<\/p>\n\n\n\n
About Amy Lissa…<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I am a shadow, a cipher. I love to look. I love to be seen. I\u2019ll show you some leg if you like. I\u2019m no prude. I\u2019ve been around the block a few times. The planet\u2019s been around the sun about 25 times since I\u2019ve been on it. Isn\u2019t that enough for a woman to be in need of storytellin\u2019? I\u2019m a word girl. That\u2019s what I do all day. I like to hang with friends and get into their lives as much as I can stand it. I live mostly on the interior. No one thinks I\u2019m shy. I have a salty tongue, they say. Maybe after a margarita. But if you want to hear a good story, you\u2019ve come to the right g spot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Here\u2019s a recipe for one of Amy\u2019s favorite dishes: \u201cTruth Cake.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ingredients:
\nself-knowledge, 3 parts
\nawareness, 2 parts
\npresence of mind 1 part<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Here\u2019s how:
\nIt is not an easy recipe to pull off, I\u2019ll tell you that right up front. You\nhave to know yourself, and very well at that, without glossing over your\nweaknesses and temptations. The dark side of your mind cannot be unexplored.\nYou have to really get down into that cellar and fish around with a flashlight.\nThe bodies you stashed away on your last murder spree must be exhumed and\nreported to the authorities. You knew that was wrong, right? You also cannot,\nout of modesty, fail to mention your qualities. You have to get up on that\nmountain top and admire how close you can get to heaven. You can sing your\npraises, so long as they are not counter-factual.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You have to pay attention to that which is raging around you. If\nyour scene is cool, that\u2019s great. If there\u2019s an edginess going down, you must\nbe aware. Do not miss the warning signs. Take advantage of opportunities that\npresent themselves. Don\u2019t confuse an edge for excitement. Don\u2019t think that\ndanger is always to be avoided or avoidable. If you get a bonus, take it to the\nbank. If you get hit by a stone, or a brick, look around for the source. Nurse\nyour wounds. Don\u2019t let them fester. Don\u2019t forget to take care of your needs and\nto look out for yourself. Nobody else is in a perfect position, or any position,\nto do it. Weigh options, but be prepared to act.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Don\u2019t allow yourself to zone out. Keep at it, and if distraction\novertakes, throw some cold water at yourself and wake up. You might not be\ngetting enough sleep. see above. Sleep in a safe place. When awake, stay that\nway. In a dialogue, keep up your side of the bargain. In games, play to win. In\nlove, be prepared to lose. In war, be a good soldier and a compassionate\ngeneral. If you fly, don\u2019t mess up. If you swim, mind the sharks and don\u2019t\ndrown. If you dance, go in the right direction and don\u2019t step on anybody\u2019s\ntoes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The mixing is critical. Say, for instance, that you\u2019ve been a\nfaithful wife. You know your gifts and you know where you fall short. You know\nthese things from both your side and from his. He likes his shirts pressed, you\nwish he\u2019d press them himself from time to time. He likes the dishes washed, and\nyou wish he\u2019d tackle that chore himself from time to time. He knows you like to\ndraw. You wish he\u2019d let you do it from time to time. He sent you to law school\nso you could help with his business. You were bored by corporate, so you\ndrifted into family. He decided that having a lawyer in the family might\nadversely effect the balance of power. He dealt with this decision of his by\nforbidding you to take the bar exam. He badgered you when you defied him, and\neventually did away with the books. He does not seem to realize that there are\nlibraries. Still, you are a faithful wife, and one that wishes to please. You\nalso long to be appreciated. You realize that this particular man may not be\nfully capable of that. You understand your fault in the matter: you chose to\nmarry him, having been drawn to his body and not so much his mind. His mind is\nnot repulsive, at least it wasn\u2019t when you married him. There enters into the\nscene a temptation. You conjured up an \u201coff duty professor\u201d and lo and behold\nhe came to life. He has the mind you seek, but who knows what he looks like.\nHis photos show him to be an aging Adonis, but photos can lie. You know how you\nstack up in your own. If life were fair (it isn\u2019t), you could put that man\u2019s\nbrain in this man\u2019s body and call it a day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
So what\u2019s a truther to do? You\u2019ve added your self perception to\nyour awareness. You are aware of the risks. (The marriage might collapse. There\nmight be difficult scenes.) Perhaps the hardest thing of all to do is to stir\nin that presence of mind ingredient. The husband is out-of-town. Now is the\nchance to talk to (and maybe even go meet) the professor. The risk is plain.\nYou will have to disable that feature on your iPhone that tells your snoopy\nhusband where on the planet you are. On the plus side, your husband shows\nalmost no interest in Facebook or blogs. (He might, as un-luck would have it,\ndevelop an interest. In that case, your goose is cooked. You have done all you\ncan do by way of luring the professor into your orbit. He will either make\ncontact in a timely manner or he won\u2019t. If he doesn\u2019t, well, there might be\nlater in life, or never. If never, then the truth expressed here is pointless.\nSuppose all goes according to crazy, speculative, fantasy plan. Suppose the\nprofessor is all that you imagine. The professor has been a faithful husband.\nDo you really want to upset that apple cart? The best way for this to turn out\nwould be for a nice extramarital affair to develop. (You are running a huge,\ninsane risk by sharing this recipe on a blog. It is a recipe for disaster.) Why\ncan\u2019t it be possible to follow the inclinations of a heart, no matter how\nrisky, inappropriate, messy, jealousy invoking, and foolhardy? That\u2019s the way\nthe truth cake tastes best.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This version lacks the spiciness of a bank robbery or a murder\nplot. It does have a cherry on top. It would be great to enjoy this with a side\nof good fiction, and a few funky beats. If no vodka is available, then try warm\nmilk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Enjoy. Oops. I think I just ate the last piece.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A friend writes in to say that he\u2019s written a book he can\u2019t\nsell. He says he can\u2019t sell it because nobody\u2019s busting down the door to read\nit. His wife won\u2019t read it, his friends won\u2019t read it, even the ones he mocked\nto make characters, and even he says he can\u2019t read it. He thinks his readership\nis suffering because his book isn\u2019t very good. His actual words aren\u2019t\nprintable here on a family blog, but basically he\u2019s worried that his book\nstinks. He might be in need of consolation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Another friend reminds me that if you want to ramp up the\nnumbers on a blog, you need to share some recipes. So with that in mind, I\u2019ll\ntry to do a little of both in this post. Ladies and gentlemen, I offer the\nfollowing recipe for \u201cA Lost Cause.\u201d It\u2019s a cocktail. What better way to nurse\nyour \u2018writing problems\u2019 than with a good stiff drink?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ingredients:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
