About a week ago, I checked out Pamela Des Barres’s book Let’s Spend The Night Together. The subtitle is “Backstage Secrets of Rock Muses and Supergroupies.”
It’s been happy reading so far. Back in the day, I thought it would be a smashing great time to be a groupie, wanted and desired by a phalanx of smoking hot rock gods. That dream will forever be in the past tense, though, for three reasons:
1. I no longer have the stamina nor the inclination to be up in the wee hours pursuing said rock gods;
2. The rock god is, most likely, an endangered species – can you name a musician who has become famous in the last ten years who has the magnetism of, say, Robert Plant? David Lee Roth? Mick Jagger, thick lips and all? I didn’t think so;
3. I have already found (and married!) my own rock god – he’s not famous yet, but he’s all mine and I will never stray.
The thought I will take away from this book has nothing to do with the names of the men whom the rock muses and supergroupies, um, “associated” with. It was the bond that Ms. Des Barres has with these women, many of them who have been her long-time friends. Even though most of them are no longer active in the scene, they still live freewheeling, out-of-the-ordinary lives, with a boatload of great memories.
Who wouldn’t want friends like Tura Satana, a 1950s burlesque dancer who taught Elvis how to French kiss? Or Cynthia Plaster Caster, who took an idea from an art class lecture and turned it into the ultimate in subversive art – namely, plaster molds of rock stars’ penises? Or Gail Zappa, the groupie who married her man (Frank), and will probably give mainstream relationship advisers a heart attack with this quote: “We didn’t talk about mortgages, ever.”? These women did what they wanted to do, and screw condemnation from the religious fundies and the professional feminists.
(There’s a big difference between feminism, which simply means women having the equal rights and opportunities to be what they want to be, and professional feminism, which has a list of new rules every bit as oppressive as the old ones. That’s a post for another day, though.)
I wish I had cool friends like that.
It has been hard for me to make and keep friends throughout my life. Shyness, bad treatment from peers (and the distrust it gave birth to), dedication to reading and schoolwork, and a natural tendency toward solitude have not helped. As of now, I have few friends except for husbands, ex-husbands, friends of the first two categories, and a few people that I know online but live far away (shout-out to Diana). I am happy with these dear friends, of course, but sometimes when I stop being busy and have time to think about it, I wish that I had more.
How do I define “cool friends”?
1. They are members of the creative class.
2. They have out-of-the-ordinary interests – such as intermission clips or collecting fortune cookie fortunes (two of my own interests).
3. They don’t watch much TV, unless it’s good (like Star Trek in all its forms – yes, even Enterprise).
4. They read books outside the best-seller list.
5. They know who Vanilla Fudge are.
6. They are fiscally responsible (yes, that is possible in the creative class).
7. They are free of destructive drama (as opposed to cool drama, such as painting the walls with glitter-infused magenta paint, or cross-dressing).
8. They make their dwellings cool no matter what their budget is.
9. They enjoy good food without guilt.
10. They have a love of life, and don’t try to drag anyone down with their political/religious/ideological agenda(s).
11. They love us, and we love them!!!
I could add more to the list, but it's getting late and I don't want to sound greedy.
I have heard the old adage, “To have a good friend, be one.” I hope that I follow the list above as much as I hope that my cool friends do. I guess I will have to make finding cool friends as much as a priority as finding work. Wish me luck!
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
And now, a few words about apology
…no, this is not me apologizing for not standing during the national anthem!
I don’t often write about popular news topics on this blog, for two excellent reasons:
1. Popular news tends to be boring and banal and base, and
2. You’re sick of hearing about it, too – that’s why you’re here instead of CNN/MSNBC/Huffington Post/your city newspaper site, isn’t it?
Today, I’m going to make an exception to this rule. I’m not going to wonder if you heard the Tiger Woods apology this morning – most of you have. The fact that an athlete apologizing for marital infidelity is considered a SPECIAL REPORT by CBS, NBC, and ABC – and more important than the man who flew his plane into an IRS building yesterday – says something about America, and it is not good.
What we saw was a professional golfer standing at a podium, looking like a kid waiting for the principal to see him, reading a pre-written statement that was heavy with the clichés that a flyover state sportswriter might reach for at 2 a.m. – “I have let down my fans,” “I convinced myself that normal rules didn't apply,” “Achievements on the golf course are only part of setting an example. Character and decency are what really count,” and so on.
