My Grandfather was always quiet. He almost never spoke. The only time he really spoke to me was in the bathtub. I wrote a poem about it.
Leonard
“I see men who look like you.
They somehow have your pointy ears.
I can see them in your sailor clothing, 1943.
You'd be thrilled I neglected to tell
my father of your death.
You'd be consoled to know I kept your
memory intact by not going to your funeral.
My mother called you the silent man,
but you had plenty to say to me.
You conversed freely when you were in the tub
with your penis protruding through the clear water,
and your wet dark body hair covering everywhere
but the top of your head.
I was called into the bathroom by you.
I tried not to stare at your nudity
exhibited for me to view.
I always wondered why you would only talk to me
when you were in the tub.
I've heard that men inherit the body hair traits
of their maternal grandfathers
Will I also be inheriting
your little perversions as well?”
After I showed this poem to my mother, she said, “I didn’t think you were this deep.” and “He did that to you too?” Her reaction was kind of a double insult. If he did that to her (and she always implied that he did some worse things to her), why did she allow me to be alone with him? Why did he only talk when he was in the bathtub with an erection?
The first time I visited Las Vegas after my grandparents moved there, he took me for a ride down the Las Vegas strip. It was daytime, but all the Vegas lights were on. The whole time we drove, he pointed out all the palm trees by saying “There’s a tree. Oh, there’s a tree.” He never pointed out any of the casinos or the lights or any of the interesting things on the Las Vegas strip.
As we were driving, the front window started fogging up. He took a white t-shirt he had in the backseat and started clearing the foggy window and did this every time the window fogged up. I showed him that he could use the defogger on the car and he was amazed. He didn’t know that the defogger existed. He had just been using the shirt.
I killed my grandfather. Well, kind of. When I was working for a horrible home shopping company (the initials are similar to QVC; ok it was QVC) as an order entry person, I wanted a few days off. I told my supervisor (who was a grown woman with braces and a lot of barrettes in her hair) that my grandfather died and I had to go to the funeral. She told me that I would need to bring proof of the funeral from the minister.
This led to a whole other discussion where I explained I was Jewish and what a rabbi was. She seemed to have never heard of a one before. She told me in order to be excused from work, I’d need a rabbi’s signature. Since I didn’t know how’d I get a rabbi’s signature, I told her that it wasn’t that important and that I just wouldn’t go to his funeral.
I didn’t get the days off and a few weeks later my grandfather, who wasn’t that old and who wasn’t even sick, died. I can’t remember what he died of, other than me saying he died. This happens a lot when I pretend to be sick to get out of work. I always actually get sick when I pretend.
After “killing” grandpa, I never pretend that a real person died just to get out of work, unless I was really mad at someone. Grandpa’s the only person I’ve ever killed (yet).
After my grandfather’s funeral (which actually I didn’t go to), my grandma called me up and told me that since Grandpa died first, when she dies, she would be buried on top of him. She told me she had never been on top before.
Today’s song is “Grandma’s Hands” by Barbra Streisand. I know many hate Barbra, but in this forgotten song from 1974, she sings in a way I’ve never heard her sing, uncontrolled and very passionately. The album “Butterfly” which contains this song is really quite interesting and one of my favorite albums. I picked this song because if you read my entry and then listen to the song, it becomes kind of perverted, like my grandfather.
Barbra Streisand—Grandma’s Hands
http://www.zshare.net/audio/4430537e0072f5/
“What you want to spank him for?”
Showing posts with label Grandma. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Grandma. Show all posts
October 24, 2007
October 19, 2007
Why I hate Halloween
I hate Halloween.
I’ve always hated Halloween. It’s in my least favorite month. Of course now that I live in Los Angeles, I guess I don’t have a least favorite month. October used to be my least favorite month when I lived in Minnesota because it’s the beginning of the end of nice weather. October in Minnesota is usually cold and grey and dark, with six more months of cold, grey and dreary weather to follow.
