No, this is not me. But, if only. You see, once upon a time there was an 11 year old boy called “Matty” who was quite good on his wheels and he often thought that the path of life would lead to be just like this man! But, then disco became uncool. As did perms and bushy staches. Not to mention flare leg’d pants. However, now, at 40 I think I’m ready to take my spin on the roller disco floor! But, I’m still not sure. But in the near future I shall invest in a pair of roller skates. I know I will not be able to aspire to the level of smooth 70’s funky cool as this gent, but I do hope to be able to do that move in my boot cut Mavi jeans! …maybe I will find a vest at the thrift shop.
Of course, my best pal, Ing, is a champion skater from way back and has still retained her skills. She will be my coach. I’m thinking that once I get mine back she and I just might build a barn in your back yard and put on a roller disco musical! It is high time for one. You have to admit!
But, one thing is for sure! I will be starting my biking adventures as of tomorrow! Yes, I’ve insurance as of tomorrow! Today, I might pick up a basket for my kick-stand’d bike. Why? Because I’m wicked cool and do not want to get my messenger bag caught in the wheels or to slip from my person! Silly! Why do you ask me such silly questions!
Yes, I’m soon to be on wheels! Watch out, baby!
“…Well I’m hell on wheels say I’m roller crazy
I won’t go too fast no I won’t go too far
We’ll be high on wheel if the room gets hazy
Just look out for me I’m your guiding star
guiding star, guiding star
See something you like, better go for it
See something you want, better get down on it
See something you like, better go for it
See something you want
Let’s roll hell on wheels let’s roll
Come on and roll with me
I roll at a quarter till three yeah
And let’s rock hell on wheels let’s rock
Come on and rock it with me
I’ll make you feel so free yeah, look out
If you see something you like, you better go for it
If you see something you want, you better get down on it…”
“Maybe I have a cellulite problem. No. No, this is definitely his problem. In fact, this is so much his problem it is not even any of my business! No. This is my business! In fact, this is so much my business that it is not even his problem!”
(Mary pauses, runs her finger across her teeth to be sure that there are no lipstick marks, switches the kitchen TV dial to ‘on’ — the TV starts going into detail of hostage situation at a bank — Mary puts her arms on her hips)
“…Maybe I’ll wax my floor again.” — soap opera organ music kicks in and we fade out.
God Bless Norman Lear (and Louise Lasser!)
I just read an article about how former President Nixon aide and soon to be deadpan comic actor/odd game show host Ben Stein wrote a letter which helped Lear keep his early 70’s TV show stay on the air
as censorship threatened to tear the show from television.
One would think that some 30 plus years later this satire of the US middle class and soap operas would have lost its bite. Interesting to note that the show is still rather bold, controversial, uncomfortable and oddly unsettling in what I can only describe as an innocently insightful views of contemporary life. The only things that have aged are the clothing, hairstyles and media technology.
“Everyone just relax! It’s all going to be alright! We’re going to the House of Pancakes!”
It so totally sucked. I had rehearsed the number time and time again. And, I had carefully reviewed all the cues with Ruddy but he still screwed it all up. Once again, as the song reached that single second when slide back into the chair and pull the chain so that the water splashes all over me with the full-on-impact of the light shining out from behind me to the audience — nothing but the thud of the bucket hitting the stage.
Yep. Ruddy forgot to properly secure the bucket AND he forgot to fill it with water! And Feelisha left her special pole in view stage left.
So, there I am. My back arched perfectly. The back of my neck braced against the top of the chair. I mean, I was in perfect form! It should have been magic.
…and, then they laughed at me.
No applause or gasps at my generous artistry. Nope. Just chuckles and a few shout outs for Feelisha to return with her stupid pole — which is in dire need of a washing I might add!
I did my best to recover.
