and burned to a crisp in a few short years.

As the world watched the sunset on New Years Eve, people were filled with hopeful expectation of a better year… then night fell. Night picked itself up, brushed the dust and street debris from its clothes and sought a softer place to fall. Unfortunately for mankind on Earth, this was a planet in a galaxy far far away.

As the world watched the sunset on New Years Eve, people were filled with hopeful expectation of a better year… then night fell. Night fell pregnant (I’d like to thank the UK for this expression, which I always found remarkably evocative of Oops, I slipped and fell on your penis and now I’m having a baby). Night suffered serious raging hormones during the pregnancy and eventually after a prolonged and difficult labour, gave birth to nightmares.

As the world watched the sunset on New Years Eve, people were filled with hopeful expectation of a better year… then night fell. The world ended not with a whimper or a bang but with a thud.

Happy New Year.

YOUR PERSONALISED HOLIDAY CARD

2005-12-14T17:37:00.000Z

Darlin'

I'm thinkin' you're gonna have a fabulous holiday. If you're spendin' time with your family, n' I know you love 'em, n' you're feelin' a little family goes very far, here's my advice to lighten up your holiday spirit. Bring up politics and/or religion whilst the family is all together and always take the opposin' side. Soon you will find yourself alone in your room blissfully readin' or listenin' to your favourite music or just contently starin' into your own space (they'll get over it n' soon you'll all be playin' happy families again). If you're gonna be on your own make sure you buy yourself an awesome present, somethin' you wouldn't usually spend your money on. If, like me, you're skint, then just get yourself on down to your nearest Target, Walmart or Pound Shop and buy yourself that unnecessary plastic object you've wanted all your life n' just can't live without. N' whilst you're out drinkin' with your friends, or with your family, remember... I'm somewhere in Austin, Texas settin' in my rocker, firin' up a fag and thinkin' about you.

With my love n' a kiss on both cheeks....just for you

Bette

WELCOME HOME

2005-12-07T18:59:00.000Z

America is huge, Texas is BIGGER. Ask any Texan, they’ll tell you if you’re somewhere else in the US you’re there. If you’re in Texas, you’re HERE. All of the adverts on TV here relate their product directly to Texas. I have never seen this anywhere else in the US. The people are massive, corpulent, in most of the US and apparently the fattest people in America are in Houston. Austin seems to be the exception, many Austinites are sylph like proponents of healthy eating and healthy living. The stupidmarkets (supermarkets) are enormous. I’m living with my daughter but shopping for myself. She’s a veggie, I’m a Carnivore, yes with a a capital C. I won’t eat anything green, that’s the colour of disease. How green was my valley? Don’t know about your valley ma’am but that arm/leg/appendage of choice looks green to me, we’re afraid its gonna have to come off. Thankfully I am still in possession of all of my limbs as I have no medical insurance. Me and most other Americans, we’re just rotting away with no recourse to medical help whatsoever. Meanwhile back at the stupidmarket I search for a packet of 2 chicken breasts, hoping to have a stir fry for two nights. The smallest packet has 10, yep you count ‘em, 10 breasts inside. No, thank you, I don’t want to buy 10 and freeze 8. I certainly don’t want to eat 10 and become a country woman (I’m doing okay on that front, even with the overlarge portions of food, I have gone down another size in my favourite Gap Long and Lean jeans.) That’s another thing, every bloody thing is frozen. Oh how I miss M & S and the endless choice of fresh ready meals. I’m still stuck in the Austin stupidmarket trying to get my head round the prices. My head is still back in the 1980s, 17 years ago when I last lived here, when it comes to prices. Yes, I’ve visited over the years but its just not the same as when you have to deal with dollars and cents on a daily basis. 69cents for a chocolate bar, for fuck’s sake, they used to be 25cents, that’s more than twice the price for the same mouthful. 60 cents for a can of Campbells Chicken Noodle soup, my all time favourite and the one food I mostly exist on. Used to be 10 cents a can. I may be forced to start eating dog food but then that’s probably hugely expensive now as well. So there I am trying to be cost conscious when I spy crackers, 2 boxes for $3. Whahey, I think and reach for 2 to throw in my cart, wait a minute, they’re whole wheat crackers, I gag and toss them back on the shelf. I do have some standards you know.

CUTE

2005-12-04T02:43:00.000Z

I hate this word! Come on people broaden your vocabulary, find some new words to describe clothing, accessories, body parts etc. PLEASE. For example, one does not describe an accessory decorated with skulls as cute. Let's be creative, even adventurous. How about... its glamorously grotesque, drolly decadent or charmingly chaotic? What could possibly be cute about a watch with a skull and crossbones on the dial and skulls and crossbones on the strap; nothing, nada (I'm embracing living in TexMex land and becoming bilingual). One certainly does not describe a woman whose age is the same as her height (that's right I'm 5'9") with flaming red hair and a face that shows traces of a hard life and who is dripping in skulls, as cute. Some might say she is stunning, striking or even exotic (and I'd like to thank the some who would). For fuck's sake, babies and children can sometimes be cute, I've even seen the occasional puppy or kitten who is cute.