4 oz club soda (Any brand will do, but since you\u2019re not selling,\nI recommend generic.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n
1 oz lime juice (It is a sour taste in your mouth to be\nunappreciated for what you went to such lengths to say.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n
1 oz Gin (Again, the cheapest available. You\u2019ll be drinking\nquite a few of these.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n
1 oz Malibu Rum. (This is as close to Malibu as you\u2019re going to\nget, dude.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n
5 cubes of ice. (It is a frigid thing, your imagination.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Here\u2019s how:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Go find yourself a highball glass. It\u2019s the tall one that\nremains in the set that you got for Christmas one year and have broken every\nother one in subsequent years through careless, drunken handling. Can\u2019t find\nit? Well, that\u2019s OK. Just use that plastic tumbler. Now put the five cubes of\nice into the glass. Pour the lime juice, the gin, and the Malibu Rum over the\nrocks. You\u2019ll need another implement for the next phase: a spoon of some sort.\nI suppose you could use a knife, fork or even a stick from the yard if you\nhaven\u2019t washed dishes in a while. In any case, now you stir in the club soda\nwith the other stuff you\u2019ve accumulated in that glass \u2013 or tumbler.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Now put that sour draught to your lips and sip. You may suck if\nyou wish. Nothing parches like the failure to reach. There now, isn\u2019t that\nbetter? Let me tell you a story while you wait for the rush to kick in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked up the American poet Charles Bukowski on a friend\u2019s\nadvice. (The same friend who, on my advice, is now drinking his lost cause into\noblivion.) It seems Bukowski wasn\u2019t just a poet. He also tried his hand at a\nfavorite and much maligned genre, the autobiographical fiction. His book, which\ncame out in the late 70s, was called, \u201cWomen.\u201d I discovered this because I\nwanted know which women went to bed with Chuck either despite or because of his\npot belly. But when you search \u201cBukowski\u201d and \u201cWomen\u201d you get Bukowski\u2019s\n\u201cWomen.\u201d A novel. Talk about your \u2018Book of Babes!\u2019 A quick peek at this yellow\njacketed volume reveals that it is so autobiographical as to be a virtual\nmemoir. This is very much the barking up of the familiar tree. Now, Amy is\npressed for time, and can\u2019t tell all. But from what I read of these women in\n\u201cWomen,\u201d I feel the tug of the lure. I may well have bedded this man, had I\never happened upon him at the post office or a book signing. There is something\nso attractive about a man with a lost cause. A man with a cause of any kind,\nlost or otherwise, is appealing. The lost cause, particularly, will cause a\nreddening of the gleam in the eye which, when gazed upon at close range, can\nexert a powerful pull on both matron and muse. We will want to soothe and\nre-ignite this soul whose fire is quenched from care.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
So my friend out there with your bad book. Get back to work and make it better. As soon as you\u2019ve gotten over your lost cause hangover, of course.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Much is made at this time of year of miracles. It\u2019s a miracle if\nyou can keep your head on straight with all of the extra stuff you have to do.\nYou\u2019ve made all of those lists, hunted up all of those addresses, got the cards\nin the mail, hauled the boxes out of storage, decorated, baked, partied, and\nslept it off. Eventually, you\u2019ve got to turn inward.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The first miracle you must accept, no matter how it happened, or\nwhat went down after it happened, is the miracle of you. Oh, don\u2019t think Amy is\ngoing to go all soft on you. It is true, though, that the fact that you even\nexist at all is a miracle. There was the miracle that your parents met. Perhaps\nthey didn\u2019t think so after a while. Perhaps, as in my case, the many curses\nmade it seem more like a curse. Then there is the miracle of biology. It could\nhave been that you could not have happened. Sex does not guarantee pregnancy as\na result. It could hace been that the you you know as you might not have\nhappened. You could have had quite different genetic luck. What is luck but\nanother word for fate, and fate another for miracle. It is a mystery, and it\ncannot be underestimated. You might have been a mutant. It is a miracle that\nyou\u2019re not.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The second miracle is that you made it this far. You did not get\nsick and die. You did not get hit by a truck. Your airplane did not go down.\nYou ducked that big disaster at the amusement park where the roller coaster\nwent right off the rails. You were out of town, or at a different filling\nstation when that whack job pulled out an automatic and mowed a dozen down. You\nhave not lost control of your vehicle when on the phone with Auntie Annie. So\nfar, the drunk has not hit you head on. You have lucked out and not purchased\nor ridden in a death trap car when it was fated to exhibit its death trap\nbehavior. You have not been drowned in a tsunami, or gassed in the subway. You\nhave escaped the molten lava and ash, and you\u2019re miles from a fault line. It is\na miracle, you know, that you have not drowned in the bathtub.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
These are the large miracles, but there are many lesser ones.\nYou hare not homeless. You have not even been fired. You have not even gotten a\nbad evaluation. You are living pretty high off the hog. You have two beautiful\ncats. Your cage is gilded, not lined with straw. You are not friendless. Your\nfriends are beautiful, intelligent, and entertaining. You yourself are not\nwithout talent. You know this, and miracle of miracles, you believe it. There\nare miraculous proofs of your gifts arriving each day by email it seems.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Look out at the miraculous world. There are little miracles\nhappening all around. In the supermarket you see a man help a lost little girl\nfind her mother. In the parking lot, the miracle of courtesy allows another\ndriver to take the nearer space. The city has enough money to once again put up\nthe wreaths and the lights and have a tree in the square. Given the acrimony in\nCity Hall, that is truly a miracle. It\u2019s a miracle your taxes aren\u2019t higher\nthan they are. It\u2019s a miracle that you can afford to pay them. Ditto all of the\nother payments that you are called upon to make each month, quarter and year,\nand that you still have money left over to buy nice things. Dang! It\u2019s an\neconomic miracle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I save a special place in my heart for the miracle of having an affinity emerge with someone special. I\u2019m sure you understand what I mean. You are going along just fine, thinking all is well with the world, and then by virtue of some miracle, you discover another being out there that shares your love of something. Maybe it\u2019s that someone sees something in you that you knew was there, but wasn\u2019t part of the acknowledged skill set day-to-day. Sure, your known as a doctor, lawyer, or indian chief. It\u2019s a miracle when someone sees that you shine. I\u2019ve had my share of miracles over the years. I look forward to many more. Lately, though, it seems as if the miracle dispenser has lined up on a string of limes. I can\u2019t keep up, I\u2019m so blessed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Hi, all of ye denizens of the dip!