I jumped up, managed a triple back flip and pulled my the right top of my torn sweat shirt further down my shoulder. I held up both hands and did my best to dazzle. I then pranced around the chair while I drop-kicked the bucket backstage. And, I swear! I didn’t know that Bebe Big Tits was standing there! Maybe I do need glasses. I hope those stitches don’t leave a scar. Bebe has had a pretty rough year — not to mention her soiled moment during her tribute dance to Rod Stewart. I’m telling you, you can plan all you want but sometimes the body functions have a mind all of their own. Anyway, Bebe was pretty sweet about it. I’ve almost got that taste out of my mouth.
After I rid the stage of the stupid bucket, I pranced down the kitty walk to see if I might collect any tips. As per usual I was able to dodge most of the beer bottles. We all know I’m nothing if not a fucking pro! However, there is always that one stray long neck! So, I was a little out of it when I made the mistake of thinking that the napkin at the end of the walk was a dollar bill. It was so totally nasty! Damn Feelisha and her wanton pole work! Why don’t they just toss those wipes on the floor?!!?
It is nights like those that actually make me happy just to get back to the site and focus on my welding. Even still, I think my lack of sleep is catching up with me. I almost welded Joe to my bracing bar. Damn! Good thing he was wearing his metal mesh muscle shirt! It was so cute — had had shown up with flowers. I think he should be out of the hospital next week. Note to self: Get him a card!
Maybe I’m getting too old for this game. Last week this smart ass kid told me that my “flash” was more like a “spurt”
…I don’t know. He might have meant it as a compliment. He hadn’t thrown anything at me or Lacey — who has never been the same since she lost that last ice skating competition. Poor baby. Anyway, Bebe convinced me that changing my banner to “Spurtdance” might work for her but I better stick to my “Flashdance” one. I still think I need to have a new sign made, tho. I’ve been using this one since 1988 when that bitch at the ballet academy fired me.
I do have a new idea for a dance, tho! Of course I will still be using my strobe lights, mime talents and prancing but this time I think I might work in a moment when I can break out a few new jazzer-cize moves! Note to self: Pick up some more glitter skin paint!
love and kisse, m
Not that there was anything earth-shattering going down as I sat with my Diet Coke in this dirty old diner in the heart of the Polk Street area. But, it was a bit unusual. It was filled with old men who were hopelessly in love with the sole waitress. A cute young woman who patiently waited on all of them and seemed to think it strange that I was there. I was killing time. I was waiting to leave. As were all the old men in this establishment. I guess the only difference was that I was planning on meeting friends to see a movie. I fear these men were killing time till they caught the next train to the next plane of existence.
“Now, Doll, put that ice cream on the pie after you heat it up!”
“Ok. You bet.”
“You know they conviscated my Kodak at rock concert once.”
“When did you go to a rock concert?”
“Oh, I guess it’s been years now. My wife was with me. She passed on about 20 years ago. I guess it must have been the early or mid-70’s.”
“I was born in 1980.”
“Yeah, well, I wanted to take a picture of Anne Murray for our daughter. You see, it was an Anne Murray show.”
“Yeah? Who is Anne Murray?”
“Well, you see, that’s my point. Now, my little girl — she loved Anne Murray! But her mother didn’t let her go on account of her grades.”
“Your daughter a bad student?”
“‘was’ a bad student! And, no! She was a doll! But, she was boy crazy for a while and her grades were slipping!”
“Yeah, well I been there. Did she like the picture?”
“What? What picture?”
“The one you took of Anne Murray!”
“Anne Murray? Oh! Yes! Anne Murray! Yes, well, you see we were in the nose bleed seats anyway. But, I took out our Kodak and some goon comes over and takes it out of my hand before I could even get the god damned picture took!”
“That too bad.”
“Yes, well I was talking to my daughter the other night and I reminded her about it all and she tells me that she never even liked Anne Murray and that her mother helped her get out of going to the show with us! Imagine that!”
“When did she call you? Here’s your pie. It hot. Be careful!”
“‘Your daughter! Why are you asking me about my daughter, Doll?”
“You say your daughter call you! When did she call you?”