What worries me even more than the vocabulary challenged many, are the people (especially women of a certain age) who actually like being referred to as cute. Are you brain dead, do you have no pride? Think about the years you've put in, think about your intelligence (okay you probably have very low IQ's) think about the ravages of time and get a life. I can see it now, the family is at the mortuary explaining that they need the cosmetician to make mommy look cute; rosy red cheeks, a cupid's bow mouth....yeeuch. Have you never seen Bette Davis in Whatever Happened To Baby Jane?

Bottom line people, you pretty much don't want to look cute and you certainly don't want to use that word ever again. I'm seriously going postal on the next person who says cute within 100 yards of me.

Just so you know that I'm not cute, go to my poetry link and read Life Imitates Art.

OL' ROCKIN' CHAIR HAS GOT ME

2005-11-28T18:21:00.000Z

One of Thea's neighbours has donated her wooden rocker to our veranda. Every morning I take my coffee and fags, settle in and start that chair rockin'. I rest my head against the high back, close my eyes and let the sun sizzle my face till the freckles start exploding, not unlike popcorn poppin' in the cinema lobby. With the scent of salt seasoning my thoughts I mentally write the script for my day.

Life doesn't get any better than this.

GEORGE BEST

2005-11-27T03:59:00.000Z

I was sad to read that George Best died. I was not surprised. I am not a fan of football (that's soccer to us Yanks) but George was truly talented and bigger than life. It feels as if its the end of an era.

Here's a quote from George that pretty much sums up his life and one of the reasons I admired him

I spent a lot of money on booze, birds and fast cars. The rest I just squandered.

A DAY LATE...

2005-11-26T00:12:00.000Z

But not a dollar short. Thea and I just had our Thanksgiving dinner, deferred from yesterday as she worked all day. As is de rigueur, we ate too much and I'm sitting here unable to move from the surfeit of food, two helpings of everything including pumpkin pie. It was an interesting mix, me the dedicated carnivore and Thea the faithful vegetarian. I had turkey, mashed potatoes and salad. Are mashed potatoes a vegetable I hear some of you query? I believe they are tubers, which to my mind are not vegetables. No doubt some of you horticulturists with a broad knowledge of flora are snickering at my ignorance. Might I remind you what Dortohy Parker replied when asked to define horticulture, You can lead a whore to culture but you can't make her think. Thea had celebration roast from Whole Foods (or as Thea calls it Whole Paycheck), the huge health food store coming to London soon. Don't ask, all I can say is that she read me the ingredients - soy this and powdered that - and then was surprised I declined when she offered some to me. She also had green bean casserole, salad and of course my world famous mashers. Yes, those mashers are really world famous and she said they tasted just like the ones I made for her when she was growing up (everybody say ahhhhhhhhh). They were very tasty if I do say so myself, it was the first time in 17 years I had made them with the original ingredients as I was unable to get some of the spice mixtures in the UK which are essential to the perfect masher and of course there is my secret ingredient which I won't tell y'all. Thanksgiving itself was very quiet but a red letter day as I had forgotten an American custom on many radio stations, playing Arlo Guthrie's Alice's Restaurant Massacre. Almost twenty minutes of good music and lots of laughs. The station I was listening to played it once in the morning and again in the evening, I listened both times and it made my day. I recommend all y'all who haven't heard it to seek it out and give it a listen, its a classic example of the taking blues in the style of Arlo's father, Woody Guthrie, with a sixties anti war message. You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant (excepting Alice).

Lastly we will go round the table and say what we are thankful for... okay let's start with me. I'm thankful Thea has given me a roof over my head and that I have, at least, a part-time job so I could provide her with a real Thanksgiving dinner. It's your turn now................

This entry was written whilst listening to brilliant bluegrass music online at
http://www.live365.com/stations/volunteer (Andy they play lots of Ralph Stanley).

CRACKED OUT

2005-11-16T17:42:00.000Z

Dear Fashion Avenger,

My daughter recently told me that a couple of her friends said that I looked cracked out. My first reaction was, that's good 'cause I've lived a life. My second reaction was, hey at least I still have new opportunities to explore, i.e. becoming a crack ho. My third reaction was, damn do I really look that bad? Would you please, Ms Fashion Avenger, give me some before the damage is done advice?

I'm thinking I should embrace this whole old age thing and go for the total look, with a bit of a twist, as you know I embrace the Bet Lynch style of aging - more is more. So, Ms Fashion Avenger, should I get less sleep and encourage those bags under my eyes to become travelling trunks, perhaps of Louis Vuitton grandeur? Should I tug on my incipient jowls ensuring they sag even more?

Then there's the hair, most stylish seniors have grey hair. Should I dye my hair grey 'cause it just doesn't want to seem to go there on its own? I mean does anyone really dye their hair grey? I don't think there is even a grey hair dye, only those lovley shades of lilac and blue to highlight one's natural grey hair. Here's the story so far with my hair. Missing my fabulous hairdresser in London, Paul Cochrane, and displaying roots from hell there was only one thing I could do...

