My son's girlfriend's mother is a hoarder
(I KNOW - fantastic first sentence for an editor, right?).
So, being the helpful sod that I am, I went on-line
to read up on hoarders and how they operate.
Imagine my surprise, and my horror, when I found
something of myself between those cyber-pages.
I am a hanger-on-er, a pack-rat, a death grip.
I have a personal relationship with packing crates -
some of which I filled back in the stone age and have
been carting around ever since.
And so: today a new age is dawning, my pasty friends.
an age of freedom and release...
an age we will call Good Lord, Mama Done Gone On A Rampage
and Burnt Up ALLA Her Shit.
In truth, GLMDGOARABUAHS dawned yesterday, but I was just too
exhausted to tell anyone about it.
And, in keeping with my desire to keep the differences between me
and James Frey as clear as possible, I must also admit that I am
making way more visits to the St. Vinsonian than I am to the burn pile -
but burning sounded just a bit more cleansing, if you know what I mean.
The klieg lighting in this new age is brutal; it shines directly
into my heart sometimes. Look - there are my unresolved feelings
about the sudden death of dad, stuffed between those boxes
marked 'suicide' and 'Mother, the early years'.
Seeing the potential in everything is a huge part of my artist's nature,
but some of the stuff I have carried is ugly, and simply cannot be made
otherwise; not with all the paint and glue and beaten copper in this world.
With closets and cases and arms filled with this...weight,
what is it I am saving, and what have I turned away because
we're just too full at the inn?
It's filthy work, this, and I must go slowly so I can be thorough.
But it feels good and I'm flexing muscles I forgot I had.
They strain and burn deliciously,
right there, in that spot where dreams and reality collide.
Oh!
I cannot leave the subject of smoldering refuse
without adding a few topical trash bags to the pile.
I would love to get rid of the following:
** Insanely beautiful women trapped in shit jobs - I have worked some
of those jobs and trust me - when I lived in North Country,
there were NO Charlize Therons.
** Bob Costas - Frog Mouth...'nuff said.
** This: "Are you disappointed you only won a bronze?"
Hey - the guy just hauled his carcass around a sheet of glass
at 80 miles an hour wearing a pair of razor blades.
He didn't even have socks on! Olympic commentators:
Please, please shut up.
** Oprah. There is only one Maya Angelou, and even she is beginning to
get on my 99th nerve. Besides, you have acknowledged her as your
"spiritual mother" so you cannot be her, because that would make
you your own daughter and...well, you are Oprah, so maybe
I'm in the wrong with this one.
** The pending sale of shipping operations at six major U.S. seaports to a state-
owned business in the United Arab Emirates. Uh - no.
** I'd add Bush - but burning petroleum-based products is strictly
prohibited in my county.
My hectic television schedule has been killing me, and tonight will be no different.
Ice Skating, Invasion, American Idol (I know - I am pathetic and ashamed)...
I don't know if I can keep up the pace much longer.
TIVO - maybe we need to talk.
bs
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13 comments:
With the remodel of our house, we have been purging great boxes of junk. Ann is a self-admitted pack-rat. She blames it on either her French mother or her winters in Wisconsin, but I know that no one in the world collects paper clips like she does.
On the Home and Garden channel they say we are "editing" our lives. HA! We shall have a beautiful house when this is all done albeit without furniture...
...or paper clips!
Two tremendously great blogs! Remember - the odder one is, the more "One's Self" one is. If we don't make way for some fine addictions, what IS there, in life? Other than cigarettes, alcohol, drugs, child porn, shopping (well, maybe) and some food addictions - why get down on ourselves? Indeed, even with the ABOVE addictions, why get down on ourselves? Wasn't there ANY kind of richness there? I hoarde lipsticks, jewelry, paperdolls (only have seven sets, tho), books, god knows, cards, art stuff I never use, beads, broken pieces of jewelry, old medals, anything like that perfume bottles, empty or full, certain magazines - guess that's about it. What a pleasure it is for me simply to know I HAVE these things.
