Bookish Butch – Page 87

The Venus Magazine, Inaugural Issue

http://kissedbyvenus.ca/?page_id=2405

I can’t tell you how proud I am,

to contribute to this interesting and diverse publication!!

See if you can figure out my contributions,

hint:

one under my real name,

one under a pseudonym,

that might,

ring a bell.

I want to thank Alexandra Wolfe,

for giving me a chance,

to expand my writing muscles,

she is very patient,

with an amateur such as myself.

Girls,

promise me you will try to check it out,

OK?

feedback,

is essential to publications such as this,

so go to it:-)

Besides it’s good.

Later girls,

Even at 45, I’m still sort of clueless:-)

The cold is Siberian.

I have been on a roller coaster of emotion,

all weekend.

Worrying about plans for my friend’s funeral,

things seem to be settled,

on that front at least,

I still don’t know when,

exactly,

but,

will find out today.

It has been a comfort to know,

that people did care.

I don’t think we should ever assume,

that people are really alone.

Betsy, lived alone,

she was not and is not,

alone.

I hope I can be there to hear Kaddish.

I’m upset and troubled about so many things,

I may need to rename the blog,

bookish butch melts down:-)

or whatever.

I started this year,

as you may recall,

optimistic and pumped for the future.

The first few weeks were good,

even sales at the store,

were decent,

which is practically unheard of,

for January.

Things were great,

everyone was healthy and happy.

Friends,

introduced me to a lovely woman,

we went out,

it was delightful.

I looked forward,

to slowly getting to know each other,

possibly developing a relationship,

but,

…

The prospect seems dim.

I think as usual,

I suffered from over enthusiasm,

and intensity.

That should be,

one of my projects for the year,

work on not being so scary:-)

Personally, I enjoy intensity,

to me,

intensity= passion.

Passion is an important thing,

towards life, love, your career,

passion and curiosity are the great,

motors in my life,

they are what propel me forward.

Some people,

fear,

propels forward,

or worse,

hate.

I refuse to loose my faith in love,

and in the inherent good of people,

nobody’s perfect,

we must all live with our demons.

You have to get up every morning,

and try again.

My biggest problem,

is,

I think and reflect too much,

it can occasionally border on the obsessive.

Why do I do what I do?

Could I have been better?

more sensitive?

more understanding?

The fact is,

I’m far from perfect,

like every human creature on the planet,

I try my best to be sincere and real.

I over analyse,

I write to many sentences,

trying to be clear and concise,

ironic,

attempting succinctness through verbiage:-)

I wonder if everyone is as confused and messed up,

as me,

you think I would have learned,

a few things over the years.

Well…

I’m 45 and still sort of clueless.

Later girls,

Musings on living with my mom

Good morning, all.

I’m sorry,

if my last few posts have been,

sad and angry,

but,

I needed to get it out.

Today, Saturday,

I will be working at the bookstore,

and going to a family dinner.

Once or twice a year,

my mom and I and my ex,

visit my dad’s cousin.

She lives with her daughter,

well they live together,

which is not quite the same thing.

Eva, that’s my dad’s cousin,

always makes stuffed cabbage,

in the traditional Hungarian manner.

As a sort of,

after Christmas treat for us.

It is the food I love above all others.

My mom won’t make it anymore,

she says it takes too much time,

and,

she’s too old.

It is time consuming,

but,

mom,

isn’t really that old.

My mom is older,

she turned seventy last June,

she’d be pissed if she knew,

I was telling you this.

In the last few years,

mom has slowed down.

She went from being,

Speedy Gonzalez,

remember him?,

to be being a normal speed,

sixty year old,

this is not a situation,

she appreciates.

Mom has worked from the day,

she turned fourteen,

until the day she retired at sixty.

She took five years off,

and when I bought the bookstore,

she started again.

In the last two years,

mom has had some health issues,

a seventy year old body,

gives you more trouble,

than a forty year old body.

So,

now she works,

Thursday and Friday mornings,

it’s enough for her,

and it helps me immensely.

Mom and I live together,

we did it initially for financial reasons,

but,

we also enjoy each other’s company.

