Not very successful today with the laydown. Just couldn't get that relaxed. Since it's so dry down here in the Fe, especially in winter, your skin just tinkles like you've taken a dose of niacin, like small pin pricks happening all over. Have to do some major creaming to fight that and I suppose us guys just don't take the time. Got to thinking about back in the day, sex of course, but if you have read some of the other pieces you know that's a popular laydown subject so you're not surprised. Of course one of the major concerns with men, especially young men, is popping the weasel too soon, sometimes way too soon. Not only is it embarrassing but not the studly way you want to be. A big ego crusher. Probably due to being way worked up, way too soon. When you're going down that highway it's hard to reverse, near impossible, a done dog deal. Now this is where Willie comes in, Willie Mays, the baseball great. So you're feeling that pre-mature weasel pop and you think "oh no". Immediately your mind changes from doing the deed to imagining Willie scaling the wall, making a terrific catch, firing the ball to third attempting to score a double play. If you've made it this far, it's on to Willie at bat ready to knock one out of the park, running the bases, crowd going wild. At least it was a plan.
Dreams Of Old Men:
I've had doubts about writing this but I think it's pretty special and thus I'm compelled to forge ahead with the idea or experience as I've dreamed it, and often. Let me proceed. In most cases I'm young and the hair is long, maybe in my eyes. I look in the mirror to check it out. I make it perfect. I've check out my closet and picked out the coolest clean clothes I have. I enter the scene, going bar to bar. Beer here, bourbon there. I'm part of the crowd, scoping out the action. Do I feel I look good? Yeah. Am I vulnerable, yes. Do I have doubts, yes. In the course of the evening I encounter a beautiful young woman. Maybe more than one but I've zeroed in on her. I put a move on and she responds. God, she's beautiful, soft, sexy. I just want to touch her, hold her, feel it work through me. We look at each other, she leans on me, kisses my mouth, puts her arm around me. Am I in love? Probably. Am I out-classed ? Maybe, but I do not back down. She looks at me with the same interest. Is she special, yes. Do I lust after her? Yes. Is that the most important thing, no. That feeling I have when I look at her and hopefully when she looks at me. Of course there are others that want her. I feel the pressure but for the most part I win out. But the doubt is there. I have to keep it up as there are many suitors. Should I let her talk to that guy for too long or should I jump in? Everybody wants her. When I touch her and she looks at me with that look, I'm hooked, I'm in love. She's mine. Then I wake up. What a feeling. I savor it, I recount it, then fall back to sleep.
Wasting Away in Burritoville:
(the final missive from Santa Fe)
Laid down for about ten minutes, hoping for that little nod off, but no way. The boys, my two dogs Blue and Wylie, were a bit startled by my sudden leap up. "Where the hell is he going?", I'm sure they were thinking. Off to the computer I went. As I was laying there, I starting thinking about my time here in Santa Fe. When I bought the condo in 2000 I was in love with this place. We would come down for Christmas, Spring Break, a couple of months in the summer and a week in the fall. Thus when my latest gig had gone south and I was suffering from career burn-out, down I came, full time, sold the condo and built a house. I told my wife Kathy, "the next time I leave this place it'll be in a casket". Well, I ain't dead yet but I'm heading out. June will be the last month here.
I suppose we will not count the first year, but I have to conclude overall I've just wasted time here. I've gotten lazy, drinking more and accomplishing little, as I've had time on my hands. Yes, I've dabbled in things, trying to be busy and bring in some coin. New friends have been rare and I do not feel connected at all. Kathy feels the same. I've got
a few years to make up now, so let's get on with it.
Dreams continued:
This will be my first addition from the new Chicago digs. God help you. I'm no authority on dreams, animals may, humans do but it's one of man's greatest treasures. Yes, I've awaken suddenly many a night wishing not to go back to sleep but that's part of the price we pay for the most bizarre, intriguing, sci-fi , haunting visions that our mind can conquer up. Liv Ullman who was married to Ingmar Bergman and starred in many of his films was quoted as saying Ingmar had terrible nightmares and dreams but that was his inspiration for his films, mostly dark but brilliant. I've written previously about dreams of falling in love and sex, had one a few nights ago, nice. But the weird ones are the finest.
Battles rage, destruction occurs. Unfortunately I'm not a writer in a film sense and the dream memory is fleeting but wow, there's a movie in there. Ingmar could do it and I wish I could. It's truly amazing what goes on during sleep.
Oh Lord take me back:
Using a spin on Michael Murphy's 1970's song about Geronimo, "Oh Lord take me back
I want to ride in Judy Kinnard's convertible Cadillac" I'm going down memory lane about my high school years at BGA(junior and senior). This week-end was the big 45th
reunion held near Franklin, Tenn. which prompts me to write. Unfortunately I did not make the reunion.