PAUSE Paul if you are reading this, please step away from the computer and do not read the following paragraph. Thank you. START

Yes, Ms Fashion Avenger, I took matters into my own hands and did the deed myself. My hair is now a lovely brilliant red. How brilliant do you ask? When Thea saw it she said, I don't know if I would ever colour my hair a colour that can never be found in natural hair colours. There you go, different strokes and all that. Let's just say that under the sun or any light, I have no need for relective materials to announce my whereabouts.

Hair style, oh this is the rub. The hip old ladies you see in the ads always have long silvery grey hair causually woven into plaits hanging down their backs. My hair is too fine for plaits, still has not got grey since I've started writing this, and will never grow very long. Cut it really short? I'm so over that if you're old you should have short hair thing, what do you think? So its medium long, should I wear it up or down? Up is good for the cheek bones but bad for the jowls. Oh help me, Ms Fashion Avenger, I just don't know what to do.

Clothing, I'm thinking jeans, all hip old ladies wear jeans, don't they? I'm cool with that but its the top bit I'm confused about. T-shirts, yes, but skulls or no skulls? Also your normal T-shirt neckline sucks on me so I usually cut them into a more flattering neckline. This often involves a cut low enough to show off the puppies. Puppies or no puppies? Black, yeah this is one place I draw the line and will brook no interference even if it is good advice, for which I am actually asking. Black is my colour.

I coould go on and on but I think you get the picture. Please, Ms Fashion Avenger, respond as soon as you can 'cause otherwise I may have to never leave the house again. Actually that would be a bit of a problem for Thea as this, mum living with her thing, is dragging on too fucking long. Of course it would serve her right for sharing her friend's remarks about how I looked.

I breathlessly await your response,

Cracked Out in Austin

P.S. Or should I fight the fight and spend $20.00 on two fabulous new products I've found that promise to instantly lift your face and eyes?

KEEP AUSTIN WEIRD

2005-11-16T04:47:00.000Z

It got a bit chilly tonight, actually it got really cold and when I left work to catch the bus home I had to wait for what seemed an eternity on a windy corner and as I was stupidly not dressed for the weather, my arse was turning to ice (quiet down in the back, I know this is not a vision you wish to dwell upon but it was integral to the moment and necessary to set the tone of my wretched despair). Like a knight in shining armour along came my hero, Ray the bus driver, in his warm steed. Nothing weird about that right? Yes, of course you're right darlings, wait for it... we get near my stop and I pull the cord, Ray says, Stay on the bus Bette and proceeds to go off his route, drive down my street and drop me at my door step.

Yes, Austin is absolutely, awesomely weird. Cheers Ray, you are a prince among men and sound as a pound.

NO CAR... NO JOB

2005-11-12T03:10:00.000Z

Been looking for a job for far too long. No one, it seems, offers programmes utlilising the experience and skills I garnered in London. That's the difference between a nanny state in the UK and the US dictum pull yourself up by your own boot straps. It appears if you are unemployed in the US, you're own your own. The enterprsie culture is not supported in this country. No problem, I think, I'll just apply for pretty much anything that will pay me a meagre wage that will cover rent, food and fags. Ah... but no. Advert after advert repeats ad naseum, you will need a valid driving license and a late model car. Austin has a pretty good bus system, pretty much always runs to schedule and goes anywhere you need to get to. Apparently not good enough for the employers in this city. It gets worse though. I decided I would apply for brain dead jobs... sit in a cubicle wearing headphones and plugged into a computer taking telephone calls from customers for a mobile phone company. Anyone with just half a brain could do that. Well maybe they could but first they would have to have a backgound check and submit to a drug test. Are they fucking kidding! I can hear the conversation now, between a recidivist drug user and anarchist (that would be me) and a customer. Dude, you know this fucking phone company is ripping you off so why don't you go postal on the bastards and take out everyone you see with a cell phone. You get the idea, okay it could be fun but I really only want to do my job, get paid, go home, smoke my fags and read my books. I didn't follow through on that job application. My latest interview is with an environmental group, I'll be going from house to house soliciting donations for a campaign to stop the artic drilling.
Good cause, a low paying job = my life.
Meaningless bureaucracy, facist requirements = US employers.

AN ILL WIND BLOWS SOME GOOD

2005-11-09T05:40:00.000Z

Today, 8th November, is Thea's birthday. Here she is wearing her new birthday boots, her present to her self. I always taught her that it is very important to buy yourself a Happy Birthday to me prezzie and I'm proud to say she carries on the family tradition. Thea had an excellent birthday, she got me up early so she could open all of her presents under the birthday tree that I made for her, I took her out to breakfast, Pat took her out to lunch, Dana met her for drinks then they hooked up with Nathan and some other friends and after work I met up with them at Threadgills.

Here's the part about the ill wind... after Katrina decimated New Orleans many of the musicians from there came to Austin. Every Tuesday night Cyril Neville (of the Neville Brothers http://www.nevilles.com/) and Papa Mali play at Threadgills. Fabulous funky sounds from the lads and their band, Tribe 13. They played a special song for Thea and she took centre stage on the dance floor and showed the crowd what dancin' is all about. All I could say is I made that! Papa Mali said I did a really good job an all.