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019m here to treat you to a survey of the local hotspots.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Let\u2019s start with the eponymous \u201cHotSpot\u201d at 3417 Murdoch Avenue.\nWe went there, didn\u2019t we girls? We had a great time. The drinks are overpriced,\nbut the scene is nicely decorated, and in the swirling lights, you can forget\nyour troubles and just have fun. Not to be missed are the salty snacks and\nmargaritas. We knocked down a few and cut some rug. The dance floor is a bit crimped\nfor space. Still, nobody moved, nobody got hurt. We boogied down within inches\nof each other, and a good time was had by all. Recommended.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Club 47\nis, alas, com si, com sa. It\u2019s at the intersection of Camden and Division, and\nthat location puts a certain hex on its star. Camden should rightly pertain to\nNew Jersey, and Division pertains to math. We hate math. As for New Jersey, we\nstruggled through a single episode of \u201cJersey Shore\u201d in which the Guidos and\nGuidettes duked it (or puked it) out. We gotta say, what happens in Jersey\nshould rightly stay in Jersey, and should not, repeat not<\/em> be on national television. Yet, it is. And in\n\u201cRolling Stone.\u201d Go figure. This digression is directed at the American Culture\nas it exists, per se, and not to the Club 47, as it<\/em> exists per se. Club 47 is a typical \u201cmeet\nmarket\u201d bar. If that\u2019s you\u2019re thing, have at it. As for me, I need more suave.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I had high hopes for Coyote Gone Wild. (800 7th) The name says\nmuch to me. Often a life can need a bit of a pick me up, and a chance to have\ngone wild of an evening can do much to refresh one\u2019s outlook. This Coyote\nshowed up in tall boots and got a table. The place was busy, but not frenzied.\nThe band was \u201cThe Darndest Things\u201d and they were excellent. They played a salty\nof current hits and oldies. Some of the current hits are hard to do live, we\u2019ll\nadmit. As for the oldies, we never get tired of \u201cOld Time Rock and Roll.\u201d I\nonly wish that those taking to the dance floor would stop hitting themselves in\nthe forehead over that one. Find some new moves! (You can do it!) Good\nfood, great decor that features much satin and lace. A coyote will find herself\nat home here.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sad to say, we may have now exhausted our home state. Luckily,\nthere\u2019s another state just spitting distance from here. Ohio. Ohio has\nMarietta. In Marietta, there is the \u201cLocker Room Sports Bar.\u201d It\u2019s at 217\nGreene St. in Marietta, Ohio. Got it? Get it. Good! Quite a few of my sisters\nand myself have been to this place. We like it. The term \u201cspots bar\u201d generally\nputs us off, because we picture jocks having a meltdown after a few too many.\nThat is not generally the case in this place. I found that I could gather my\npeoples in comfort at a table and not be hit on to death. On the other hand, if\nyou are looking to score, you might find pay dirt here. It\u2019s a family blog. I\u2019d\nbe remiss to suggest that there are scenes that don\u2019t require a certain amount\nof discretion. This club is one of these. It is what you can make of it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n If you\u2019re doing Marietta, don\u2019t (or do) pass up the \u201cDouble L Dance Hall and Saloone.\u201d It does not seem to be pulling in the business of the \u201cLocker Room.\u201d It\u2019s almost on the river, or more accurately at the spot where the Ohio and the Muskingum converge. (112 Front Street.) If you get fed up with the action inside (or lack thereof), you can go outside and look at the twinkly lights of the traffic on the water. If you can get your date (or that madman you just hooked up with) to join you, you might be tempted to steal a kiss. Be sure to return it! The food at the saloon is acceptable. A burger and fries might hit the spot if you\u2019ve over-imbibed. The selection of microbrews is excellent. The decore is country inflected, with wagon wheels and barrels and such. I sat at the bar for a while and enjoyed the feeling. You might also.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Looking around at my environs, I came to the conclusion that we\ncould use some sprigs and splashes of something or other around here by way of\na facelift. I thought a bit of antiquing might be fun. I got all dressed up in\nsome finery, so as not to seem like such a ragamuffin to the shop owners and\nstruck out for the heart of Parkersburg.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My\nfirst stop was at Twigs \u2018n Thyme, Country Primitives and Antiques at 3003\nMurdoch. They have a very attractive web site, and it sports a Bible verse, so\nyou can figure they\u2019re good people. Luke 9:27 \u201cBut\nI tell you of a truth, there be some standing here, which shall not taste of\ndeath, till they see the kingdom of God.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Some standing is required, because there is so much to see! They\nhave all manner of items, some antique and some simply interesting, arrayed on\ndistressed furniture. The candles caught my eye, since they were burgundy colored\nand rough-hewn. Another highlight for me was the crockery. So many fascinating\nold pots were displayed, each one calling out to be examined and considered for\npurchase. I love these because, even though it\u2019s winter now, I know the spring\nwill come and I\u2019ll be needing a new planter or two. Our driveway is much too\nbare for my taste. I want to be welcomed home by the petals of roses and\nlilacs. I bought some candles and jugs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I am in the market for a new writing desk. Now that I\u2019m writing\nso much, hither and yon, I thought it might be good to stop doing it on the\ncouch. Looking around in Twigs \u2018n Thyme revealed only weathered or\npainted furniture that might take some work and even then not fit my\ndecor. So I consulted my iPhone and found that a trip up to Vienna to Maher\u2019s\nwould be in order. Northbound I was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mahers, at 75 61st Street, is not much to look at from the\noutside. Parking is plentiful, and that is always a welcome discovery. Once\ninside, the wares are astonishing. This is very well crafted antique furniture,\nin very good shape, apparently fresh from the estate sale of the very\nwell-to-do who have been taking immaculate care of their possessions right up\nuntil the moment they expired. Ah, the stacking bookcases! How that makes my\nlibrary gene tingle! My many books would thrill to be in such a bower of\nboxwood. (Ok, maybe it\u2019s oak, but that does not aliterate.) They ship anywhere,\ntoo. Here too, is more stoneware, all of it beautifully glazed and ready for a\nsuitable liquid or powder. Keep your powder dry, people. Mahers has the goods.