We have dinner together most nights,

and we share the household tasks,

although,

she admittedly does more,

but,

I do all the heavy lifting and garbage:-)

When, we first moved in together,

I felt like a bit of a failure,

pathetic old butch,

lives with her mom.

But, I don’t live with my mom,

we live together.

Roomates,

with all the advantages,

my mom cooks and takes care of so many things,

and the disadvantages,

she sometimes freaks if I come home late.

But, over the last few years,

we have come to understand,

and appreciate each other.

It’s not about love,

we always loved each other,

it’s about mature women,

in different stages of their lives,

living together and appreciating each other.

Sure, we bicker,

we’re family,

but,

we’re there for each other,

we’re family.

Many, people when they hear,

I live with my mother,

get a gentle smile on their faces,

and tell me,

I wish I got along with my mother,

or,

I wish mine was still around.

Also,

some think I’m crazy,

and get a glazed look in their eyes.

But, you know,

on the whole,

we manage.

We need each other,

and have each other’s,

unconditional love,

and that sure ain’t chopped liver:-)

Later girls,

Betsy, my Friend

Today, I heard that my good friend,

Betsy,

passed away.

It came as a shock.

I didn’t see it coming,

and to think that she died alone,

makes me crazy.

Betsy,

was a woman of,

uncommon generosity,

and independence of spirit.

She loved to joke and,

she loved to smoke.

She was a good Jew,

who ate,

Bacon and Ham,

because it tasted good,

and God,

would understand.

She loved Harry Potter,

and snowy owls,

and Cats.

She loved mysteries,

and the novels of,

Maeve Binchy,

Winnie the Pooh,

Patty Labelle,

and the Jazz Fest.

Peanut butter,

and green mint tea.

She was crusty, tough and sarcastic,

and had a heart as big as Mont Royal.

She took shit from,

no one,

and yet,

was a gentle and lonely soul.

I met her seven years ago,

when she walked into my bookstore.

I was privileged to call her my friend,

and my life was richer for knowing her,

it will be much poorer for her loss.

I loved her,

like a sister,

I hope she knew that.

RIP Betsy Winston 1947-2011

Godspeed, my friend,

Lacheim,

TO LIFE.

Later girls,

The love of books- it’s a beautiful thing

I finished,

Parnassus On Wheels and

The Haunted Bookshop.

The wait,

getting them out of storage,

was worth it.

Delightful books,

about the love of books,

and the communication of that love.

Anybody who sells books,

should track it down.

It will renew evangelical zeal in you.

You know the book business is tough,

you make,

no money,

you compete with thrift stores,

who sell books according to,

size!!

People want the flavour of the month,

think,

vampires,

zombies,

I travelled to India, Italy or Nepal,

and it changed my life,

how to make a million dollars,

by thinking you will:-)

But, you also meet exceptional people,

the book lovers,

like my friend the busy writer,

my friend with impeccable taste,

Francois the anarchist,

the guy who is reading twelve books a week,

to keep from going insane.

People of outstanding character,

or of loose morals.

People who love books,

and if they love books,

they are my people,

the bookish,

the tribe.

Some days,

usually,

in the polar bear days,

of January, February,

or the smouldering sticky days,

of July and August,

it’s Montreal, we get both,

you wonder,

why did I give up my,

steady job,

45 g’s,

with benefits and a pension plan?

And,

Then,

In walks,

this kid you know,

and haven’t seen in a few years,

you say “Hey, how you doing?”

and she smiles and says “you remember me?”

“Of course!”

and then she hands you a promotional card for her new book,

and says “thanks for encouraging me”.

You don’t remember encouraging her,

to do anything but,

read,

but,

obviously you made a difference.

To spread good books about, to sow them on fertile minds,

to propagate understanding and a carefulness of life and beauty,

isn’t that high enough a mission for a man?

page 192 The Haunted Bookshop-Christopher Morley

Well, it is for this Butch,

and although that doesn’t pay the bills or keep you warm at night,

it helps you sleep,

knowing,

that sometimes,

you make a difference.

