My Ramblings – Page 81 – Bookish Butch

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:-)**

How PBS & company maintain my pinkness

Everything I know about-

pretty much,

anything,

I learned from books.

Well,

there are exceptions.

Hockey,

dad and grandpapa,

swagger,

Steve McQueen,

kick ass butchness,

k.d,

how to make a woman swoon,

still working on it:-)

But, I digress,

don’t I always!

PBS and CBC Radio, NPR,

Radio Canada,

your basic liberal pinko media,

have kept me thinking,

since I got out of college,

oh so many moons ago.

Books let me,

dream, aspire, add texture to ideas,

but,

PBS et compagnie,

they shake me up,

my preconceptions, my prejudices,

my cobwebs.

My non-fiction reading is limited,

I tend to consume it,

through pictures and sounds.

What would I really know about,

Architecture if I didn’t watch PBS?

Not much.

I might never make it to the real live,

Lincoln Center or The Met,

but, still I go regularly through TV.

There is a lot of crap on TV,

much useless talk on radio,

but,

there is American Masters and American Experience,

and Q and the Current and The Independent Lens.

I watch crap like everyone,

Family Jewels, Castle,

whatever.

But, when I need them,

my pinkos are always ready to explain,

the situation in Afghanistan,

the depth of American musical theatre,

and why Leonard Cohen is in fact,

a genius.

How the cold and snow,

have shaped our national character,

the reading of Hart Crane’s poems,

over pictures of the Brooklyn Bridge,

Billie Holiday singing,

Karen Kain dancing.

The Congressional compromise about health care.

Information and beauty,

fun and analysis.

Where would I be without them,

where would we be,

awash in a sea of Fox News,

of Survivor and American Idol?

Let’s hear it for the PINKOS.

Later girls

**inspiration Feral Geographer’s comment**

This Butch can’t cry

I feel better,

the hormonal horror,

has rescinded.

They can be hard to deal with,

the hormones,

the wanting to crawl out of your skin,

the urge to get it out,

cry,

whatever.

Pre-Menopause or,

whatever the hell it is,

killer.

If I could cry,

I know I would feel better.

I can’t,

not from frustration,

not from pain.

I can cry during,

Hallmark Hall Of Fame production commercials,

like the guy who learns how to read in his fifties,

so he can read the birthday and father’s day cards,

his little girl sent him over the years,

that I can cry buckets,

also kittens, puppies and,

Canada gold medal ceremonies.

But, any real emotion in my life,

nope,

stoic,

my normally talkative, gregarious,

butch personality,

clams up.

I feel the emotion,

it just doesn’t show.

It makes me appear cold or emotionless,

it makes me defensive,

it makes the people I love,

and care about think,

I don’t.

It’s disturbing and hindering.

Why?

Beats me.

I feel things intensely,

and it doesn’t show,

or it manifests itself inappropriately.

Spontaneous eruptions.

Maybe, I should stick to writing it,

although that hasn’t always been a success,

perhaps what I need is a soft woman to spoon,

or talk it out of me.

Lucky her:-)

I guess my blog is my virtual wailing wall.

Sorry you have to put up with it,

But….

I appreciate it.

Later girls

Cryptic Post :-)

These are my boots.

Well,

mine are smaller and cleaner,

but,

you get the gist.

I haven’t mentioned them in a while,

I thought you might have missed them:-)

I was cleaning and polishing them tonight,

a weekly ritual,

it reminds me of my dad.

and…

I was thinking,

Taking care of my Boots,

helps me think,

Also doing the dishes,

don’t ask,

I can’t explain it,

one of life’s mysteries,

I guess.

I was thinking ….

I’m not going to tell you what I was thinking,

it’s private:-)

But, …

wish me luck:-)

Later girls

Polar bears, a vanishing breed?

The sky is gray and it looks cold.

Some mornings, I look out the window,

and I know,

cold.

The Habs won last night,

they seem to be getting their rhythm back,

Yesss!

Yesterday was a tough one,

I’m optimistic about today

well,

I’m trying.

You’ve heard of the Dog Days Of August,

these are the Polar Bear days of winter.

January and February,

not for the weak,

a time when,

a heavy coat and an extra layer of fat,

are handy.

