Tell Us About Your Pain

Not much has been happening in my world...  well, there is the part where I ended up in the ER on Sunday night, after several hours of intense pain at my sternum, & throwing up blood. After an ultrasound, endoscope & 36 hours of morphine... I gave birth to a little gallstone. I am so proud. I named it- Jonbenet.

After being admitted & brought into a small examining room, a nurse asked me:
"What do you want out of this visit?"
Me: "What do you mean?  Peace & prosperity for our world? Fame & success? Lunch?
Nurse (chortling): "Where would like to be at the end of this visit?"
Me: "Of course, sorry. I guess, I want my own sitcom, & when not filming, starring on Broadway in a musical or some classic...  how about being snowed at a mountian cabin with James Franco... Oh, do I get one more wish?"
The nurse wrote my final comments on a blackboard &the Husband took over the answering of questions.

I had a procedure called an Endoscopy. The technician called it a UGI, which I misunderstood to mean some sort of high school equivalency test, or possibly a labor union. The Morphine had me a bit beclouded & befuddled. The physician explained that I would be conscious for the event, but the drugs he gave me would cause a form of amnesia: "sort of like really strong Valuim". I believe that I ordered a shot of vodka; I didn't remember a single thing when I did come to. I am in favor of a drug the can erase the memory from a section of your life.

While tethered to the Morphine IV drip, all I had to do was ride out the diminishing pain, watch the ceiling tiles move around & study the signs on my hospital room walls. These were my favorite signs:

Pain Management Is A Patients Right (possible idea for sign at the next Tea Party Rally?)

Tell Us About Your Pain (do they really want my life story?)

The 4 "P"s: Pain, Privacy, Position, Potty (possible chapter title for my memoirs?)

Do Not Leave Alone On Toilet (possible Words To Live By?)

I received excellent care, although I was spooked that all the nurses were named Staci. I also had a visit from the chaplain who asked "If anything should happen, do you wish me to summon a priest?"  Me: No priest, but please do call the press!"

I had my own room, I got to have vegetable broth while watching The View, I had professionals fussing over me. I decided to pretend that I was at a spa. "Oh, Nurse Staci, would you please get me one of those amnesia inducing drugs & a shot of vodka before my colonic & pedicure?"



I am now resting at home, warm, cozy & loved by my little family.The Husband claims that the entire episode was my cry for attention.

The Autumn Of My Years... A Ramble On The Day Before Winter Solstice

"I'm In The Autumn Of My Years" but swingin' like Della

Today is the last day of autumn 2010. In 2 weeks, I will be ending my own autumn, as I officially will be in my late 50s. 2 weeks from today I will be in the winter of my life. I have lived longer than I ever intended to live. But, as Woody Allen stated- “It’s better than the alternative”.


The last 6 weeks have not felt like autumn, but rather like real winter. Living in the Pacific Northwest in December is not for the faint hearted. But, we are all steamed up at Post Apocalyptic Bohemia. because tomorrow is not just the darkest day of the year, but for the 1st time since 1554, we will have a full moon experiencing a full lunar eclipse on the Winter Solstice tomorrow night. Portland is forecast to have clear skies, & I plant to witness this event, possibly with a whiskey in my hot tub.


In the beautifully written new volume in his- Tales of The City series: Mary Ann In Autumn, Armistead Maupin says- “The past doesn’t catch up with us, It escapes from us.” I have spent the last few days playing a- “if I just hadn’t done _______, then ______ never would have happened". More on the current situation in a post later this week, but I can say that I am at my lowest in the month of December. My depression deepens & a fog of melancholia creeps into my every wrinkle.

My feelings about Christmas are not simple. I had a happy childhood with more than 18 Christmases that were lovely, loving & lavish. As an only child of upper-middle class working parents & one of only 2 grandchildren of 3 sets of grandparents, I received plenty of presents, & because I was such a little adult, the gifts consisted of mostly books, record albums & clothing. I didn’t care much for toys until I became an adult.

Baby Butch as Baby Jesus 2010 edition

The Post Apocalyptic Bohemian Christmas Tree 2010

Now in the autumn of my years, I like to keep it a simple, as I consider all the people that go without at Christmas . The Husband & I stopped giving each other gifts over 2 decades ago. That is our special gift to each other. Our traditions include the presenting of Baby Butch as the Baby Jesus & our annual tree, cut down in the woods in bitter cold by the husband, brought home on top of the station wagon, covered in blue lights, & placed just outside of the backroom floor to ceiling window. The Christmas tree is close to the major bird feeder & often has 7 or 8 songbirds perched on the branches like glass ornaments. Our birds are well fed & on the plump side, but I can't deny them food & clean water.