Mine, mine, mine.
I love two - maybe three of the African American women singers on A. I. - and maybe last night's last white one. I get SO tired - I mean up to HERE tired - of all the skinny-jeaned little topped long straight haired girls who sound just the same. Also, I do NOT like pointers. The little bouncy black girl last night pointed TOO much. I liked her, though. But I loved the first who sang the best.
Stop Pointing. God. Are you an air traffic controller or a singer?
I like it now much better that Randy Johnson is actually bringing some of his own critical acumen to the job. Pauls comments are always tasteful and often helpful. I usually agree with Cowell. I hate him for his weight fetish, but I KNOW if Aretha Franklin had made it to a stage in front of him yrs ago he would have bounced his pants.
Well, tonight we are going to watch North Country. I have told Jim your words about no beautiful women in those places. He snorted and said yeah. But truly, this is a big problem with the movies.
Thank you for the kudos -
American Idol - oh...
the best women:
the little gal with longish hair who sang an old standard and the last girl, who sang "when you just give love"
Men:
BatBoy - the guy w/the ears who sang Stevie Wonder.
Artburns - the cowboy who sang "wanted, dead or alive.
Ace - who is way so pretty and sang George Michaels
and my favorite - the greyboy allstar -who sang Levon.
bs
Oh, bs, I got chills when I read your fave AI bois: we are of the same mind. And that incedibly cute girl who sang what she said was a song sung originally by Barbra Streisand-- hmmmm, dunno about that-- was incredibly good. We haven't been AI fans, but maybe because of TV dearth, R and I have become armchair music critics.
Paula doesn't judge; she gushes.
Good luck on the paring down. I'm a huge proponent of throwing stuff away, though R doen't understand the concept of collection as in "Cast Iron Boston Terrier Door Stops," which is my eBay obsession.
Cast Iron Boston Terrier doorstops???
Oh,please. Now you sound like him.
Fortunately, I didn't hear the men sing. They never impress me much (Fuhcrisake, my idea of a good male singer is Louie Armstrong, Leonard Cohen, and Tom Waits.).
I'm in agreement with Dr. Bookworm about the best of the women.
Sasha Cohen skated to Silver one more time ... but without my keen eye in the audience ... by 11:10 PM, I was dropping off to sleep on the couch and give it up and went to bed. Jesus! The winner is announced on the five o'clock news and you have to wait another seven hours to see it happen on tape! Totally fucked up broadcasting! Sins against God!
Do you like the grey-haired guy???
We like Grey-Haired Guy so much that my Mate actually voted--not just once, but 6 times. He would have voted more but the line got busy. Bookworm, you have to hear him! He is like a white Ray Charles/Joe Cocker and moves queerly in a great way! I like that Ace, too, as he is McDreamy, for sure and has, as Simon says, The X Factor! I hate Simon but he is very often right. Randy Jackson, if he would just stop using the term "Dawg", I would respect him more. Paula? She appears to be compulsive about balancing Simon, so she is as sugary as he is acid. I discount her reactions absolutley. And could there be a more beautiful voice than that guy with bad teeth and the look of a computer nerd? He won't get far, but geez, what a voice.
(re your comment on my blog:)
'Brown Shoes' and 'mom' -- I'm in total agreement on all points. We watched a lot of past Olympics on Canadian TV ... but this time can't seem to locate a Canadian station on our Comcast subscription line-up.
I did hear the greyboy all-star,
and think he is fantastic. I also love the bat-boy and hope he goes far.
I love to hate the show - it is compulsory viewing here at chez shoe.
Bat boy? Who's the Michael Buble- Jamie Cullen kinda thing who literally shook all over like a jellyfish? Interesting voice and look, but... I don't know.
R & I are in contention over gray-haired-glances-over shoulder. I like him; R fears him.
I could think of worse things to watch, like the movie "Saw." (as we did last night...)
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