I hate Halloween for many reasons. One is it was almost always freezing when I was going trick or treating in Minnesota. You had to bundle up, so no one could see your costume anyway. I remember dressing up as the devil, Superman, a left over 70s person (using my dad’s old clothes), a hippie, a ghost, a vampire and some other things I’ve forgotten. I never got to go as my favorite choice Wonder Woman, although I did wear a schmata on my head for a long time as a little boy so that I could pretend I had long flowing hair like Kelly Garret (Jaclyn Smith) from my favorite show “Charlie’s Angels”. I wore a towel on my head with a belt on top to keep the “hair” from falling off my head. I don’t know which disturbed my parents more, me wanting to have long pretty hair or that fact that I also looked like I was trying to dress like an Arab.
I’ve always hated carnivals, amazement parks, the circus, fairs, and those sorts of things. I can remember my grandmother taking me to Valley Fair (an amusement park in Minnesota, not sure if it’s national) when I was maybe 6 or 7 and I didn’t want to ride on the rides and wanted to leave. She yelled at me, telling me that I was not a normal kid and why couldn’t she have a normal grandchild. I was her only grandchild, so she was constantly frustrated.
When I first went to Las Vegas to visit my Grandma, (this was the first time I had ever left Minnesota; I was 13) she took me to the Hoover Dam and to Circus Circus. I hated them both and told her so. We had a big fight that day. She and my mother always loved carnivals and events like that. They also both loved women in prison movies and cafeteria food.
On Halloween day you were supposed to come dressed to school in your costume. I refused to wear my costume because I didn’t like my classmates knowing who I wanted to be. I still don’t like to wear costumes. I always feel stupid in a costume. I was always the only kid who came to school not in a costume.
My mother had a Halloween tradition of scaring me and eating most of my candy. She would wait until I got home from school to scare me. Usually she wasn’t there when I got home from school. She’d hide and when I came home, she’d either jump out at me dressed as witch or I’d find her at the bottom of the stairs covered in fake blood, pretending to be dead. I never found any of that very amusing. I also didn’t like it when we’d play the blind game and I’d be the blind person and she’d walk me into things, but that’s not a Halloween story, that was the rest of the year.
After scaring me, she’d invite her mother over and we’d scare grandma. Mm mother would say she had to go downstairs to get something. She’d make a lot of noise like she fell down the stairs. Grandma would rush downstairs and discover my mother “dead”. Just when she would get close enough to touch my mother, my mother would rise up and laugh. It really made Grandma angry.
After I’d come in from a cold night of trick or treating, usually by myself or with some weird friend I found, my mother would take my bag of candy and tell me she had to "inspect it for razor blades and poison". I’d go to bed and in the morning, the crappy candy and only apples would be left. The good stuff would be already eaten by my mother or stashed away somewhere.
This year I will be on my way to Austin on Halloween day. I arrive that night. It will be the first time I’ve ever been to Austin or Texas. Texas scares me, but I’ve heard such great things about Austin. If I like it, I will move there and I will get on with my life.
I tried to find a Halloween type song, but hell, it’s not even Halloween so today the song is “Tomorrow, Wendy” by Concrete Blonde. This is an amazing live version from their 1994 “Still in Hollywood” CD. I’m still in Hollywood, so I know how that feels. The song was written by Andy Preiboy, the same person who wrote another one of my all time favorite songs “Loving the Highway Man” (posted on this blog in September). I love the vocals and the lyrics of this song.
Concrete Blonde—Tomorrow Wendy (live)
http://www.zshare.net/audio/43273994057dac
“I told the priest
don't count on any second coming
god got his ass kicked
the first time he came down here slumming
he had the balls to come
the gall to die and then forgive us
no, i don't wonder why
i wonder what he thought it would get us.”
I’ve always hated Halloween. It’s in my least favorite month. Of course now that I live in Los Angeles, I guess I don’t have a least favorite month. October used to be my least favorite month when I lived in Minnesota because it’s the beginning of the end of nice weather. October in Minnesota is usually cold and grey and dark, with six more months of cold, grey and dreary weather to follow.
