Good god.

Sigh...

Back in Chicago and I fly home this evening. My feet seem to have been surgically removed and replaced with two burning tender stumps of pulpy flesh. Remind me not to wear high heels for about three years.

Each night has been a tour of liquor-ish flavors what with margaritas, whiskey drinks, gin and tonics. Spent much time running around with the WEFM, (wee elusive Frenchmen) including Mr. Don Cavalli. That rocked. He's a feisty one...and so wee! Oui.

I am proud to announce several things regarding music.

1) Jerry Lee Lewis showed up and played his heart and soul and guts out. He really is a killer-diller, despite being about four-hundred and seventy-three.

2) I met Ike Turner and he was awesome. He was looking at me so I walked up to him and mumbled something akin to, "I-I-I- wanna mettchou." He was muscular and compact, wearing an expensive track suit and possibly the bling-iest Star of David necklace I've ever seen. I asked him if people recognize him a lot and he gruffed, "Yeh." He offered to get his picture taken with me and so there is now one with me, Ike Turner, Brad Fordham, Lisa Pankratz, and Marti Brom. When I get it I'll post it.

3) Barbara Lynn, soul chanteuse and ass-kicking thumb-picking left-handed funk guitarist, played this festival and I about died when she tore into "You'll Lose a Good Thing." Hot damn, but I love that song. She talked non-stop patter withthe audience, drawing them willingly into her personality until we all stood transfixed, temporarily rendered helpless by an urge to either scream out, "A-MEN, sistah!" or plunge headlong into background vocals, doo-wop hands, shiny costumes, and fake hair.

Whoops! Already got the fake hair bit covered. In fact, I'm already there.

Anyhow, I decided Barbara Lynn is the compendium of bad-ass women musicians. She really TRULY rocks that funky beat...plus she lives in Beaumont and I'm gonna find her and sit down and have a chat.

More highlights later. Mostly I just want to go home and see my kitties, my bed, my cell phone which I lost, and a couple of my friends. Yay.

Nappie time.

The man is my weak spot, sho' nuff.

Drum roll please....my soul search at this weekend's Austin Record Convention is a Ruth Johnson recording for the Stax Records subdivision, Volt Records.

Specifically: Volt 133--Ruth Johnson's I'll Run Your Hurt Away/Weak Spot.
Produced by Isaac Hayes and David Porter, 1965.

I must own it. With lyrics like the following, how could I not?
******************************
WEAK SPOT
There he is
Standin' in the crowd
Whenever I see him
I wanna scream " I love you" out loud
The man is my weak spot!
Sho' nuff, he's my weak spot
I said the man is my weak spot
(Oooh, I'm gonna love him
Oh, I'm gonna love him right now)

I look so silly
To see what he wants
My heart says to grab him
But the pride, the pride says don't

I tell you he's my weak spot
So glad he's my weak spot
I said the man is my weak spot
I can't help it, I can't help it
The man can't help it, the man, the man, the man
The man is my weak spot!


I see him
And things jump up in my mind
My love stays warm for him
All of the time
I can't help it, he's my weak spot!
Sho' nuff, he's my weak spot
So take your hands off my weak spot
Don't mess with my weak spot
Cause I love, I love my weak spot
And I need, I need my weak spot

****************************

The last time I went on a search like this, it was an obscure song by Julie Driscoll & Brian Auger, from a 1964-1968 UK mod/R&B compilation.

I found it, too. Anyone want to come with me?

Engaging in A Solemn Pheromoney.

Here's a good article. Read before you read farther:

http://www.sfn.org/content/Publications/BrainBriefings/pheromones.html

**************************
Okay, Now we can get started.

The other night I hung out with Monica and was catching her up on all my latest exploits, what with the SXSW Film and music festival. Which included (but was not limited to) the oft-bawdy stories of the "Single SXSW'er." And this year, BOY, did I have a lot to tell her!

Basically it boiled down to me spilling out my general befuddlement regarding an increase in male attention that I have been getting recently. It's not necessarily a good or a bad thing...it just feels odd. Not that it matters or affects my personal life...every night when I go home, it's to my own two kitty-girls, by my choice. But I'm just frickin' perplexed.

I mean, I'm still the same person I was, so why? Is it just because I've decided to genuinely stay single? Or is the mystery of a more physical nature?