Oh and not to rub your faces in it but is was camisole weather here tonight, warm with just enough of a breeze to be comfortable. I'm lovin' the weather now that the killer heat has abated.

AWESOME ALICE

2005-11-05T01:48:00.000Z

The 5th of November is Alice Huzar's birthday. Unfortunately I thought it was later in the month, sorry darlin', and just realised the actual date a few days ago, which meant there was no way I could post a card from the US that would reach London in time. What to do? I considered an ecard but they're just not amazing enough for our Alice. Ah ha, I thought, why not just write about Alice on my blog.

ALICE ROCKS

That's Alice on the left in the picture. Isn't she lovely? Too bloody right she is. She has an utterly engaging contagious smile, an amazingly fetching sense of style and excellently entertaining hair (we never know what colour combo or design she will sport next). Her wit is sharp, dry and leaves a lingering finish on the palate of one's mind. She writes with skill and a deft turn of phrase that never ceases to excite me whilst making me jealous of her abilities (okay I'm only feckin' human you know and I'm feeling a bit inept trying to write this paean of praise that is worthy of our Alice). In her guise as Fashion Avenger she fearlessly chides the unfortunates who are brazen enough to appear in public in unsuitable attire. Oh how they would suffer should they happen to read her blog and recognise themselves. How I wish they would.

Things I love about Alice, in no order whatsoever:

She makes me laugh (I don't usually do that too much).
She is willing to laugh at herself.
She lets me know when I've crossed the line, like at Clare's wedding (enough said).
She is bubbly but never false and has her downs as well as her ups.
She loves Steve Guttenberg (I've always found him very cute) enough to dedicate an entire section of her blog to him.
She says things like Go big or go home.
She is incredibly intelligent.
She loves interesting quirky shoes.
She isn't into reading poetry but she came to my gigs whenever she could.
I go could on and on..... but I couldn't finish unless I mentioned those luscious ginormous puppies of hers!

Alice, darling, I so wish I could be there to celebrate your birthday with you. I will definitely being raising a galss to you on the day.

I love you sweetie.
xxooxxoo

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY!

IRAQ

2005-10-30T20:18:00.000Z

The death toll for US soldiers killed in Iraq has just reached 2,000. I couldn't find a definitive figure for the British but according to a BBC on-line article published today, the British death toll is rising. Please go to the poetry link for my thoughts on the war and the US.

Mothers n' Daughters

2005-10-26T16:32:00.000+01:00

I've got a case of mood poisoning.

It must have been something I hate.

Bad start to the day, a bit of yellin' n' suggestions I move on. Sometimes its tough livin' together, for a mum n' a daughter.

Thea summed it up best like this...

I always thought someday there would be someone in my life who would walk in my house and say, honey I'm home, I just didn't think it would be my mother.

POODIE'S

2005-10-17T17:40:00.000+01:00

Went on a road trip out to the Hill Country on Friday night. Of course we were in a pick up truck, would there be any other vehicle acceptable for bar hoppin’ in Texas? First destination Dave’s Damn Bar, a dive biker bar so I was told……… but noooooo, its now an up market place, the Detour, with a very few forlorn bikers hangin’ in the parking lot. Had a bit of a barney with one of the patrons as he was sittin’ outside with his SUV open n’ the feckin’ football game blastin’. He turned it way down… oh how persuasive I can be. Not lovin’ that place, it was back in the truck headin’ for Aunt Tilly’s which is on Lake Travis. Excellent blues band playin’ there but no people. Votes were taken, I abstained as I didn‘t have a clue where I was, and counted. Decision made, we got back in the truck and drove hell bent for leather to Poodie’s Hilltop Bar & Grill. Oh joy, a bar where you can smoke inside, n’ excitement, there’re pool tables n’ a band playin’ damn fine music. Poodie is Willie Nelson’s manager n’ Willie lives nearby n’ often drops in. Bummer, Willie and Poodie were on the road. There’s an appropriate prize for the first person who can name someone we all know n’ love who resembles Poodie’s silhouette (see picture above) minus the hat n’ long braid. Who could it be? Meanwhile back in the bar, one of the ladies in our group had attracted a cowboy n’ after Texas two steppin’ her across the dance floor a few times, he invited her to play pool. I was enjoyin’ the music, suckin’ back long neck bottles of Lone Star, n’ chain smoking’ when somehow I got hooked up with a Norwegian lad (don’t know what he was doin’ in Texas but he did say he was only there for a couple of days) for doubles n’ I’m proud to say we seriously whupped Texas ass at the pool table. So that would be Europe 1 - Texas 0. Damn I’m mean. Now for those of you who are gonna be really picky about this, yes I am a Yank, however, since I learned to shoot pool in London, I’m gonna claim a place on the scorecard, in the rack n’ balls game, on the European side. Can y’all get with that?

ETIQUETTE

2005-10-14T18:49:00.000+01:00

Good evening, my name is Bette O'Callaghan and I'm ringing you this evening because you support the arts.

