Whew! I wrote a long, manic piece last night made from bits of text messaging with friends. There was much there, but it was poorly written and dogmatic. It was both offensive and defensive. I wanted to write it so badly last night.
Now it is gone.
If I did that with every post, wrote it and let it sit for twelve or more hours and read it before I published it, there would be nothing here, I'm certain. There would be no blog.
I am better off riffing.
I didn't leave the house again yesterday. Day 2. I just didn't want to. I decided to make a breakfast out of leftovers. I chopped green peppers and garlic and sautéed them for two minutes. Then I took the leftover brown rice and small red beans and dumped them in the pan. And when they were good and hot, I dropped in two eggs. Kosher salt, black and red pepper. Plated, I topped the mess with tabasco sauce. It looked like Fido's ass, but it tasted fine. I wanted champagne to go with it, of course, but I had to settle for Modello with a Bloody Mary mix.
Then, once again, I put on music and worked on images. When I looked up, it was time to go to mother's.
A trip to Fresh Market. I wanted a no-cook Saturday night. A poke bowl, some sesame noodles, and a small bottle of cheap sake.
Dinner on the deck. I noticed that the crepe myrtle had bloomed.
I shared the pic with my friend who is sitting with her hospitalized father. "Only because you asked," I said.
"Yes. . . distract me."
I feel stupid, of course, but I am. I'm like a kid about things.
After I finished eating, I poured a worm killer and lit the remains of yesterday's cheroot. Not a cheroot, but not quite a cigar. The cat came for a second feeding. She has only been around a couple times this week, but tonight she hung out, so I stayed out longer than I would have. The heat had dissipated, but after awhile I was bored.
"So long, Cat." But I felt guilty.
Desert was more watermelon. I have been buying some very good cut melons. I turned on t.v. YouTube suggested this.
It was really good. Really very good. I didn't know a lot of the stuff about Bruce that was in the documentary. I didn't know what a straight arrow comic he started as. I "discovered" Bruce at sixteen when I started working at a record store. That was a transformational time for me. I was reading Playboy magazine--READING--and learning that there was a world "out there." I had my first car and spent my afternoons after school in movie theaters in an attempt to escape my dreadful life. Having the record shop job was fairly hip. When no one was in the store, I would explore the bins. I could play the albums (weird, right?) and I became enamored with soul music and jazz. Part of my job was to make 8 track tapes from play lists people brought in. The whole thing was illegal, but I heard a lot of new music. My car was filled with 8 tracks of Antonio Carlos Jobim, The Modern Jazz Quartet, Charlie Byrd, and, of course, Astrud Gilberto. I threw in Elvis's soundtrack to "Blue Hawaii" for good measure.
I also had albums by Lenny Bruce. They were a revelation. I would go to school and do the bits. They were shocking. I liked the look on people's faces. It was fun.
Bruce, it turns out, was a momma's boy. And what a mom. Lenny was in the navy, then, because he performed for the troops in drag, he was out. He married a stripper, then made her stop stripping. He made his own movies. I've never seen anything but clips, but they looked like the films by Ed Wood.
He got divorced and appeared on the Steve Allen Show.
I wish I could cut my own versions. Maisel captures the bit in its entirety. The show is able to reveal Bruce's entire history in mere moments. But I can't cut my own bits, so here. And you will just have to take my word for it--The Steve Allen Show was the hippest show ever to air on a commercial network.
But maybe you already know.
While I was watching the doc, I got texts. I'd pause and write, then return to the show. It is a long documentary, and with the pausing and writing, it was getting much longer. And when the doc was over, there was more texting. And I must have been drinking because my texts were becoming more revelatory. But maybe that was simply the result of watching the documentary on Bruce.
And it went on late into the night. For me. It was long past midnight when I finally took to my bed.
* * *
I find I'm becoming more irreverent lately. Again. The world is so fucked up. . . . I tried to tell people, but they are stupid and wouldn't listen. And so. . . we got what we got.
I like that image at the top of the page. It is so bizarre. There is a song that goes with it, I think, something like this.
I love this stuff. What's the old saying--you can’t please anyone if you can’t please yourself. Or was it. . . if you can’t please anyone, you might as well please yourself. . . .
"All alone. . . I'm happy alone, don't you see? I've convinced you. . . ."