Confessions of a One-Track Mind

How can I not commemorate the passing of Burt Reynolds? I cannot begin to count the number of times I've watched all or part of Smokey and the Bandit. Literally dozens of times--including once at the Barn Drive-in on Merritt Island (long gone in favor of a strip mall) on a double-feature with a Jerry Reed vehicle, High Ballin'. It was a classic on many levels. (And let's not forget Hooper, which was the most action-packed mid-life crisis ever filmed.)

I liked Burt Reynolds; yes, he was out of my league and I knew it, but he had a very engaging charisma. That kind of charm could grin at the camera and cause hot flashes throughout the theater. You just knew that even if you weren't romantically involved, he'd be terrific company on a long roadtrip or hanging out drinking beers and shooting pool. 

They don't make 'em like that any more.

Literally--Burt Reynolds belonged to the last generation of men who was "allowed" to be a natural male. He predated the trend of "manscaping". Go look at *that* picture of him from Cosmopolitan magazine at the bottom of the page. Go ahead, I'll wait. 

That's a man who never waxed anything in his life. He is exactly as God made him, and perfectly okay with that. If his nudity or blatant masculinity makes the viewer uncomfortable, it may be because the arbiters of  aesthetics have since  decreed that men must be pruned to be acceptable and somehow convinced audiences of the same. After all, these stars have spent months working out for their roles, let's not blur that six-pack with something so crass as body hair! And yet, following that dictum has lead to a certain homogeneity among actors of today. 

They've pretty. They're buff. They've removed their natural foliage (well, perhaps a tasteful strip below the navel) to show off their hard-won musculature--but to prove that there's a Y chromosome in there somewhere, they're permitted a little stubble or a beard. Stamp them out with a cookie-cutter, Hollywood! They're practically clones of each other.

Compare these guys with the icons of the 1970's--Burt Reynolds, Tom Selleck, Robert Redford to name a few. Robert Redford was clean-cut without being overly barbered, and Tom and Burt had those delightful mustaches. (Let's not forget Tom's frequent co-star, Sam Elliott, who is still a Damn Fine Looking Man. No cloning possible.) These guys all share that charisma thing I mentioned earlier. That comes from being comfortable in their own skin, not trying to meet some artificial standard of maleness.

Am I saying that none of today's actors have no appeal? Hmm...there are certainly members of the younger generation whom I find attractive despite their adherence to the code of manscaping. Still, I think it's a lot more difficult to stand out as an individual these days. (Especially with so many of them named Chris--what's up with that? The only one we had back in the day was Kristofferson, who was known more for his musical talent, although he had a respectable film career.) It makes me wonder which of them may stand the test of time--in forty years, when their generation (currently 30-somethings) starts dying off, who are we going to remember and sigh wistfully? Who is going to make the cut, who'll be remembered for that appeal that makes guys wish they were him and women want, if not him, someone like him?

Goodbye, Burt. You showed 'em how it was done. Give my best to Jerry!

http://blogs.mprnews.org/newscut/2018/09/the-unmentionables-burt-reynolds-in-cosmo/

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I have until Thursday to get the FPL bill paid. Loaned money to J last week, thought I'd have it back this week, but no, so sorry, it'll be next week due to some computer glitch with her check. (Start juggling!)

That's only the tip of the iceberg of suckitude, though---

Headed down to my mailbox this afternoon only to find a "boil water" alert hanging from my door. I haven't set foot outside since I returned on Saturday, so god only knows how long it's been hanging there! Next stop, amoebic dysentery.

Got a notice about my driver's license renewal---if half the horror stories I hear about the process are true, it may take me til September to organize it all.

Got a summons for jury duty next month...which might be good for a few dollars, IF they actually need me. Last time, I had to check in by phone and never got the word to report.

Called GK to confirm various events for the coming weekend and found out that her grandmother, who is the closest thing to a grandparent I've ever had, passed away last night. She was 98, and while we thought she was going to make it to 100, it was not to be. I'll memorialize her in a separate post, but this definitely caps the list of things that make this a very bad, no good day.

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This has been a weird week, and yeah, I know it's not over yet.

