My Ramblings – Page 78 – Bookish Butch

The Oscars, and nostalgia

There was a time,

I would see,

all the,

Oscar nominated films.

I would get excited,

and ,

fill out,

winner prediction grids,

in the newspaper.

I would read,

movie magazines,

the trashy,

the serious.

This year,

I almost didn’t watch,

The Oscars,

it would have been the first,

I missed,

in— thirty years?

But, in the end,

I did,

I’m glad I did,

Anne Hathaway,

and,

James Franco,

did a good job.

and I wanted to see if Incendie would win, alas it did not(:

I had only seen,

one of,

the nominated movies,

Black Swan,

which I,

didn’t like very much.

I probably wouldn’t,

have seen it,

if it hadn’t,

been my dates choice.

I still love movies,

I will always love movies.

Movies,

like books,

formed my imagination,

helped me see the world,

as it was,

as it should be.

One part of the Oscars,

I look forward to,

weirdly enough,

is the,

In Memoriam,

segment.

What’s next? reading obituaries, BB is getting old—- well, older anyway.

In Memoriam,

is a visual tibute,

to those who have gone.

When, you see Hepburn, Malden, Neal,

on the screen you say,

oh well, they were old,

nice long life,

but,

when you see someone,

up there,

who for years has been frozen,

at 38 in your memory,

it’s a shock.

This year it was,

Jill Clayburgh.

Jill Clayburgh,

was a big star,

late 70.s,

early 80.s,

she was twice nominated,

and gave,

a seminal performance,

in Paul Mazursky’s,

An Unmaried Woman.

A feminist movie,

well,

for Hollywood.

I loved Jill Clayburgh,

she was classy,

she was brainy,

she was sexy.

I didn’t even know,

she died,

shock,

good thing,

I watched.

Here is a small visual tribute,

to the great actresses of her era,

plucky broads one and all.

Jill Clayburgh, gone too soon. An Unmaried Woman, is a must see.

Sally Field, still around and appearing in Brothers and Sisters, on television. Here in Norma Rae her first Oscar. A great movie.

Jane Fonda. Klute, Coming Home, On Golden Pond. Tough, political and controversial.

There are many fine actresses in all eras,

these were the models,

of my childhood.

Tough, uncompromising, women.

One thing about the Oscars,

they make you nostalgic:-)

Later girls,

The erotic, it’s personal

Over the last few days,

in between,

working,

trying to get through,

Green Mansions,

ugh

sleeping,

and drinking beer.

oh yeah!!

I have been,

dipping in and out,

of,

one of those,

Best Of Lesbian Erotica,

anthologies.

Over the years,

I have read,

many of these,

must stay current, never know when you might be called upon for… a pop quiz.

I seem to find,

something I like,

something I can’t stand,

and,

something I don’t bother to finish,

in all the anthologies,

regardless of editor,

or publisher.

Erotic,

is personal,

it’s about wiring.

I have pondered,

erotic,

sensual,

sexy,

exciting,

desire inducing,

lately.

Not because,

I find myself in a,

sexual desert,

well, that too,

but,

because,

I need to narrow down,

apparently.

OK, you’re right,

not clear.

A few months ago,

a good friend of mine,

said,

it’s all well and fine to be open to many things,

but,

if you don’t narrow down,

your type,

and what you expect,

out of sex,

and,

a relationship,

you won’t find anyone.

Tough love.

So, after introspection,

deep and dark,

maybe,

even,

brooding,

I have discovered,

that I like,

soft, sweet smelling, women,

smart, soft, sweet smelling women,

vague, and, broad.

When it comes to the erotic,

it’s the same way.

The curve of a woman’s neck,

is erotic,

slow dancing,

is erotic,

looking without looking,

is erotic,

discovering the curve of,

a back or a tummy,

with your hand,

is erotic,

discovering,

what you have been,

imagining,

is erotic,

slow,

is erotic,

fast,

is erotic,

love notes,

are erotic,

eating strawberries,

is erotic,

kissing,

is erotic,

cooking dinner,

is erotic,

a freckle you hadn’t noticed,

under her ear,

is erotic.

I like the soft,

the slow,

the chase,

the simple,

the clean,

the curve,

the romance,

the everyday,

the new,

the old,

the comfort,

the heart wrenching.

Women in their complexity and simplicity,

that is my erotic.

I know it’s a little bit Vanilla,

but,

it is what it is.

OK,

if you feel like I’ve shown you mine,

show me yours,

wink, wink.

Later girls,

**p.s. Good friend is not a real person, composite, and also, me talking to myself**

Mussings on the butchness of beer

Another bright day.

I’m going out,

tonight,

for a couple of beers,

with a friend.

I love beer,

I only drink it socially.

I don’t drink alone,

it’s not a rule,

or anything,

I just don’t.