Also,

snarling is good,

survival wise,

as in,

don’t mess with me it’s,

f****ing cold,

polar bear style:-)

Mind you,

with climate change,

one hesitates to say,

global warming,

on such a day,

us Polar Bears,

may all turn into pussycats.

Perhaps that is,

the “up” side of climate change,

mellow cats,

replace snarling polar bears,

Canada may never be the same again,

oh well,

we can always b**** about the heat.

Later girls

A succession of pretty sounds

I am almost finished Brideshead Revisited,

review probably on the weekend.

I am not even going to mention The Habs!!!

Except to say this,

a loosing team,

while a bummer,

is part of what makes you stronger!!!!

In the, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, category.

It’s easy to root for winners.

I have had a suggestion,

for the sixth book in my GLBT Q Challenge.

A good friend,

who usually steers my right,

has suggested Girl Unwrapped by Gabriella Goliger,

apparently it meets the Q requirement.

So, that’s my list complete. (complete list under Challenge)

Today’s post is inspired by a comment,

and is about wait for it……

Opera.

Yes, Opera.

I like Opera.

I don’t go to the Opera or even the symphony,

I always found that plaid clashes with silk,

but,

deep in the recesses of my CD collection,

there lurks some opera.

I grew up listening to all kinds of music,

my dad was a music freak.

In the family record pile,

yes, we had records,

there were many opera excerpts,

famous aria collections,

or great tenors of the 20 Th century,

that kind of stuff.

I never liked the German stuff,

too loud and guttural for my taste,

but, the Italian opera,

Bellisima.

I don’t speak Italian,

and I think that adds to the pleasure.

Once, and only once,

I read what the words to one of my favorite airs,

meant,

something which had been magical,

became ordinary, mundane.

I never did that again,

I’d rather pretend.

Weirdly, it works with French opera as well,

and I speak French!!

But, you can’t really make out the words.

Opera to me,

is a succession of pretty sounds,

to which I attach no real meaning.

I like a little mystery,

in my books, in my music, in my friends,

and mostly in my,

women:-)

Later girls

**one thing I would like for 2011, more comments and less Spam of the cheap Viagra variety**

The bottom of the box

The Habs have lost 8 of their last 10 games,

I believe the appropriate expression is,

free fall.

Not looking good for the playoffs.

The weather on the other hand is amazing.

It has been unseasonably mild,

even if a little bit grey.

Sort of like London, but less posh:-)

Today the sky is blue and it is a little colder,

a fair trade off.

I am feeling giddy.

It’s weird I don’t usually do, giddy.

But, I can think of no other word,

I’m floating around,

and just so you know,

I don’t do drugs,

an all natural buzz.

Must be the new year and catching up on sleep.

Three, four goodnights’ sleep and,

the old butch is spitting fire.

I have been reading Brideshead Revisited,

I thought I would have it finished for New Year’s,

but, no.

It’s slow going, I can’t seem to concentrate.

Since, I am back to work tomorrow,

I should finish by the end of the week.

I used to be hung up on how many I read and reviewed,

right now?

Not so much.

After I finish Brideshead, I am going to be reading,

The Tenants by Bernard Malamud.

It will be part of a new feature I am instituting:

The bottom of the box.

Here’s the thing,

the bottom of the box,

are books of real interest,

in sorry ass shape,

found at the bottom of the box.

I usually put them on the quarter rack, outside.

But, sometimes there are pearls amongst the detritus,

coffee stained, cat hair infested and water logged, pearls,

but pearls nonetheless.

I clean them up and sometimes read them,

before the quarter rack.

So,

occasionally I will share my impressions of them.

Bernard Malamud is,

an American writer,

his most famous work I think is, The Natural.

I tried reading The Natural, years ago,

hated it.

It could be that I will feel the same way about The Tenants.

It looks promising.

Hopefully it will not be like my foray into Phillip Roth,

yuck.

Do you like the idea of the bottom of the box?

You never know what you will come up with,

a little bit adventurous and off the beaten path.

Nothing wrong with that,

especially if it involves no rain or mosquitoes,

just books.

Well,

that’s it for now

Later girls