\nThere\u2019s a collection of delightful curly maple items, a sideboard to die for,\nand a butler\u2019s chest. This last was the piece of my dreams. It would make a\ngreat writing desk, with plenty of cubbies for all of my nibs and such. I did\nnot taste death just then, but I nearly did when I saw the price on this apple\nof my eye. Mahers wants $3700 for it. My sugar daddy will flip when he hears me\nwail and moan for this. Of course, you may want to get down here right away and\nbeat me to it. Highly recommended for the appreciator of the finer things.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The kingdom of God notwithstanding, if you are spending any time on this side of paradise, I recommend getting out and about in our fair Parkersburg and environs. There is much to discover here, and we shall, in future posts, be exploring more of it. Until then, let your light shine!<\/p>\n\n\n\n Noodling with crayons, colored pencils, I added another vision\nof my own personal hell to my \u201cBook of Demons.\u201d Winter is upon us, and that\nmeans that soon it will be time for those dreaded holidays. This demon attempts\nto mash up Christmas Past, Present, and Future into one sick puppy. Simple\nenough to execute, really. You draw three lumpy circles, three radically\ndifferent diameters, and stack \u2019em up on the page. The biggest one is on the\nbottom, so this demon sort of has a club foot. That bottom one is Christmas\nPast, and it is biggest because of childhood\u2019s memories and the wish for lots\nof things. \u201cThings\u201d might include gifts, for surely I wanted all the usual\nstuff as a kid. Bikes, ponies, kittens, dogs, dolls, all of these were on my\nlist at one time or another. \u201cThings\u201d also meant intangibles like peace. Peace\nwas hard to come by. In the tense atmosphere at chez Andersatz, the holidays\nseemed to always bring out the worst. Things could get quite ugly. I don\u2019t have\nto tell you. I\u2019m sure you know what I mean. It is a huge circle of wishes that\nnever quite came true. I got the bike, for sure. I got the kittens, certainly.\nOther things were always just out of reach.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then above that, in a sick green, is Christmas Present\u2019s circle.\nWhat do I wish for now? My own airplane is my craziest physical wish-list item.\nMy flyboys have completely corrupted me. I suppose I could also use a license\nto fly. It remains just out of reach, like so many other of my dreams. I can\nflip through these catalogues of Ultralights, and imagine getting the boys to\nput it together for me. There I\u2019ll be in my little green flying suit, helmet\nstrapped on, all strapped in, and the guys\u2019ll yell \u201cclear!\u201d and pull the rope\nfor me and I\u2019ll be set to taxi. Onward and upward. But that notion must be\ncrumpled up and pitched in the circle above this one, the future file.<\/p>\n\n\n\n What else is in this medium sized bowl of punch in the gut? I\nwish I didn\u2019t have to spend so much energy figuring out gifts for the people\nwho have everything already. The three evil sisters? They are swimming in\nstuff. We give each other the gift of our company, but you can\u2019t really show up\nat a party empty handed. So there\u2019s that. I wish for gifting inspiration. The\nflyboys also have it all. See above. They\u2019ve got licenses and aircraft. Nifty.\nI wish, and it\u2019s a bigger wish, that the culture we exist in didn\u2019t get so\ncrazy at Christmas. It shouts at us to spend and makes us feel guilty about\nmaybe missing somebody, about doing it at the last minute, about not really\ncaring about it, or worse, having too much \u2018bah humbug\u2019 at heart. Then there\u2019s\nthe Martha Stewart syndrome; everything has to be just so. The tree all trimmed\nand properly watered, the house decorated with enough light to guide a nearly\nblind alien in for a precision landing (or is that Santa\u2019s ride, just all\npimped out?), and so much care spent on cookies and cakes. If I ate even a\ntenth of what arrives in this house, I\u2019d look like a blimp. Not the bird I want\nto be, let me tell you!<\/p>\n\n\n\n At top is a tiny little mostly empty circle. It is a faint yellow, because I know so little about what might go on there. It has, as noted, a crumpled little wish list. It has all my high hopes for survival. I dare not hope for prosperity or freedom. The bird in a gilded cage can drive herself to neurotic death seeking the way out. Oh. My. Boo Hoo. I add the limbs, the branches on this off kilter tree. The nose is Pinocchio\u2019s nose. She cannot tell a lie. (She cannot tell the truth.) The mouth is screaming. The eyes are wide, but unseeing. You\u2019re going nowhere, girl.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ha ha. I took a drive up into the hills yesterday. My ride is a black\nCivic. It\u2019s nicely tricked out with a good sound system and aluminum wheels.\nNot quite pimped, but pretty well pumped. It\u2019s not new, but fairly late-model.\nI confess that I don\u2019t keep up with maintenance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019d been downtown and was shopping around at the knick knack\nplaces, you know, Fenell\u2019s finer glass assitude, and the Elusive Vapor; the\nvision there again eluded me, but I found a little unicorn that found its way\ninto a shopping bag. I\u2019m a sucker for unicorns and dragons. Anything you can\ncapture and make miserable, or anything that has a stunning purple sheen that\nyou can get to toast up your Quiche in the mornings. Always on the lookout for\nanything that breathes fire. I delight in light. This little light of mine, it\ncan surely be allowed to shine. So, there I was, out and about. I rang up Red,\nbut she was having a bad day at work. Blondie had a cold. Boo hoo. I offered to\nbring over some soup and support, but she said she felt and looked like poop,\nand urged me to stay out and about. I hunkered down at a coffee place and got\nhit on by a dork with a doughnut. Fenced him off with a feint to the menace,\nbut he bounced back with a parry to the nary. His name wasn\u2019t Perry. He offered\nto carry my bags to my Honda, but so help, help me Rhonda, I don\u2019t take tips.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I then encountered a good lad, lovely in his body and blonde\nlocks, behind the counter, so I decided to linger for a moment at the Trans-All\nUsed Books. I couldn\u2019t read a thing he\u2019d written. It was a non-verbal moment.\nHe looked and so did I. Eyes are aimed at Amy. Amy tells all. I wanted to know\nif he wanted to take a walk with me in some West Virgin bower, over by the lake\nand up above the river. I couldn\u2019t find the words in the spur of the moment to\nask. He broke the silence with a question. Out into the autumn afternoon I went.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Up into the mountains I headed, driving east. Having thought of\nthe lake, I made away from both the river and the park. I was unconsciously\nturning away from the eyrie, where the eagles in my life took wing. I drove a\nroad I knew well, as it eventually led to cities I loved and had lived in.