I started drinking beer,

in my misspent youth,

it suits me,

not too strong,

not too expensive,

you’ve got to drink,

a lot of beer,

to pass out,

not so with,

say,

Tequila.

Although, a Margarita is a beautiful thing, smooth, deceptively so, knocks you on your ass, the femme of drinks??

Beer is also,

let’s face it,

butch.

Don’t get me wrong,

I know a lot of butches,

who drink,

the hard stuff,

and another bunch,

who drink,

sparkling water!!

so, so wrong.

But,

beer,

is the ultimate,

butch drink.

Ok, picture this, in your mind’s eye, your sitting at the bar, in your favourite, bar. A handsome butch is walking towards you, she’s sporting a smile that makes you weak, and …. she’s carrying an umbrela drink in her hand…. Does that work for you? I didn’t think so! Unless, of course, she’s bringing it to you..and even then.

Beer,

is a drink,

for the,

hard working,

the hard playing,

smoky bars,

with loud music,

for a simpler,

time.

When,

femmes were femmes,

and,

butches were butches.

sigh.

A nostalgic drink,

a virile drink.

A drink for a time that,

never was,

that you remember,

so clearly.

I figure I like beer,

because,

I’ve acquired a taste for it,

or I have a genetic disposition.

I like beer,

like I like,

corn,

or,

hockey.

Over the years,

it’s made me brave,

and stupid,

with women.

Turns,

bookish butch,

into,

silly butch.

Silly is essential,

once in a while.

Don’t you think?

Btw, I’m reading this,

Best Of Lesbian Erotica,

anthology,

in the next post,

I’m going to talk about it,

well,

obliquely,

I want to know what you find,

erotic,

and if you show me yours,

I’ll show you mine:-)

Later girls,

Healthy, clean fantasies

It was a nice day today,

a little less cold,

and the Habs won last night,

beat Vancouver.

Business was OK,

mom got a clean bill of health,

from her specialist:-)

Me?

I’m a little sluggish,

but,

no biggie.

I have been reading that,

Green Mansions.

I don’t know,

it’s kind of,

boring and,

a little preachy,

not sure.

Normally,

a book doesn’t speak to me,

I don’t finish,

I use the ten percent rule,

but,

since my customer,

was so enthusiastic,

and he was nice enough,

to give it to me,

I’ll finish.

It’s a moral obligation thing,

I guess.

It’s pretty quiet here,

at bookish butch central,

and I’m a little bit bored.

I’m itching for something,

new,

different.

Maybe,

what I need is a,

vacation.

Lately,

I’ve had two kinds of customers,

the pasty and miserable,

and,

the tanned and delirious.

Now,

I’m bookish,

and of,

French Canadian,

Scottish,

Hungarian,

extraction,

this spells,

pale.

Or,

as a rather attractive lady,

at the Eaton’s Lancome counter,

told me AGES ago,

porcelain skinned.

I think she had a thing for butches, but, I digress and, it was twenty years ago.

The point is being very fair skinned,

the sun,

is not always,

a good option.

I’ve never quite,

understood,

the need to escape,

to the south,

the west,

the islands,

before this year.

Right about now,

I’m longing for this,

while drinking this,

Lying back in one of these,

doing this,

or better yet,

this,

I know, I know,

but,

a butch can dream,

and isn’t everyone,

younger,

slimmer and,

better looking in their dreams?

No wait…

I forgot,

that’s fantasy:-)

Better get back to reading,

or sleep.

Unless someone,

somewhere,

needs a debonair butch escort,

I can do Cary Grant,

or,

whatever your idea,

of debonair is,

as long as it’s,

butch:-) 🙂

Sweet dreams,

and remember a little bit,

of fantasy is healthy,

I think.

Later girls,

Happy Birthday, Brown eyes

OK,

I gotta tell you,

I hate February.

I suppose it’s nice,

in some parts of the world,

even,

some parts of the country,

west coast

but,

here in Montreal,

it’s one of those,

will it ever end?

times.

When normally,

cool people,

become,

runny nosed,

depressed,

on the verge of being,

homicidal maniac,

zombies.

Not me of course, I’m a my usual happy go lucky butch:-)

When you’re so cold,

you feel like,

running home.

I suppose,

there are a few good things,

to say,

about February,

the days are getting longer,

the sky becomes,

a pretty shade of blue,

when it’s really cold.

For me,

two things,

get me through:

the belief,

that it can’t last much longer,

right?

and the fact that,

some of the people,

I love the most,

have birthdays in February.

My aunt,

one of the nicest,

easiest,

warmest people I know.

My cousin,

the mother, of the sunshine of my life, my Godson, Jerome.

and a pretty nice girl,

in her own right.

And…

My friend the busy writer,

who happens,

to have the same date of birth,

as my late adored,

grandfather.