“Who? Her? Oh, it’s been years, Doll.”
“I thought you say she just call you on the other night?”
“No! I never said that! I haven’t talked to my ungrateful daughter in years! Since my wife died! She passed on over 20 years ago now, you know.”
“Well, I sorry.”
“You know her?”
“No. What? Your daughter?”
“No, Doll Face! You know my wife?”
“No. I don’t know your wife. She die before I born!”
“Hmmmm… You’re just a baby, Doll. Hey! Did I tell you about the wedding I went to in Taiwan?”
“Yeah. You did.”
“But, you tell me again. Maybe I forget.”
…so, at some dirty old diner on Polk Street a young immigrant woman is serving pie, bringing hope and company to sad old men waiting to die. I closed my notebook which Ing taught me to keep and run to meet she, Alan and a few other cool people to see a movie.
And, I wonder: Will I live to be that old? Will there be a diner for me to sit in and will there be someone who wants to take the time to talk to me — and, even to listen? Most importantly, will this person remember to put the ice cream on my pie after it is heated?
but, then, my leg touches yours
somehow, the heat you radiate feels right
i roll back from the edge
i roll and move to you
your softness, your hardness, your breath
and i’m enveloped within you
A suggested double feature, if you think you’re tuff enough!
in which Connie Stevens gives full frontal ( a lot ) and ices the bad guys — after she either sleep with or teases them! This film is actually great fun — and is full of artistic merit! And, to think she wasted so much of her boundless talent on the likes of The Love Boat, Love American Style and Fantasy Island! Sigh. You know for a brief period, this film was the story of my life. Have I ever told you of my years of fighting crime and bedding most of gay Boston?!?!?
to be followed by:
…in which Susan Strasberg gets a back ache, discovers she has a tumor and then the doctors discover that it isn’t so much a tumor as it the VERY angry spirit of an American Indian morphing back into his original form via growing out of the method actress’ back! …this, too, happened to me during my Texas college years. …except my tumor turned out to be the spirit of a VERY angry truck stop waitress named Mitzy. …I still have the scar.
And, then if you think you really want to put yourself to ‘the test’ — you could toss in a bonus screening of this:
…in which a group of bad actors and even worse special effects creatively re-tell the story of JAWS but replace the shark with a really big grizzly bear! …and, instead of a the ocean — it is a pretty national park full of campers. Not that I want to give anything away, but they blow the bear up. …but not before someone gets a nice big, strong and firm bear hug. As a child I was bummed to discover that the scene pictured on the poster never actually happens in the movie. This never happened to me. Just one of the many reason I will not go camping!
True, not the entire series.
One can only hope we will find out more about the football coach who drowned in her soup, her neighbor’s miracle cure as she pursues her career in country music, does her the man who kidnap her ever remember that they went to elementary school together, who gave Mary the VD, will the grocery store have that stock she needs to be make her soup and is her daughter the Fernwood Mass Murderer or just an angst-ridden teen of the 70’s? And, finally, what is up with the slaughter of the chickens and goats? I mean, the killing of the family is one thing, but those poor animals?!?!
I don’t know, but I can’t wait to watch it! And, yes, I am SO there to pick up my copy on Tuesday!!!!
Librarian: Do you know what aspects of venereal disease she wants books on?
Mary Hartman: Um, I think mostly on the disease itself. And how not to die from it.
Librarian: Perhaps it would be better if your friend came in herself.
Mary Hartman: She can’t.
Mary Hartman: She’s in traction. God bless Norman Lear and Louise Lasser.
Mary Hartman: It was a wonderful book. It was guaranteed to improve my emotional health.
Harold Clemens: Did it improve your emotional health?
Mary Hartman: I think so, I definitely think so. You see, it was while I was reading that book that I realized that I needed glasses, and that made me feel much better. …hamburger helper on the way!
Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!!!! A pal from across the pond turned me on to a new book which was just published in the UK by journalist, Emma Brockes! She is one of my new idols! For Emma, you see, has written a book called “What Would Barbra Do?” which is one person’s personal journey on how musical plays and films inform and change our lives. Emma waves her freak flag high and with a great deal of wit.
And, while I’m only half way thru the magical book — I can see that she ascribes two ideas which I myself apply to live — she is missing two of mine, but she uses two of them and builds a solid case for why we should all apply these things to YOUR life! Yes, when facing a difficult problem it is time to turn to two sources for guidance: Barbra. Yes, just stop and ask, “Well, what would Barbra do?” ….she would NEVER give it up or back down! …or settle! And, the other times that are less pressing — one should refer to the film MARY POPPINS. It is quite important despite Dick Van Dyke’s bad accent. Read this book!!!
However, I am a bit confused by what Barbra is currently doing with her choice of DKNY specially designed gowns. It is most worrying. However, I figure it must be correct. I mean, it must be about empowerment and accepting that things fall but do get bigger. Maybe? Anyway, she knows what she’s doing. She is far richer than you!
…still, I wonder what the Clintons and the others thought when she walked in that big room with those huge honkers hanging free?!!?!?
And, I got a very exciting and important phone message today from my best pal, Ing! Ing scored a job!!!! And, not just any old job! No, Ms. Thaannng is now a publicist! Yes! You read it right! And working the PR for a way cool publishing house which promotes yoga during the course of the business day! It is a dream come true!!! Ing can finally be in a place where she can do her yoga in her high heels and power lunch! The world is about to be her oyster. Now, I just hope she remembers to keep in mind what Barbra would do as she works thru that all-quite-challenging learning curve period! I will be more than happy to let her know! I know my Barbra even if Bab’s fashion sense is currently escaping me. Congrats to our Ing! A gold star for her!!!! Whooo-hooo!!!
The other night I dreamed I had a baby daughter.
It was hot, but dry and I realized I was living in Arizona. I was living in the desert. I was driving a green pick-up truck and my baby was sitting next to me. She couldn’t have been more than a few months old but she wasn’t in a baby seat. Actually, she wasn’t even wearing a seat belt.
“Betty, I’ve told you time and time again — wear your seat belt!”
She didn’t answer me. She ignored me. I looked over at her and it struck me that Betty was ugly. My baby was ugly and mean.
“Betty. I’m speaking to you.”
Once again, she ignored me. Her father. But, if I was her father — who was her mother? Where had Betty come from and why were we in Arizona? And, why was I expecting a baby to speak to me? And, why the hell wasn’t she in a secure baby seat facing the seat instead of the dashboard? As all of these questions ran through my head and sweat poured down the fore of it — my baby spoke.
“Pa, I don’t wear no seat belt. Ya know better. I’s wears what I want when I’s want. And, ya better call me by my right name!”
“Betty, what do you mean? I named you Betty. It is your only name. Betty Stanfield. That is your name!”
Betty jumped up on to her tiny feet. I was terrified she might bang into the dashboard or the windshield. And, then I noticed that I had one of those little scented pine trees hanging from the rear view mirror. What had happened to me? How could this be real.
I slowed the car down to a stop. I was careful not to stop too fast as I didn’t want Betty to get hurt.
“I’s wanna to be called ‘Pumpkin’! I’s wanna be your baby pumpkin! I’s your baby pumpkin and I’s do what I’s wants!”
Betty began to jump up and down.
I instinctively knew that the only thing that would calm my ugly baby down was to plug in the Foghat 8-track tape she loved. As she jumped wildly about the front seat, I reached into the glove box, pulled out the tape and plugged it in.
“…Blessed are the days I spent with you,
Realizin’ precious moments we never knew.
Right now I’m just imagining this thing…”
Betty started to calm down. I noticed she had tiny razor sharp teeth. I felt a bit afraid. But, she sat back down and somehow managed to pull her seat belt on.
“I’s wants a new baby doll so me’s can play house with Johnnie-Ray! Pa, you’s gonna buy me a purtty baby doll!”