\nEventually, I rode into a place called Salem, and though I was no witch, I\ntwitched. I knew that the wolf was just ahead, and that I\u2019d best get out and\nstretch my legs. I strolled around in little Salem. I had forgotten that there\nwas a school here, and onto campus I strolled. I watched the coeds about their\nbusiness, a rare burst of varied colors in contrast with the uniform caucasian\nbrand of the surrounding locales. I could blend in here, still just young\nenough at my quarter century to be just another college girl. There might be a\nprofessor here who would ask me out on a coffee date. An off duty professor\nthat would remind me of my father and yet be no kin. We could sit opposite one\nanother and speak the truth. I went in to a nearby off campus bar, because\nSalem is actually tiny, and had a drink. I was not approached. I had my martini\ndry, with none of the dirt my evil sisters adore. How I wished to have brought\nthem with me here! The sister act would have fit right in out here. I slipped\nin here and as I sipped it I slipped into a fantasy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I conjured up my off duty prof, his silver mane a badge of\nexalted high learning. I had had them aplenty on-duty and they\u2019d learned me\nsome law. The one I now imagined spoke my language. I could picture him so\nwell, I could see him now before me. In a dignified stroll, he comes in. I let\nhim do it in my passive voice. He walks over to the bar and orders his drink,\nwhite liquid in a bat shit bottle, poured out neat. At least two fingers, maybe\na double. He turns and sees me. We smile at each other. Can he read my mind?\nCan he tell how badly I need to talk to him? I see him approach me, and I know\nhe can, in fact tell. Do I have a name for this character? Have I finished my drink?\nDon\u2019t I need to be getting home? Well? Here I sit in spitting distance of\nSalem\u2019s International University, face to face campus, conjuring up a\nbelievable character that might instruct at that historically Baptist\ninstitution, yet who might still be sexy enough to keep me entertained. As an\nadditional challenge, the school is nowadays so infra-dig as to allow you to do\nyour pop degree online, and the man I\u2019ve conjured teaches Bloom\u2019s Taxonomy, not\nthe English Lit I crave. That\u2019s just not going to cut it. So I cut it, to\nconjure it up again in another place later, and head out the door to my car for\nhome. It\u2019s edging towards twilight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As I strolled in my fashionable heels back down the sidewalk to where I\u2019d left that Honda, I recalled that the automobile has been exhibiting some distress lately. I\u2019d been routinely ignoring the fact that the engine temperature display has been peaking after some 10-15 minutes of running time, only to then settle back down towards normal thereafter. What do I know about automotive? That\u2019s a job for the boys at the Eyrie. Now, as I approach my car, I see that it has leaked liquid that is glowing green in the sunset and pooling in the curb. Uck-fay! I know from my experience with flyboys that this is not a good thing. The liquids should not be coming out of the car (or plane). In such a situation, what is a girl to do? I could drive the car anyway. It turned over when last I parked it. The green shit I know, even in my relative ignorance, is antifreeze. I offer the incantation to the auto gods: shit-fuck. I get out that iPhone and I call over to the Bald Eagle Eyrie for some roadside assistance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHey Dad?\u201d I start in. It\u2019s very circular, this game. I\u2019m blogging about a conversation\nwith my dad that was about the writing on my blog. That\u2019s because I let him\ndrive the conversation. I tried getting him to tell me about the peace march,\nbut he deflected it. Shall I get back on him about that? I\u2019d bet it\u2019s a good story?<\/p>\n\n\n\n OK, here goes. Later, still hanging out with dad.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDad,\nso what happened in DC at that Vietnam protest?\u201d Amy Tells All About Amy Lissa… I am a shadow, a cipher. I love to look. I love to be seen. I\u2019ll show you some leg if you like. I\u2019m no prude. I\u2019ve been around the block a few times. The planet\u2019s been around the sun about 25 times since I\u2019ve been on it. Isn\u2019t that enough for a woman to be in need of storytellin\u2019? I\u2019m a word girl. That\u2019s what I do all day. I like to hang with friends and get into their lives as much as I can stand it. I live mostly on the interior. No one thinks I\u2019m shy. I have a salty tongue, they say. Maybe after a margarita. But if you want to hear a good story, you\u2019ve come to the right g spot. *** *** *** *** Truth Cake: A Recipe Here\u2019s a recipe for one of Amy\u2019s favorite dishes: \u201cTruth Cake.\u201d Ingredients: self-knowledge, 3 parts awareness, 2 parts presence of mind 1 part Here\u2019s how: It is not an easy recipe to pull off, I\u2019ll tell you that right up front. You have to know yourself, and very well at that, without glossing over your weaknesses and temptations. The dark side…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":6,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-203","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry","comments-off"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.ken-beck.com\/bloggers\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/203","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.ken-beck.com\/bloggers\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.ken-beck.com\/bloggers\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.ken-beck.com\/bloggers\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.ken-beck.com\/bloggers\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=203"}],"version-history":[{"count":11,"href":"https:\/\/www.ken-beck.com\/bloggers\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/203\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":226,"href":"https:\/\/www.ken-beck.com\/bloggers\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/203\/revisions\/226"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.ken-beck.com\/bloggers\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=203"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}Antiquing Downtown<\/strong><\/h4>\n\n\n\n
A New Old Demon<\/strong><\/h4>\n\n\n\n
The M Word<\/strong><\/h4>\n\n\n\n
Gotcha, again! Not that \u2018m\u2019 word, this one:
The evil sisters and I got together for drinks at Fitzwonky\u2019s again. It\u2019s a dive. The same old dive. We were slumming it. So Red says,
\u201cI\u2019m just not gettin\u2019 any.\u201d
\u201cNone?\u201d
\u201cNone.\u201d
Blondie says,
\u201cThat\u2019s just not the way we were informed, as young pups, that guys did.\u201d
\u201cYoung pups? Beg pardon. I\u2019m still a babe in the woods.\u201d
\u201cWell, relatively speaking, I mean.\u201d
\u201cI love the drawl girl. You must be about to tell us about the \u2018m\u2019 word.\u201d
\u201cAh-yup.\u201d
Giggles. I say,
\u201cIt\u2019s a tale of two \u2018m\u2019 words, then.\u201d
\u201cYes,\u201d says Red. \u201cYou get married, and you figure, this is it, I can toss the vibrator. I was careful, I paid attention. We were hot and heavy for, what\u2026\u201d
\u201c\u2026at least a year,\u201d says Blonde, who knows her well, better than I.
\u201cSo. We\u2019re going along good for a few years, but then, sadly, he gets sick, and boom. No nookie. I thought, OK. You gotta stand by your man. And a hernia is some heavy shit. Just imagine the excruciating pain down in that sensitive zone! However, he\u2019s been better for a while now. He\u2019s back to hauling lumber. But when I approach, he pulls away.\u201d
\u201cYa think he\u2019s seeing someone else?\u201d
\u201cI don\u2019t think so, really. I mean, what do I know, really? You think I should hire a dick?\u201d
Serious giggles. I say,
\u201cRed, you keep saying I\u2019m the writer\u2026\u201d
\u201c\u2026you are!\u201d
\u201c\u2026but that was one hell of a word choice there!\u201d
\u201cNo shit,\u201d says Blonde, who has pretty much both spit out her margarita and wet herself.
