At 5 AM, I woke up singing:

Come fill up your glasses with brandy & wine
Whatever it costs, I will pay;
So be easy & free when you're drinking with me;
I'm a man you don't meet everyday.

If you're a Pogues fan, you will recognize that song from Rum, Sodomy, & the Lash and perhaps you will get the idea that St. Paddy's Day is chomping at the bit to get started around here, folks. Even though the food last night was Greek (and a complete success, I might add modestly!) and the wine was French, and even while we did listen to the Alice soundtrack at least 3 times in a row last night, we ended on a decidedly Irish note with the Pogues and I went to bed singing that haunting song over & over, I'm a Man You Don't Meet Everyday.

I also am a big fan of the Pogues album If I Should Fall From Grace With God. The title song, along with the Turkish Song of the Damned really stand out for me even all these decades later. If you want to have your heart torn into a thousand pieces, though, listen to the song Fairytale of New York after you've had a few. It's more a Christmas song than a St. Patrick's Day song, but still; it'll kill you, and nothing feels better than that if you're any part Irish at all and have had a few. (Especially that chorus, it gets me every time: The boys from the NYPD choir were singing 'Galway Bay' and the bells were ringing out for Christmas day. It is just so fucking Irish and so fucking New York.)

I don't know about you, gang, but the mid-80s was such a great time for music IMHO. There was so much going on that I absolutely loved back then. This was back in the days when I still played records endlessly in my room there on E. 12th Street. I loved everything by the Pogues; I loved the Screaming Blue Messiahs' Gun Shy; Iggy Pop's Blah Blah Blah; Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds' The First Born is Dead; Raindogs by Tom Waits is still one of my all-time favorite albums; Echo & the Bunnymen's Songs to Learn & Sing; a little bit of the old Joy Division, from before that guy killed himself. I remember listening to these records in particular, over and over and over.

Ah well, life moves on. But anyway, last night was such a nice evening. I hope you guys did something equally blissful wherever you found yourselves.

I gotta scoot now. Way too much editing staring me in the face around here. Have a great weekend, gang. Thanks for visiting! See ya.

        

leave you on this lovely Friday afternoon, thinking about worms!

So instead, I leave you with thoughts of what's going on around here tonight:

I am making homemade spanakopita for dinner:



and a Greek salad:



baking a loaf of bread:



and we're having a bottle of (French) red:


There are about 10 candles of various sizes in the room waiting to be lit; and flowers. And the table is set with the Wedgewood china (Devon Rose pattern -- a gift from my Uncle):



And we will most likely be listening to Danny Elfman's Alice in Wonderland soundtrack a zillion times because I am addicted to it now. After that, who knows? But if you're a loyal reader of this lofty blog, you can probably guess!! (Although I threw out the Pall Malls. It was the only way I could stop smoking them, alas...)

It should be a really lovely evening around here. I'm looking forward to it. (Isn't that better than thinking about worms?) I hope you have a wonderful Friday, wherever you are, gang, and whatever you're doing. Keep in mind that it's all pretty much a miracle that we're even here, right? Fight the good fight and thanks for visiting! See ya.

        

Well, okay -- no, they're not. But they are among God's many awesome and somehow inexplicable creatures. And when they're doing that squirmy-wormy thing they do, they're among God's living creatures and so my heart goes out to them.

Last night, it must have torrentially downpoured in my neighborhood b/c this morning, when I went outside for my walk at 7 AM, the sidewalks were littered with squirming worms. I wanted to pick them up and carefully put them back onto everybody's lawns, you know? But even I know when it's time to let go of that impulse to rescue. It would have taken me all day to do that. Plus, I live on a really busy street, so a lot of people would have seen me doing it. (Neighbor to other neighbor: "Look, it's that crazy lady from that little house down at the end of the road. What the fuck is she doing now?" "I don't know, but she's been at it for hours.") So on I walked.