I hate Halloween for many reasons. One is it was almost always freezing when I was going trick or treating in Minnesota. You had to bundle up, so no one could see your costume anyway. I remember dressing up as the devil, Superman, a left over 70s person (using my dad’s old clothes), a hippie, a ghost, a vampire and some other things I’ve forgotten. I never got to go as my favorite choice Wonder Woman, although I did wear a schmata on my head for a long time as a little boy so that I could pretend I had long flowing hair like Kelly Garret (Jaclyn Smith) from my favorite show “Charlie’s Angels”. I wore a towel on my head with a belt on top to keep the “hair” from falling off my head. I don’t know which disturbed my parents more, me wanting to have long pretty hair or that fact that I also looked like I was trying to dress like an Arab.
I’ve always hated carnivals, amazement parks, the circus, fairs, and those sorts of things. I can remember my grandmother taking me to Valley Fair (an amusement park in Minnesota, not sure if it’s national) when I was maybe 6 or 7 and I didn’t want to ride on the rides and wanted to leave. She yelled at me, telling me that I was not a normal kid and why couldn’t she have a normal grandchild. I was her only grandchild, so she was constantly frustrated.
When I first went to Las Vegas to visit my Grandma, (this was the first time I had ever left Minnesota; I was 13) she took me to the Hoover Dam and to Circus Circus. I hated them both and told her so. We had a big fight that day. She and my mother always loved carnivals and events like that. They also both loved women in prison movies and cafeteria food.
On Halloween day you were supposed to come dressed to school in your costume. I refused to wear my costume because I didn’t like my classmates knowing who I wanted to be. I still don’t like to wear costumes. I always feel stupid in a costume. I was always the only kid who came to school not in a costume.
My mother had a Halloween tradition of scaring me and eating most of my candy. She would wait until I got home from school to scare me. Usually she wasn’t there when I got home from school. She’d hide and when I came home, she’d either jump out at me dressed as witch or I’d find her at the bottom of the stairs covered in fake blood, pretending to be dead. I never found any of that very amusing. I also didn’t like it when we’d play the blind game and I’d be the blind person and she’d walk me into things, but that’s not a Halloween story, that was the rest of the year.
After scaring me, she’d invite her mother over and we’d scare grandma. Mm mother would say she had to go downstairs to get something. She’d make a lot of noise like she fell down the stairs. Grandma would rush downstairs and discover my mother “dead”. Just when she would get close enough to touch my mother, my mother would rise up and laugh. It really made Grandma angry.
After I’d come in from a cold night of trick or treating, usually by myself or with some weird friend I found, my mother would take my bag of candy and tell me she had to "inspect it for razor blades and poison". I’d go to bed and in the morning, the crappy candy and only apples would be left. The good stuff would be already eaten by my mother or stashed away somewhere.
This year I will be on my way to Austin on Halloween day. I arrive that night. It will be the first time I’ve ever been to Austin or Texas. Texas scares me, but I’ve heard such great things about Austin. If I like it, I will move there and I will get on with my life.
I tried to find a Halloween type song, but hell, it’s not even Halloween so today the song is “Tomorrow, Wendy” by Concrete Blonde. This is an amazing live version from their 1994 “Still in Hollywood” CD. I’m still in Hollywood, so I know how that feels. The song was written by Andy Preiboy, the same person who wrote another one of my all time favorite songs “Loving the Highway Man” (posted on this blog in September). I love the vocals and the lyrics of this song.
Concrete Blonde—Tomorrow Wendy (live)
http://www.zshare.net/audio/43273994057dac
“I told the priest
don't count on any second coming
god got his ass kicked
the first time he came down here slumming
he had the balls to come
the gall to die and then forgive us
no, i don't wonder why
i wonder what he thought it would get us.”
September 28, 2007
In order to be optimistic, you have to be irrational.
Since I escaped Minnesota two years ago and spent some time in Vegas and LA, I’ve been thinking about why people are mean or heartless or careless or all of those things. I’ve been told my views on people are pessimistic, but I just call that realistic. Nothing makes people run away faster than when you tell them you think most people are mean spirited and stupid.