\u201cShe means,\u201d I say for the sake of clarity, should any nearby be overhearing, \u201ca private detective.\u201d
\u201cRight! He still chats me up. It\u2019s like he\u2019s a castrated cat. He says all the same right stuff, he brings me flowers, he cooks and cleans\u2026\u201d
\u201c\u2026Purr, purr.\u201d
\u201c\u2026he gets me by the scruff in his teeth, he flips me over on my back, and then he sort of looks like he can\u2019t remember what he\u2019s supposed to do next.\u201d
\u201cDoes he\u2026can he, you know? Get it up?\u201d
Blonde, the clinical.
\u201cOh, yeah. Serious woody in the morning.\u201d
\u201cWell, then, why don\u2019t you hop on that, so to speak?\u201d
\u201cBecause\u2026\u201d
\u201cYeah? Spit it out sister!\u201d
\u201c\u2026Oh, this it so hard to say\u2026\u201d
\u201c\u2026Hard?\u201d
\u201cOh, Amy! Give it a rest!\u201d
\u201cLet the woman speak,\u201d moaned Blondie.
\u201cIt\u2019s just that I always associated the morning woody with his\u2026\u201d
\u201c\u2026having to urinate?\u201d
\u201cOK, there you go, Amikins. Points.\u201d
\u201cSo,\u201d continued Red, \u201cI consider it, the morning boner, as not counting.\u201d
\u201cNot counting\u2026?\u201d
\u201cRight. It\u2019s not for me, that stiffie.\u201d
\u201cLike erections come with labels or purposes.\u201d
\u201cSo. He\u2019s physically able, but psychologically impaired.\u201d
\u201cYeah.\u201d
Sister Red is looking a bit put upon.
\u201cIt\u2019s Ok, Red,\u201d says Christine, \u201cHe\u2019s a good man. He\u2019ll get it back. You can help him find it. We can help you help him.\u201d
\u201cBlonde, that sounds a bit off. I think it\u2019s going to have to be my cross to bear.\u201d
A silence. I say:
\u201cSo. You\u2019re not getting any. What do you do about it?\u201d
\u201cI mail ordered a vibrator.\u201d
\u201cYou can\u2019t let your fingers do the walking?\u201d
\u201cOh. I can. But\u2026\u201d
\u201cYes?\u201d
\u201cYes? Do come forth!\u201d
\u201cI\u2019ve always been a vibrator girl. I found one online called the \u2018who needs a man\u2019 model.\u201d
\u201cOh! I know that one!\u201d
\u201cYou do, Blondie? You, too, are doing the good vibrations?\u201d
\u201cI am! I mean, I\u2019m getting some, indeed, but, ahem, me and my man use it as an enhancement.\u201d
\u201cWow,\u201d I say. \u201cYou two are really kind of blowing my mind. I guess I\u2019m Ms. Natural. If I can\u2019t find a man, and I have to say, decent specimens are few and far between around these parts, I am a digital wizard. I can find it, and get it, in short order. No power tools required.\u201d
\u201cHave you ever tried the \u2018power tools?’\u201d
\u201cNope. You can tell about \u2018who needs a man.’\u201d
\u201cOh, it\u2019s huge. I mean, it\u2019s not one of those little peckers that you can plug in and cuddle up to. It takes some serious two handed handling to get it in the right place.\u201d
Giggles. Helpless.
Blondie chime in with:
\u201cMy man once fixed the broken power cord on my little shaker. I like little as opposed to big or huge. I could wrap my legs around it, but it had a tendency to shock me. So I asked him to fix it for me and he did.\u201d
I say:
\u201cThat\u2019s true love, love.\u201d
Laughter. But then, silence. Have we spent ourselves on the topic?
Red asks,
\u201cOh Queen Bee Amy, you said \u2018a good man is hard to find.\u2019 If you, with all of your wit and allure can\u2019t find one, what is the sisterhood coming to?\u201d
\u201cHa! I said that? You know me, I\u2019m always making shit up. But, yeah, I have to say the \u2018jean pool\u2019 around here is pretty shallow. We liked that dancer slash bandmaster a few weeks back, but he never made it to first base. We did the dance, but he didn\u2019t want to take the chance.\u201d
Blonde asks,
\u201cDid he ask?\u201d
\u201cNo,\u201d I say, \u201cHe had his quiet dignity and he took my hand. He looked. He clearly wanted to, but I think we\u2019ve backed the careful ones into a corner.\u201d
\u201cWhat do you mean by that, Amy?\u201d asks Blonde.
\u201cI mean we\u2019ve turned them into sheep with feminism. If a man has read the books and gotten the notion that women are in control, they won\u2019t then mount an approach. At all. So when I was willing, and giving out my best signals, without being brazen or rude about it, I could see that the man was in a bind. He wanted to ask, I could plainly see that, but he was holding back. All the way back. He was a gentleman, respectful, he walked me to my car, he said \u2018thanks,\u2019 he said \u2018good night,\u2019 and then, following that particular script, with my keys in hand, all I could do was open the door, get in my car, and drive home. When I got home, I drew a bath, sat on the bed, and\u2026\u201d
\u201c\u2026and?\u201d asked Blonde, rhetorically.
\u201c\u2026what?\u201d asked Red, pensively.
\u201cI indulged in the \u2018m\u2019 word. Otherwise, I\u2019d have gone nuts.\u201d
\u201cThere are men that aren\u2019t so \u2018well read,\u2019 as you put it,\u201d said Blonde.
\u201cI know. With another sort of dude, you have to almost call the cops,\u201d said Red. \u201cI hate going to the bars alone on account of that. I have a husband. In this dinky little town, don\u2019t most of \u2019em know that? I mean, my husband might be out of commission for whatever reason at the moment, but I\u2019m quite sure he\u2019d take serious umbrage at infidelity on my part.\u201d
\u201cHave you asked for permission to swing?\u201d I ask. Gotta ask.
\u201cNo.\u201d
\u201cDo you think he\u2019d deny you?\u201d asked Blonde.
A pause while Red thinks about this. At length, she says,
\u201cI think he would say, \u2018if you must. I know I\u2019m derelict in my duty. But it will complicate things for us.’\u201d
\u201cWow,\u201d says Blonde.
I am silent. I know Red\u2019s husband pretty well, after all. We live in a smallish town. We\u2019ve shared a few drinks, me and him. I know that she\u2019s right. He\u2019d say just that, and I can hear him saying it. Not only that, but if she wanted to move beyond the vibrator to something more real, he\u2019d tolerate it, and support it. I am not going to come down hard against all men. Most of \u2019em, yes. By and large, they can\u2019t be trusted, are problematic. But the ones that have a brain and have done the research, the ones that you really should be hanging out with, despite your wild side inclinations, they will both let you alone to be what you are, fail to satisfy you, and let you hurt them with infidelities. Until, of course, they fall in love elsewhere. That is the \u2018human condition.\u2019 It is better, therefore, to learn how to find your own g spot.
