LOVERS, AFFAIRS, LIVE-INS & ONE NIGHT STANDS

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?