Until I got to that part of my walk where I go into the areas of my neighborhood that have no sidewalks and I have to walk in the road. And lo & behold, the roads were full of worms trying to squirm to the other side. It was, like, -- OMG; I have to just turn around and go home. I can't handle this. You know, I had to just stare down at the road the whole time so that I wasn't stepping on any of them but now and then, a soccer mom in her SUV would come rolling by and then, yeeks, the fucking schoolbus! It was a horror. Really. It was, like, you know -- Jesus, help me; I can't stand this!

But eventually I made my way to a busier road and it had far fewer worms & they were easier to miss. But still. I take these walks b/c I need to seriously de-stress pretty much everyday; not add to my stress load and the sheer inexplicable horror of living, right?

Then I went down what is usually my favorite little street in the summertime and up ahead in the road, I saw what appeared to be the largest worm I had ever seen in my life. Like it had been around since 1947, or something like that, and was just now encountering the light of day. I tried to make myself just not look at it; just keep moving. But when I got up close, thank god, it was just some kid's old shoelace that had been rained on all night. Thank heavens for small miracles, right?

        

I had the mother of all epiphanies while on my walk this morning. (And, btw, spring has arrived, gang -- just as I predicted it would!! It's a balmy 45 degrees out there. The snow is gone. The buds are all over the trees. The birds are everywhere, singing like mad.)

Of course my epiphany involves my never-ending fixation on my craft, my journey on that writer's path. The never-ending one. The reason I'm here, etc., etc. I had an awakening about how I wanted to enhance my Valentino novel. And the good news is that it's only going to take me about a lifetime to execute it! Yay. It'll be my own little Leaves of Grass that I won't stop refining until I'm dead. But what a great way to spend what's left of my time on Earth -- fixating on the Silent Movie Era! Right, gang? (When I'm finished at last, that virtual reality thing won't seem so far-fetched. ha ha) (See some sort of insane post below somewhere about me on a Paramount  back lot in 1922.)

(Actually, I still have the enormous task of the memoir ahead of me, still to execute. It will be a multi-media extravaganza that everyone seems excited about. And Freak Parade is almost ready for publication. But other than those massive projects, the only thing I have left to do in what's left of my life, is this unbelievably time-consuming idea I now have for Twilight of the Immortal. I couldn't be happier! I'm never happier than when I am biting off more than I can possibly chew!)

Meanwhile, very shortly here, I will be incorporating the video reviews, readings, etc.,  to this blog on a weekly basis. The videos will be under 3 minutes and will not supplant the blog in any way -- just be an addition to it. I am excited about it, gang. It's going to be so much fun. The only drawback so far is that I can't figure out how to embed the video directly into this blog. I can embed them on my web site without any trouble at all. But onward. I'm sure I'll figure it out eventually. (Or email me and give me a head's up. Thanks.)

Okay!! Guess what day this is? This is the day that I go see Alice in Wonderland for the second time in just under a week! Yay. Jay wants to see it this time. So off we go. We're going to the earliest show because, a) Jay & I both have a lot of work-stuff we need to do today; and b) it's cheaper to go early and why pay through the nose for the 3D IMAX thingie if you don't have to? (Wouldn't that be horrible, though; to pay for anything "through the nose"? Pepsi through the nose is bad enough, right?)

Before I sign off.... More scanning occurred during the night! I will leave you with two more ancient photos from my illustrious past. The first was once again taken by my now-departed, but most wonderful companion on Earth, Paul Martin when he was visiting for Thanksgiving in 1985. I'm on my bed in what used to be my favorite tee shirt (a shirt given to me by Laurie, a life-long best friend that I've known since we were 6; in the days of this tee shirt, she was a very successful kids' wear designer). This is in my apartment on E. 12th Street.