Busy writer,

has brought,

much into my life,

all of it good,

not all of it,

easy,

but, since,

everyone knows,

I don’t like easy,

it’s all good:-)

She is an example of,

perseverance,

work ethic,

and working through it,

even when you’re,

not quite sure,

what it,

is.

An examplary mother,

and a damned good friend.

She listens to all my,

ramblings,

understands how,

I process,

and she still loves me.

She never gives up, and she never gives in, she just changes her mind. Billy Joel anyone?

I credit her with removing,

some of my dyke blinders,

and helping me to see,

the brave new world,

but,

mostly,

I just love her,

so,

eventhough,

her birthday isn’t for a few days,

I thought I’d tell her that:-)

Happy Birthday, Babe.

Later girls,

**I’m still plowing my way through Green Mansions, it tough going, but, isn’t everything in February?**

Do we believe in type?

I don’t know if other people,

get asked this question,

but,

I get it a lot,

and from various sources,

What’s your type?

Maybe it’s because I’m single.

I have a standard answer,

“I like women”.

I don’t mean it to be flip,

I genuinely like women,

all kinds.

The tall and the short,

the trim and the round,

the dark and the freckled,

the dancer and the librarian,

the prep and the earth mother,

the buxom and the sleek,

the fresh and the mature.

Women.

All interesting and desirable.

I don’t objectify,

I adore,

there is a difference:-)

But, I guess if I’m being honest,

and if you can’t be honest in your blog, where can you be?

and we base ourselves,

on past history,

exes,

you would think,

my type would be brunettes,

of the pleasingly plump,

curvaceous variety,

not to tall and,

deadly smart.

Sure, I like brunettes,

but,

does that mean they are my type?

I refuse to limit myself.

I live in the land of,

the not too tall brunette,

I, myself am a not too tall,

brunette.

So, what does that mean?

If I lived in Scandinavia,

or Holland,

I’m pretty sure I would date,

blonds and redheads,

supply and demand:-)

When I break it down,

in my head,

I like sweet smelling,

soft women,

who know what they want.

You would think,

there would be loads,

to choose from.

Mature women,

who like to read,

and have fun,

who want,

a devoted,

yet,

independent butch.

So,

no type.

The search goes on,

no typecasting as of yet.

If you feel like sharing your type,

do,

I love feedback and having,

my foundations shaken,

with different perspectives.

Do you believe in type?

wink, wink,

cheek, cheek.

Later girls,

Green Mansions

Taking advice from concerned,

fellow bloggers:-)

I have put Giovanni’s Room,

aside,

at least for a few days,

I have taken up Green Mansions,

by W.H Hudson.

This book was given to me,

by,

a customer of mine.

He is an older gentleman,

retired teacher,

and every once in a while,

he says to me,

“you simply must read this”,

He is a tad excentric,

and doesn’t read anything,

published post 1950,

but,

his taste is good,

sure.

Green Mansions,

left a major,

impression on him,

he gave me,

a vintage illustrated copy,

well,

we traded,

he took some Zola,

in English.

In my neighborhood,

I don’t sell too much Zola,

and in English,

practically never,

so,

it wasn’t much of a trade,

but,

he was happy,

me too.

He made me promise,

that I would not sell it,

without reading it first,

As if I would?

I have principles,

you don’t sell gifts,

especially,

when someone recommends,

with such fervor.

So, I’m going to read a romantic story,

about the rain forest.

Why not?

One of the best parts of owning,

a bookstore,

is the sharing of book love,

you recommend to them,

they recommend to you,

reciprocity.

My friends are all readers,

but,

aside from my writer friends,

noone reads as much,

or,

as eclectically.

Well,

that is not strictly true,

my virtual blogosphere friends,

do as well.

that sounded weird.

I think feral geographer put it best,

in this post,

http://feralgeographer.wordpress.com/2011/02/14/the-ignored-houseguest-and-the-blogger-too-much-about-my-dreams/

a thoughtful and imaginative,

articulation,

of how many of us feel.

Do yourself a favour,

check it out.

Well, I’m off to read.

Later girls,

A partial soundtrack of my life

It was a dark mooded day,

everybody was grumpy,

and cheap,

and,

I was tired.

So, tonight before I turn in,

I thought I would share,

what I consider to be some,

beautiful words,

lyrics,

with some special girls,

you’ve heard of the ladies who lunch?

these are the girls who comment:-)

or don’t,

it’s a sharing thing.