Spent a day at J's dog-sitting---she was over in Orlando and the neighbor who usual acts as doggie-butler has her own drama going on and was unavailable. I got to sleep in a/c, which was sweet. Came out to a dead battery and had to wait for J's return and a jump-start---my own fault: The door didn't latch properly, the light stayed on, which wasn't noticable when I got there in broad daylight.

My lights got turned off for non-payment. I have the money, but because I've been nervous about how fast it's shrinking, I delayed paying, which led to me sitting in the heat for several hours after I made the payment, which cost me an additional service charge. *facepalm* Yes, I know it was stupid of me, please let's not rub my nose in it.

I heard about Ray Bradbury's death and was startled, as I *thought* he'd already passed. I may have confused him with Kurt Vonnegut, both of whom I considered somewhat subversive in high school. IDK. Anyway, good-bye, Mr. Bradbury. You were a great American writer.

Speaking of writing, I'm really pissed with ff.net, which is on my last frackin nerve. It doesn't want to load---it takes multiple attempts every time. I hate their new log-in. I hate that they no longer give you the option to block ads. And I'm livid about their "reiteration" of their ratings policy. I'm about ready to jump ship for AO3, which annoys me mightily; I've been over their for about eight years now. I have a shitload of stuff posted there, including some major multi-chapter works, which it'll be a four-star pain-in-the-ass to crosspost, because AO3 does NOT make it easy. Grrrr.

My sleep schedule is back to being buggered up; I'm never quite sure of what day it is unless I check my phone. I hate it, but sleeping during the day is more bearable than being awake for it. Lots of cold showers either way.

Watched Rosalind Russell in "Sister Kenny" the other day. I figured Roz as a nun dealing with an epidemic would be a triple-play as far as my kinks go...alas, no nuns, but it was still okay. Saw "Walking Tall" (the Rock remake), which I'd seen when it was in the theater...prime case of "I didn't know he/she was in that!"...in this case, the love interest was Aisha in Dark Angel and Emily in Jericho. One of the minor villains was also in Dark Angel (Joshua), and the factor that sucked me in as I was flipping channels, Neal McDonough as the uber-villain. Justified just won't be the same without him next season!

Apologies to jdsgirlbev and gwyilliondream, both of whom had birthdays earlier this week. Hope they were awesome like you!

Hope it gets better from here on out. I cracked my neck a little while ago...sounded like my head was about to fall off, which wouldn't surprise me.

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Carroll Shelby
1933 - 2012

Automotive Racing Legend
I'll bet he's already tinkering with his wings to make them go faster....




Someone I always wanted to meet, and now I never will, at least not in this lifetime.


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I'm still feeling codswalloped by BC's passing. This morning, NJ and Stellar (their daughter) turned up on my doorstep mere minutes after I'd crawled out of bed. She wanted to make sure I'd heard and bring me up to speed. No viewing. Cremation, and a memorial service in June when GK is in town. NJ says she isn't up to planning anything at the moment, and I'm in sympathy with that. This way, everyone gets to grieve privately for a while, then we'll have the memorial/a family get-together and closure.

Per her, the medical examiner should have answers in a few days, but apparently he'd been vomiting the night before. He hadn't complained of any pain, and according to NJ, he was sleeping on his stomach, so I'm wondering if he might have vomited again and aspirated it? She was there at the time, though, and says he was quiet. IDK.

I called BigRed at work after they left---we were all in school together---and broke the news. I didn't want to do it over the weekend, because I know she participates in her church choir and didn't want to sandbag her in case she had a performance. She was shocked, but not surprised, which seems to be the consensus.

In the middle of all this, I found out that the post office has been returning my mail. I went down there a little while ago, and they've agreed to give me til Saturday to get the new box installed. (No pressure, or anything.) They'll hold everything til then, which is good; I have a skirt and some books coming.

To try to tone down all this bleakness a smidge, here's a vid for a song that BC loved. I remember him introducing me to it back in the day, in the apartment he and NJ were in when they got married, circa 1984-85. Favorite line: "The sign said clearance to the 12' line, but the chickens were stacked up 13-9...."