Monica seemed to think it's due to a combination of a rise in self-confidence, and my emission of personal pheromones. This theory compounded into a long and involved discussion of every possible factor of my sexuality and current emotional status. The question I never thought I'd have to ask: Am I in heat?

A smidge of disconcertion is beginning to settle upon me. I've met many people over the past couple of weeks. What's been happening is that I meet someone and they act as if they are drawn, SO drawn to me, that it doesn't feel real. It's like I slipped 'em a Mickey. And we're talking about people I know as well as those I don't. Am I projecting this or inviting this in some manner?

For instance, at Beerland last Sunday while I was talking to a certain person who happens to be male (and an interest of mine), ANOTHER guy I know (a very casual acquaintance) came up to me and gave me a hug...and then he looked at me with this funny little "noticing" look in his eye and started in on how I smelled of sunshine and green apples. What??? I mean, COME ON! Haha.

Of course I'd been go-go dancing all night so I was pretty sensitive that I was a bit on the odiferous side...but perhaps that was the attractor? I just don't know. Basically at that moment, it was a combination of girly sweat and hastily sprayed Mary Kay perfume. Huh.

Anyhow, the look in his eyes caught me off guard. I did a double take on his stare, even. He hovered there uncertianly, as if waiting for me to do something more, like maybe chat him up? I might have, I suppose, had I not been in mid chat-up with someone else.

That's just one example, but it really has been like that for the past month or two. Why? I can't figure it out. I mean, I'm the same person as I always was. I've put on a little more weight lately and frankly, haven't felt all that attractive the past few weeks due to said weight gain and overindulgence in blatantly supine activities. But that's just me, apparently.

Last night, I met what appears to be a stellar young man (who I actually DO hope to get to know better), but again I was faced with the pheromones dilemma. It was actually pretty humorous.

I'm sitting on the couch with him, pretending to read a newspaper but actually quite distracted by his presence, and he says all close in my ear, "You have an intriguing smell." Now, don't get me wrong, I think this young man is really unique and I don't think that what he said was pithy or inappropriate. But, given my 45-minute conversation with Monica on Friday night concerning my overactive pheromones, it was all I could do to keep a few chortles from bubbling out.

Not wanting to put him off or discount his statement, I lowered the paper and asked the air in front of me, "Would you say it's my pheromones?" An eager assent.

I nodded my head, knowingly.

*must not laugh out loud.* *must not laugh out loud.* *must not laugh out loud.* *must not laugh out loud.*

Perhaps I need to bottle up my secretions and send them to one of the numerous websites for one of those 'human pheromones' perfumes?

Ewwwwww. Never mind.

*********
By the way, what is WITH the pheromone-perfume thing? It's utterly laughable. To me it smacks of falseness akin to 'natural' breast enhancement, toupees, and water-bras. What happens when you run out of perfume? Do your minions hit the road? Are you forever enslaved to the pheromone perfume-maker? Immortal words, those: "It's not nice to fool with Mother Nature."

Pfffft. Spreading a liquid containing "human pheromones" on your upper lip. Like drops of acid for the lonely, desperate, and probably now-broke.

Indeed.

A moment in your life...and mine.

There's a question I thought of a few months back and I just remembered it again. Not that it could be answered in a larger sense, but still...many people, if they have had this experience, remember the moment with perfect clarity.

When was the exact moment you lost your innocence?

By this I mean a moment of clarity, a real comprehension of the harshness of life, followed by the inevitable depressing feeling that there is NOTHING you can do about it. Life will never be exactly what you want it to be.

Mine was sitting on my bed at age 11, staring my wall. It was marred with dirty fingerprints from many lonely patty-cake games, and the bottom half was scuffed with the marks from my stomping, frustrated feet. My mother had locked me in my room to pray. I remember feeling overwhelming despair, both at the situation and the realization that I had been fighting this very epiphany for almost three years.

Planning an adventure can really work! Part Two

Veering, screeching, careening, lurching, cursing, and leching brought me to the Alamo Drafthouse South at 1:45pm. I was in a hurry because I sure as hell wasn't about to pay for a SXSW filmpass and I wanted to make sure I could catch Rusty's short doc on the Ramones...and the Bob Wills one, too!