One of my father’s favorite quotes is when Anne Frank said in her diary “Despite everything, I believe that people are really good at heart.” The thing is, Anne Frank wrote this while she still had hope of being rescued. I’d like to hear her say that as she’s being gassed. My father and I talk about this all the time.
I’ve been thinking a lot in the last two years about why people are so mean and more specifically, I’ve been thinking about times when someone was mean for no reason all the while exhibiting weird behavior.
Here are some examples:
1. My friend and I were in line at a pancake restaurant in Vegas (I know, only high class for us) and this old man said to me that I was standing to close to him. I didn’t feel that I was standing too close to him so I didn’t move. He just wouldn’t leave me alone. He kept telling me to move away from him and then I told him what a line was and again told him I was not standing too close to him. I paid my bill and this guy was out in the parking lot waiting for me. I got into the car and drove away and he followed us. Years of watching “Charlie’s Angels” paid off since I was able to quickly lose him using some driving techniques the Angels used in the show.
2. Around the same time in Vegas I was in a line (what is it with the lines?) with my mother. We had won $200 in a video poker tournament (yes, more high class times; my mother doesn’t gamble anymore because a lady died next to her the last time she was playing, but that’s a story for another time). We were standing in line waiting to pick up our prize money. I was eating a piece of cake.
This old guy told me it was rude to eat cake in a line. I explained that the cake was made available for everyone and he could have some too if he wanted. he again told me to stop eating the cake in the line. I refused and for some reason he told me he was a veteran. I told him, “Then I salute you by eating this cake”. He persisted the whole time telling me not to eat the cake. My mother and I got our money and as we left we told him to go to hell and both gave him the finger. I’ve given the finger to many people with my mother. She’s fun that way. She’s not afraid of anyone.
3. A long time ago at a restaurant in Minnesota called Byerly’s, my mother and I were in a hurry to eat, so we sat at the counter. There were two spaces available, but there was a woman sitting in between the two open seats. We asked the woman to move down one, but she said, “No, that’s too hard.”
My mother and I sat on either side of this woman and proceeded to have a long, loud conversation in between her, going back and forth discussing things like surgery and other things that are unpleasant while one is eating. We also passed things to each other back and forth until the lady got mad and left. My mother and I are good at collectively punishing someone.
4. I went to this volunteer training for a homo film festival here in LA. They ran out of chairs so many people had to stand up. Sitting next to me was this obviously Jewish woman (a Jew can spot another Jew) who had put her purse on an empty chair next to her. One by one, people would come up to her and ask her to move her purse so they could sit down. Each time she refused to move her purse and let anyone sit down in the chair.
In a way I was impressed by her ability to not allow anyone to sit on the purse’s chair. I wanted to ask her why she why she felt her purse needed a chair more than a person, but I couldn’t think of a way to phrase it to her. I just wonder about her, what she is thinking, that sort of thing.
5. This one really pissed me off. At this coffeehouse I go to in Silver Lake, this guy, as he was leaving, put his dirty dishes on my table. His table was empty and the table between us was empty, but for some reason he deliberately put his dirty dishes on my table and then walked out the door. What does this mean? Is this some kind of weird mean LA thing? Why not just leave his dirty dishes at his table and leave? Why put them on my table?
6. As my mother and I were leaving a casino in Vegas, we got to the space where the car was parked in a handicapped spot (my mother has diabetes so her handicap permit is real; unlike before she got diabetes when she used her dead mother’s handicap permit), anyway, this guy in a wheelchair was screaming something to us and blocking the way. We couldn’t understand what he was screaming or what he wanted, but we couldn’t leave so we saw a security guard sitting outside in front of the casino. We went up to him and asked for his help. He told us he didn’t work there and refused to help us. My mother yelled at him and told him he shouldn’t be outside wearing the security uniform and giving everyone a false sense of safety.