Later girls,

Book Apocalypse and, more butch stuff:-)

For those of you longing for book talk,

here is my participation,

in book apocalypse at http://bonjourcass.com/.

I hope and pray I don’t have to read,

all of them:-)

It was enjoyable,

Cass is fun and smart,

and always has bitchin’ ideas.

If you have never read her blog,

take the opportunity,

peruse.

Earnest: showing depth and sincerity of feeling: earnest words; an earnest entreaty.

The other night,

I was called earnest,

My guard went up,

the old butch armour,

stoicism.

Did it mean,

Boring?

Staid?

Lackluster?

Someone, you can count on.

A bird dog,

a boy scout.

a best friend type.

Then I looked it up.

Pretty good word,

I like it,

a 19 Th century word,

a gallant and old-fashioned word,

a butch word?

Maybe.

My question about butch,

in a previous post,

sparked interest and creativity,

on the part of a few bloggers and readers,

http://feralgeographer.wordpress.com/

http://lovesmukiwa.blogspot.com/

Keep it coming.

My friend the busy writer,

says Butch should be brave,

well,

I’m butch,

I don’t think I’m brave,

but,

I am earnest and,

I am a work in progress,

so perhaps,

soon,

I will grow up to be,

BRAVE.

Later girls,

Black Swan, I don’t see it

I saw Black Swan last night,

you know?

I don’t know.

Initially, I thought it was entertaining,

and upon reflection,

really,

I’m not sure,

if it is anything more than that,

entertaining,

not the most enthusiastic of words.

My good friend,

Francois, the anarchist,

thought it was really excellent,

another friend,

busy writer,

wasn’t as enthusiastic,

actually,

her remarks were quite,

scathing.

She saw it as,

a very negative portrayal of sexuality,

and particularly of bisexuality.

I see her point,

it sure wasn’t sex positive.

My date and I saw it as a thriller.

I don’t see it,

the fuss.

It was OK,

nothing to write home about.

Maybe, I’m getting a little jaded,

I have seen a lot of movies,

this one doesn’t feel,

memorable.

As far, as dating is concerned,

I thought it was a good date.

But, I’m so rusty,

I’m back to green.

Later girls

A sociological question, for purely unscientific reasons.

I try not to care I would lose my mind
Running ’round the same thing time after time
Only two things bound to soothe my soul
Cold beer and remote control – Cold Beer And Remote Control-Indigo Girls

Yes, I love The Indigo Girls,

what do you expect?

I’m a butch,

in her forties,

no brainer:-)

My one point of originality is that neither,

Closer to Fine,

nor,

Galileo,

are my favourites.

My favourites are Shame On You,

and,

Cold Beer and Remote Control.

Shame On You, because it’s a danceable tune,

and it has this line

the beautiful ladies walk on by,

You know I never know what to say

Butch, tongue tied ness,

in a nut shell:-)

As for danceability,

only in my mind,

girls,

only in my mind.

Cold Beer and Remote Control,

appeals to my sense of,

working class.

Although, strictly speaking,

I’m not working class,

I am.

I’m a working stiff,

through and through,

I wear the clothes,

I listen to the tunes,

I wear that label.

I know that in a postmodern world,

labels are a no no,

but hey,

I don’t care,

I’m a rebel!!

Not really,

but…

I am comfortable with my labels,

and I’m comfortable with people who don’t wear them.

Mine, I know,

Butch with a capital B.

It seems there may still be a few femmes out there,

who appreciate butch.

Bless them!!

I asked a friend of mine,

a busy writer type,

what she saw as butch,

and what she liked about it.

She hasn’t gotten back to me about it,

I don’t think she’s avoiding,

she’s damn busy.

So, I thought I would ask you girls,

tell me what you like about butch,

it’s a sort of a sociological study,

for strictly selfish purposes,

I’m counting on you.

Also, this same friend doesn’t like the term,

femme,

can anyone suggest an alternative?

What’s wrong with femme?

It’s just woman in French,

I like femme,

I like French,

I like to…

Oh no,

I won’t go there:-)

Personally,

womyn,

really doesn’t do it for me,

but,

that’s me.