I knew I only had $3 but I also knew that I better find a way to get Betty the doll she wanted.
“Don’t you worry, sweetie. Daddy is going to get you the coolest doll that Daisy sells! You’re my pumpkin!”
“I loves you’s, Daddy!”
I sighed, started the truck and we were off to Daisy’s Department Store. I wondered if I might be able to convince Daisy to trade a doll for one of the birdhouses I had made. And, then I wondered when I learned to make doll houses.
As we drove down the long stretch of pavement Foghat sang on.
“…because I need, I need you baby,
I need, I need you by my side,
I need, I need, I need you to keep me satisfied,
Gonna hold you, I’m gonna to squeeze,
I’m going to love you…”
It struck me odd that I would have an 8-track tape — and, even more odd that it would be by Foghat. I hate Foghat. And, I realized that while my baby was an evil, illiterate, ugly vampire baby — she was my child. And, I loved her. Even if she did like Foghat.
A really sweet pal of mine gave me his bike about a year ago. I think I’ve ridden it once. Yes, I’m sure of it. I was in cut-offs, I was barefoot, it was about 1am on a Saturday morning and B and I jumped on our bikes and rode for all of about 10 minutes up and down Castro Street. I had not been on a bike since I was in 7th grade and things had changed.
This was not a 10 speed or a motorcross bike. It looked like a cool 10 speed to me but it wasn’t. But the most startling thing for me was the fact that the pedals were like little knife blades and they hurt my barefeet! And, there was no bell bottom guard across the chain in the even that I was wearing my way cool Diesel jeans?!!? AND, there is no mud guard over the back tire! …This was most worrying. What if it rains and I’m wearing my neat-o-vintage jacket found at that little thrift shop in the Inner-Sunset?!?!
However, I remember one odd thing that came up that night as I seemed to terrify my lover — I like to go fast and just soar down from the top of our steep streets. And, man, you can go fast! Anyway, I remember jumping off the bike after only about 10 minutes because the pedals were really hurting my feet — I jumped off I pushed the bike stand down. I stood the bike and sat on the pavement waiting for B to catch up. When he did he lectured me (in a sweet way about riding too fast and with no helmet)
…Helmet? Just for a bike? But, then he teased me and my way cool new free bike because — it has a kick stand. Huh? What is so funny about that? A kick stand?!?!
At the time, I remember attempting to tease him back about his incredibly tall and big bike which has no kick stand but has all these odd things for attaching camping stuff (or gear as I now know one calls it) — Anyway —
…Spring has sprung in our beautiful gay town! So, yesterday, I had wanted us to drive up to Santa Cruz, explore that city (Ing has told me so many cool things about it! — plus it could be fun to watch the hippies stumble about) — and I wanted to bring our bikes and ride all around the hippies and the beach!
It might be spring but it is still kind of cold. Well, actually, for me it is freezing. Ok. Ok. I know that for many of you who are in the Northeast or the UK 66 degrees is nothing. And, I lived in Boston for well over a decade. I do know from cold — and, it doesn’t really get cold here. But, I am thinner and I’ve fully acclumated to San Francisco. Or, not. No matter — I’m usually a bit cold. I like it. But, not for a bike ride on the beach. And, B was most worried that I would have an accident without a helmet or insurance. So, the planned bike ride and Santa Cruz beach trip was scrap’d.
Instead we ended up seeing INTO THE GREAT SILENCE at The Lumiere. Just under 3 hours, the film is about the daily lives of Carthusian Monks who live in near total silence in the French Alps in the Grande Chartreuse Monk Place. I’ve always heard of this place and it’s rumored to be untouched 17th Century beauty that only monks ever get to see. Anyway, B liked this very quiet movie, but I didn’t care for it.
I wanted to understand more about the monks and why when they finally get to speak to each other they talk about whether or not they really need to wash their hands so much. Nothing very deep. It was all so mundane. And, I think the director and the monks see this as the pathway to The Divine.