We went back to the car and pushed the screaming man in the wheelchair out of the way. He was still screaming something as we drove off. My mother did her best not to hit him and I don’t think we did hit him.
I have so many more of these sorts of examples. Have you had similar experiences? If so, leave a comment or email me at theawfulrowing@gmail.com.
Today’s song is Bettye Lavette covering the Fiona Apple song “Sleep to Dream”. I love this song. It’s from her strong 2005 “I’ve got my own hell to raise” CD. This song really fits the theme today.
Bettye Lavette—Sleep to Dream
http://www.zshare.net/audio/391045404b4c9e
One of my father’s favorite quotes is when Anne Frank said in her diary “Despite everything, I believe that people are really good at heart.” The thing is, Anne Frank wrote this while she still had hope of being rescued. I’d like to hear her say that as she’s being gassed. My father and I talk about this all the time.
I’ve been thinking a lot in the last two years about why people are so mean and more specifically, I’ve been thinking about times when someone was mean for no reason all the while exhibiting weird behavior.
Here are some examples:
1. My friend and I were in line at a pancake restaurant in Vegas (I know, only high class for us) and this old man said to me that I was standing to close to him. I didn’t feel that I was standing too close to him so I didn’t move. He just wouldn’t leave me alone. He kept telling me to move away from him and then I told him what a line was and again told him I was not standing too close to him. I paid my bill and this guy was out in the parking lot waiting for me. I got into the car and drove away and he followed us. Years of watching “Charlie’s Angels” paid off since I was able to quickly lose him using some driving techniques the Angels used in the show.
2. Around the same time in Vegas I was in a line (what is it with the lines?) with my mother. We had won $200 in a video poker tournament (yes, more high class times; my mother doesn’t gamble anymore because a lady died next to her the last time she was playing, but that’s a story for another time). We were standing in line waiting to pick up our prize money. I was eating a piece of cake.
This old guy told me it was rude to eat cake in a line. I explained that the cake was made available for everyone and he could have some too if he wanted. he again told me to stop eating the cake in the line. I refused and for some reason he told me he was a veteran. I told him, “Then I salute you by eating this cake”. He persisted the whole time telling me not to eat the cake. My mother and I got our money and as we left we told him to go to hell and both gave him the finger. I’ve given the finger to many people with my mother. She’s fun that way. She’s not afraid of anyone.
3. A long time ago at a restaurant in Minnesota called Byerly’s, my mother and I were in a hurry to eat, so we sat at the counter. There were two spaces available, but there was a woman sitting in between the two open seats. We asked the woman to move down one, but she said, “No, that’s too hard.”
My mother and I sat on either side of this woman and proceeded to have a long, loud conversation in between her, going back and forth discussing things like surgery and other things that are unpleasant while one is eating. We also passed things to each other back and forth until the lady got mad and left. My mother and I are good at collectively punishing someone.
4. I went to this volunteer training for a homo film festival here in LA. They ran out of chairs so many people had to stand up. Sitting next to me was this obviously Jewish woman (a Jew can spot another Jew) who had put her purse on an empty chair next to her. One by one, people would come up to her and ask her to move her purse so they could sit down. Each time she refused to move her purse and let anyone sit down in the chair.
In a way I was impressed by her ability to not allow anyone to sit on the purse’s chair. I wanted to ask her why she why she felt her purse needed a chair more than a person, but I couldn’t think of a way to phrase it to her. I just wonder about her, what she is thinking, that sort of thing.
5. This one really pissed me off. At this coffeehouse I go to in Silver Lake, this guy, as he was leaving, put his dirty dishes on my table. His table was empty and the table between us was empty, but for some reason he deliberately put his dirty dishes on my table and then walked out the door. What does this mean? Is this some kind of weird mean LA thing? Why not just leave his dirty dishes at his table and leave? Why put them on my table?