Okay people, this is your opportunity to jump in and tell me that you are not an arts supporter or you don't have any money to donate. Really, I mean I hang up on people like me all the time, its okay with me. You can't believe how boring it is for me to go through the whole thing before you fess up. Trust me (I know for those of you who know me, those are two very scary words) honestly, really truly I would rather you hung up on me. Yeah, I will probably mutter nasty things about you under my breath, after you have done so, but then we will both feel better.

Thank you for listening.

NEW LINK

2005-10-09T23:44:00.000+01:00

When y'all get a minute, check out the new poetry link, yes there it is, just to the right side of the page, under Gigs. Do ya see it? Cool dudes, then click on it for the giggle.

EL DIA de los MUERTOS

2005-10-07T15:31:00.000+01:00

Me n' my new bloke gettin' pissed

I really didn' t think I was gonna have to write this, livin' in Austin - the land of searing temperatures - but I walked out of work last night, yes I have a part time job - raising funds for a centre for the performing arts, and it was near on freezing outside. So there I was, pretty much dressed for the stupid hot weather, which had instantly turned ridiculously cold and froze my ass off, almost literally, waiting for the bus. The good news is, now that I'm working I bought a monthly(that would be 31 days, thank you) bus pass - $10.00 - can y'all in the UK feckin' believe it?

I am very excited as I have discovered the shops here that specialise in the Mexican festival of El Dia de los Muertos, The Day of the Dead, merchandise. I am in skull heaven and financial hell as I can't at the moment afford to buy much of anything, but dudes when I get the money I'll be stockin' up on all that amazing skull merchandise. At the moment I'm particularly jonesin' for a childs set of My First Day of The Dead Collection, decorated mug, plate and bowl. I absofuckin'lutely must be the first on my block to have one!

Speaking of decorating, the Yanks (yeah that characterisation would include me) continue to amaze me with their devotion to all things gaudy. The entire buidling where Thea lives has been decorated for halloween, mind you I'm lovin' the skull in our little veranda area. There are an amazing number of houses with lighted decorations covering the entire exterior. I thought someone had got out their Xmas stuff early, but nooooooooo, it appears they decorate for everything here. It does make me wonder (surprisingly as I'm not very green) about the reckless use of resources, which are being depleted rather needlessly.

MY NEW UMBRELLA N' SUN PARASOL

2005-10-01T18:06:00.000+01:00

Need I say more?

INNOCENCE REGAINED

2005-10-01T16:23:00.000+01:00

I don't think this has anything to do with the US in particular but everything to do with the sort of place Austin is. After years of walkin' around with my hand on my bag, gettin' mugged at the Tube station for what they thought was my wallet, gettin' my mobile ripped out of my hand on the train, havin' the fabulous ciagrette case I bought in Edinburgh slipped out of my pocket on the train and havin' my flat broken into; I have landed up somewhere totally different. Wow Dorothy we may be in Oz after all.

When I go to my local coffee place Flipnotics to get on line, remember this is free if you have a wireless connection, I walk onto the porch, pick a table and leave my laptop on it while I go inside for my one cup of coffee, bottle of water whatever. Yes folks you can leave your laptop lying around and no one will touch it. You can buy just one drink and then spend the entire day sittin' there on line and no one will ask if you want more to drink or tell you they need the table. They provide handy plug in points so you don't even have to run down your battery. Okay, maybe I'm rapsodising overmuch about this but its just so damn different to London. No boys n' girls, I didn't say better, I said different.

Its also a real pleasure to be able to stroll around the neighbourhood at night, whilst I'm suckin' back those necessary fags, without worrying about being jumped. I've sat outside the flat till 4:30am writing on my laptop without any fear of being mugged or maimed, well at least by nothing human... the insect world, that's somethin' totally different.

As perhaps further evidence that Austin is open and friendly, The Austin Chronicle printed my letter. I would speculate that due to the content of the letter, there well may be many papers in the US who would either not print it, or print it with a note from the Editor saying if you don't like it, then leave.

Yeah, I'm in a mellow mood today, go figure. I'm gonna slip inside n' make some blueberry pancakes.

Check out my Gigs link for an on line 'zine, Humdinger, which has just published some of my poems.

I FORGOT TO HAVE A CHILD

2005-09-28T08:52:00.000+01:00

Actually no, I didn't, and my advice to anyone else wo didn't, is... the family that smokes together stays together. The Alpha C*nt has spoken.

So here's the BIG QUESTION, do we take Eve Ensler's (author of The Vagina Monologues) advice and liberate the C word or do we let people use it against us in the most pejorative way possible? I trust my Pussy Posse will back me up on this, I say for fuck's sale let's liberate the F word and whilst we're at it, let's take the C word back as well. I'm proud to be the Alpha Cunt and I would like my Pussy Posse to speak the word loudly and fondly. Okay it's 2:30am ( that would be 6:30am your time, all my bevy of British lovelies) and my family (Thea and I, just like back in the day) has definitely been stayin' together tonight but this has been on my mind for awhile and it was gonna be written sooner than later.

