Friday, June 27, 2008

land of the free

a friend of a friend is in jail, and in imminent danger of deportation.

for years i've worked in restaurants and hotels, and consistent hiring policy is get i.d., get a social security #, bingo! he can punch in and get to work. they work for shit pay, doing for-shit jobs that the townies don't want. for 17+ years, my kitchen guys have all been brown and so have 90% of my bussers. they live 6 guys in a 2-bedroom, work 3 jobs and send money back to brazil or el salvador or wherever. alot of them have never had indoor plumbing before landing here, ok?

i share this only to frame the rest of this post. 99% of my guys have stayed out of trouble, but i know illegals who have been sent back and i know quasi-legals who did some illegal stuff and got sent home. i know some mostly-legals who did very illegal shit and got jail-time THEN a one-way ticket back.

much has been made in the news lately about artists being refused admittance to perform in the
u.s. because of criminal convictions in their native countries (some simple misdemeanors). others, especially writers and professors, have been denied access because they --GASP!!-- have openly criticized the present administration and/or its policies. (i'll save the free speech rant for later this weekend... it's too late, and i'm already far too angry.)

vincente plays the congas for a kick-ass latin-jazz band. he was born in the dominican, but has lived here almost 40 years. he holds a green card and passport. he is married, has children and grandchildren all born and raised here. about 6 weeks ago, the band was returning from europe, a trip vincente has made many many many times. he deplaned at logan, and for reasons at this time not known, homeland security decided vincente is no longer welcome in the place he has peaceably spent most of his life. he is being held at south bay corrections, in the special homeland security wing.

his hearing is in about 2 weeks. it's entirely possible he may be forced to leave behind his family, his friends, his band, his home, his livelihood -- all the passions that have fed his life. for no discernible reason other than "big brother says so."

i am so furious, i want to cry and i to want to scream, yet none of that will help him. casting my ballot in november will not help him. the ballot i cast that LAST november certainly did not undo or slow any of the nefarious doings then already in motion, all of which were exonerated and accelerated. this debasement of everything we as a nation are supposed to hold dear. the foundation of our country, for fuck's sake. jefferson would weep.

bush and his minions have spent the last years dragging us down into a slimy putrid warren in profane opposite-land which seems endless when i hear these sorts of stories. it's tyranny, ok? -- utter and arbitrary disregard for: rule of law, the constitution, the bill of rights, checks and balances, individual rights, states' rights, freedom of information, the geneva convention, sovereignty of nations... AAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHH!!

not long ago, cheney was being interviewed and was asked how he felt that 70% (or whatever it was then) of america was "against the war." he replied: "so?" how's that for a big fat fuck you to the will of the people? then again, our *people* haven't shown much will, have they?

america, you make the call:

"remember, democracy never lasts long. it soon wastes, exhausts, and murders itself. there never was a democracy yet that did not commit suicide." ~~john adams

~~OR~~

"the first step in saving our liberty is to realize how much we have already lost, how we lost it, and how we will continue to lose it unless fundamental political changes occur."
~~ james bovard


as asked by icon meatloaf: "what's it gonna be, boy, yes or no?"

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

job arithmetic

in my recent and prolonged period of income regression, i've tried not to break down the dollars too much/often. like, gee, my take-home equals "x", what is that per hour? *swoons* well ... what if i add on the commute? hooey, my head spins, my eyeballs hurt and i must ... just... walk... away to seek government cheese.

it makes me fruitlessly angry, so i haven't done it in forever.

however, in my latest spate of interviews (over a week ago, but back-to-back, followed by unrelenting days that did not allow a blog sit-down!) plenty of other people did it for me.

it was fascinating watching the sister/brother combo who are partners, their brains so different. his was more cat's ( like mine), while hers was more linear. she asked about my schedule, all of us kinda laughing about the fallacy of normalcy for peeps like us. i told, and added on the bonus penance of the commute without a car. this was easily flamed by her not really knowing where i *had* to go, so "to the moon!" when she calculated and then verbalized the math, her eyes slowly got wide and i knew she knew i was in a mini-hell.