6. As my mother and I were leaving a casino in Vegas, we got to the space where the car was parked in a handicapped spot (my mother has diabetes so her handicap permit is real; unlike before she got diabetes when she used her dead mother’s handicap permit), anyway, this guy in a wheelchair was screaming something to us and blocking the way. We couldn’t understand what he was screaming or what he wanted, but we couldn’t leave so we saw a security guard sitting outside in front of the casino. We went up to him and asked for his help. He told us he didn’t work there and refused to help us. My mother yelled at him and told him he shouldn’t be outside wearing the security uniform and giving everyone a false sense of safety.
We went back to the car and pushed the screaming man in the wheelchair out of the way. He was still screaming something as we drove off. My mother did her best not to hit him and I don’t think we did hit him.
I have so many more of these sorts of examples. Have you had similar experiences? If so, leave a comment or email me at theawfulrowing@gmail.com.
Today’s song is Bettye Lavette covering the Fiona Apple song “Sleep to Dream”. I love this song. It’s from her strong 2005 “I’ve got my own hell to raise” CD. This song really fits the theme today.
Bettye Lavette—Sleep to Dream
http://www.zshare.net/audio/391045404b4c9e
September 22, 2007
If we listen to every question that we ask
I bought my pillow. I also went to buy my favorite blue cheese chips, but the only store in LA that carries them did not have them as usual. I’ve contacted the makers of these chips and ordered from them before, but they have since stopped their online and phone ordering. I talked to many people from this company and told them how hard it was to get their chips which are my favorite and I told them I would never eat any other kind of chips again and still they refused to let me order. When the store does have them in stock, they are usually stale. So if you want to help me out, visit http://www.goodhealthnaturalfoods.com/ and tell them you want to order their chips online because you can’t get them anywhere else.
So I brought home my new pillow and also bought another foam mattress pad. I sleep on a couch/bed thing that is a twin size. It’s horrible. My apartment came with furniture, which I thought was a good idea at the time, but now I hate this place and I hate all this wicker. It looks like some mean Grandma’s house. Actually it looks like a restaurant I never liked in Minnesota called Pannekoeken. Actually it looks like a Pannekoeken threw up in my apartment. http://www.pannekoeken.com/ On a side note, my grandfather built all the Pannekoeken restaurants in Minnesota. He didn’t eat in them, just built them.
As I was changing my sheets and putting the new mattress pad on my horrid bedcouch, I was thinking about how much my life has slipped down/away. When I looked at the mattress I remembered that it is the same mattress as the one that Maggie Gyllenhaal’s character slept on in the movie “Sherrybaby”. In that movie she lives in a halfway house.
As I put the new mattress pad on top of the old one (the bed’s hard so I am trying to add some padding so I don’t have to feel the springs in my back), I looked at the huge Noah (that’s me) sized sweat stain on it. (I do sweat a lot, always have.) Then I looked around my apartment, which didn’t take long because it’s just a small room and I remembered how excited I was a few years back to get a full size bed and to live in a one bedroom apartment instead of a studio. This was Minnesota, where rent is cheaper than LA. I never thought I’d end up with a twin size bed in a one room apartment again. Of course this time, I don’t even really own a bed because this bed is part of the rented ugly couch.
What I am saying is that I have to change my life for good, for better or be done with it. I always lean to changing it for better, but I like to think (love to think) about being done, but no one really wants to talk about that with me. I think about it all the time and it fills me with peace and joy. To be done. To say no, I’m not here. I’m checked out so I am leaving.
I may do another kind of leaving. I might visit Austin. Do you know anything about Austin? I know, it’s Texas, but I’ve heard it’s a great place to live. I’ve never been, but I want to visit in the next couple months at some point. If you have any suggestions about Austin (where to live, what it’s like there, that sort of thing) email me at: theawfulrowing@gmail.com.
I’m not living the life of someone who’s going to turn 34. I’ve been stuck for almost three years now (three years starting November 21st). I need to get unstuck or be done.
Today I have for you a song that helps me a lot. It’s a song about choices, about paths and I find it amazing and heavenly. It’s Dolly Parton’s version of “Stairway to Heaven” from her 2002 Halos & Horns album (a great album by the way). You may think Dolly Parton? Why her? Because she’s an original and she has a sense of humor about herself (something that is missing here in smoggy LA).