When I arrived, my poor car was begging for mercy and I was all business as I stepped out into the sunshine. Turns out the attendance was light and I saw hide nor hair of Rusty or Jason. Why weren't they there? It was Rusty's show, damn it! I went in and asked, and gave them his description should he walk in under my radar. I went into the new theater which still smelled like paint. I didn't know what to make of the comfortable seats and new method of ordering food (you stuck your order into a magnetic strip instead of on the little pole thingie).

I waited anxiously for their arrival and then finally realized, what the hell do I care if they're there or not? I was planning to come alone all that time anyway, so why was I being so anxious to find Rusty and Jason?

I sat back and watched the show. Rusty's film was the first. Was he there to see it? I couldn't waste my time looking around to find out. I watched as images of a teenage Rusty filled the screen, especially a particularly poignant moment where his buddy sniffs his armpit. I enjoyed Rusty's voiceover monologue a lot. The whole concept was so simple: I LOVE THE RAMONES.

With such a simple concept, one might surmise that the creator himself was simple as well. But I found the movie a lot like the person, from what I had observed in the past 24 hours. No frills, no pretentions. Purveyor of a simple idea with a sardonic, idiosyncratic quality and boyish intensity. Underneath, less obvious but equally important layers of softness and sentiment. Without those, the movie would have been total bullshit. Bravo, old chap! Bravo!

Following that was a tribute to Blue Rodeo, which was a well illustrated (literally) depiction of one fan's love for this band. Nicely done...but in the end, the band he spoke of was SO god-awful!!! It honestly ruined the entire short for me. For crying out loud, get some taste, man!

A short doc on jam sessions occurred after that which was interesting in theory, but way too scattered...followed by a documentary on a piano factory. I was interested in this at first as it was extremely well done...but soon I drifted off into a nap, and when I came to some guy was talking about piano auras and other existential theories which in my cranky waking state ruined the whole thing for me. I went back to sleep.

But then as the opening notes of "Faded Love" hit my ears, I sat up straight with eyes and ears wide open. The documentary on Bob Wills contained TONS of footage I had never seen, including the McKinney Sisters! I sat transfixed and teary-eyed throughout. It was wonderful.

After the lights came on they did a Q&A session and lo and behold! Rusty & Jason had made it in without my noticing. Rusty did a great Q&A job complete with an embarrassing moment for me, when he pointed to me and told people to go check out my band. Ay-yi-yi. Floor, swallow me now.

Having an adventurous mindset with no real objectives, I spent the rest of the day with those guys. We went to grab a bite at Casino and then Rusty did what I now know is "his thing" which is to sneak me into a party to which I am not invited. All of a sudden I am in a Directors' Guild of America party with a whiskey and coke in my hand and having an intense conversation with some cute producer fellow from Tucson. I told him the story of the human ear and we worked out a basic outline for the most effective telling.

On the whole, I found the hair in the affair to be a little too carefully feathered and tousled. I saw a few too many drunk skinny chicks hanging on the arms of guys wearing cool t-shirts under blazers, with jeans. What a larf. Oh, did I say "larf?" I meant "lark."

To top it all off I am talking with the fellow from Tucson when my Phoenix-based costume designer of a brother calls me to tell me he's passing through town. I give him directions to the party and he pulls up and for five minutes, he hobnobs with the Tucson producer. I give him a hug, and off he went. I probably won't see him again for yet another year.

By this point, my adventures had reached the pinnacle of surreal and things began to wind down. I had come to terms with my M.O. for the day, which was to adopt an uncharacteristic "lamb-who-follows-unquestioningly" approach to my night with the Film Dudes (which is the name I gave them in my cell phone).

This brought me to the Paramount theater and the premier of "Drop Dead Sexy" starring Jason Lee and Crispin Glover (reference a few blogs back for other projects of Crispie's). Unfortunately I couldn't hang when the guys tried to sneak me in, so I left...but then I realized I could *gasp!* PAY for a ticket to see the movie. I did, and I laughed and laughed all the way through....a guilty laugh, for what I heard in the murmers surrounding me, those in the film industry apparently thought it was "obvious." That's cool...they're about their films like I'm about roots music. I'll gladly make fun of any band with a big orange Gretsch as being "too obvious" any day.