the previous day's gung-ho set of corporate types had a similar reaction. i've been doing this long enough to recognize genuine shock in the face of a potential abuser, lol.

when my shift's end and its follow are within the frame of less than a night's sleep, i know i'm screwed. never mind the prison sentence of being *out there*. never mind trying to fit in other things, like a life.

gah. phooey.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

as heard here

  • two girls, aged eight or ten, conspiring, giggling -- cute. one says: "i don't want to be funny anymore. i'm tired of being funny. funny is like sooooo two months ago."
  • an april/december couple. (she just looked way harder-used than a may, ok?) he: "do you know where mongolia is?" she: "what's mongolia?" he: "have you ever heard of genghis khan?" she: "who?" couple beats of silence. she: "is he a rapper?" he: "never mind."
  • the trailer whore at my work: "so like last night i was out and this really like really old guy was like saying that like he always like comes into the bar like just for like tea? but like he like brings his own, so like, only gets like hot water from them? so like they don't even like charge him? so like he was saying he feels like really bad. it was really funny. like so funny." on what planet is that funny in any way? *like* anywhere?
  • last night i complimented (brown-nosed) a prickly partner of the company: "you look great -- like you've been basking in the sun." she: "well, you know i drive a convertible." (gag) me: "perfect time of year for that!" she: "and last friday i spent the day playing golf." (gag)me: "that's great." she: "the rest is all thanks to sarah jessica parker." me: "i'm sorry, what? was she at your house, lol?" she: "sj is the girl for garnier, and i love her, so now i buy all their stuff. it's great. i love all that stuff. i love her. i'll buy anything she likes." me: "wow, i need to get out more!" wtf, lady. you're 55, not 12. jeebus.

quotable

"one is never talking to oneself, always one is addressed to someone. suddenly, without knowing the reason, at different stages in one's life, one is addressing this person or that all the time, even dreams are performed before an audience. i see that. it's well known that people who commit suicide, the most solitary of all acts are addressing someone."

~~ nadine gordimer

men & minis

sorry, not the skirts, not the cars. well, maybe skirts -- as a slam.

teacup dogs have crept into fashion pages and women's handbags over the last few years. paris and brittney use them as accessories. boston always is slow on these trends, but sure enough, i see women with a giant shoulderbag topped with a tiny head ( or two!) sticking out.

my first dog was a 30-pound scrapper bitch-mix of terrier and "traveling salesman" (uh, yeah, my grandmother's words, lol), who lived to be 18. she rocked. my next, and coinciding, dog -- "my" dog -- came from a puppy farm. nobody back then knew that was bad, and it was just a bid to balm me after another of my dad's awol's. she grew freakishly large and always wanted to sleep on my bed. she outweighed me, so i let her, lol.

i know my space isn't right for a big dog like my mason. he was 90 pounds with a big frame. he would have been cooped up, yet hulking at the same time. ( i know i blogged about the stoopid cow with the husky--i think she moved.) but there is a vast middle ground between eyedropper and overflowing glass.

my building has lots of trendy folk. lots of chicks and their goddamn tiny dogs. it annoys me to no end when i see people carrying a dog. we are not in the throes of katrina. there is no broken levy. your pooch has paws. does he ever piss in your bag? seriously?

lots of these women live with guys -- i guess? otherwise why do i see so many guys walking these tiny puffs? yeah, yeah, i'm being sexist. I KNOW THAT. except for the little french gay guy who coos en francaise to his petite fluff, i still find it hard to imagine a straight guy waking up and
saying, "i wanna snicker-doodle!" (or whatever they're called) i will commend his willingness to walk the damn thing without overt shame to keep his g/f happy though. kudos.

over the line?

