Are You Thinking About Your Wallet?
June 4, 2008
It’s a nasty habit.
thank you global warming (lyrics)
May 14, 2008
Last month my wife done left me
She took the car and the dog
But it don’t mean a thing next to
Global warming
I read about it on some blog
We’ll be surfing in Nevada
We’ll dive down to Beverly Hills
We can water ski in the arctic, you see -
Around all the oil drills!
Thank you GW thank you, thank you
Thanks for a nice hot day
Thank you GW, thanks to you
My troubles seem far away!!
Just last week I lost my job
So depressed I couldn’t see.
But in a few years in hot water to our ears
Why should that matter to me?
Notes From the Western Front
May 14, 2008
The Olympic Torch ….it was here?
Aka the flame of free speech sputters
SF: Where are your balls?
A few weeks ago the Olympic torch made its only “US appearance” in SF. The city fathers, fearing massive demonstrations as seen in France etc., took matters into their own hands. Of course, the Chinese community in SF is powerful and embarrassment was something to be avoided at all costs. Debts had to be paid. The United States is a country FOUNDED on dissent, yet today dissent is the first casualty under the wheels of political expediency…yes, debts must be paid.
The planned route was through the Financial District. That day I happened to be waiting for a bus at Sacramento and Battery, looked up and saw a horde of protesters RUNNING up Battery Street….frantically looking for that damn torch. They weren’t even close.
The city had a last minute plan. From the airport, they BUSED the torch to Van Ness Ave. (other side a the hill)…and skulked it up to the Marina, quick left on Doyle….and done. The hyperventilating mob of China-bashers didn’t have a chance…. a sign-wielding many-legged creature in search of a venue.
Way to go SF …. land of the free. The musket boys on Lexington Green would be proud.
Choice: Truth and Consequences
April 24, 2008
I certainly have difficulty with the truth, being that it’s subjective. The truth, to me, is the truth that suits me. The truth I already believe. When I ask a friend to tell me the truth and they tell me the truth, I am appalled. Yes, I want to hear the truth, but I want you to tell me the truth that I expect to hear from a friend, a nice person, a generous, kind, tender person who doesn’t want to hurt my feelings. And yet, when I offer my truth to everyone around me, whether they ask for it, or not, they are appalled.
Gee, I’m only trying to help. I must feel that the way I see things is the way they are, and if the way I see things is not acceptable to you, it’s because you can’t face the truth. If I am appalled when you tell me your truth, it’s because your truth is groundless.
I recently offered unsolicited advice to an old friend about his novel and I don’t think it went over too well, because after a bit of bantering, he dropped off the map. I feel that I did him a favor, although, now that the novel is published, it’s really too late isn’t it? I was playing the martyr. The “friend” who is a “real friend” because I have the courage to tell him the truth and his other friends, a bunch of sissy syncophants, are trying to make him feel good.
The truth is, I didn’t really read the novel. I looked through it quickly. I read a few sentences in a couple of chapters. I was offering a friend advice on his novel that I didn’t read. Why? I was in bed with depression and was trying to kill time. I mentioned to my writer friend that I was in bed alot. He asked Why? I said, I am Bi-polar. I never heard another word.
Imagination vs. Reality
April 15, 2008
The beauty industry would have us believe that we can change our haircolor and make it look natural. I wanted to be a blonde, and bought a blonde wig and walked around town with it and got some pretty good side glances. The reality is, when you bleach your hair, it falls out, so you have to keep cutting it short so that the bald spots can be covered with the use of hair products that help you maneuver the intact hair threads in such a way as to partially hide the terror. I wore sunglasses for four years straight, until the blonde broken bleached hairs grew out and were replaced with my now silver highlighted simply dark brown hair. Please be careful.