Is Woods truly sorry? Is this another step in his rehab? Or is this just another one of those BS PR apologies that makes thinking people yawn? I do not know, and it doesn’t matter to me. But it did make me ponder the meaning of apology.
An apology is a gift – not an obligation. Tiger Woods does not owe the press or public an apology. I would go so far as to say that he doesn’t even owe it to his wife – the one person to whom this matters the most. He should apologize only
1. If his remorse is sincere, and
2. If he is going to stop the offending behavior.
Issue #2 is most important. Don’t waste your breath or my time with an apology if you’re going to keep on keepin’ on.
Suppose I was driving down the street, and from out of nowhere a pink paintgun pellet strikes one of my car doors. (This actually happened years ago.) If I had to choose between an apology and the money to repaint the door, I would choose the money. (In real life, I received neither, and the pink stain remained on my car to the day I traded it in.) Words are only words – it is action that counts. Please do what you can to alleviate the wrong.
We the public will not see, and should not see, whether or not Woods will change (unless he errs again in the same spectacular way.) I say let’s all keep an eye on ourselves and our behavior first, not a puffed-up SPECIAL REPORT. (Remember when SPECIAL REPORTS were actually special and announced events of world-shaking importance? But that’s another post for another day.)
I don’t often write about popular news topics on this blog, for two excellent reasons:
1. Popular news tends to be boring and banal and base, and
2. You’re sick of hearing about it, too – that’s why you’re here instead of CNN/MSNBC/Huffington Post/your city newspaper site, isn’t it?
Today, I’m going to make an exception to this rule. I’m not going to wonder if you heard the Tiger Woods apology this morning – most of you have. The fact that an athlete apologizing for marital infidelity is considered a SPECIAL REPORT by CBS, NBC, and ABC – and more important than the man who flew his plane into an IRS building yesterday – says something about America, and it is not good.
What we saw was a professional golfer standing at a podium, looking like a kid waiting for the principal to see him, reading a pre-written statement that was heavy with the clichés that a flyover state sportswriter might reach for at 2 a.m. – “I have let down my fans,” “I convinced myself that normal rules didn't apply,” “Achievements on the golf course are only part of setting an example. Character and decency are what really count,” and so on.
Is Woods truly sorry? Is this another step in his rehab? Or is this just another one of those BS PR apologies that makes thinking people yawn? I do not know, and it doesn’t matter to me. But it did make me ponder the meaning of apology.
An apology is a gift – not an obligation. Tiger Woods does not owe the press or public an apology. I would go so far as to say that he doesn’t even owe it to his wife – the one person to whom this matters the most. He should apologize only
1. If his remorse is sincere, and
2. If he is going to stop the offending behavior.
Issue #2 is most important. Don’t waste your breath or my time with an apology if you’re going to keep on keepin’ on.
Suppose I was driving down the street, and from out of nowhere a pink paintgun pellet strikes one of my car doors. (This actually happened years ago.) If I had to choose between an apology and the money to repaint the door, I would choose the money. (In real life, I received neither, and the pink stain remained on my car to the day I traded it in.) Words are only words – it is action that counts. Please do what you can to alleviate the wrong.
We the public will not see, and should not see, whether or not Woods will change (unless he errs again in the same spectacular way.) I say let’s all keep an eye on ourselves and our behavior first, not a puffed-up SPECIAL REPORT. (Remember when SPECIAL REPORTS were actually special and announced events of world-shaking importance? But that’s another post for another day.)
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Sit down for freedom
One of the gutsiest blogs I have read is Penelope Trunk’s Brazen Careerist. In between the practical, career-oriented posts are Ms. Trunk’s startling POVs about big-picture topics. How could you not look twice when the blogger Tweeted about her own miscarriage?
In her Martin Luther King Day post (1-18-2010), Ms. Trunk wrote about going to a rodeo in Madison, Wisconsin with her children and male companion (labeled “the farmer”). Ms. Trunk isn’t fond of the spectacle of animals risking injury for mere entertainment’s sake, and neither am I, but that’s a rant for another day. The sentence in the post which got my attention is as follows:
What was with “rise in the name of Jesus”? What is the connection between our national anthem and a rabbi who died more than 1700 years before the United States came into being? How can the American flag – a rectangle of cloth – protect a soldier or a church or anything from a bomb?