And this photo was taken in 1993. It was taken at Larry Rivers' incredibly dark, uninviting loft. It  was a party for Larry's 70th birthday and a bunch of artists from all over, of various media, gathered together to give him gifts of art & to entertain him, to drink his booze, blah blah blah. And to me it seemed that he could not have cared less about any of it. All of us were at least half his age or a lot less. (Including his current wife at that time -- the reason anyone there knew Larry Rivers at all.) And you could tell that the companions that he cared most about being with, or sharing a milestone birthday with, weren't even alive anymore. (A case in point, Frank O'Hara -- one of my absolute all-time heroes and one of Larry's bestfriends -- had been dead since 1966.) It was apparent to me at any rate, from the look on Larry's face, that he really wanted to say: "Go the fuck home & get out of my loft." I had promised I would come to the gathering and perform a few songs, so I did. But I couldn't breathe in that fucking place and I couldn't get out of there fast enough. I wanted air; I wanted to be on the street -- anywhere but anywhere near those people.  Generally, I don't like parties and that particular gathering had the worst vibe I can remember. (But the people seemed to like my songs, which totally surprised me. Anyway.)



Okay, off I go now. Have a wonderful Thursday wherever this blog finds you. I hope that the long day's journey into night that you are currently undergoing, turns out -- surprisingly -- to be one hell of a great ride!! See you on the other side! Thanks for visiting, gang.

        

This was my favorite house on Earth. We lived here from 1966 to 1971, in Cleveland, OH. My bedroom window is there at the top left, behind the tree. I had my first orgasm there, my first period, my first crush on a girl, my first crush on a boy -- many, many firsts. I first fell in love with my biological father in that bedroom. It was after a dream I had about him in the fall of 1966, when I was 6 years old -- decades before I knew who he was. I was happier in that house than I've ever been in my life (so far! The century's young, gang.)



Here is me in midtown Manhattan, coming out of a diner & lighting up in 1984. The photo was taken by Scot Gamble.



Here is me with some band mates, when I used to play in the folk clubs in the Village. We're in my apartment on E. 12th Street, February 1984. My girlfriend Valerie took this photo.



This was a lighting test Polaroid from a photo shoot back in 1995 or so. I ended up liking this test shot better than any of the actual photos they took of me that night. It was so frustrating. And a really long, grueling, fruitless shoot.



I love this photo! It still cracks me up. I am 25 here. I look so goofy. No make-up, my hair is just sticking up all over, my face at a strange angle. And that magazine photo of Keith looks huge! Paul Martin was visiting from Washington DC, Thanksgiving 1985, and he'd bought me a Polaroid camera as an early Christmas present. We took tons of photos that week. Thank God, b/c now he's dead and all I have are the memories. The photo was taken in my bedroom on E. 12th Street. Just above my head out of view is what used to be my favorite photo of Jim Carroll. And the photo to the left of Keith was a great photo of Lou Reed.

        

How cool is that, gang? (Meaning the numbers for "Alice" over its opening weekend.) The great news is that I actually live with somebody who a) hasn't seen the movie yet; and b) really wants to -- so this means I get to see it again! Yay!

But there are so many movies out right now that I still want to see. Nothing like putting the most expensive one right back at the top of the list, right?? (None of the other films are in 3D IMAX).

I so want to see The fucking Last Station already! (In other parts of the world, it is simply called The Last Station --  fraidy cats everywhere chose to delete the F-word from its original title.) Goddamn it. I really don't want it to leave the, like, one theater it's playing in before it leaves town for the rest of eternity. I so love Christopher Plummer. Loyal readers of this lofty blog will no doubt recall that he has been intensely erotically appealing to me since I first saw him in the Sound of Music when I was 5 years old. I so adore him! (I guess he is one of the very few actors that do it for me. See my other post about Alice.) Plus it's a film about Tolstoy -- I'm not sure how erotically appealing he may have been (see below); he sported quite a good deal of non-erotic-seeming hair. However, it is a film about a writer and I never stop loving those kinds of movies, gang. Go figure! Yet the movie seems to only ever be playing at 10:53 AM or 9:55 at night. In short, it is in a theater that's not 100% easy to get to and/or park at, and the film is showing at such god-awful times. (People who know me well, know that if I'm not over-imbibing in alcohol, cigarettes, and some stupefying sexual frenzy downstairs in my office with Jay, then I am in bed by 9:30 PM! How corny am I??? It's only b/c I seriously love to be up before the sun comes up. Not sure why, but oh well.)