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Today was a quiet day for the most part. Then, a little while ago, I got an email from GK letting me know that this morning, her brother BC passed away in his sleep. Exact cause unknown; because it occured at his home, there will be an autopsy, but he was morbidly obese, had sleep apnea and heart attacks run in his family. He was 51--would've been 52 next week.

I feel really unsettled by this. I don't know that I would go so far as to call it grief, because it's years since we've been close, but there is definitely a hole in my universe. We go clear back to our mutual senior year of high school. He took me to senior prom, with NJ's (his then-girlfriend-now-widow's) permission.

We hung out; we saw a lot of movies, often with NJ, and the only drive-in movie I ever went to was with BC. (It was a double feature of High-Ballin' and Smokey and the Bandit.) It was always platonic, because I wouldn't do that shit to a girlfriend---but his family became my family as mine disappeared. He's the one who introduced me to S, and through her, to J.

In a daisy-chain of events, my friendship with BC has led me to where I am now. It was baby-sitting his kids that got me into comics, gaming and LARPing, which is how I met Mb. My phone career was initiated when S's SIL told me they were hiring at the answering service she worked for. Mb and I met through gaming, and realized that we both worked at the directory assistance call center. Then it was her who told me about the opening at the medical billing service.

I have so many memories of BC over the years, good and bad. The way he lived on peanut butter sandwiches and root beer the time his parents left him alone one weekend. His first computer, one of those cheapo Texas Instruments jobbies that you had to hook up to a TV for a monitor and a tape recorder as a hard-drive. His passion for Star Trek: TOS (Spock was his high school nickname), and how his dream job for a few years was at the local planetarium. Being at KSC to watch the first shuttle launch.

The less pleasant memories...I don't have the original Latin version, but there's a saying: Of the dead, say only what is good. He had his faults, but they're moot now.

He wasn't religious in the least, but I'm pretty sure he leaned toward agnostic rather than atheist. I don't know how he imagined the Hereafter, but I seriously doubt harps and halos figured into it. I think, if the "many mansions" of Heaven are reflections of our ambitions, that he coalesced in a cloud of sparkles onto a teleporter pad, ready to go on to some great adventure in a distant galaxy.

Good-bye, Bryan. Rest in Peace.

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God, I feel so old.

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RIP Charles Napier

You were memorable, and will be missed.

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I was big into 80s metal/hair bands, so it is with regret that I mark the passing of singer Jani Lane ofWarrant at the age of 47. Rock on, dude.


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I just found out from Mb that Captain Ahab is dead. She's a bit upset, since his death occured IN JUNE, and SO (Ahab's son) was never notified. She's pretty sure the lack of notification is part of a plot to deny him any chance of contesting the estate (It's complicated.). Apparently, the individual who stands to inherit kept quiet about Ahab's death when it occured, and SO just happened to find out from another relative in passing

I've had a headache all day and was sleeping when she rang, and now she wants to meet up at Steak'n'Shake, so I'm off. Lovely thing about the C's location, it's only five minutes away. And at this hour, I'm not even going to bother with a bra. I don't care....

More details as they become available.

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Loved your sit-coms, dude. R.I.P..


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Had a guest speaker at church today who was very good. The topic was "June Bugs", and it was a light-hearted talk about how things that "bug" us can keep us from attaining inner peace.

Considering the generally evil mood I've been in of late, it struck home. I have enough heavy-duty shit going on that I shouldn't let myself get so wound up about rotten drivers and sundry superfluous bullshit. *breathe in, breathe out, breathe...*

Why is it that when I'm flipping channels and run across a movie I've seen umpteen times, even if I actually own it on DVD, I'll stop and watch it, commercials and all? It happened twice today. How many times have I seen Flight of the Phoenix (the remake). A bunch. Enough that I've written four fanfics for it. And I *still* get all choked up and dewy-eyed at the ending.

Also came across Jumpin' Jack Flash, 1986, Whoopie Goldberg's first film...and had a shitstorm of nostalgia about the first time I saw it. 1986 was the year after my dad died...I was between jobs, with money to fall back on, and one fine day, I showed up at Susie's around noon, and somehow, she talked me into doing Southern Comfort shots with her. Between that and a few puffs, pretty soon we were feeling no pain.

