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Jett Superior laid this on you on || April 12, 2007 || 11:04 pm

and-a-one, and-a-two

There is a slip of paper from a fortune cookie (henceforward known as a ‘fortune’) mounted loosely to the lower corner of my monitor. It’s just below the screen, but a couple of inches above the display settings buttons. This fortune reads, “Sing badly, if you must, but sing.”

The wife section of the Bonaduce marriage has filed for divorce. This makes me sad. I used to watch the show in the alone of my bedroom, flossing my enamels, lotioning my calves, painting my toenails. I’d yell at her there on the tube, “I KNOW THAT MAN IS DIFFICULT TO LIVE WITH, SHIT, BUT LOOK HOW HARD IT IS TO BE IN HIS FUCKING HEAD!” I feel a certain strange sort of kinship to Danny Bonaduce, who can officially be entitled Loveable Lunatic, methinks. I mean, I wouldn’t fuck him or anything, but I’d hit him upside the noggin when he got out of control and then stroke his temple, his head in my lap, when he finally settled the fuck down. Bless his heart. Some people are too much brain, too much heart, too much life for one body. I hope that boy can find some peace.

I’m not one to go all a-mush when a public figure goes keeling off the mortal coil, but I certainly did shed a tear when Stevie Ray Vaughan died. Also, I felt sort of sick and sad at the demise of Joe Strummer. When dear and sweet June Carter Cash went, I spoke plainly and with authority: “Johnny won’t last eight months without her.” And he didn’t; he only went half that. Now Kurt Vonnegut has up and left me, and who can my heroes be now? There is always Willie Nelson, of course, but I reckon most of my top ten entitled ‘Real Good Uns, v. Alive’ are rudely shifted to another, longer column. Jesus happens to be top of the pops on that one. He is followed damn closely by Memaw Susie. I reckon Mister Vonnegut falls not far behind her, somewhere in the top five. I was always prone to write just as far back as I can remember, but that man made me want to bend words and ideas, to possess them (unwieldy as they can be), at least for a time, to shove them brazenly out and fully convey something meaty in an applesauce world.

I was watching one of my favorite films early-early-early this morning (thank you, oh thank you, Mister Linklater. And again, thank you) and I found myself dissecting Ethan Hawke and my begrudged attraction to him. I find him sort of grotesque, really, from a physical standpoint. The boy really couldn’t be considered my type. Plus, there is a largely stupid part to him, I would imagine, to have given up such a fine (and Lordy, don’t forget gifted) specimen such as Oomer. There’s me, digressing all over the place again. So. Hair, eyes, gait, body type, nasal-pitched voice: Nothing about this creature appeals to me. He is effete in a way that grosses me right out. However –and a big ole however it must surely be– I am mesmerized whenever I see him onscreen and I think I’ve finally figured it out. He knows how to hold a woman like he means it. Even in his casual touching of the opposite sex, his gestures are screaming, “I know what I’m doing and I’m here to devour you.” I hate it, folks, but I actively dig Ethan Hawke. I will figure out a way to make amends for this someday.

I’m trying to sing –badly if I must– but I’m tired and my voice sounds hoarse, harsh, grating….if I can hear it, that means everyone else has for some time.

I need money for a plane ticket. Lots and lots of it. Does anyone have any ideas?

3 worked it out »

  1. Shamrock 4.13.2007

    There’s some kin blood in us somewhere . . . I have three fortunes, saved from miscellaneous events, that I have framed here in my resting (not living) room. Danny? I am a wee bit older than you, and Danny was the Partridge I had a crush on. Yes, my friends shunned me for that. Stevie?? He’s my other Jesus. A framed, genu-wine autographed picture hangs in my bedroom.

     
  2. Jettomatika 4.14.2007

    I would wager that it’s only the slightest drop, since you HATE THE COLOR ORANGE.

     
  3. redclay 4.14.2007

    i always want to punch that ethan guy in the face. it’s instinctual. must be the whining.

    this is how to hold a woman.
    http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v665/redclay/river-1.jpg

     

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