On another note that's still entirely about me....

I came to another epiphany, gang. About "my craft" and my real reluctance to invest any more of my energy and/or skill in projects that don't 100% excite me. So a couple of projects that were at the top of my "TO DO" pile simply got axed over the weekend and now I am free and clear to finish the edits on Freak Parade. Here's hoping my brain is clear & focused. We shall see when I put pen to paper once more (which of course is a euphemism or something like that, since I do almost everything  on the laptop now). But the combination of spring arriving and being able to go on my early morning walks again has really given my scrunched-up, agonized mind some clarity again! Finally!! Yippee ki yi yay.

Okey-dokey. Gonna get crackin' around here, folks. I seriously hope life is treating you good on this fresh, lovely Monday wherever you are and whatever you find yourself flailing around in! Keep the faith and fight the good fight! You have no idea how much it will matter to somebody down the road. Thanks for visiting, gang. See ya!

        

To be honest, gang, I could not care fucking less about the Oscars. I don't watch the Oscars (or any other awards shows, for that matter). I used to like the Oscars but only in the sense that I usually went to see all the films that would get nominated. But even then, I didn't usually watch the broadcast of the event. I'd look at the headline in the morning paper instead.

Back in the mid- 90s, if I was hanging out drinking and a TV set was on hand (you'd be surprised how often I was hanging out drinking and a TV set would be on hand), I at least enjoyed watching the red carpet stuff on E! with Joan Rivers & her daughter. But you know what, in my humble opinion, so few celebrities have any sense of real style anymore. They wear pretty clothes but it always looks as though they don't have any real strong sense of personal style, you know? They either like to shock for the sake of shock, or they look like un-evolved mannequins. So it  kind of bores me.

When I was 11 years old, going on 12, and saw photos of Bianca Jagger for the first time, man -- now that was style. She was unbelievable. I'd never seen a more exotic-looking woman in my life. Of course, I had only been on Earth for a little bit over a decade and hadn't really spent much time outside of Ohio, but still. She was so unusually beautiful in my opinion. She became my role model for personal style from then on. Throughout the 1970s, I positively lived for each new issue of VOGUE.

I guess she spoiled me b/c no one can ever really come close to her sense of style. She was an original who was very much molded by her cultural era. (I'm talking about her like she's dead, but she's not!)

Here's a photo of her from 1971 on her wedding day in St. Tropez, when she got married to Mick:

 
Back in the mid-1980s, when I worked at MoMA, I worked a very private lunch that the President of the museum was having for Bianca and a few other rich, high profile people, and I couldn't believe how tiny she was. By then, she'd gotten kind of severe looking; she didn't look happy at all. But those were rough times in NYC; everyone imaginable was dying from AIDS. But as she was leaving the room, I stood back at a (very) polite distance, just because I wanted to watch her, you know? She had been such a profound influence on me when I was growing up and I simply couldn't believe that was her, and that I was so much taller than she was (because in my little world in Ohio, she had been larger than life), or even that I was living in Manhattan and working at the Museum of Modern Art. It was kind of surreal. And right at that moment, she looked directly at me. I was so startled by this that I don't know if I even managed to smile. I wanted to say, "Oh my god, you were everything to me," but her gaze was so dark & intense that it was kind of paralyzing. I was speechless. I didn't say anything at all.

        

I just now made another little video for you guys.

It's about one minute and 23 seconds of my little spring flowers! They are pushing their little heads up through the dirt!! Yay!  (And it's in 3D IMAX!!) (Just kidding.) ha ha ha. But spring is as good as here, gang. Check it out:

http://www.youtube.com/MarilynsRoomVideo

And get out the Guinness & crank up Darby O'Gill and the Little People!! (Or Rum, Sodomy, & the Lash, if you're a little more on the hardcore side.) It's not a moment too soon, either, gang. Thank you, God, for spring. I am so ready for it this year.