My man Leonard Cohen,

I’m Your Man,

If you want a lover
I’ll do anything you ask me to
And if you want another kind of love
I’ll wear a mask for you
If you want a partner
Take my hand
Or if you want to strike me down in anger
Here I stand
I’m your man

The Beatles,

I’m thinking,

Lennon,

From,

In My Life,

There are places I remember
All my life though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I’ve loved them all

James Taylor,

Fire and Rain,

I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain
I’ve seen sunny days that I thought would never end
I’ve seen lonely times when I could not find a friend
But I always thought that I’d see you again

Bruce Springsteen,

The River,

I come from down in the valley
where mister when you’re young
They bring you up to do like your daddy done
Me and Mary we met in high school
when she was just seventeen
We’d ride out of that valley down to where the fields were green

and,

Fire,

You had a hold on me, right from the start
A grip so tight I couldnt tear it apart
My nerves all jumpin actin like a fool
Well your kisses they burn but your heart stays cool

From Oh, What a Beautiful Morning,

There’s a bright golden haze on the meadow
There’s a bright golden haze on the meadow
The corn is as high as an elephant’s eye
And it looks like it’s climbing right up to the sky

Oh what a beautiful morning
Oh what a beautiful day
I’ve got a beautiful feeling
Everything’s going my way

Into My Arms,

Nick Cave,

I don’t believe in an interventionist God
But I know, darling, that you do
But if I did I would kneel down and ask Him
Not to intervene when it came to you
Not to touch a hair on your head
To leave you as you are
And if He felt He had to direct you
Then direct you into my arms
Into my arms, O Lord, into my arms

From,

I Second That Emotion,

Smokey Robinson,

Maybe you want to
give me kisses sweet
But only for one
night with no repeat
Maybe you’d go away
and never call
And a taste of honey is
worse than none at all
(oh little girl)

This Little Light Of Mine,

This little light of mine
I’m gonna let it shine
This little light of mine
I’m gonna let it shine
This little light of mine
I’m gonna let it shine
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine

Don’t Think Twice,

Bob Dylan,

It ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, babe
It don’t matter, anyhow
An’ it ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, babe
If you don’t know by now
When your rooster crows at the break of dawn
Look out your window and I’ll be gone
You’re the reason I’m trav’lin’ on
Don’t think twice, it’s all right

Just some of my soundtrack,

Now,

some people I forgot,

yesterday,

my favourites, musicians,

Coltrane, The Sax.

Billie Holliday, the voice, the pain.

Bob Dylan, the bohemian, the poet.

Later girls,

sleep tight,

Seeing life as a narrative?

A friend of mine,

who was briefly in town,

always nice to see her,

made a remark that got me,

thinking,

“you need a narrative, it’s how you see things”

You know,

she’s absolutely right,

I think as stories,

beginning, middle and end.

Plot, subplot, climax and denouement.

Metaphor and allegory.

I think as a reader.

If something happens,

in my life,

I need to figure it out,

make the narrative,

make sense.

Follow the foreshadowing,

avoid the red herrings.

Read the book.

This is tough enough,

with fiction,

but,

with people,

it’s next to impossible.

So, then I thought,

doesn’t everyone need this?

The short answer is no.

Not everyone does.

I do.

I realise life isn’t a novel,

and people aren’t characters,

and that when I search for motivations,

and the why,

I can be guilty of projection,

of using,

my past,

my issues,

my blueprints,

to figure out their stuff.

A flawed way of analysing,

but that is exactly what I do.

Try to figure out where people,

are coming from,

their plot and style,

are they a Harlequin romance,

or a deep, dark, brooding,

Russian novel.

I never knew I did that,

maybe,

that’s why I am so attracted,

to complexe people,

I don’t like easy.

I like a challenge to my intelligence,

I like to be shaken up.

In books,

it’s great,

in life,

in love,

it’s exhausting.

I don’t know if any of this makes sense to you?

I think it does to me.

🙂

Later girls,

Part two

I remember sitting in Harvard Square,

and having one of those moments,

Bliss,

this was the view while we ate,

clam chowder out of bread bowls,

and sipped Lattes,

on a crisp,

blue skied,

October afternoon,

This is where most of my shirts come from. You’d think I’d be more outdoorsy?

Hemingway, cats, wine, in black and white. You can hardly get more perfect composition.

My favourite romantic comedy. I can’t resist horse laughs and nervous, bookish Brits.

Home. In the Fall.

“The good ole hockey game, is the best game you can name and the best game you can name is the good ole hockey game”- Stompin’ Tom connors, Eh?

A perfect example of the straight butch.

Ditto. In case you didn’t recognize her, that’s Kate Hepburn.

Fools.

To illustrate my favourite quote: “Love-in a world where carpenters get resurrected-anything is possible”-Eleanor Of Aquitaine.

A spot to read.

My favourite actress. Fearless, sensuous, vulnerable.

Loneliness is under estimated.

A cup of Joe. Love old-fashioned Diner stuff and weird old expressions.

Words, have limits, that kisses do not.

That concludes this trip through my picture psyche,

for now…

Later girls,