Godammit, I’m Mad!

Recently I attended the wedding of one of Max’s oldest friends, who was also a member of his band.  It was a joy to see this wonderful young man celebrating his love for his adoring bride, his obvious soulmate.

The wedding was also an opportunity for me to see old friends, and to see some of Max’s school pals who were now grown ups.  There were babies and toddlers everywhere and I got to hold a placid baby girl wearing a pink tutu.

We couldn’t help but notice a family with three or four young children, all completely bald.  I assumed that one of the kids had lost his hair from chemotherapy and the others had shaven their heads in solidarity. You hear about this practice more and more, and I respect the sacrifice and devotion involved.

After several funny speeches, the bride and groom danced to a recording of a silly song about bees or something.  It looked like a dance you learn in preschool, with funny hand-motions. It was adorable. During their dance, one of the bald kids joined in, weaving between them and spinning around happily in her own world.

It was such a poignant bittersweet image: The glowing couple embarking on a new life together, the little child with cancer, whose fate was uncertain.

When I was drunk enough, I danced with my husband, who wouldn’t let me lead. Then I danced with some women who just wanted to shake it up regardless of the too-fast beat and our painful high heels. When we finally said goodbye to the groom, we learned that the bald kids had head-lice, not cancer.

Ha! See how things change depending on your perspective? It’s a good reminder that all experience is filtered through interpretation.  From now on, I hope I can remember that a tragic worldview could be a lapse of judgement or a tendency to see cancer instead of head-lice. I can’t think of a proverb to illustrate this insight.

Anyone up to it? It has to include the word head-lice.

After coming across this photo last week, I couldn’t get it out of my mind.  It’s a stage in Austria’s Lake Constance, for Kieth Warner’s production of Umberto Giordano’s opera “Andrea Chénier”, which will open to the public in July.

Here’s a description:

The first performance of the four-act opera, based on the life of the eponymous French poet who was executed during the French revolution, will take place on 20 July at the Bregenz festival in Austria.

Lake Constance is often used during the festival as an extension of the stage, which this year is being transformed into a 24 metre-high figure of Jean-Paul Marat, inspired by the depiction of his death in the 1793 painting by Jacques-Louis David.

The stage design also includes an open book from which members of the cast will emerge, and a large gold mirror.

Shit! How wonderful! I love the monumentalness  of this enterprise. I wish I could transport myself to Austria. If you find this image compelling, see more here.

~

Here’s another piece of art that blows my mind. It’s a van I’ve seen around Venice lately, and yesterday I got to see it up close when I went to get groceries and there it was in the parking lot.  A slightly-built man emerged and he was very nice when I asked if I could take a picture.

I walked around and around the van, trying to take in all its wacky glory. It’s completely covered in black and white leather, heavily studded and topped off with realistic-looking stuffed tigers.  There are religious plaques on both sides of the van, praising the lord.  I believe this van is a tribute to the owner’s loved one, Shirley Ann, his “Queen in Life and Death,” “Together for Eternity.”

It’s uplifting to see artistic commitment of this magnitude.  Whether it’s part of a prestigious festival or one man’s expression of devotion, real art is transcendent, isn’t it. I’m grateful for these glimpses of it.

*van photos via

In the last six months, I have gone in and out of various states that are not stages, just different emotional terrain. Shock, disbelief, rage, denial, guilt, and unspeakable agony. It isn’t better as time passes. If anything it is worse.

I continue writing this blog because it seems like something normal and productive to cling to, but I’m not sure if it’s doing me any good.  When I’m not at my computer, I am mostly catatonic or crying. I reject all talk of “getting over it.” I don’t want to hear that he “is with me.” He is not with me. That is the problem.  He is  gone. And I miss him so much.

My husband and my teenager need me to stick around. It would be too brutal for me to act on my yearning to go find Max. I guess I’m not at the level of desperation where you stop caring about the hearts you will break.

Meanwhile, life goes on around me at home, and our roof is leaking badly enough to cause the ceiling to crumble in the kitchen. It falls in chunks and finer particles that cover the countertops. The roof is around 30 years old now.

My Cyber-sisters Kate and Queens Marie and Michelle have teamed up with everyone’s favorite jewelry designer and raconteur Wendy Brandes to raise funds for a new roof. I am so humbled by their kindness that I feel I must get in the spirit of things by showing off the adorable logo that Michelle designed:

The picture links directly to Wendy’s order form.

A roof is a symbol of shelter and stability. It would be a positive undertaking for my family and maybe even for me.

I love that our little community can be a force for good. We are all elevated by acts of compassion! Thank you sweetie pies for wanting to help.

*If you know anyone who would like to own one of these silver woolf necklaces, pass it on.

Summer Adeline is a cool girl who I never met until she made me a necklace with a locket for Max’s hair.

I only knew her from her website and some blog comments but I had a feeling that she was The One.

She came to my house from across town and presented me with the locket, beaming with pleasure at my excitement. She didn’t want any money.  She let me cry when I told her about Max, and listened patiently to the long harrowing story. She even put the hair inside the locket for me.  A lock of hair that I cut myself while a red-faced bastard from the coroner’s office yelled at me in Max’s bedroom.

Summer is an angel, and she is appropriately beautiful for the role. She’s a girl who Max would have fallen for, without a doubt.

I don’t believe that “Things happen for a reason,” but sometimes good things happen just when you need a helping hand or a ray of light or an antidote to all the stupidity and indifference you encounter every day.