\u201cYou know where I like to do myself the most?\u201d I ask, taking the talk to the \u2018beating a dead horse\u2019 level.
\u201cDo tell,\u201d says Red.
\u201cBehind the wheel.\u201d
\u201cOh, yeah,\u201d says Red, \u201cI can picture you barreling down the twisting roads in that snappy black Honda with your lily white hand between you legs.\u201d
\u201cOh jeez,\u201d says Blonde. \u201cDo I also have to picture it?\u201d
I\u2019m shaking my head. Have I said too much? It\u2019s girl\u2019s talk on girl\u2019s night out.
\u201cWhat do you do when the truckers pull along side on the interstate?\u201d Asks Red.
\u201cThat\u2019s funny, Red. It\u2019s happened, actually. Once, at least. I gave him the biggest smile and nod that I could under the circumstances.\u201d
\u201cBut you didn\u2019t let up?\u201d Red asked.
\u201cNope. When I get to a certain point, I just can\u2019t.\u201d
It\u2019s true, you naughty boys out there. When a girl gets to a certain point, she has to keep going. Otherwise it hurts. Isn\u2019t that the way it is for you, guys?
The \u2018m\u2019 words matter. Much.<\/p>\n\n\n\nCar gods, renounced.<\/strong><\/h4>\n\n\n\n
\n\u201cHow are you doing today?\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019m OK, today thanks.\u201d
\n\u201cAre you finding something good to read?\u201d
\n\u201cNot so far.\u201d
\n\u201cToo bad.\u201d
\n\u201cDo you have a suggestion?\u201d
\n\u201cWhat sort of thing do you like?\u201d
\nThat mind of mine raced. So many good replies went in and out behind my eyes.
\n\u201cI like the sort of thing you like,\u201d I didn\u2019t say.
\n\u201cI\u2019d like to be your page and paragraph,\u201d I left unsaid.
\n\u201cI\u2019d like to press a flower in your index, M\u2019lord, went unused.\u201d
\n\u201cI like poetry. I was just Googling Rothke,\u201d I did venture.
\n\u201cOh, we\u2019ve got some of that in here for sure, though I\u2019m not sure we have any\nTheodore Rothke.\u201d
\nAmy\u2019s giving him points for knowing the first name of the poet, but taking\nperhaps a half-point off for flirting with her by showing off his knowledge.\nAmy is complicated that way. Amy, can\u2019t really even, to tell the wicked truth,\nrecall her usual grading scale at the moment, since she\u2019s only indulging in\nthis chat because he works at the bookstore and he looks like a rock star,\nperhaps a bit like the young Ziggy Stardust, or maybe even Bowie before that.\nHe\u2019s getting her highest grade for beautiful blonde hair that has a lot of\nbody. Amy already mentioned his other body.
\n\u201cOh that\u2019s ok. I\u2019m really just looking.\u201d
\nAt him. Shamelessly.
\n\u201cSure. Let me know if I can be of any help.\u201d
\nThere\u2019s her best, thousand watt smile.
\nI could not take a greater chance this afternoon. I have forgotten to wear my\nrings. I am a liar in this lair. I did linger a bit longer among these books\nfor sale, but I didn\u2019t find one to buy. On the way out, I said \u201cbye,\u201d and again\nsmiled at the man. He smiled back, but was a perfect courteous bookstore\nemployee and nothing more. I felt a wisk of pity, and wistful relief.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\n\u201cI saw you smile. Do I know you? Are you, or were you, in my class?\u201d
\n\u201cNo, what do you teach?\u201d
\n\u201cGood! I\u2019m getting more senile than I thought in my dotage if I\u2019d forgotten\nyour face! I teach Mediated Learning in Telecommunication. Mind if I join you?\u201d
\n\u201cNot at all, without objection, so ordered.\u201d
\n\u201cAre you, with such language, in Criminal Justice?\u201d
\n\u201cNope. I did Family Law.\u201d
\n\u201cWonderful. Counselor.\u201d
\nHe tips his glass, this beautiful man of a certain age. This Fig Newton of my\nimagination.
\n\u201cAlmighty God?\u201d I might say to this delicious wit.
\n\u201cNo, but I am old enough to be your everlasting father, oh princess of peace.\u201d
\nI sip. I imagine we sip. In my imagination, I don\u2019t want to know what the hell\nhe\u2019s referencing. I don\u2019t want to be caught dead liking dead composers. You\nknow that, sisters. The evil sisters don\u2019t do that classical shit. Play\nsomething we want to hear.
\n\u201cThose are some fine and flattering words, professor, but I have no idea what\nyou\u2019re talking about.\u201d
\nAt this, I hear his laughter for the first of many times. And, since it\u2019s my\nkinky fantasy, he doesn\u2019t break my heart by parading his knowledge. My Ass Prof\nstays pitch perfect.
\n\u201cDoesn\u2019t matter.\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019m not a counselor. I haven\u2019t taken the Bar.\u201d
\n\u201cHaven\u2019t taken it or haven\u2019t passed it?\u201d
\n\u201cHaven\u2019t taken it.\u201d
\n\u201cWhy not, darling?\u201d
\nIn my imagination, familiarity does not breed contempt. But I wonder If I\u2019d\nwant him to be so familiar quite this fast.
\n\u201cWell, Silver-Haired Daddy of Mine, I haven\u2019t managed to find the time.\u201d
\n\u201cPoint taken and point scored. Hitting the books does take time, and from this\nI gather that you\u2019re a busy woman. I also get that you\u2019re not a student here.\nWe do Education, Nursing, Physical Education, Business, but not Law. Pardon my\nunwarranted and obviously unwanted familiarity. And I note that you do Country\nand Western.\u201d
\nHow can my own imagination be so hard on itself? Amy, you\u2019re killing off your\nown fantasy before you can even get what you came in here to find. Your next\nimaginary riposte has to be more flirt and less hurt. You have to forgive the\nman for apologizing since you inflicted it. Let it go if you care.
\n\u201cMay I ask your name, Professor?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\nFather and Me<\/strong><\/h4>\n\n\n\n
\n\u201cYes, daughter?\u201d
\n\u201cWhat did you do in the war?\u201d
\n\u201cWhich one?\u201d
\n\u201cWell, you missed WW I, I assume.\u201d
\n\u201cI missed WW II, also. You\u2019re only (\u2026) years old.\u201d
\nBlush. :- Amy not tellin\u2019.
