Godammit, I’m Mad!

My youngest sister is an anomaly in our family: she is a blond bombshell.  I didn’t meet her until she was 16. One night, she asked me to help with her geometry homework. I was excited to get the chance to act like a real big sister! But the geometry problems seemed to be written in Chinese. I was horrified that anyone was expected to understand that shit. I tried finding a tutorial online but it was way beyond my limited Girlie Brain.

When our dad’s health declined, I slept at his house and got to know my sister better. I already knew that our dad had won custody of her after  years of neglect and abuse by her mother. Being raised by a father in his 80′s must have been hard for her.

She told me abut the time her older sister, who I will call “Tennis,” read her diary when she was 14 and snitched to our dad. This caused a huge commotion, after which Tennis convinced our dad to put his daughter in a foster home.

Eventually, our dad changed his mind and let my little sister come home. When he was dying, she tenderly manicured his nails. He had always liked a good manicure, even a hundred years ago when I was a kid.

Now that our dad is gone, my little sister is on her own. Tennis and their brother, the Weightlifter, keep their distance from her. They don’t like responsibility.

I’m glad I had a chance to briefly bond with her. I think she’s a “survivor,” like I am apparently, often to my dismay. I hope so.

Max is 37 today, somewhere out in the cosmos where I will find him when the time comes.

Lighting a candle and waiting it out.

My friend Jane threw a great party for her birthday, instructing her guests to dress as characters from a Beatles song. The creative challenge was enough to make me accept the invitation and even more noteworthy, to get up off my ass and actually go.

As you can easily see, I was Baby from the song “Baby’s in Black.”  I am even wearing a bib that says ‘Mommy Loves Me.’ Please note that I’m wearing a flared satin evening coat; I am not really that fat.  It was pointed out to me that I could also be the title character of “Lady Madonna.” Thus, I  unwittingly achieved a double Beatles reference!

Anyway,  it was a uniquely entertaining evening on the grounds of a stunning mansion, Beatles karaoke blasting, baby-boomers mingling and asking each other stupidly: “Who are you supposed to be?”

We were advised to bring our own liquor, so we brought a bottle of white wine someone had given us for some occasion. We added it to a large group of bottles near the pool area. A lady walked up and asked: “Is there any good wine here?” I told her, “We just brought this, you are welcome to have some!” She looked at our bottle and shook her head in disgust, remarking “No, that is not a good wine.” After she left, my husband and I shared a moment of stunned delight at encountering such a rude bitch.

Much later, my husband pointed out a person in the distance and said “You have to check out those pants, they’re printed with the Maharishi!”

Look at these fucking pants and scream WHAT THE HELL?!?

I  stopped the pants-wearer, who was pleased to explain how she got them. You can take any picture to Wallgreens and they will make you a pair of pants with a pattern of your image!

Obviously, I fell in love with this wonderful woman. My heart went clunk. Isn’t she lovely? She even asked if I was an artist, which was so flattering. I had to explain, “No, I am nothing.” But still, I think I have made a new friend, and the pleasure in connecting reminded me that in certain moments, life is almost worth living.

Great news! We received this nice email today from my very special sister:

To be clear, I am taking my position as Trustee very seriously, just like a real job within a business.  With that in mind, I keep track of every minute, mile and expense regarding the Trust and will reimburse accordingly.  I will be charging $50/hr and break down my time in tenths.  

 

With all that said, I encourage you to contact me or my attorney with very specific, straight forward questions and/or concerns so as not to waste anybody’s time and consequently, money from the Trust.

Isn’t that nice? We get to pay her just for asking a question about our share of the trust! What would Jesus do?

My dad had seven children with three wives. I am still getting to know the younger ones, who live in another county. One was an athlete in college, and she was the apple of daddy’s eye. He had always wanted a tennis  player and with her, he got one.

Years after graduating from college, she wondered what to do with her life. She lived with her dad until his health took a drastic turn. She loved him so much that she hastened to move out, leaving the duties of caring for him to my brother, who took a three month sabbatical from his job in a city up north.

Sometimes when I was visiting my dad, she would arrive for a visit. She would prance around for him like a palace courtesan before a king. As she explained to the other exhausted siblings, “I give him joy!”

When our dad got weaker and needed help paying his bills. she conducted whispered meetings with him at his bedside, accusing various family members of stealing from his wallet and even stealing his medication. Poor girl. That’s what love is, isn’t it? She was just trying to protect him!

Now that my dad is gone, I still don’t know what makes this girl tick. I like how she manages to avoid getting a job, because that has been my lifelong dream as well. (See Office Space.)