We both liked Whoopie from her HBO specials, and we wanted to see her movie, but we were sane enough to realize we shouldn't be driving. So we called Susie's mom and promised to pay her way and buy her lunch afterward if she'd drive us to the theater.

I was entertained. When we got out, we went to Susie's mom's favorite restaurant, a Chinese joint called the Rickshaw, which has since closed, alas. They did an excellent egg foo yung, and ours had just gotten to the table when Susie turned green and bolted from the restaurant. Her mother and I enjoyed our meals while Susie took refuge in the car, occasionally yarking out onto the asphalt. I was fine, but then, I had eight inches and about fifty pounts on her.

She had a job a year or so later, showing model homes in a ritzy new development. She got bounced because she kept a bottle of Bailey's in her desk, she *said* to offer guests. (Which even then I thought was a crummy excuse: All the customer would need to renege on a deal would be to say the saleswoman got them drunk....) Bailey's in her coffee was a favorite, but her alcohol dependence didn't surface for another couple of decades, and by then, it was mixed up with hormones (from going through the change), digestive problems from TWO gastric bypass surgeries (she ate her way back up after the first one), and a massive Ambien habit (which is why everyone was sure she'd OD'ed). And because she was such a special snowflake, Susie never thought she had a problem; there was always someone or something else to blame for her difficulties.

Oh, the pet peeves I could list about Susie! But what good would it do? How does that old proverb go? "Of the dead, speak only what was good."? Something along those lines. Much easier to do with an angel like Kat, whose death wasn't unexpected; the issues were all resolved, and besides, she was an angel.

Susie's death was sudden; nothing was resolved, and she was surely no angel. Still, she was smart and funny and could be generous. If everyone creates their own heaven, I imagine her zooming down the road to the Florida Keys in a convertable with the top down. She's wearing a flirty little tropical print sundress. Jimmy Buffet is blasting on the stereo, and the car is populated with all the dogs she loved: Macs and Stormy and Mariah and Grover that I know of. The dogs all lean out the windows, eagerly sniffing the sea breeze, Whereever Susie is, I really hope she's at peace.

Usually when I post concerning a death, I say RIP---Rest in Peace.

Not this time. This is different.

First, last and foremost, I am a New Yorker. I don't care how much cockroach kharma it earns me, I hope Osama bin Laden is roasting in Hell. I hope he suffers there until he's accounted for all the years of the unlived lives of each and every one of the people he murdered. Until he's attoned for all the pain he's caused their families. Until he's repaid the debt our country owes to all the service men and women who've had to leave their families to try and track down his sorry ass. Til he's paid for the blood of all the civilians who've suffered as a result of those incursions.

In short, FOREVER.

Peace? Not hardly.
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Michael Sarrazin
1940 -- 2011



One of my greatest teen crushes, precipitated, of course, by Gumball Rally, in which he drove the winning Cobra.

Farewell, Michael. You were cool in your day.

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I just got in and kicked off my shoes...I'm SO tired. I arrived at Susie's viewing shortly before 2. The service was at 3 and lasted about an hour, then we relocated for hospitality. Saw BC and NJ as local representatives of the C family. SBJB took the day off to be there, and even KW, who's probably Susie's oldest surviving friend---in terms of seniority, although probably age as well. (Not catty, just a fact.)

The clergyman who gave the eulogy has known J since forever---Susie, not so much---and while it was a perfectly competant homily, it really didn't reflect Susie. T spoke about how long he and Susie had been together, and how opposite they were when they first got together, and how her vivacious personality brought him out of his shell. J talked about how her mother always drove her to do the things she was afraid of, and how she'd learned from that.

I'd prepared some remarks, but somehow, between getting dressed and packing the calla lilies, I forgot to print them off. Was halfway down US1 when it dawned on me, and by then, there wasn't a whole lot I could do. Fortunately, it was fairly brief, and I remembered the gist, so I managed to carry on, regardless.

( Click for the text of my remarks.... )

I ended up with two floral arrangements---not my own, but the one GK sent, of white flowers, mostly carnations, and one of house plants and cut flowers in a pretty seashell planter.

There was hospitality after the service at J's church. T was over it at that point; it ended up being about a dozen people: J, her neighbor C and sbjb were the only ones I knew. The food consisted of fried chicken, macaroni salad, beans, a truly brilliant shepherd's pie (YUM!!!) and brownies.