Afterward we traipsed down to the Dicks reunion part 2, where I gradually realized my adventures had gotten the best of me. I took my leave of everybody, went home and passed out. Adventures complete!

ADVENTURES OF A DIFFERENT ILK
When I woke up yesterday I found out poor Emily's car had gotten broken into, wrecked and her stereo stolen. Our plumbing has a leak that has slowly but THOROUGHLY mildewed both of our closets, and I learned that we have an untameable hornet/mosquito/wasp issue, and that our bathroom window fell out out of the frame.

Nonplussed, I took the dog and escaped to Town Lake. It was an amazing day outside; warm and sunny with a strong, cool breeze. We happened upon a kite festival and so I lay down, staring in silence at all the kites in the sky above me. Roxy sat quietly next to me, nose pointed upward, doing the same. I got pegged in the side with a kite, too. Awesome. :)

What a fantastic weekend.

Planning an adventure can sometimes really work! Part One

I got off work on Friday evening with no plans in sight, and I felt strangely comfortable with this. Unfortunately this means I started off my weekend with a comfy nap, so I didn't make my braised artichoke stuffed with sun-dried tomato and ricotta as I had planned....BUT I WILL! Never fear.

Around 8:30 I hit Noel Waggener's art opening at Little City. He's a really amazing poster artist, in my opinion. It's a highbrow approach to lowbrow culture, and cool as all hell. I met some good people, too; a girl named Erin, and a few visiting from out of town who were very pleasant young men indeed.

Around 11 after a couple of plastic cups of wine and as yet no food, I made my exit and drove on down the road in search of something yet to be discovered. Somehow I ended up at the Dicks reunion show which I hadn't previously considered , because it cost too danged much.

But, my mood was propelling me and so I paid twelve bucks to get in....and promptly left, in search of I know not what (except maybe my freebie drink from my favorite Casino bartendress). On the way to Casino I unexpectedly ran into the wee clairvoyant yellow-ascot-wearing Austrian filmmaker (reference blog from early last week, and hereby to be referred to as the WCYAWAF). He was sitting with another fairly lost-looking filmmaker guy...but they were sitting all close and intimate which made me feel odd, so what do I do? I insensitively drag them both to Casino with me to sit at the bar while they drink water and watch me watch my ex-boyfriend and down whiskey and cokes...until at some point I realized that THIS was no adventure whatsoever. It was just pathetic.

So, I bid the WCYAWAF and his ambiguous buddy farewell, and tottered off back to Room 710 to get my goddamned money's worth. On the way I ate an al pastor taco. As I munched I idly wondered why I paid 12 bucks to get into the Dicks not even knowing if I would stay, but by then I had already paid and already left and come back to 710, so too little thought too late. Shrug.

I went in and Frankie's band was playing furiously and he looked adorable. That guy is the compendium of adorable anyway. He really is one of the gentlest and sweetest souls I know in this town.

I love his stage presence. He got all bloody and so I got all mama on him and warshed his wounds and chided him even though I know when I play and get blood all over my guitar I never EVER give a shit. I watched the Dicks reunion and all the people watching the Dicks reunion and it was a pretty damned good show.

Afterwards I whisked Frankie off to my house to make him sandwiches because as I said, I got all mama on his ass. I grilled up a feta-mozzerella-red-pepper-spinach-sundried tomato sandwich just for him and we sat in the living room hanging out with Cary and Emily for a while.

Then I took him back to his house and found out two fabulous things: 1) Frankie now lives in a house on the street behind me; and 2) his great roommate had a fellow staying with her that I had kind of wanted to meet even a couple of weeks ago, when I first heard about the 'Ramones and I" short documentary which was to be aired this week at the SXSW filmfest. So I went over to Frankie's and met Rusty Nails and his friend 'Tall Guy' Jason (who has obviously never met Westen, who is 7 foot 2). I really loved meeting them both; they were interested and interesting, friendly, dynamic people.

I talked with them for a while, getting all geeky and playing them the Casey Sisters and talking about loads of music and movies. I drove home (I don't know why I was driving, my house was a three-minute walk from there) and slept well with my girls by my side.

I slept well in part because I had NO idea what I was going to do today (Saturday). I figured that my evening's solo adventures could be considered a rousing success and more fun than I would have thought imaginable for planning jack-shit...so as I drifted off to sleep I resolved that the next day I would have yet MORE adventures.