Actually, Judy was driving a Mercedes and I was lucky to be invited for a spin, thinking
wishfully that I could/had become her new guy. She knew I had a crush on her, she was tall, blond, rich and pretty with a great personality. What was I thinking, a boy from Gallatin can dream. Being a boarding student, as opposed to being a day student which the majority of the students were, we went back to the dorm after classes and they went home. As far as boarders, we had to might certain grades to go home on week-ends , and not all week-ends at that. The goal was to be on the "privilege list". At first I was not very privileged so I spent quite a few lonely week-ends roaming around dead Franklin or back at the dorm thinking about Judys. So the goal was to get on that fucking privilege list and get the hell back to Gallatin, see my friends, do a little drinking, etc. I was more successful with this during my senior year. I greatly appreciate, my fellow student Mac
Dobson, for inviting me into Nashville on several week-ends. Getting to know more day students on an off campus basis would have been nice. However, after college I did reconnect with several and enjoyed their friendship. Thus BGA was not a real happy time for me and I was just an average student, actually 26 out of 52 in our graduating class.
But I appreciate my Mom giving me the opportunity. Hope to make the 50th in 2012,
God willing.
Missed Opportunity?
Maybe, maybe not. Taking a short laydown today knowing there's no way I'm fading out.
My dogs lounging along side, but close to going out, just like clockwork. My mind's trying to fight off the thoughts but maybe I'm not really tired, possibly just bored. Four to five PM has always been tough for me. Too early to drink, too late to keep working, my twilight zone. Enough of that and on to the thoughts. I'm out on a production trip. We're shooting a job for Leo Burnett, but I'm on my own this evening and thus arrange to meet my good friends Tom and Marion Flanagan for a few cocktails and dinner at a Mexican restaurant in Santa Monica. The dinner kicks off fast with several Marguaritas at the get go and then vino and then dinner. We're revved up, not on drugs but soaring with evil liquid. I'm thinking, I gotta do it, I can not let the Flanagans down. I pop out of my chair, shuffle between the tables, do a little move then do the patented spin move into a full drop down Gator, pop back up, a little more shuffle then down again, just for emphasis. If you did not see it the first time then maybe the second. The Flanagans
laughing, the Noble smiling, I sit down. A girl at the next table, eating with her parents, rushs over and says "I work with Steven Spielberg and would like your card" I have no cards on me so suggest she write her number on a piece of paper, in this case, my parking ticket. Slow forward to the next day, a bit hung over I remember the girl and hunt for the number. Guess what, I gave it to the parking attendant that night. What! I drove over to the restaurant at lunch, tickets gone, went downtown. Gone. Moral: what alcohol giveth, alcohol can taketh away.
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I Remember Mona:
It did not take long to realize I was possibly in over my head. Not long at all, possibly thirty minutes at most. It started the instant she turned and said "doesn't she have a great ass".
She was referring to her girlfriend, both of them dressed in summer cotton dresses cut well
above the knee. In addition both were sans underwear. We had met earlier in Soho when she,
her girlfriend and a male lawyer friend dropped into the restaurant where I had just finished having dinner with one of my directors. The girls were very good looking, sexy. I felt lucky when asked to join them, on their way to a disco, one of those places with lines and big bouncers outside. We eased right in. I was introduced to DeVine, the infamous drag queen. Seemed the lawyer had been here before, seemed known, connected. It wasn't long until the moment occurred. Now
I'd been married twice and lived in big cities but maybe this was out of my league. Mona was American but living in Paris with a guy and the girlfriend was moving in with them for six months,
leaving in a week. My mind was racing with possible scenarios about that arrangement.
The sexual current was flowing, but which way. It can be intimidating when so overt. "The country boy from Gallatin, Tennessee please stand up." I would have probably bolted if it wasn't for the idea that this could be a personal historical moment in the making, so I hung in. Later we went to the girlfriends apartment, drank some wine and watched Mona go sexual on the couch, flipping up her dress, revealing her glory, talking sex. We all just watched the show. At that moment I'm
a deer in the headlights. What's next?
To say the least I didn't sleep well that night. Had not been exposed to anything quite like that.
But I'm drawn in. Two nights later we're out on a date, joining her friend, Keith Jarrett's ex-wife,
at The Cookery watching one of the last performances of jazz legend Alberta Hunter. Since I was temporarily staying in someone's office in Midtown, she invited me back to where she was staying on the Upper Eastside. I panicked a bit when I walked in and noticed the only sleeping area was a double mattress on the floor. This was a male friends apartment. Where is he, I'm thinking. When does he show up, and what happens then? It could get weird. It overwhelms me. I can not do it. I won't be able to get it up and then I'll hate myself. I'm heading for the door. Mona blocks me from leaving, pushes up against me. My mind races. Her sexiness overpowers my
weakness. I make the mental turn. We're near the kitchen table and that's where she lands. She has an itch to scratch, a very big itch. The dude never showed up. What a night, historical.