I love her blog, which is a tribute to hippies, many of them nude in a forest or commune or something. You can scroll and scroll, losing yourself in peace signs, long stringy hair and little proverbs about karma and creativity.

Creativity: I wish I had more, don’t you? Then no one would know that I’ve removed the camera-shy siblings from the photo above. Maybe my dad wouldn’t mind the extra hands and feet in this photo. I know he would criticize my hair. If only he’d lived long enough to see my silky keratin treatment.

Anyway, now she has assumed control of our dad’s trust.  It’s nice to know it’s in such competent hands. Stay tuned for Part II.

Let us all follow the Christmas tradition* of reading  The Story of the Lesbian Stick.

~

* Heartfelt atheist blessings to all you people who come here and especially you special ones who have given me so much. xo

Anyone watching Showtime tonight was assaulted by death in a one-two punch.

On The Borgias, the Pope was devastated by the death of his knavish, syphilitic son. He carried the son into the woods, envisioning  him as a beautiful little boy. As Jeremy Irons began to dig a grave, I scolded my television and turned to my computer.

But then, on Nurse Jackie, the mean new hospital administrator was stunned when his drug-addicted son arrived in the ER on a gurney. I watched in horror as Bobby Cannivale tried in vain to revive his dead son. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

While I sobbed hysterically, Nurse Jackie cut away to a happy scene in the maternity room. In real life, we can’t cut to another scene. The attempt to reassure us with a birth, as if to say “Turn turn turn, there is a time for birth and a time for death!” was cheap and sanctimonious.

I think about death constantly but I don’t want it shoved in my face, Showtime. The death of children is literally unbearable. I realized that the specter of the shattered parents is what drives home the tragedy. The children have flown away, but the parents are left with eternal suffering.

Some of my friends and family wish I would cut to a new scene. One of them has even blocked me on facebook. What’s good on Showtime is less good in real life. If people could watch me on TV, they would switch to another channel.

My husband knew that the Housewives of New Jersey would make me feel better. We marveled at Theresa’s hairline, which threatens to devour what’s left of her forehead.

What would I do without my husband! We went to the Los Angeles County Museum on Sunday, and while we wandered through a dark spiral corridor in the Japanese Pavilion, he remarked, “This is kind of like Disneyland for adults.” Yes,” I answered, “if the Pirates of the Carribean was an adventure in dread, with no pirates.”   He sticks with me through everything, all the adventures in dread that my life has become.

In order for the light to shine so brightly, the darkness must be present.

–Sir Francis Bacon

When Max first showed me this tape from Cabaret Night at NYU, back in 1995, I was hooked. I played it for all my friends, and my two-year old son would always ask, “Why is everyone laughing?”

It’s the best thing ever, and way before its time. If you don’t agree, ha, you’re wrong.  Get used to the crew, bitch.

Please enjoy Max and Jonas:

If you don’t love the Band, you’re not a lover of music. Whatever genres you prefer, there is simply no denying the gorgeous soulful freewheeling and majestic sound of the Band, from Big Pink and the Basement tapes onward. Listening to the Band’s second  album  was a form of time travel, taking you to the civil war and creating an aching nostalgia for a time you never knew.

I loved all their voices. When we lost Richard Manuel to suicide, it was a terrible shock. When Rick Danko died, I knew it was the real end of the band. I once tried to say hi to him in a small club, but a security guy pushed me out of the way. Rick looked a little nuts that night, and sang alone next to a boombox playing the Band’s music. But his voice was as plaintive as ever. It was an honor to see him.

Back in the day, I saw the Band perform at the Royal Albert Hall. They had just started playing when my sister was  seized  with violent stomach cramps and I had to go with her to the ladies room. I could hear the band singing while she tried to throw up. It was taking forever and I didn’t want to miss “Unfaithful Servant.”

I had to take charge. “Okay”, I said to her.” Think about raw eggs. Think about dead birds on toast.” She threw up and we ran back to our seats. The show was fantastic.

The next time I saw the Band, they were playing with Dylan at the Forum in Los Angeles. I went with my former husband. As we took our seats, a guy next to me graciously offered me a joint. Soon, I was on another planet, ecstatic throughout the entire concert. Walking to the car, I remember floating slightly above the ground.

The Band has always been there for me. Their music will endure but saying goodbye to Levon Helm is really rough. He was a man who just wanted to play music and  tried  his best not to give in to cancer.

“Whispering Pines” is one of my favorite Band songs, a bittersweet mournful ballad that pierces your heart with its beautiful soaring harmonies. There is longing but also a sense of acceptance. I hope Levon has reached the other side and he’s saving a place for me.