And what do you know? I awoke this morning and DID have more adventures! I'll tell you about them in the morning. I've got to get some rest because tomorrow is going to be another adventure-filled day. I'm learning this because 1) I have no set plans, and 2) even if I just end up cleaning my room, I am quickly re-learning that "adventure" is merely a state of mind.

But then again, so's "drunk."
*hic*

The WCYAWAF.

So I met a wee, clarivoyant Austrian man over the weekend.

He was hip and droll....but mainly just wee. He stills sticks in my mind today because he was such a character. He wore a yellow scarf as an ascot and talked about reflexology and other odd, mystic beliefs. He's a filmmaker who moved from Vienna to Austin only 3 weeks ago. He was charming, but DEFINITELY a weirdie. I was strangely drawn to him, the way one can occasionally be to weirdies. It's not "Can I touch you?", but
Can I watch you?"

I even think he said something about having been involved with a cult, too. Maybe he's here to start the Austin chapter of "cult of the yellow-scarf-as-ascot". Not that we don't have enough of those here...they just stay indoors except for the Eeyore festival is all.

It's not every day one meets an ascot-wearing wee clairvoyant Austrian man, so I felt I should make note of it.

He told me the Austrian word for "mullet," too. Wahoo! (Uh, NO. It's not "wahoo.")

Oh, yes! One more thing. True to form, my inbox this morning had yet another apropo "Word of the Day." How do they do it?
**************************************
Word of the Day for Monday March 7, 2005

fey \FAY\, adjective:
1. Possessing or displaying a strange and otherworldly aspect
or quality; magical or fairylike; elfin.
2. Having power to see into the future; visionary;
clairvoyant.
3. Appearing slightly crazy, as if under a spell; touched.
4. (Scots.) Fated to die; doomed.
5. (Scots.) Marked by a sense of approaching death.

Sunday sermon: One moment to note the importance of....

I'd like to take a moment to recognize what to me is one of life's greatest inventions: the garbage disposal.

How many times have the glories of the garbage disposal been shouted from the hilltops? Nay, "seldom" is the word, my friends. So it would behoove you to take a moment and give thanks for its existence.


When you go forth into your week; when you feed it leftover rice, beans, sludge, slush and science experiments; just remember that although you may only see one set of footprints, do not fear. It was those moments when the garbage disposal was carrying you. Otherwise your plumbing would be shot to straight into the pits of eternal hell and damnation.


Of course, I *did* clean out my refrigerator this morning. Hence the fervor.

***Side note: When I was in grade school and junior high and we had to take all those tests for suitable careers, mine was "clergy." So there ya go.

It's a fine line

I've been doing a lot of writing the past couple of years. I enjoy it immensely.

I'm disappointed in myself though, because I lack the edginess that I had when I was in my early twenties. Now this is not to say that I still don't have the necessary anger (although I am much better at displacing it, thank you) to come up with some good writing...but I don't have the balls.

See, this is the thing. Back in my early twenties in Lawrence, when I was hanging with the Burroughs crowd, I'd get to go to a reading by some controversial author and then afterward, we'd all go eat dinner (usually at the restaurant in the basement of the Casbah).

I learned that although the authors' writing absolutely pushed the limits of the imagination, the libido, and the censorship act, for most of these folks it was merely a catharsis. In person, they were thought-provoking yet functional and polite. Maybe it was because of Burroughs, I don't know, but why would you really want to be polite in his presence? He sure didn't give a shit.

By this point in my life, I have learned to channel my energies in a way that's functional within our society. But at what cost? Because when I read writings like Lester Bangs' or Victor Bockris', I sure as hell know I have that insanity within myself as well. I have crates of writing from those early days. I have the capability (and more importantly, the URGE) to write how I REALLY feel.

But my ego wants it to be put out where others can read it, and therein lies the problem. I want people to know what I think. But as it stands now, they never know what I REALLY think because I am constantly censoring my words so as not to offend the sensibilities of many people I know. And I sure as hell know most people really don't care what I think, too. After all, I only care what a few people in my life think, but not much more than that.

I also am a musician and a promoter (although obviously on a small scale), which requires a certain modicum of behavior. I need to be mature and respectful of others, or at least, that's how I feel. I guess I'm just so used to adhering to this that somewhere in my life, I've lost the 'full-force' me and ended up with a "healthier," more watered-down version of me.