the other day, i saw a chained-up bike with a basket. inside of which were two tiny nuggets--both wearing antique style motorcycle goggles. k, they fit their heads -- these were not makeshift, lol. beauty of a day, dog/bike owner fending off women about the *cute*. my head wanted to explode. it wasn't cute. it was gross. they don't *like it*. they respond to their owner's approval. dogs don't ever wanna wear a hat.

funny thing ? my dog? gwennie? we could dress her anyhow. glasses, pipe, boxers, hat, necktie. anything. but i was a 10-year-old taking polaroids, not a 40-something defining myself through my pet.

i confess to a deep-seated chihuahua aversion -- those shivering snippy skeletons. ack. is that a dog? no, it's a constant clarion of nervous projection. tiny yappy anxious bits with a napolean complex. there is one a few doors down, insistent on conquering my condo and me. yet, since the cat swiped him viciously to bloody snout, he's even more talk, no action. his door was open tonight when i came home and he was running all over the long hall. his owner started to chase, but i stood still, with a firm voice. he came home in a blink. maybe i should move there? better view? nah, wretched dog.

who let the dawgz out?

**judgemental noodle alert!**


under near constant assault from an excess of humanity on the "t", i'm coming out from under with a summertime rant. mercury rises, pavement heats, boots get stowed and out come the sandals and flip-flops, exposing alarming bipedal flotsam and jetsam.


i'm sympathetic to wear and tear -- in my business our barkers get serious beat-ons. more than one chef in my past has swooned on my sofa from a much-needed foot massage. (i wouldn't ever mind one either, but that's a pigs fly thingie, lol)
granted, not too many guys think "ooh, i need a pedicure cuz it's june," but hell, cut your toenails and WASH maybe? for all the soccer punishment the owner's feet bear, he's got surprisingly nice toesies, so i'm happy to see them and have them on and about me, but most guys seem to be getting from point a to point b on hooves not fit for satan. (actually, he's likely very vain and has a full-time thai chick doing his feet, but i digress. ahem..) i worked with a guy who shamelessly padded around with inches of crud under his overgrown talons. (for months over his station, he had a pig's tail dripping rancid grease over his head, which was covered by a hat given to him by mark veyrat, but that's too big a swerve even for this post, lol.)

what really got me thinking though was all the french pedicures i'm seeing.
it means your toenails are too damn long, ok? are they clacking on the wood floor like a dog's? how do they fit in your shoes? woman next to me today had a very exaggerated version, that included the white tips, a little flower each nail AND polka dots. this might have been cute on a 12-year-old, but not some old crow heading to her cubicle at customer complaints. if some poor nail tech is spending all that time making mini cave paintings, break out the damn pumice. we can see the rest of your foot too, ok lady?

same goes for badly chipped (it takes 2 minutes to take off that stuff) or tacky shades ( i told you). the frosties, (don't even get me going about frosty white!!!) blue, i mean, ew.

admittedly in my too long train ride today, i was kind of obsessing and looking at too many feet. then tonight i was avoiding eye-contact with a very tall skulking freak and looked down to see huge shoes. enormous men's shoes. yes, my mind went there: big feet, big _____________. it was involuntary. i swear. i rolled my eyes a wee bit upward from my floor-gazing, only to see a huge HUGE uh, monster, in his pants. hard. straining. gross. it had to have hurt. i resolved to not look up any further, and mercy for us all, he did not spring the beast. (would not have been the 1st time i'd seen such on the "t", but i was so-so-so glad he suffered for the greater good.)