Cyberspace has brought me a plague of malevolent cretins but it has also brought me Summer. Love trumps hatred. How could we exist otherwise?

Thanks, Summer! xoxo

“I’d like to submit our wedding photo for your Museum of Fat Love. We’ve been married almost three years and the fact that we’re fat doesn’t matter. What matters is that we managed to find each other in the vast sea of strangers out there, fat and thin. We have three kids now and we’re enjoying life to its fullest.”

Who could ask for more?

The Museum of Fat Love.

In recent days, two idiots nice individuals have cited my hatefulness as a moral flaw in my nature (not to mention my blog.)  I will point out yet again that the title of this blog is “Godammit, ‘m Mad! and I’m Getting Madder,” not “Look What I Love.”

However, just to remind anyone who doesn’t know what a fucking cornucopia of love I am, here is a list of fifty people I love, in the order they popped into my brain:

Patti Smith, William Borroughs, Van Morrison, Vermeer, William Bouguereau, Aretha Franklin, Thomas Hardy, Elvis Costello, Edith Wharton, Flaubert, Emmylou Harris, Gram Parsons, Kingsley Amis, Mervin Peake, Johnny Depp, Ingrid Bergman, Chris Rock, Richard Feinman, Arthur Lee, Bob Dylan, George Eliot, Amy Winehouse, Denton Welch, Balzac, Vivienne Leigh, Brigitte Bardot, Prince, Amanda Palmer, Donna Summer, Paul Erdos, Frida Kahlo, Bert Jansch, Fred Neil, Iris Murdoch, Joan Armatrading, Tolstoy, Otis Redding, Ravi Shankar, Oscar Wilde, Karen Horney, Derek & Clive, Neil Young, Tim Buckley, Leonard Cohen. Robert DiNiro, Alice Miller, Yukio Mishima, Ricky Gervais, Larry David, Tony Duquette.

See?

Now, who do you love that I should love too?

My friend and fellow blogger Janet, who goes by the name Iheartfashion, has lost her husband to suicide. It is a terrible time for her and her two kids. No one saw this coming, and now she needs our support. If you can make a donation, even a tiny one, go here. If you can send her love and strength, go here.

Janet has listened to me in my moments of darkness. She is a woman with a big heart who now has a tough road to walk, but let’s remind her that she’s not alone.

Today is my tribute to all the People Who Blog in Pajamas and Live in Their Parents’ Basement (at least metaphorically).

I love you all. My dog Pico wanted to show his love as well.

After reading about middle-aged women who go online to look for their old boyfriends, I was more grateful than ever to have found my true love.

He is the best husband in the world, and we plan to die in each other’s arms. Preferably not any time soon, though. I’m still looking for the perfect black jeans.

If you’re wearing PJs while you’re reading this, you rule. Have a look at three hunky men who blog in sexy bedtime attire:

That’s right, ladies. Fan yourselves!

And for you men (or lesbians, of course!) check out the babes.

UPDATE: And here is annemarie, by popular demand, looking a bit frumpy.

Just because I’m mad a lot of the time, it’s easy to mistake me for a Bad person.  In actual fact, I’m full of love, when I’m not full of hate!

I love this green fluffy thing. I’d love to be the girl wearing it, too.

I also love this blue fluffy thing, which you can get for me here.

I love this pink ensemble by Givenchy, which would look just as good on a girl.

And I truly love my cyber-friends (including Iheartfashion, who is doing fine but needs to focus on other things for a while.)  Don’t forget our Pajama Party this Friday! Here is your official Party Seal.

I have been reading about neurochemistry and the effect of serotonin on relationships, and some new studies suggest that antidepressants are not the free lunch some of us were hoping for.

Not only do the SSRI drugs dampen the libido, they can fuck up your relationships. They can even inhibit the neurochemical activities that are involved in romantic love.

This is a little alarming. Many of my friends and enemies are on one or more antidepressants, and we are all authorities on which ones are energizing (Welbutrin) or sedating (Remeron). We know which ones are too constipating (Cymbalta) and which ones have the worst withdrawal symptoms (Effexor.)

Most of us are less interested in sex than we used to be, but many of us are lucky enough to have partners who will rise to the challenge. They know that if we stopped taking our meds, we’d be impossible to live with, so our increased sex drive would be a moot point.

While reading about the biochemistry of love and attraction, though, I was happy to see my own theory of female sexuality confirmed: It’s all about oxytocin.

As long as we’re secreting oxytocin (which is stimulated by breastfeeding and orgasm) we are driven to connect and nurture. Oxytocin leads us to form bonds, basically. Any woman who has nursed a baby can tell you this. Oxytocin equals bliss. When male voles are given a shot of oxytocin, they want to be clingy and monogamous. When autistic people are given oxytocin via a nasal spray, they are better able to make eye contact. It even increases trust and empathy.

Here is the important part, men: If you pay more attention to our boobs, this will make us love you more, and continue to love you without straying. It will make everything better. When you come home from work, don’t complain about the traffic and how much you hate your job. Instead, play with your partner’s boobs!

Back to the SSRI problems, I don’t know what the long-term effect on our society will be if no one wants sex and people stop falling in love. Maybe we’ll adapt somehow, or maybe we’ll decide it’s better to be depressed because we hate ourselves than be resilient but sexually numb.

In any case, let’s all make sure that everyone’s boobs are properly attended to, and that everyone keeps taking their meds until reality is more tolerable in larger doses.