I don't think this is what I want. I want to find the extreme in me and not be afraid to make it known, whether in word or in action. Is this "grown up?" Is this even a good idea? I don't know.

The bottom line is, I need to stop worrying whether the real me is too much for some people. I want to make no apologies and have no worries if I piss people off (in a professional sense).

We'll see how it goes.

Valentine's Day kvetchfest

Let's see: Let's have a holiday where we can automatically raise a woman's expectations to toxic levels, so that any man who cares one iota about her had better get her a diamond, a bunch of flowers, or a piece of chocolate...or ELSE! Haha.

Come on, people! Out of the 365 days of the year, there's just gotta be an official "obligation" day?

Just what the world needs. Women in offices everywhere, engaging in the subtle but telling 'mate comparison.'
**************************
WANDA: Oh, Tess, those are really gorgeous flowers. Did Bill send them to you?
TESS: Oh yes, that Bill! Always has to show he cares. And what did Egbert do for YOU?
WANDA: Oh, he always does the same thing; it so predictable, ha ha ha. He gave me ANOTHER diamond tennis bracelet this year, and tickets to the opera. Really, I always tell him he shouldn't go to such extravagance, but he never listens. I guess he just loves me too much.
TESS: Well, you are certainly lucky! I wish Bill loved me that much. *looks unhappy, looks around the office at the other women typing busily.*
Hello, June! You got THREE vases of flowers? How nice! Did you get them from John?
JUNE: Yes. He sent me the pink carnations you see here. I only wish that was all, but he had to go and buy me a small country to prove his love! It's all so unnecessary. I had a threesome last night with Bill and Egbert, anyway. Those other two bouquets are from them.

*************************
Let's see, how should I put this?

I guess...this way. If February 14th were to be used as an instrument to show one's love, I would much prefer this to the requisite candy and chocolates:

"Hey, let's go down to Casino and get shitty drunk and look out the window laughing at all the carnations and pink shirts these sniveling idiots are forced to wear because if they don't their bleached, tanned, Hello Kittied, 'enhanced' girlfriends will deny them sex for an undetermined amount of time."

OR:

"Here's a coupon book I made for you, honey.
Page one: "One order of Casino wings, on me, once a week for a month."
Page two: "Good for one night of whiskey and cokes until your head falls off."
Page three: "Need some muscle to help with your Valiant? Done."
Page four: "Good for one night of humoring your ridiculous ideas without making you feel like a schmuck."
Page five: "Good for hot monkey sex, unlimited, starting now."

You can see where this is headed. Of course, any guy, after having read this blog, will probably *dream* of getting off easy with a dozen posies and a box of chocolates. Or set off in search of a woman who isn't so demanding. Hehehe....

Ahhhh, women. So damned complex sometimes.

*hic*

Current mood: drunk

I just wrote a new country song...in the vein of "Motel Time Again" by Johnny Paycheck, but called "Drunk at Work Again."

Here are some lyrics off the top of my fuzzy little head:
*to be sung like the bastard child of Buck Owens and Johnny Paycheck*

DRUNK AT WORK AGAIN
Oh...I'm... Drunk at work again
See, last night never has to end
I'm swivelin' and swishin' in my chair

Drunken emails to my boss
Belligerence adds to my job loss
And I can smell the bourbon in the air

How I wish I had some more
But to stand up's just too big a chore
And where is Taco Lady when you need her?

To AA my presence I should lend,
For coffee is the greatest sin
Cheetos and OJ sure look grim
Now that I'm drunk at work again.
Drunk at work again.
Drunk at work again.

Opinion: Norman Mailer on corporations

I read this on the "Adbusters" website. It's pretty eye-opening. Check it out:

http://www.adbusters.org/home/
Disclaimer:
This doesn't mean I don't still subscribe to Lucky magazine, or occasionally like to go to the mall...but at least I know I should know better. Haha....