        

I loved every minute of it, gang -- I kid you not. What a great movie. It was so fun from start to finish; we both (my cousin & I) got completely absorbed in it & were, like, in la-la land when it was over. In some kind of happy trance. 

And what an empowering movie for little girls. (If maybe a little too scary for really little kids.) This version of Alice will help offset the dis-empowering messages Walt Disney movies had been sending to little girls for decades. Yay. (Even though I loved all those old Walt Disney movies anyway. For some reason, I never believed in the Prince Charming myth -- mostly b/c I wanted to be Prince Charming myself. Perhaps too much testosterone?)

Go see it, gang. And see it in 3D IMAX if you can afford it. It was so cool!

I also immediately downloaded the soundtrack to the movie when I got home. It was such a great soundtrack. And it made me feel like, if I listened to it every night in the dark with, you know, candles lit everywhere, it would help me totally change my life. But that's just me and my never-ending weirdness. I'm always thinking something ethereal & outside myself is going to help me totally change my life. Not sure why I am always thinking that I need to totally change my life, but I have, in fact, been under that impression forever. And I'm guessing that when I finally do "totally change my life," it'll be b/c I'm dead. I guess we'll see, right? (In that case, though, me thinks you might know before I do if I was successful in that department or not.)

Here's a very weird thing. As most readers of this lofty blog, loyal or not, no doubt already know, I am a huge Johnny Depp fan. (Hopefully, this is not an indication that I am still at all overweight; it's more of a measurable inner spiritual quantity?) And people who've known me forever (i.e. past husbands who had to listen to me rant on & on at the dinner table about why certain brilliant movies got completely ignored by everyone on the face of planet earth, etc., etc.) also know that I've been a huge Johnny Depp fan forever. Still, I have never been erotically attracted to him. I think he's intensely beautiful, astoundingly photogenic. I think he is even a little tragic, also unbelievably gifted. But erotically, he has never done it for me even a tiny bit.  (Actors, in general, just don't do that for me. I guess b/c they are always playing a part. I am more likely to be erotically attracted to writers or to songwriters b/c so often their souls are laid bare and that's when I get completely hooked.) But oddly enough, there was a fleeting moment in Alice where I actually found an erotic spark going off in me. I actually found Johnny Depp erotically appealing. I won't say which scene b/c it's personal (which must seem really weird to you since I've made an entire career our of being erotically forthcoming & personal, but anyway.)

And I thought to myself, "This is just ridiculous. Of all the countless movies this guy has been in where he has looked almost unbearably beautiful, in this movie he looks & acts like a total freak and that's when I find him erotic?" Well, you know, nobody said I ever did or thought or felt anything that was explainable.

What a red letter day overall, though! I got so many cool emails through Facebook today. Almost all from men from my past. Not lovers or anything, but men that I find really, really cool. Including a youtube video from one of my dearest friends from the past -- he is a musician living back in Buenos Aires (how the heck to do spell that?) now and recording most of his records now in Spain. Anyway, we played  a hell of a lot of music together many, many years ago. I loved him then and I love him now. Gosh it was so good to hear from him again. Facebook is so great for that, isn't it, gang??

Okay. Gotta do stuff like eat dinner. Plus, oh yes! A new Michael Hemmingson book arrived in the mail today!! My review copy. It will be available for purchase in May, but as soon as I get a chance to read it, I will regale you with my lofty -- and probably not very impartial -- opinion. Meanwhile, check it out here: This Other Eden. (WARNING: It is not for the tame or easily disturbed.)

All righty. Thanks for visiting gang! Have a wonderful evening, wherever you are (or a great morning, if you're on the other side of the globe.) See ya.

        

Alice in Wonderland, silent version from 1903. It's about 10 minutes long and tried to follow the actual book pretty closely. (My favorite part of the book was the part with the Duchess, the screaming baby that turns into a pig, and the cook that keeps throwing things.) You can watch this little film for free, after signing into the Auteurs site.