Why is the "Star-Spangled Banner" invariably played before sporting events in this country? The last time I stood for the national anthem was the last time I attended an Anaheim Ducks game, back in October 2005. I don’t recall ever feeling a swell of patriotism; I instead concentrated on staring down at the players before they covered their handsome heads with their helmets. I stood solely because of habit. It didn’t occur to me not to stand, even though these were the days when Bush and Cheney allowed some not-very-American happenings to go down in tiny cells around the world.
I now think that habit is the excuse that timidity gives itself.
Try this – the next time you go to a sporting event, do not stand for the national anthem. This has nothing to do with your personal feelings about the nation, the flag, and/or the troops. This is an exercise in doing something difficult. An exercise in not following the crowd. An exercise which might be practice for telling someone some tough words, or for making a decision that is right but unpopular. An exercise which is a true expression of what America means.
Most people are going to stare at you. Some might stare at you as if you just mutated into an open bag of fresh manure. It is possible that someone will dump his cup of beer on you – or worse. That is their problem, not yours. Sitting while the national anthem is being played is NOT illegal. Assault (which includes beer-dumping) is.
Sitting down for the anthem may feel strange. But so does asking a client who is overdue with his payments to send you a check immediately. Or telling your 80-year-old mother that her driving is too dangerous for herself and the other people on the road. Or going public as an atheist.
If you attend a lot of events where the anthem is played, you can make this a new, good habit (like brushing your teeth), every fifth time you hear the anthem, or even every tenth.
After Penelope Trunk’s post, a slew of commenters lined up for the attack – the kinds of people who think America is so fragile that a seated bottom during the national anthem is a grave wound. Actually, America cares just as much as Jesus does (who, as you remember, died about 2000 years ago) whether or not you stand or sit. Think about it.
(And this means that the next time I hear the national anthem played, I will have to stay seated lest I prove myself a rank hypocrite. We shall see when and if this plays out, for I don’t anticipate attending any sporting events in the near or far future.)
In her Martin Luther King Day post (1-18-2010), Ms. Trunk wrote about going to a rodeo in Madison, Wisconsin with her children and male companion (labeled “the farmer”). Ms. Trunk isn’t fond of the spectacle of animals risking injury for mere entertainment’s sake, and neither am I, but that’s a rant for another day. The sentence in the post which got my attention is as follows:
I really hated it before there were any animals. Before there were animals there was the flag, rising above the dirt ring, and the announcer saying everyone should sing the Star Spangled Banner to honor “the flag that protects our troops, and our churches and our great country.”
I looked over at the farmer for churches, and before I could roll my eyes, the announcer said, “Everyone please rise in the name of Jesus and sing the Star Spangled Banner.”
I told my kids to stay seated.
What was with “rise in the name of Jesus”? What is the connection between our national anthem and a rabbi who died more than 1700 years before the United States came into being? How can the American flag – a rectangle of cloth – protect a soldier or a church or anything from a bomb?
Why is the "Star-Spangled Banner" invariably played before sporting events in this country? The last time I stood for the national anthem was the last time I attended an Anaheim Ducks game, back in October 2005. I don’t recall ever feeling a swell of patriotism; I instead concentrated on staring down at the players before they covered their handsome heads with their helmets. I stood solely because of habit. It didn’t occur to me not to stand, even though these were the days when Bush and Cheney allowed some not-very-American happenings to go down in tiny cells around the world.
I now think that habit is the excuse that timidity gives itself.
Try this – the next time you go to a sporting event, do not stand for the national anthem. This has nothing to do with your personal feelings about the nation, the flag, and/or the troops. This is an exercise in doing something difficult. An exercise in not following the crowd. An exercise which might be practice for telling someone some tough words, or for making a decision that is right but unpopular. An exercise which is a true expression of what America means.
Most people are going to stare at you. Some might stare at you as if you just mutated into an open bag of fresh manure. It is possible that someone will dump his cup of beer on you – or worse. That is their problem, not yours. Sitting while the national anthem is being played is NOT illegal. Assault (which includes beer-dumping) is.
Sitting down for the anthem may feel strange. But so does asking a client who is overdue with his payments to send you a check immediately. Or telling your 80-year-old mother that her driving is too dangerous for herself and the other people on the road. Or going public as an atheist.
If you attend a lot of events where the anthem is played, you can make this a new, good habit (like brushing your teeth), every fifth time you hear the anthem, or even every tenth.