************************
THE BIG EMPTY
BY NORMAN MAILER

Corporations are stifling our lives. Not only economically, where they can claim, arguably, that they bring prosperity (and, frankly, I’m certainly not schooled enough in economics to argue that point pro or con), but aesthetically speaking, culturally speaking, spiritually speaking. They flatten everything. They are the Big Empty. One of the virtues of Fahrenheit 9/11 is that you could see all the faces of the Bush administration, those empty faces, those handmaidens and bodyguards of the Big Empty. And then Moore contrasted them to all the faces of American soldiers over there: innocent, strong, idealistic or ugly, but real faces, real people. Plus all those suffering Iraqis. Obviously, people in such torment are always dramatic and eloquent on film. Still, most of those Iraqis had different kinds of faces. That shade of alienation from natural existence had not yet gotten into their skin. They might be hard to live with but they were alive.

The war against the corporations is profound. They are deadening human existence. That, I think, is the buried core of the outrage people feel most generally. There is, after all, a profound difference between corporations and capitalism itself, at least so long as capitalism remains small business. The small businessman is always taking his chances. He leads an existential life. He’s gambling that his wit, his energy, and his ideas of what will work in the marketplace will be successful. He can be a sonofabitch, but at least he’s out there in the middle of life. He could be creating something that’s awful, but at least, he’s taking chances.

The corporation is the reverse, and turns capitalism inside out. The majority no longer give their first concern to the quality of their product. Since they have the funds to advertise on a large scale, it diminishes their need for a good product. Marketing can take over by way of language and image. Over the years this has produced a general deterioration of the real value of products for the same real money.

To win this war will take, at least, 50 years and a profound revolution in America. We’ll have to get away from manipulation. What we’ve got now is a species of economic, political, and spiritual brainwashing, vastly superior to the old Soviets, who were endlessly crude in their attempts. Our governmental and corporate leaders are much more subtle. I remember years ago when my son was around 15, he wore a shirt that said Stussy on it. And I said, “Not only do you spend money to buy the shirt, but you also advertise the company that sold it to you.” And he said, “Dad, you just don’t get it.” All right, he was right, I didn’t get it.

What we do have is the confidence that we breathe a cleaner spiritual air than the greedbags who run our country and so it is not impossible that, over decades to come, much that we believe in will yet come to be. But I do not wish to end on so sweet and positive a note. It is better to remind ourselves that wisdom is ready to reach us from the most unexpected quarters. Here, I quote from a man who became wise a little too late in life:

“Naturally, the common people don’t want war, but after all, it is the leaders of a country who determine the policy, and it is always a simple matter to drag people along whether it is a democracy, or a fascist government, or a parliament, or a communist dictatorship. Voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. This is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked, and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same in every country.”

That was Hermann Goering speaking at the Nuremberg trials after World War II. It is one thing to be forewarned. Will we ever be forearmed?
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Norman Mailer has, amongst other things, written 39 books, plays, poems, essays and movies, and co-founded The Village Voice. This essay is adapted from the transcript of an interview he gave New York magazine.

Opinion: Marketing, media, obesity

Today's New York Times ran an article about how the U.S. Diet Guide put more emphasis on weight loss for this year's edition. I am so happy about this!

Every time I'm at the grocery store I experience strong emotion when I see some of the 'average' American shoppers. What I REALLY hate to see is a family with three or four overweight kids, pulling a cart full to the brim with the following:

Brightly packaged puddings in neon colors, Lunchables (are those even real food?) and other fake lunches in blue-yellow-and-red boxes, family packs of chips, canned 'juices' like Hawaiian punch, soda, 'fruit snacks' full of preservatives and sugar, 'fruit juices' with no real juice (or a meager 10œ frozen pizzas, sugared cereals, Easy Mac, Popsicles, hot dogs, white buns, frozen ground beef in the long round cylindrical packages, and so on. It makes me sick to see nary a vegetable among these. I get irrationally angry at the ignorance of people who are taking years off their life by heeding the media's call.
It's good to pay close attention when you watch television and see advertisements for fast food, too. If you eat real food, you will notice that the food may have vegetables in it (let's say, a Taco Bell fajita commercial), but somehow it oozes numerous sauces and the veggies look like they have been frozen for about 7 years. These marketing geniuses have us fooled into thinking this looks appetizing? And when you finally TASTE such food, it's pretty much the same way. Oozy sauce filled with salt, MSG, and powdered spices; bite-sized diced vegetables that seem like they've never been fresh, and white-floured grain product that is sugary and almost oily in its consistency.