I have this love/hate relationship with the patio (I like to think of it as a veranda)/garden) outside Thea's flat. On the one hand it is very lovely... chairs, table, a palm tree of sorts to shade one, on the other it is a nightmare of living crawling, shambling creatures. Possums for fuck's sake! I told all y'all Mother Nature is a cunt! There you go... yes, yes, yes, I know I used it in the pejorative sense (usually I never use the same word twice in a poem, oh fuck me! this isn't a poem, but some words and some lines, the city loves it's cum scum {serious orgasms when I wrote that line}) are just too good not to use again.

Here is the absolute truth (well actually it was Jameson's, I prefer the Irish to the Russian) if we want to make it ours we must be prepared to use it not only as a word of respect but also as a weapon to defend ourselves against our worst enemy, women. I swear we are one fucked up gender, we make more problems for ourselves than any man could. Come to think of it, that's probably why we are known as the smarter gender persuation. Those poor lads just aren't up to the machinations of which (no sloppy ending a sentence on a prepostion for me, darlin's) only a devious female mind could concieve.

I really need to stop now or I may..........................................

Wednesday AM - sorry folks but it appears certain words, which appear in the above have got some people too excited. The following is for them.

Will you perverts calm down, this is about the real world, not about your weirdness. Go away.

HOT AS HADES

2005-09-28T00:59:00.000+01:00

Apparently its true that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, 'cause the lovely Miss Rita (the hurricane) has left Austin in the midst of a heatwave you wouldn't feckin' believe. I'm assuming that although she may have turned away and not dropped torrential rain on the ACL festival, she wanted to ensure that we knew she'd been in the nighbourhood. Thats right boys n' girls, its in the 100s here, but no worries it goes all the way down to the mid 70s at night. I'm so glad I only went to ACL on Friday, by Sunday not only had the temperature gone up to 108 but the dust was kickin' up something fierce. Thea came home coughing black stuff and I was seriously worried her asthma was coming back after all these years.

So I know the question that is nigglin' away at your brains is... what the fuck is Bette wearing these days. Here's the deal, its true that black clothing is a sun magnet, however, that's pretty much all I own. I've had to get the arms out, from the shoulders down, not a pretty sight but fuck it all the fashion rules have had to go out the window. Y'all will be pleased to know that I haven't gone totally mad, no shorts thank you.

We interrupt this discourse on the heat for a telephone call from the Naked Kobrinsky who has just returned from a Yoga retreat. Dude what are you like? She's back in San Francisco practising her driving so she can take the test. Then she and August are off to New York to spend a couple of weeks with his mum. There you go, a Sarah update for all of y'all back in blighty.

I've discovered that if I come outside Thea's flat I can piggyback on someone's internet. Even though its got dark, its just too fuckin' hot to sit here any longer and the ants are starting to attack so I'm retiring to Thea's air conditioned flat for a little dinner.

I'M AS SERIOUS AS A HEART ATTACK

2005-09-25T21:32:00.000+01:00

This is a letter that I just emailed to the Editor of The Chronicle, a very hip Austin newspaper. I've never sent a letter to the editor before but, damnit, I really felt the need to get this message across.

Dear Editor,

I am an American who has recently moved to Austin from London, England where I lived and worked for sixteen years. The universal question I am asked outside the US is, Why is there so little news in the US about the rest of the world? Therein, I believe, lies the reason the current administration has been able to perpetrate the politics of nightmares. Americans have always been insular and after September 11th seemed to turn even more inwards, if possible. Most young people ouside the US apply for and use their passports as soon as they are eligible, about 17 years old. They travel, they work, they experience other cultures and other cuisines. Yes, its true that many British people still believe that the sun never sets on the British Empire, but they absolutely know what is going on in other countries and continents. Although Blair was able to commit British troups to Iraq, the British public at large has and remains vociferously against this war, even after the recent bombings in London.

The Chronicle is an excellent paper. I would like to challenge you to bring more international news to your readership and encourage them to explore the world in which they live. Do the people in this country really want to be personally ridiculed and reviled by the rest of the world, truth is they pretty much are, or will they make the effort to assimilate with worldwide indigenous populations proving that the government may be an ass but the people are genuine and intelligent?

The Chronicle has an opportunity to dispel the enduring American media message, There's no place like home. Help your readers awake from the nightmares instilled by Washington. The reality is, no place is perfectly safe yet no place is entirely dangerous either.

Bette O'Callaghan

DON'T SMILE TILL YOU SEE THE WHITES OF THEIR EYES

2005-09-20T17:25:00.000+01:00

You may remeber, darlings, that I mentioned in an earlier posting how very friendly people in Austin were. Well now I'm wondering if that is only when they are face to face with you. I have sent out numerous emails, re: poetry and jobs, from both London and Austin with no response at all. People of Austin, what's your deal? I have afforded you a few risible moments, do you not remember the day y'all saw me walking down the road dressed up like a dog's dinner and carrying a full length mirror on my head? Of course you do.. you slowed down pointed and laughed and I was more than happy to bring a little amusement into your day. You've watched me fumble with coins with which I am no longer familiar and look at you stupidly when you tell me how much I owe you, 'cause I can't yet get my head round the fact that tax is not included in the price. I've nodded and said mornin', afternoon and evenin' to y'all when I see you on the street and I always thank the bus driver when I reach my destination. What more do you want of me? I don't even care if I get a fuck off response, any response would be appreciated. Let me know you're alive out there Austin.