I had heard that Dolly Parton did a cover of “Stairway to Heaven” and I listened to it out of curiosity and fell in love with it right away. Then I listened to the rest of the album and I was surprised how much I liked it.
Dolly was in the first movie I ever saw in a theatre, “9 to 5”. I remember going with my grandma and asking her what stoned meant. She told me the truth as she always did (unless the truth was about her), so ever since then I’ve had a special place for Dolly.
Take a listen to “Stairway to Heaven”. Open your mind and really listen to her and the choir and see if you don’t have an experience of lifting. Listen to this song when you need a pathway.
Dolly Parton: Stairway to Heaven
http://www.zshare.net/audio/37969098ea38c3
So I brought home my new pillow and also bought another foam mattress pad. I sleep on a couch/bed thing that is a twin size. It’s horrible. My apartment came with furniture, which I thought was a good idea at the time, but now I hate this place and I hate all this wicker. It looks like some mean Grandma’s house. Actually it looks like a restaurant I never liked in Minnesota called Pannekoeken. Actually it looks like a Pannekoeken threw up in my apartment. http://www.pannekoeken.com/ On a side note, my grandfather built all the Pannekoeken restaurants in Minnesota. He didn’t eat in them, just built them.
As I was changing my sheets and putting the new mattress pad on my horrid bedcouch, I was thinking about how much my life has slipped down/away. When I looked at the mattress I remembered that it is the same mattress as the one that Maggie Gyllenhaal’s character slept on in the movie “Sherrybaby”. In that movie she lives in a halfway house.
As I put the new mattress pad on top of the old one (the bed’s hard so I am trying to add some padding so I don’t have to feel the springs in my back), I looked at the huge Noah (that’s me) sized sweat stain on it. (I do sweat a lot, always have.) Then I looked around my apartment, which didn’t take long because it’s just a small room and I remembered how excited I was a few years back to get a full size bed and to live in a one bedroom apartment instead of a studio. This was Minnesota, where rent is cheaper than LA. I never thought I’d end up with a twin size bed in a one room apartment again. Of course this time, I don’t even really own a bed because this bed is part of the rented ugly couch.
What I am saying is that I have to change my life for good, for better or be done with it. I always lean to changing it for better, but I like to think (love to think) about being done, but no one really wants to talk about that with me. I think about it all the time and it fills me with peace and joy. To be done. To say no, I’m not here. I’m checked out so I am leaving.
I may do another kind of leaving. I might visit Austin. Do you know anything about Austin? I know, it’s Texas, but I’ve heard it’s a great place to live. I’ve never been, but I want to visit in the next couple months at some point. If you have any suggestions about Austin (where to live, what it’s like there, that sort of thing) email me at: theawfulrowing@gmail.com.
I’m not living the life of someone who’s going to turn 34. I’ve been stuck for almost three years now (three years starting November 21st). I need to get unstuck or be done.
Today I have for you a song that helps me a lot. It’s a song about choices, about paths and I find it amazing and heavenly. It’s Dolly Parton’s version of “Stairway to Heaven” from her 2002 Halos & Horns album (a great album by the way). You may think Dolly Parton? Why her? Because she’s an original and she has a sense of humor about herself (something that is missing here in smoggy LA).
I had heard that Dolly Parton did a cover of “Stairway to Heaven” and I listened to it out of curiosity and fell in love with it right away. Then I listened to the rest of the album and I was surprised how much I liked it.
Dolly was in the first movie I ever saw in a theatre, “9 to 5”. I remember going with my grandma and asking her what stoned meant. She told me the truth as she always did (unless the truth was about her), so ever since then I’ve had a special place for Dolly.
Take a listen to “Stairway to Heaven”. Open your mind and really listen to her and the choir and see if you don’t have an experience of lifting. Listen to this song when you need a pathway.
Dolly Parton: Stairway to Heaven
http://www.zshare.net/audio/37969098ea38c3
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