Mood Mambo | johnozed

Tuesday, still no snow, though it certainly is cold enough right now. A few flakes appear from time to time, but not enough to do much of anything except to melt. Last night I watched a documentary on Val Lewton, a producer who basically changed the way horror movies were made in the 1940’s. I got sucked into it hearing Martin Scorsese narrate, letting me know that this was no run of the mill documentary. It was pretty good and it was followed by Cat People, which certainly was haunting and atmospheric.

They mentioned a few times that so many things fly by the camera yet the images leave an impression, and watching Cat People I was in agreement. I never saw Cat People before, at least not the 1940’s version. Saw photographs in a few horror movie books that I had growing up and it was a thrill to see the still photographs come to life on screen. A similar effect happened on Saturday when I went to the Andy Warhol show. The shoe drawings were photos that I had previously seen in various Warhol books that I have, and to see them just a few inches from me was quite a thrill.

The same thing happens when I see newsreels of the Beatles, when I had only seen photographs of whatever event the Fabs were present at. Regarding Cat People I did see the remake by Paul Schrader in the 1980’s and it was ok. Saw it because Bowie sang the title track, and Natassia Kinski was in it. She was hot then and quite exotic even for a 20 year old gay boy from Lodi.

During the Val Lewton documentary, Bill called. Needed a comforting voice and that was me. He is once again overwhelmed, though the situation had changed now that his father was released from the VA hospital. Both his mom and dad are under one roof and both of them have problems which isn’t making the scene any better. A home care attendant is now there as well from the Visiting Nurse service courtesy of Medicare making for a cramped apartment.

I was glad to be able to listen and even though I had no magic words to say to make it all better, I think Bill appreciated the opportunity to vent and I appreciated the fact that I was able to pause the broadcast while Bill poured his heart out over the phone. I swear I sounded like a therapist talking to him on the phone, calm measured tones, asking the right questions and being supportive when Bill needed support. Perhaps in a previous life I was a therapist.

This morning I got out of bed after hitting the snooze button only once, and that was because I had a headache from being dehydrated. Once again I was out of the apartment and headed to 5th and Washington in about 45 minutes. I read the New Yorker about Scientology, which is always a favorite topic to read about. A totally crazy 20th century religion with just a hint of fascism. I have a thing called a death line with Harpy. Usually when someone famous, or a bold face name passes away, one of us calls the other. With other friends, it turns into, ‘Guess who’s a Scientologist?’ and that usually ends up with the other end of the phone line say, ‘Oh really? Damn, I liked him/her’ and we never look at that person we called about the same way again. Such is the disdain for the Scientologist.

This is a pretty cool link. The link is working. Do it! Click it! NOW!

http://www.wired.com/entertainment/music/magazine/16-01/ff_byrne?currentPage=all

I just got back from Stuyvesant Town, helping Bill shred documents from over the years and helping to make a space for the home health care aide from the visiting nurses program for Bill’s father who should be released from the VA hospital this week. Bill mother was there, she said hello and at first she mistook me for Fred, Bill’s friend (and onetime dreamboat) who helped Bill out yesterday. We reassured her who I was and she kindly offered that I stay overnight in the apartment, but I had to turn it down since I did have to come home and write as well as get ready for work tomorrow. There are still many boxes to go through and still plenty of junk mail to be shredded from the last century.

And occasionally while going through the papers and crap there are snapshots from years ago, which makes Bill stop and reminisce. I remember doing that when we were cleaning out my father’s house back in the day. It’s a nostalgic trap which can stop everything, when you’re making progress on the boxes of papers. Luckily when I was cleaning out the house in Lodi Annemarie was around to prevent falling into the pitfalls of old photographs. Today I played the role of Annemarie, bearer of common sense.

Last night I went to Chaz’ party in Jersey City Heights. I walked out into a light rain without an umbrella. It wasn’t so bad but I didn’t feel like climbing up the flights of steps again, it took a lot of energy to get me out of the apartment. I walked to the Path train where it was plenty crowded, all the hipsters heading into the city, and a handful of us headed to Journal Square. The ride was uneventful and unmemorable. I baked some cookies for the party and carried them in a plastic bag, running across Kennedy Boulevard to buy some Guinness since one doesn’t want to show up with one arm longer than the other.

On my way I had a nice Padron which I smoked in the light rain, then the teeming rain, then the light rain again, then no rain, all in about five minutes. Got to the party relatively dry and saw Alice Genese and Martha Griffin as well as a few other people that I only see at these holiday parties. Chaz’ old friend Andy was there. He was the guy who told me about the Bob Mould DJ parties last summer and hyped up the December event so much that by the time the day came for the party in December, neither Bill nor I was much into it due to the late hour it was going to start, that and the fact that we like being old stay at home farts. Martha regaled us with tales of colonics followed by smoothies at some spa outside of Palm Springs.

Alice and I caught up on old times with Martha. Marianne who I mentioned last night zeroed in on Martha, ignoring most everyone else. Really obnoxiously too. Alice introduced herself and was brusquely dismissed which was funny to watch. I didn’t see Alice’s reaction, but she was cool about it. After a few hours and after drinking most of the Guinness I brought, I was able to get a ride home with Alice back to Hoboken. She had a nice ride and since she didn’t know what happened between Chaz and Kathe, I gave her a sanitized version of the events, taking care not to make it sound like gossip. Alice went out with Chaz a few times in the eighties and basically thought he was gay.

She didn’t have any problems with his being gay, she’s been bisexual herself, and she got over the lackluster sexual performance since it was over 20 years ago anyhow. She also thought my ex-roommate William and I were lovers. True we lived with each other for 11 years, and it still make the both of us laugh, but I had to tell her, no we were not lovers. She bemoaned her problem of trying to find the right man, we’re both in the same age group, she has a 19 year old son, but getting a good man and getting him to stay is a problem. She was amazed at my relationship with Bill, being an open relationship and all, but there are still the hazards of jealously and loneliness.

She dropped me off in front of my building and we made plans to stay in touch and maybe see a movie. We both love going to the movies and we both hate going by ourselves so it seems like it could be fun to have someone to do that with. I was back by midnight, and watched most of Saturday Night Live before turning in. Woke up after a sad dream about looking for one’s mother, but in the dream a phone call from Juan of all people, set it straight, the dream that is.

and here are some pics.

Waiting on Track 2