Did y'all notice I didn't mentioned smoking at all in this posting?

THE SLUT IN THE SLIP N' HAT

2005-09-19T18:29:00.000+01:00

Yep that woud be me prowling the car park late at night desperately smokin' one fag after another.

Cigarettes are meant to be smoked at leisure whilst reclining on one's bed, affording one the pleasure of idly watching the smoke coat the walls, ceiling and personal accoutrements so dear to one's heart with that oh so subtle tinge of yellow to which every fashionable decorator aspires. Smoking should be accompanied by music and preferably with a glass of alcohol of one's choice. Upon arising one should be able to inhale the aroma of the coffee as it brews, whilst chain smoking the 10 to 15 cigarettes necessary to replenish the overnight loss of nicotine. Bliss.

BUT FUCKIN' NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Step away from the music, step away from the coffee, step away from the friggin' air conditioning and get your ass outside into the oppressive heat where you furtively suck the life from the fag you clutch in your fingers as if you've just been ordered to abandon ship and the fag is, in fact, your only lifeline, shark repellent, lifeboat etc etc. Where is the joy in this?

Which leads us to thought of me in a slip, okay it's actually a dress but if you ask the Fashion Avenger I'm sure she would characterise it as the sort of garment worn by a ho in a spectacularly tacky house of ill repute. The hat is my attempt to lend just a bit of style and mystery to the entire undertaking. But of course the hat band is festooned with skulls (thanks, Jen for the laces) which I reckon, if the sight of me in a slip isn't enough, will scare away any Texas chainsaw nutters.

Failure To Light Up May Cause Offense

2005-09-17T20:35:00.000+01:00

Texas has some definate advantages. I was very pissed off that on the very day I arrived the no smoking ban went into effect, however, I have decided it is of little consequence as I will continue to smoke anywhere and everywhere I can. I know some of you have been concerned about the amount that I smoke and its effect on my health... here's the advantage to living in Austin - the sun is so fuckin' intense that I will, no doubt, expire of skin cancer long before the fags get me. I am now happily lighting up one fag after another n' smokin' once more like it's my job, 'cause kiddies, it don't make no never mind (as they say out here).

There's lots of funny only in America stuff... like the female DJ on my favourite country radio station whose voice is so much like the one I described in my poem Country Women. I swear it's as abrasive as fingernails on a chalkboard turned up to supersonic level. I reckon she must have done the casting couch thing to get on the station as I don't believe anyone in their right mind would hire a DJ with a voice that evokes the sound of rabid hyenas mating unless they were thinking with their cock. Other than her lilting voice, she seems like a very charming woman.

I personally have an entire crew of homeless men whom I have met at bus stops who run down the street after me to say hello, whenever they see me. I used to be pleased that people always recognised me, hmmm, perhaps that's not really a good thing after all. The homeless here are actually very nice, they don't ask for money or fags, and are totally unthreatening. Could this be the beginning of a new male branch of the Pussy Posse?

I occasionally get very homesick for London, it couldn't be more different here. Everything is big, huge, enormous. Too generous portions of food, miles from here to there in town, four lane roads in town n' freeways everywhere. Then there's the cars, if its not a truck, then its a by god SUV. I can't figure out how people can afford these cars, gasoline is $3.00+ per gallon. I heard a bloke the other day say that it cost him $130.00 to fill his tank. That would buy a whole lot of fags and by the way, they are, in the land of NO SMOKING FUCKING ANYWHERE very cheap - go figure.

Things that drive me mental - the effing mosquitos who feed on me as if I were the sacrificial goat at their daily voodo ritual. Y'all know when I wake up I need two things, a fag n' some seriously black coffee, but oh no, I can't smoke in Thea's flat so I have to get up, put clothes on which are suitable for human consumption i.e. people can look at me without fainting at the sight of too much elderly flesh, put the coffee on n' run outside for my fags. Fortunately there is a small patio outside her flat and look there are even two chairs n' a table. Wait.... can't sit there because the chairs are crawling with ants. I had an epiphany the other night as I paced outside smoking... Mother Nature n' I are both alpha females n' we ain't never gonna get along.

Good stuff here is that you can look up at the sky at night and actually see the stars. There are trees everywhere and a huge park just around the corner from Thea's flat where there's a natural spring that is 68 degrees year round where you can go swimming. Every bar and restaurant has live music - some good, some so so but all worth dropping into. Lots of good country music on the radio - from the patriotic flag waving anthemic hymns to the good ole USA to the really excellent people like Willie, Emmy Lou, Lucinda, Steve etc etc who we all know and love.

I can't think of a better reason to be in Austin than that Thea is here. Well... Thea n' vanilla ice cream with Big Red sodas.