Not, much reading lately,

that’s why you have been subjected to my,

États D’ames.

I’m working on it,

I just have trouble concentrating,

lately.

Later girls,

Is bookish butch, real?

Who and what is bookish butch?

where does bookish butch,

begin and end.

It’s a fine line.

Writing this blog,

is like writing a column,

obviously,

the ideas and feelings are mine,

and yet,

there is the question of persona.

Bookish butch is me,

and I am bookish butch,

sort of.

I know it’s nuts,

let me try to explain,

I say things easier,

through the anonymity of the blog,

less censure, less filters.

BB is braver,

more brazen,

more,

she is also more neurotic,

hormonal,

and a more fervent Habs fan:-)

Btw, they slaughtered the Senators last night, 7-1

Bookish butch is me,

acting up,

acting out.

I know, I know,

some of you are scratching your heads,

and saying,

duh!!!

but,

sometimes the line blurs,

and I want the readers,

who are friends to know,

it’s not always me,

it’s the big, bad, butch.

The Dude is real,

and always true to himself,

sleeping, snoring and being cute.

The rest,

uses a lot of blogging license,

that’s why I say my ex,

and my friend the writer with impeccable taste,

these people know who they are,

and you don’t have to,

because they become,

other,

as means of illustration.

So, when I write about bookish butch,

having a disastrous or fantastic date,

it’s not necessarily me.

Also, she is more interested in opera,

pop music,

and poetry.

She is more obsessive and,

bluntly,

hornier.

I can hear a friend of mine,

screaming,

never explain, never complain,

but,

BB likes to do both,

hopefully, I do so,

less.

But, what do I know,

I have a split personality,

after all:-)

Later girls,

I long to write poetry

I am reading Parnassus on Wheels,

there is no way I could handle,

Patricia Highsmith this week,

Too dark.

Parnassus On Wheels by Christopher Morley,

is delightful and old-fashioned,

about a woman who chucks it all,

to sell books from a wagon.

It’s cute, it’s smart and it’s helping to maintain,

the love I have for my trade,

and ground me in the decision,

I made years ago,

to chuck it all to sell books,

not from a wagon,

But still…

As far as book selling weeks are concerned,

I can’t complain.

I realise I have been all over the map lately,

with my posts,

I was thinking I wasn’t giving you enough,

book talk,

today’s post is not really about books.

But, it is about poetry.

I love poetry,

like,

I love opera,

which means,

I don’t get half of it,

but,

I love it,

nonetheless.

I go through poetry binges.

I reread Howl and I shudder,

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by

madness, starving hysterical naked,

How much do I understand?

I don’t know,

I don’t care,

it makes me shudder,

it makes me sad,

it makes me angry,

at waste,

war, drugs, indifference.

It makes me feel.

I read Edna St-Vincent Millay,

who,

unfortunately no-one reads anymore,

My candle burns at both ends;

It will not last the night;

But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends-

It gives a lovely light!

To me, that has always meant,

Go For It:-)

Poetry is considered a hoity toity sort of art,

nowadays,

but,

like opera used to be a popular art form,

the television of it’s day,

so too,

was poetry,

pop music has supplanted it.

You all know,

I like both television and pop music,

these are the facts and they are undisputed

But, poetry is different,

quieter,

more seductive,

less sexy,

more sensual,

more carnal,

less brute,

pop music is about moving your body,

poetry is about deep eye gazing,

I think,

but, what do I know,

I’m single:-)

I’ve written love poems over the years,

either I wrote them for the wrong women,

or they sucked,

because success was,

at best,

mitigated.

I’m hoping to get a chance to write love poems,

again,

maybe not today,

maybe not tomorrow,

but,

someday and for the rest of my life.

Because,

to have a woman to write poetry for,

would be,

delightful.

To have a woman who wants you to write poetry for her,

heavenly.

Later girls,

** A nod to A few Good Men, Tom Cruise, before he became a raving lunatic.

and to the Greatest love story of all time, Casablanca. Here’s looking at you, Kids:-)**