After Penelope Trunk’s post, a slew of commenters lined up for the attack – the kinds of people who think America is so fragile that a seated bottom during the national anthem is a grave wound. Actually, America cares just as much as Jesus does (who, as you remember, died about 2000 years ago) whether or not you stand or sit. Think about it.
(And this means that the next time I hear the national anthem played, I will have to stay seated lest I prove myself a rank hypocrite. We shall see when and if this plays out, for I don’t anticipate attending any sporting events in the near or far future.)
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Just like browsing the record bin at Goodwill
I have been amiss in not hipping you to this site before: WFMU’s 365 Days Project. WFMU is a New Jersey-based radio station that (among other things) searches for weird and wonderful sounds, whether it’s from the record in the back of the bin at the thrift store or a cassette that hid in a shoebox at the bottom of your closet for a generation – and they share them with the world via MP3 files. Yay, WFMU!
I spent one Saturday night searching the 365 Days Project (actually, two of them, in 2003 and 2007). It was a lengthy process searching through each month and day, reading each blurb, and deciding what files I were “keepers.” But it was totally worth it – it was just like looking through the record bin at Goodwill!
One of the best finds was Bobby and Betty Go To The Moon. I had this record once upon a time. What joy for a Star Trek-loving girl to listen to the adventures of two kids of about the same age traveling to the moon all by themselves in the far-off year of 1985!
Next time stormy weather keeps you indoors, may I suggest spelunking in the 365 Days Project? (Beats Googling Heidi Montag!)
I spent one Saturday night searching the 365 Days Project (actually, two of them, in 2003 and 2007). It was a lengthy process searching through each month and day, reading each blurb, and deciding what files I were “keepers.” But it was totally worth it – it was just like looking through the record bin at Goodwill!
One of the best finds was Bobby and Betty Go To The Moon. I had this record once upon a time. What joy for a Star Trek-loving girl to listen to the adventures of two kids of about the same age traveling to the moon all by themselves in the far-off year of 1985!
Next time stormy weather keeps you indoors, may I suggest spelunking in the 365 Days Project? (Beats Googling Heidi Montag!)
Bring back that sunny day
As many of you know, we in SoCal have been patiently suffering under a series of major rainstorms. I write “suffering” because because even though we have been in a drought the past few years, four straight days of rainfall isn’t fun. At least, not for me.
I don't like it. Not one bit.
I am grateful that the apartment we live in has a solid ceiling and windows that are watertight when closed. I have lived in places with leaky ceilings and windows, and it’s just terrible when your shelter doesn’t shelter. I am grateful for my umbrella, warm clothes, and space heater for the bathroom. I am grateful that I didn’t have to drive too far this week and that there were dry patches that allowed me to go to the laundromat and grocery store. As always, I am grateful that Two Dogs is here with morning tea and cozy dinners and cuddles at any time.
Still, the lack of sunlight does turn this mouse’s fur blue. When it rains, it takes away favorite activities like walking, driving to places that make me happy, and visiting friends in person. The gray sky is dull, and the dull echoes back within me. I feel inhibited and reduced.
The good news is that we should be getting a break this weekend. I can’t wait. I hope the ground gets a chance to dry out, and I can take at least one good walk. I also hope that we’ll see some extra blooms this spring. (Two more months until the vernal equinox! I’m glad February is a short month!)
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Something else to worry about (if you choose to)
Quick, name one thing that the mass media is good at.
Spreading helpful information? Telling the whole truth about news events? Making us a more educated populace?
If I knew how to add sound effects to this blog, you’d hear three loud game-show buzzers after all of the above – the kind of buzzer that says loud and clear, “HELL, NO!”
What is the mass media good at? Giving us more and more things to worry about. Now it’s your “online profile” and how it looks to potential employers.
Beware the photo of you drinking margaritas with your friends in Cozumel back in the summer of ’06! Beware the pointed comment you left on a political website! Beware your own blog, because you might have written something that other people may not like! Beware being modest and having five or less Google hits to your name! Beware people who tell lies about you on Facebook!
Now, sayeth the mass media, you need to Google yourself every day and pay companies to “clean up” your Web profile, or else you run the risk of being unemployable.
I say the hell with all that.
If a potential employer cares more about the content of my blog than the quality of my work, that’s an employer I want nothing to do with. What is the point of having a blog if you’re going to censor yourself?