IT'S ALIVE!!!

2005-04-12T14:48:00.000+01:00

In homage to Dr Frankenstein who uttered the words in the title to this posting rather loudly, okay shrieked them in an excess of insane orgasmic scientific fulfillment. I think I have cracked a way to pick up the stick from Alice's blog.

Book Reco-meme-dations:

You're stuck inside Fahrenheit 451, which book do you want to be?
Well if I am inside the inferno then proabably the best choice would be Mein Kampf by Adolph Hitler. Normally I treasure my books and would never let them come to harm, sometimes resorting to throwing my body between them and a hail of bullets, however, regardless of any insight we may gain into his warped personality, I think this book deserves to burn baby burn.

Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character?
Oh yes, almost all of the male protaganists in any of Tim Robbins books. If you haven't read 'em then get out n' buy one now.

The last book you bought is?
Leavin' Trunk Blues by Ace Atkins. Picked it up on a charity shop. I love blues music and this book reads like not only a who's who of the blues but more importantly it reads like a blues song, made me want to get up n' dance, and jam along with my mouth harp. N' it gets even better 'cause its a mystery as well with Satan himself, the legendary Stagger Lee!

The last book you read?
Monday Mourning by Kathy Reichs. I'm a big fan of her work, I like reading about both the South (which one you ask, well honey there is only one and its below the Mason Dixon Line) and Montreal. Again, there's sex, guns and violence and some science, history n' anthropology thrown in as well.

What book are you currently reading?
I'm re-reading Midnight In the Garden of Good and Evil by (damn I hope I get this right) John Berendt. This is a genre you don't find much of - travel book/murder mystery. Actually its the place, Savannah and the people that are so compelling about this book and the prose is extremly evocative of both. Although I prefer books to movies I must say that whilst re-reading this I am now stuck with Kevin Spacey in my head as the emodiment of Jim Williams, which is okay 'cause I bought in him the film role totally.

Five books you would take with you on a deserted island?
1. Bartlett's Quotations - what an awesome book! There ain't hardly anything that's been written or said that you can't find in there. As I am a word person and collect sayings, lines etc. I find this quite useful for getting my head away from the crazed palce it goes to when I think of a phrase, line etc and can't remember all of it, or where it came from or who wrote it/sang it/said it etc.
2.A Tom Robbins novel - see above.
3. Can't remember the title but I have a book which is a compilation of Leonard Cohen's songs, poetry and prose so I'd have to have that just so I could get off from time to time, which I find his use of words always makes me do.
4.Gorillas In the Mist by Diane Fossey. What a remarable woman and what a magnificent animal. Gorillas are prretty much the only thing I really like except for skulls, and it should go without saying, except of course for Thea. I was stopped on the street one day by one of those quasi religious/science sects who asked me If you could be anything what would you be. My reply, A GORILLA! I may be the only person who has managed to stop one of those mo'fo's in their tracks n' left 'em speechless.
5. Damn, here's the deal, I'm not at home with all of my books around me and I'm gettin' on so I can't fuckin' remember all the titles n' authors of the books I love so let's just say I'd want a volume that was vast, immense, huge n' included a million zillion books within it, 'cause if I ain't readin' I'm dyin'.

Who are you going to pass this stick to?
Sarah Kobrinsky 'cause she has time on her hands, or maybe not, but I look forward to her responses. N.B. Turns out she is very busy indeed but no excuses, we still want her comments. So come'on babe pick up the challenge.

Apologies for spelling errors or typos, haven't got time to edit them out as my time is up. Oh, were that really true. N.B. I have now attempted to edit this so if there are still any fuck ups, my bad.

SKULLS N' THE ART OF ZEN

2005-04-04T13:47:00.000+01:00

Okay, I haven't got my head round this blog thing well enough to grab the stick from Alice so that will have to wait a bit. No new poetry, I've descended into the usual artistic funk, 'cause as I always say, If you haven't tried to top yourself, you're not a poet. So it goes for me as I had sorted a new place to live n' it fuckin' fell through. I seriously need to move, ask anyone, my place is bad bad bad vibes and worse people. Bummer dude! I've been packing and the first things to be wrapped n' tenderly placed in boxes were all of my skulls. I feel as if I have momentarily lost my zen with them gone. Enough bitchin', fingers n' toes crossed as I have a second interview for the all important day job, later this week. You know, I've been writin' this and readin' it n' I'm thinkin', Who the fuck cares about all this personal shite? Don't know, don't care, I'll fuckin' post it anyway.

Read My Poetry

2005-03-24T13:18:00.000Z

I am currently being featured in an online film and arts amagazine at www.scene360.com so jump along there n' read some of my poetry n' let me know what you think.

ALICE HUZAR ROCKS!

2005-03-24T13:04:00.000Z

Yes, Alice of the amazing wit and ginormous puppies (I am so jealous) writes a fanfuckin'tastic blog titled Alice's Dark Place. Reading her blog made me realise that creating my own as an adjunct to my website would not necessarily be a bad thing. So here we go.