Laurel Buys Crypt in New Orleans
February 26, 2008
AP: New Orleans, LA:Unable to shake a particularly toxic period of depression, I have recently purchased a crypt in New Orleans. There are good deals on cemetary plots in the Crescent City, due to water damage and I need to prepare for the inevitable, as do we all. A born performer who does not perform is like a lemming prevented from jumping off a cliff by a brick wall. I have tried every anti-depressant, vitamin, guru, and art form, including the weaving of pot holders. Nothing lifts my spirits except the thought of cabaret performances that lead to the eradication of my audience’s own sadness. My mother’s illness and death, along with the fear of homelessness, threw me off track for a few years, but it seems there are no alternatives to the pursuit of a dream, except a bargain crypt. Your assignment: pursue your dream.
Assistant Guru’s Chosen for Top-Secret Vermont Writer’s Retreat
December 23, 2007
Del Long, of Newport, Rhode Island and Death Valley, Arizona, has been named Assistant Guru at the Top-Secret Dr. Casey Vermont Writer/Yoga Retreat, along with drug-runner, Harry Slidell, and Escort, Donna Botchkin. Del will spend one hour a year meditating on the meaning of life at the Retreat. This hour will be video-taped and made available to graduates of the Retreat Program. Del has been enlightened since 1968, while serving in Vietnam as a helicopter pilate. Harry Slidell, of New Orleans, has been selling drugs since 1988, and provides alcoholics with liver damage alternatives to cheap booze. Donna Botchkin, who runs a very successful Escort Service in Boston, will offer a two-hour talk on Tax Evasion and the Missionary Position. Mr. Matt Macintire, of Washington, D.C. has offered to develop an on-site pottery installation consisting of cups and saucers. Ms. Rebecca Baxter, of Sarasota, Florida will join Dr. Casey’s brother, Philip Casey, Jr. for a photographic field expedition of manure pies. They will work in conjunction with Harry Slidell, who is developing a manure substance that can be inhaled.
The picture: This is my dear old friend, Del, and we have the same birthday. So what? Del got me started writing in 1994 or 5. We were dating, living in Brooklyn, but not together, and he decided to travel cross country with Paul Geremia, the guitarist. Del was going to play piano and keep Paul company. That left me in Brooklyn with nothing to do except pine away because at that point I didn’t want to do anything but sit on top of him, drink wine, sleep, go to a movie.
Bro’ Casey reports from S.F.
December 1, 2007
I’ve lived in SF for over 20 years and for the first 10 I was amazed at the acceptance of any sort of bizarre appearance or behavior. I came to think that, here, you can express yourself freely without any filtering.
I was wrong.
For instance, in SF, it is unacceptable to think bad thoughts - about yourself or other people. Think them if you must – it’s like falling off the wagon - but under NO circumstances do you actually VOICE those thoughts. Then people will know what you’ve been thinking. And God forbid should you ever YELL (unless it’s at an appropriate venue such as a Down with the Man parade). Read more
There is somebody in my house in Vermont. A nice man is renting my house and I am thrilled because that man is renting my house and sending me money so that I can rent an apartment in Providence. Now, wait a minute. Does this make sense? I thought so, a few weeks ago, when I was working here, singing, planning, organizing, hob-knobbing, but as of today, as I lugged a bunch of my crap up two flights of stairs on the East Side, all the while knowing I would have to lug the crap back down the two flights of stairs a few months from now— as of today, I thought to myself, “Gee, I don’t feel very good in my head” I sat on the stairs, dirty stairs, very dirty, and considered my situation. I blamed the town of Bridport , Vermont, for not having a Dunkin Donut’s or a Cafe, a bar or a nightclub, a college, tennis courts, health club, movie theater. Then I blamed myself for wanting those things. Then I blamed myself for having those things here in Providence and not taking advantage of them because I like staying home and reading in bed. Now, if I like staying home and reading in bed, why don’t I just move back to my own home, in Bridport, and wait out the winter with Charles Dickens and Mark Twain? Now that I have rented my house, I miss it. It is not available. That is why I was so sad today, moving into what I thought was a nice apartment on the East Side. It is somebody elses house and always will be, no matter how many knick knacks, rugs, paintings, books, personal items I stuff into it. Renting makes me feel insecure, more insecure than worrying about how to pay my property tax. It’s silly, because none of us own anything fully. Still, sombody is in MY house and i am in somebody else’s house, and it’s ridiculous in a way that I can’t quite comprehend and it is making me very very sad.