Why, oh WHY do people fall for all of this? I do know many people don't cook. This is the crux of the situation for these 'convenient' times. How can we teach these young moms and dads that for every Lunchable they give their kid, they're adding grease, salt and sugar to the kid's physical makeup? How can we teach them that advertisements are going to make them unhealthily fat?

What we are now getting is a nation of young, inactive children who watch 3-5 hours of TV average daily. They see ads for fun, 'special' food, hyped by their favorite TV, cartoon, and kids' show characters. The marketing folks know these kids will see the ads about 7 times in 3 days, and next time at the grocery store, you can see it in action! The kids then pull out all their wily ways, schemes, and scenes in order to get that product home with them and in front of the TV.

So, repeat this scenario for another 8 years. The teenager is now obese with all the complications that go along with it; not just the health problems, but also abject self-loathing and major self-esteem issues. In particular, this is the case for girls. So then they decide to combat this problem with any number of solutions. For just as the media provided us with unhealthy yet 'easy' food, they also provide us with unhealthy yet 'easy' methods of weight loss. Good lord! When will it end?

I just wish all parents could teach their kids a few key pointers at a VERY young age. Less TV is better. Don't listen to people who just want to take our money and make our tummies hurt. If you eat this now, you will gain wieght, feel bad about yourself, and have to work extra hard to lose it later. Also, take heed: lifestyles can be addictive. The more fat, salt, and sugar we take and the more TV or movies we watch, the more we crave. Break the cycle!

Does anyone know of a way to combat or circumvent this vicious cycle of corporate greed and marketing brainwashing? Do I need to start teaching educational nutrition classes to the people in line behind me at the grocery store? Because that's about the point that I'm at.

Yay, I'm listening to a related story on NPR right now!

***On a side note, I'm not a super-activist sort of person, but there ARE a few things that I feel very strongly about. Unnecessary animal cruelty (in the name of testing say a razor, a shampoo, or a lip balm) is another thing I get all bent out of shape about. For this, I am grateful for Avon.

Unearthing Jo-Ann Campbell

So yesterday on my way into work, I grabbed "Jo-Ann Campbell: The Complete Gone & Roulette Recordings". Sitting listening to it at my desk, there arose within me an urge to find out just what the hell this lady's been doing lately. She's still alive as of two years ago is all I really know. That PBS documentary I was in actually had gotten in touch with her for the film. Funny thing is, she's nowhere in the movie. This makes me wonder if they cut it because she's not currently performing anymore, or if she requested it.

So what my snooping uncovered is that apparently she lives in Nashville and is an advocate against wearing fur for the Humane Association. I went on their site trying to find her but didn't have any luck. I guess I'l need to check with Beth Harrington, the director of "Welcome to the Club", in order to get more info. She's been pretty helpful to me thus far. Maybe she'll put me in touch with Jo-Ann.

One thing I also found out on my online search was a wee bit of a shocker, though! I didn't know she had a big old relationship with Bobby Darin prior to the whole Sandra Dee thing. I just saw "Beyond the Sea" a couple of days ago...and while not totally factual, there was no mention of Jo-Ann and I wish there had been!

I'm sure they don't care though, since no one really knows who she is in the mainstream. So there's all these articles from the time period with Jo-Ann Campbell, entitled "Why I Left Bobby Darin" and all that. Maybe he was rebounding from Jo-Ann? And maybe those articles will tell us about him a bit more...like who he really is? I've heard over the years that he was a racist, a wife-beater, a raging alcoholic, and all had manner of sordid personality traits. Of course, if Kevin Spacey's doing an artistic piece he's not going to exactly focus on that, is he? Huh.

Anyway, this is my obsession of the day! I must find Jo-Ann Campbell and see if she will do an interview with me so I can do a feature on her. I'm so eager to hear what her life was and has been like. I also need to check my resources and find out if anything has been written about her recently.

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Word of the Day for Tuesday January 4, 2005

distrait \dis-TRAY\, adjective:
Divided or withdrawn in attention, especially because of
anxiety.

Yet when she stopped for a cup of coffee, finding herself
too distrait to begin work, the picture was in the course
of being removed from the window.
--Anita Brookner, [1]Falling Slowly
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I have found the daily dictionary emails to be more foretelling than horoscopes. Maybe I read too much into words. Hah.