\n\u201cYou\u2019re a swordsman, I know.\u201d
\n\u201cYeah. Drop the s and you\u2019ve got me categorized by the balls,\u201d
\n\u201cWordsman. Right. I\u2019m a wordwoman. The Queen of words. It is mightier than the\nsword.\u201d
\n\u201cThe poisoned pen.\u201d
\n\u201cThe purloined letter.\u201d
\n\u201cI rode into town on my paper steed about the time of the troubles in DC over\nthe war.\u201d
\n\u201cAha. So there was a war on.\u201d
\n\u201cYeah, the Vietnamese War.\u201d
\n\u201cOh. That one.\u201d
\n\u201cYeah that one. We hated it. We meaning the whole counterculture.\u201d
\n\u201cSo you were a hippy?\u201d
\n\u201cI wore my hair long and I did drugs.\u201d
\nBlush.
\n\u201cYou also counted coup?\u201d
\n\u201cYou are too smart for me, girl.\u201d
\n\u201cYou know. Took scalps. Kept a tally of the women you bedded.\u201d
\nLaughter.
\n\u201cNope, not me.\u201d
\n\u201cNo sex for you?\u201d
\n\u201cNo tell of it to you. You are the living proof that I had sex at least once.\u201d
\n\u201cJust once?\u201d
\n\u201cDon\u2019t push your luck. You know what became of your mother.\u201d
\n(\u2026)
\n\u201cWhat are you getting at?\u201d
\n\u201cI don\u2019t know. I love you, Dad. I want to know you better.\u201d
\n\u201cYou know me better than anyone. You inherited the writer gene.\u201d
\n\u201cThat\u2019s a gene?\u201d
\n\u201cThe way you write is a gift.\u201d
\n\u201cYou are a proud father.\u201d
\n\u201cI am seeing you as you are.\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019d be happier if someone other than my father or my girlfriends took a shine\nto my writing.\u201d
\n\u201cWell, who gets to see it?\u201d
\n\u201cAnybody with a computer or a smart phone!\u201d
\n\u201cBut there\u2019s a lot of competition in that neck of the woods. How does anybody\nfind you?\u201d
\n\u201cGood point. By accident, I guess.\u201d
\n\u201cHow do you advertise a blog?\u201d
\n\u201cHow do you advertise a book?\u201d
\n\u201cBy doing a book tour.\u201d
\n\u201cHow many books do you sell, Dad?\u201d
\n\u201cNot nearly enough. I barely break even.\u201d
\n\u201cSo what makes you think I\u2019d do better in the market place.\u201d
\n\u201cWell, you\u2019re very beautiful, for one thing.\u201d
\n\u201cThat\u2019s the proud father speaking.\u201d
\n\u201cAgain, it\u2019s provable. Walk into that bar right there and count the minutes it\ntakes for you to be hit on.\u201d
\nBlush.
\n\u201cOk, Dad.\u201d
\n\u201cCan you hook me up with an agent?\u201d
\n\u201cProbably.\u201d
\n\u201cThere\u2019s a huge problem.\u201d
\n\u201cThat being?\u201d
\n\u201cI don\u2019t have anything I can stand to see in print.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\n\u201cWe got to DC, having taken the bus.\u201d
\n\u201cWe meaning?\u201d
\n\u201cMe, some friends, my main squeeze.\u201d
\n\u201cNot Mom.\u201d
\n\u201cNot. I think I might have met her on that trip. I\u2019ve blocked it. She\u2019s dead,\nand she was such a huge problem before that.\u201d
\n\u201cNo need to remind me. I\u2019m still wading through that shit.\u201d
\n\u201cRight.\u201d
\n\u201cSo we got into town at about 8 in the morning, as I recall, and by that hour,\nthe mall was full of people. Maybe as many as three hundred thousand people. By\nthe end of the event, which was in November of 1969, as many as six hundred\nthousand people had thronged the Capital. When I say thronged, I mean you have\nno idea. We were kids. We were just old enough that our parents (Gramps and\nMamps, God rest their souls) were foolish enough to let us do it. I remember\nworking them quite hard over that bat-brained scheme. I played the \u2018history in\nthe making\u2019 card, the \u2018civic awareness\u2019 card, the \u2018we won\u2019t get in trouble\u2019 card,\nand all of the other various gambits I could muster. We raised the money\nourselves. Our teacher, old Mr. Morgan, finally went to bat for us and that\nturned the tide. As I say, the place was packed. Here\u2019s what I remember. We\nheard a few speeches. We did some chanting. \u2018Fighting for Peace is like Fucking\nfor Virginity!\u2019 We chanted. \u2018Stop the War! Nixon\u2019s a whore!\u2019 We chanted. Pete\nSeeger sang, Joan Baez sang, Arlo Guthrie sang, and then there were more\nspeeches. There was a constant parade of people down Pennsylvania Avenue. As\nthey walked past the White House they called out the name of a dead soldier.\nThere were many dead soldiers, so it was an endless supply of names.\u201d
\n\u201cWow, Dad, that sounds amazing.\u201d
\n\u201cIt was. But after a while, we got bored with the chanting, the singing and the\nspeeches. We also got swept up into some side protests going on; one, I\nremember was a huge gay rights contingent. They picked me and my babe Lynn up\non their shoulders and we ended up over by the museum of history and technology.\nIt was new at that time\u2026\u201d
\n\u201cYou\u2019re talking about the Smithsonian, right?\u201d
\n\u201cRight. They\u2019d just done this huge new building and it had all the flags and\ntrains and cars and phonographs. We were just enthralled. We went around\nreading placards and pushing buttons. By the time we got back out on the mall,\nthe action had moved elsewhere. We drifted, walking. We ended up at Dupont\nCircle, where a fight broke out. We saw the police go for the tear gas, so we\nducked into a bookstore.\u201d
\n\u201cI always get hung up at the Smithsonian in the aviation museum.\u201d
\n\u201cI know, Lana. You\u2019ve always loved airplanes.\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019d get in there, and stare at the Bleriot that Quimby died in, and the \u201cVin\nFiz\u201d that Rogers died in, and the \u201cSpirit of Saint Louis\u201d that Lindberg didn\u2019t\ndie in, and the Lunar Lander that Armstrong took his moon walk from\u2026\u201d
\n\u201cDon\u2019t forget the \u201cGossamer Goose!\u201d
\n\u201cNo, I can\u2019t forget that one.\u201d
\n\u201cThe words \u2018national treasure\u2019 come to mind.\u201d
\n\u201cSo, I almost hate to ask, how\u2019d you meet Mom, at the moratorium?\u201d
\n\u201cI almost hate to answer. I can\u2019t answer. I can\u2019t think about that. All I can\nsay is, Lana, your gonads can get you into all kinds of bad trouble. Please be\ncareful when you get the urge.\u201d
\n\u201cThanks, Dad. I\u2019ll keep that in mind.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"