If a potential employer is offended that I’m an atheist (4-12-09), that I don’t volunteer (8-31-09), that I emphasize with the Misfit Doll (12-22-09), or that I even mentioned Bill Ayers (12-3-09), I can’t care too much about that. My blog first and foremost is a place to speak my mind. Not a place to “promote” myself or sell things. (Ever notice that blogs whose primary purpose is to sell things are often as boring as beige?)
I have work to do and meanders to walk and pages to write and books to read and baths to take and Two Dogs to love. Not a lot of room in my life to go cleaning up my web profile or jumping on any worry trains. I say turn off the TV (and the computer, even though I know it's hard) every now and then and see what is right in front of you.
Spreading helpful information? Telling the whole truth about news events? Making us a more educated populace?
If I knew how to add sound effects to this blog, you’d hear three loud game-show buzzers after all of the above – the kind of buzzer that says loud and clear, “HELL, NO!”
What is the mass media good at? Giving us more and more things to worry about. Now it’s your “online profile” and how it looks to potential employers.
Beware the photo of you drinking margaritas with your friends in Cozumel back in the summer of ’06! Beware the pointed comment you left on a political website! Beware your own blog, because you might have written something that other people may not like! Beware being modest and having five or less Google hits to your name! Beware people who tell lies about you on Facebook!
Now, sayeth the mass media, you need to Google yourself every day and pay companies to “clean up” your Web profile, or else you run the risk of being unemployable.
I say the hell with all that.
If a potential employer cares more about the content of my blog than the quality of my work, that’s an employer I want nothing to do with. What is the point of having a blog if you’re going to censor yourself?
If a potential employer is offended that I’m an atheist (4-12-09), that I don’t volunteer (8-31-09), that I emphasize with the Misfit Doll (12-22-09), or that I even mentioned Bill Ayers (12-3-09), I can’t care too much about that. My blog first and foremost is a place to speak my mind. Not a place to “promote” myself or sell things. (Ever notice that blogs whose primary purpose is to sell things are often as boring as beige?)
I have work to do and meanders to walk and pages to write and books to read and baths to take and Two Dogs to love. Not a lot of room in my life to go cleaning up my web profile or jumping on any worry trains. I say turn off the TV (and the computer, even though I know it's hard) every now and then and see what is right in front of you.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
The most difficult month of the year?
January, in my opinion, is the most difficult month of the year. It starts off nicely with New Year’s Day and the Tournament of Roses Parade (and a smattering of bowl games, if you’re into that). After that, though, January is one tough group of thirty-one days to endure.
Its other major holiday, Martin Luther King Jr. Day, is not exactly one of fun and frolic. The worst of winter usually crashes down on us in January; even in temperate climates such as California, gray and rainy days are more likely. You have to wait patiently for Valentine’s Day (unless you’re a retail store). Catalogs mock you with their spring fashion issues. In other words, you want to go to bed and not wake up until February 1.
Well, January doesn’t have to be that bad if you use your imagination. It’s the start of a new year. Why not let January be the month where you try new things that will make you smile?
Such as…
1. A new exercise video. Since some of you are using this month to start new health resolutions, why not try a workout that burns boredom as well as calories – such as Hemalayaa's Bollywood fitness series, Zumba Fitness, Soul Sweat Dance, and Nia.
2. New foods. Think about all those old Bon Appetit magazines you’ve saved, or the manila envelope of printed recipes that’s tucked between the cookbooks in your kitchen. Justify your saving those and actually try a new recipe. It’s good to stay home with some good food on a January night.
3. New movies. The films that are most likely to be nominated for Oscars this month will probably still be playing at the cinema. If you aren’t interested or have already caught them during the holidays, amp up your Netflix renting (take full advantage of not having to go out to rent movies!)
4. New books. The trees of January are barren, but the bookstores of January are ripe with new fruit. This Tuesday (January 5), I look forward to buying the new memoir Committed by Elizabeth Gilbert, who wrote the megaseller Eat, Pray, Love. Even a year later, I still consider myself a newlywed, and I think I can learn something from Committed. (FYI, I bought Eat, Pray, Love for fifty cents at a library bookstore, so I owe Ms. Gilbert a new book purchase!)
Fill your January with joy, and it will seem to go by pretty quickly. Oh, and don't stare too long at those leaveless trees!
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