So, I think the movie was trying to be meditative. I was just more or less bored. I found it wanting for some Enya or Enigma so that I might fall into slumber with my popcorn instead of my mind wondering back to the issues of my bike. And, trust me — I never think of Enya or Enigma. …or, monks for that matter. Somewhere in the first 120 minutes I found myself imagining how funny it would be if there were suddenly to be some Satanic homo-orgy — or, even more fun, if Julie Andrews were to run on to the screen and the monks were to break out into a rousing rendition of “Maria” — in French! That would have jazz’d things up a bit.
You see, the kick stand teasing started up again. And, I refused to accept that the concept of the kick stand was gone. However, we live in a city filled with bikes. And, I looked around and guess what! …there are no kick stands! I’m sorry, but what the fuck is that all about? Are we to just let our bikes fall to the pavement willy-nilly!!?? And, what if the same concept is applied to motorcycles!?!? People!!! I’m warning each of you — it will be total anarchy! Tho, maybe that would be a cool thing. I don’t know. But, whatever happened to good ol’ normal bikes!?!?! It’s sad. …what bikes have become! And, if I sound like a bitter old man — maybe I am! D’oh!
And, then, after B began to describe his fears and concerns for my safety if I rode without a helmet it made me realize that I might need one. True, I require for both he and Ing to wear protective insect-like ugly protective helmets. This is because I love them and do not want them to be hurt or brain damaged. Also, it is kind of cute to see them in those silly little caps. But, I digress.
Anyway, the thing is — those I love should do as I say not as I do. But, B convinced me. So, we went to this scary basement-o-sport-product place in the SOMA area. It was this ugly place filled with healthy looking people in rapture over ugly Northern Face junk and uncomfortable looking yoga mats. What is up with that?!?! And, they were playing techno music best left behind at a Rave in 1990. I worry for folks sometimes. Seriously.
And, there was an entire wall of really ugly helmets from which I was required to select one. …For me. …For myself. Yes. A helmet that was destined to ruin my hair did and make me look incredibly uncool as I am already with kick stand and I’m sorry but I can’t adapt to the current state of athletic footwear. I much prefer my Ben Sherman or Diesel sneakers. However, this is not how my fellow bikers journey. Ugh! I mean, the last thing I need is one of those fugly helmets while I’m already working at a biker fashion deficit.
So, at first I resisted and convinced B that the skater helmets would work just as well and looked way-cooler!
I was wrong.
I put one on and I looked “special” …and I do not mean that in a cool and sweet kind of way. No. I looked retarded. Like I was about to be air-lifted to the Special Olympics Relay Team or something. However, my modeling did give B and a couple of far-too-healthy-looking people a laugh. Apparently, only kids can get away with the skater helmet.
Anyway, I found a helmet. It is the standard alien-like thing that sort of rests a-top the cranium like a bug about to suck out your brain matter. Anyway, it is white and B has promised to draw on some of my fave logo design stuff like the Peace Symbol, Hello Kitty, logos of The Who, Goldfrapp, Blondie and KISS!
…However, it has struck me that this might make me look a bit “special” too. But, I don’t care. I have to infuse a bit of me into that ugly thing.
In the end I dream of a flower decorated banana seat bike made by Schwinn circa 1974 just like the one my parents and Grandmother refused me!
And, I want a basket! Yes, a basket so I don’t have to invest in one of those ugly backpacks that everyone seems to like. And, dammit! I want a fucking kick stand!!!
But, until that dream becomes a reality in some alternate universe I shall have to make do. April 1st I shall have insurance coverage and will start riding my bike to work! …most likely my attempts at wheelies and racing the #22 bus will result in smudging my newly decorated helmet, but so it goes.
(sigh) Heavy is the crown I wear. It is not easy being me, kids. …I haven’t felt this angst since my then best friend convinced me to let go of my Jordache jeans for Levis 501’s. …which never fit my ass right anyway. God bless GAP and DIESEL… And, The Cocteau Twins!