**********
btw, i refrained from posting a picture on this post, cuz they were all just too gross. even for me. ok, i need to go wash my feet and go to bed. :)



Tuesday, June 10, 2008

timely sex

nope, not for me. the owner is away, so i'm left to my own, er, devices for a few days.

story in the times about 2 couples who committed to have sex every night. one agreed on 101 days, and the other 365. kick stereotypes to the curb, because in both cases it was the wife's idea. one couple mid-western holy-rollers, the other recent transplants to boulder who felt out of water (oxygen?) and disconnected. OF COURSE both have written books.

i guess with publishers' advances they felt obligated to see it through, so
no chance for "honey, i have a headache," or "i need to wash my hair." cut to the chase and what was the result? they all realized regular sex allowed and nourished an intimacy that rolling over in opposite directions simply did not. to put aside the hassles of the day, to let go of yourself for the person you love -- even if angry-- for just a few minutes, nourished them emotionally in a way they didn't anticipate.

apparently this will be a light dawning on marblehead moment to a huge chunk of the population.

(why doesn't blogger have an eye-rolling icon?)

from the way-way-back, i have used sex instinctively as a double-edged sword. it proved a very useful weapon to avoid emotional availability and potential damage. men relate first with their cocks, so it was easier to just fuck and keep my heart out of the whole thing. i had some very long and incredibly hot relationships with men i didn't love. more than one of them wound up falling in love with me and still turn up out of the blue. amazing what happens when men are accepted as is, rather than becoming some starry-eyed bachelorette's fixer-upper.

the other side is the power of fucking to convey emotions without words. the raw desire, the unfettered primal pushing to an intimacy not attainable in conversation. "i want you *in* me." the conquering, the taking, the invasion. with men i have loved, and to a profound degree with the owner, what happens during the fuck, what we express, is an openness men mostly shun. i realize this must happen only with unfettered fucking, but that's the sort i prefer. those vulnerable moments given over to each other are a wondrous thing. i will never understand why that's the first door to shut for so many women.

there is something incredibly powerful about relaxing and seeing another's perspective. becoming unconcerned with quid pro quo, and reminding one's self that you love and want this other. then? you let yourself show it and live it. it takes courage and it takes a willingness to expose your flank. why do some view it as weakness?

i am woman, i do not want to roar.

Friday, June 06, 2008

finger on the pulse

rarely do i watch tv news, but tonight after the celts pulled it out, i left on the box while finishing up chores.

  • thankfully, our grope-a-holic state senator is in rehab. (they have clinics for everything nowadays, huh?)
  • ted is feeling fit.
  • obama met with hilary!
  • the sox bench-clearing brawl and dug-out kerfuffle got plenty of time.

a delayed "nightline" was next. the lead-ins for the night? blah-de-blah, followed by more blah-de-blah.

then: "flash-mobs!"

wtf? even i had to go look. i've blogged about them (it) and the first one was in 2003. this is news? no wonder some people still think elvis is alive.

mother of god.

boob tube off.

g'nite, gracie.

Tuesday, June 03, 2008

time bandits

yeah, i've already told nearly everybody, but i'm still in shock, and it's my damn blog.

it was early, i was still sleepy and mildly annoyed having to go to work. (not that working annoys
me, but my particular avenue of employ is in a place of no joy. i digress...)

first i saw the boots walk up the t steps. for all you guys, they were kinda like this, but lower. they looked like hobbit boots then too!

above the boots, lace-trimmed grey leggings wrapping very heavy thighs. a cut sweatshirt a la flashdance completed the ensemble. mondo big red lips, raccoon black-lined eyes, pasty face and fried silver-yellow hair. she was the material girl-era madonna, but writ grotesque. it only took a millisecond to process her -- to wonder how she got so stuck in the 80s, and how could a granny so obviously NOT going to a costume party leave the house like that? in the daytime even? really, it's an instant indexing, lol.

then the bad: "noodle? ohmigod!! noodle? is that you? it's me, _________." she stomped over and got close. i realized who she was, and that i haven't seen her in about 15 years. maybe a few more? she is roughly my age. she looked so haggard, so washed out, yet blown up.

so.

damn.

old.