When the crowd has thinned, the three of us wound up at a table reminiscing. We all agreed that BC's references to Susie's drug use was unfortunate. (Hello, the grieving widower has a security clearance!) But BC has always been one of those folks who's very bright but somewhat lacking in good sense and tact. J got a huge, much-needed laugh out of one of SBJB's knitting projects. Correct me if I'm wrong, but it was the "Penis Poop Waffle-knit Socks" that had her doubled-up and scarlet with laughter.

J and T both thanked me, although I don't really feel like I did anything. I was there because, where else would I be?

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It's raining fish right now. I'm really glad I don't have to GO anywhere tonight. This afternoon was difficult enough.

Thank God/dess for J's neighbor, who took in hand the wretched job the funeral home did and helped Susie to look...better. All the funeral home did was foundation; her hair was awful---almost anything would've been an inprovement, but neighbor C did a good job with her eye shadow and some lipstick, and arranged her hair. (It was Susan's own make-up from her purse.)

J stayed out front until C was done; I was in there the whole time, advising how Susan liked her make-up. C did the best she could, but the expression on Susie's face...or lack thereof. It was NOT her.

Honestly, when I die, I'll haunt anyone who instigates such foolishness. I don't want to be a painted waxwork displayed in a big oak box. I want a no-frills cremation and a party for my friends. I want them to sit around and shoot the shit and tell jokes and stories about the good times we had.

Afterward, I trudged over to Publix and the Dollar Tree. Two pots of calla lilies came from Publix; I'm going to repot them into a container that was going to be Susie's Christmas gift, a pot with playing card suites on the sides. The Dollar Tree yielded some spanish moss to garnish the dirt in the pot with, and some playing cards, which I'm debating tucking in with her. I tend toward the Viking method of burying the dead with things they may need in their afterlife, and Susie's grandmoth, mother and sister are all waiting for her, and that's quite a canasta foursome.

I'm short on sleep, thanks to the dogs next door, so I'd better go set some timers just in case....

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I've spent the last couple days in a daze, trying to come to grips with Susie's passing. A chunk of Saturday was taken up with helping T and J write an obituary. As I found out with Kat's death, they charge for those by the line, but T uttered the three most dangerous words in the English language: "I don't care." So I smoothed out his rough draft and added a few adjectives to help convey her personality, and included the sentence, "She was an excellent canasta player.". Because I can picture her cocky grin as we sat down to play; when she was sober, she was.

We got acquainted in 1982, when BC rented a room from her. March would've been 29 years since we first met. We had our differences over the years, but always made up eventually. That's a long time, and there are so many things I'll always associate with Susie. Her favorite writers were Piers Anthony, Stephen King and Jack London. Her favorite musicians were Elton John, Jimmy Buffett and James Taylor. She loved George Carlin, Eddie Izzard and Bette Midler.

Her feelings about green peppers was like mine about peas, as in, she'd pitch a fit if they were in a dish she was served. She used scented laundry detergent and a double dose of fabric softener, so her clothes were always highly perfumed, and woe to you if you used one of her towels (even the oldest, rattiest ones) to dry to wipe the morning dew from your windshield. The build-up left an evil greasy film on the glass.

She thought it was acceptable to "bake" potatoes in the microwave. I could never convince her otherwise. On the other hand, I couldn't even reheat leftovers to her satisfaction, so why am I surprised? She was one of those people who, if you did things differently from the way they did, told you you were doing it wrong. Not a lot of flexability there; "good enough" was never good enough, to the point where she'd refuse to fire a piece of ceramic because she didn't approve of how well I'd cleaned it.

When her mom died, Susie was upset by the lack of make-up the funeral home did. Said she didn't look natural without a ton of blue eye shadow and crooked pink lipstick. She made me promise that I'd do her funerary make-up if she predeceased me. I'm willing to do it; I promised, after all. But J has a friend who's a professional cosmetologist, and tomorrow the three of us are going to go take care of her. I doubt I'll actually wield an eyeliner, but I'll be there for her.

I know, this is a downer, but that's life...and death.

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