she looked old enough to be her own mother. how did that happen? big puffbags under her eyes, a swollen face, and the clothes? what, what, what was she thinking? we worked together years ago, and i did like her. she was loud and big and coarse, but kicked ass as a bartender in a busy place and was very funny. she wasn't somebody i needed to keep knowing when i quit, though, ya know?

through my shock, i struggled for small talk, and lucked out cuz it was only 2 short stops.

it's been a few days and i'm still reeling. i am not the bulimic popsicle stick with boobs of back-then, but still she knew me. she looked like an alien. please, please, what did you do, so i can do the exact opposite?

i've been struggling with my self-image and self-esteem. i managed to halt the slide before the mirror crack'd, but i have a long way to go. this was a wake-up call from a cartoon. (years ago, snl did a game show skit called, "my french whore". a jeopardy-style set, with nasty ho's in various states of dissolute dissipation. including the one whose contestant said, "uh, my whore is dead!" yeah, she looked like them, ok?)

that night, i came home very late, but knew i'd procrastinated coloring my hair, and couldn't/wouldn't/shouldn't another moment. it looks very nice now -- a new shade. every morning i make myself look at myself in the mirror. all of me. my own index of me. that will continue as punishment/motivation until i see what i'd like others to see. really see. i was surprised this morning to fit in some things i thought i might not. they were buttoned, although not quite ready for prime-time. that's progress though and that's good.

i can't take back all those days at the beach and all those drug-soaked nights that ended with the dawn. but i can give myself a better tomorrow and the next day. all that woman's face-cake frosting never will make her pretty. i'll settle for mascara and slim. :)


old school gangstahs

more than a few have run across my path over the years. it's a small town, and i've worked in flashy places for a long time. but my family of law-abiding italians (we are NOT sicilians, ok?) and irish cops taught me to keep my distance and my mouth shut. oh, and for god's sake don't ever ask the guy what he *does* for work.

very funny serendipity now brings me into non-work contact with a guy i've known for years. he spent some time *away*, but got released last fall and it turns out lives in my neighborhood with his wife. (his mistress with kids lives elsewhere, i guess and one long-term girlfriend just moved... don't ask me how i know!) mostly i see him at the gym, and i always know he's there because his bodyguard waits outside the fitness room reading the herald and eating chips, lol.


in 15 years of nightlife, i've only seen him behave as a complete gentleman. soft-spoken, polite, funny, and of course, a huge tipper. he's well-known and has been invited to numerous celebrity-chef weddings. he was always a handsome silver fox type, tall and lean, but prison aged him badly.

we greeted each other today, but he was already huffing and puffing under his earphones and i quickly got down to my own circle of sweat.


unbeknownst to me, kids can use the adult facilities
for an hour after school. i appreciate the practicality of giving them someplace healthy and supervised to go. but even just 3 or 4 teenage boys seems like a rowdy gang, and the place is very small with floor space at a premium. they were really loud and swinging off the equipment, making me jumpy. lots of "dayum, niggah!!" and f-bombs flying about. i did my best to ignore 'em and focused on my virtual reality campus loop.

out of the corner of my eye i saw my gangster finish his treadmill, ditch his i-pod and start walking over. he placed himself, blocking the aisle, and at well over 6-feet, loomed over the boyzzzzzzzzzz. "boys. this is not the playground, and there are ladies present. stop acting like animals and watch your mouths." every one of them looked to the floor and said, "yes, sir." it was hilarious and like something out of a terrible tv movie.


he smiled at me discreetly and walked out. one of the boys said, "lady, i'm sorry," but took off before i could say anything. i was hysterical laughing in my head. my gangster would never say "fuck" in front of a woman, probably even while fucking one (or two), but would kneecap a guy for vig. these kids hear "fuck" and "niggah" in all their music and videos and those words mean nothing to them. are they truly oblivious to the power of language to offend?

sometimes i like it old-school.

Sunday, June 01, 2008

quotable

"it's always night, or we wouldn't need light."

~~ thelonius monk