The Goldfinch is the State Bird of Washington, so she may be a little lost. But who can blame her? & we are only a few miles from the border here in North Portland.

We will go to a movie on the Holiday; we are thinking about the 1st showing of The King’s Speech. Christmas evening will bring a fire in the fireplace & a prayer for peace & goodwill between all people. I would like to know your traditions. Would you share?

An Ode To Onanism

The Husband: “I didn’t want you to have to worry.” That was the explanation for why he didn’t tell me that he was leaving his job until the evening before his last day. Swell, & worry I did, but then I am a worrier. This was at the end of April, & I have become quite adjusted to the change, & I accommodated the his new life as a househusband & a freelancer. But, I have rarely been alone.

Anyone in my circle accepts that I require & yearn for time to myself. I am an only child of 2 working parents, & at 6 years old, I would walk home, let myself in to our home with my own key, & would then have 3 splendid hours with the house to myself. I still seek the solitude 50+ years later. For me there nothing so perfect as a rainy late autumn day with no agenda, no obligations & no company.

The Husband has been working a day here & there as a design associate with a lovely designer friend. They are doing 16 condos at Government Camp, on Mt. Hood. I arrived home at noon to find myself with the place to myself, with notice from the Husband that he was “at the mountain” & would be back in time to go to happy hour at the neighborhood watering hole.

An afternoon alone! Just me & my shadow. Me, myself & I’ll go my way by myself. I was unaccompanied, unaided, unassisted, unattached, unattended, unescorted, & unhinged. I immediately set out to behave in the manner that pleases me most & the Husband not so much.

The Husband likes the TV on, not just to view his favorite shows, but just on from waking to bedtime: old movies, HGTV, Ellen, Oprah, Joy Behar. He will be working on a house project or in his studio, but he finds comfort in the world of TV sounds. I am often around for the ride. When I am on my own it is no TV; I listen to music. I listen to “my music” & I play it loud. On my solo afternoon I behaved just as I wished. I turned off lights & lit candles. I cranked up the stereo, I danced around in my underwear. I sang along to the music. I ate half of a pot brownie & got seriously turned on, up & around. I spent time at the computer blogging, reading blogs, doing research, & because I was alone, I took a peek at some porn from that internet thingy. 

 I am really not a big porn guy. We have maybe 3 DVDs, & no magazines. In the1st 5 minutes of porn viewing & become powerfully aroused & supremely stimulated. At minute 6, I become soundly tired of the tease, blasé & disinterested. For me, porn is just pink, pink, pink, in, out &, in & out. Yet being alone, I felt I should fit in another activity that I have neglected since a certain someone is almost always on the premises. I made the decision to make love to that special one. Yes, an afternoon of self abuse! I would catch up on some long neglected whacking, knocking out the one-eyed champ, wrapping the presents, feeding the chickens, answering my bone-a-phone, blessing the alter boy, cranking the shank, Eberting my Siskel, doing the hand jive, holding the sausage hostage, making the bald guy puke, clapping with one hand, shooting without scoring, slapping the chubby, tossing one off, waxing willy, whitewater wristing, playing yahtzee, or my favorite- Uncorking the Champagne.

I checked out just a few more moments of some German Prison Porn, undressed & slipped under the duvet. It was considerably cold in the bedroom & I began by hugging & rubbing myself to warm up.

I placed the most depraved image in my brain & let the libido take over. I awoke to the gentle sound of the Husband’s greeting 4 hours later.

As if I am so boring & undesirable in bed, that I fell asleep at the 1st moment of foreplay. Even I don’t want to have sex with me! I indubitably feel rejected by myself. I patently promise myself to give me more attention & affection & try to recreate that voodoo that I do so well. I will start the titillation by sexting myself this afternoon. I never know when I will have an hour to myself again.






Great songs about masturbation:
My Ding-a-Ling- Chuck Berry
Darling Nikki- Prince
Orgasm Addict- The Buzzcocks
Dancing With Myself- Billy Idol
Blister In The Sun- The Violent Femmes
Praying Hands- Devo
Turning Japanese- The Vapors
She Bop- Cyndi Lauper
Pump It Up- Elvis Costello
Beat It- Michael Jackson
Thinking About You - Radiohead
Touch Of My Hand - Britney Spears
With My Little Ukulele In My Hand - George Formby
Ramrod- Bruce Springsteen
Miss Me Blind- Culture Club
Hit It- English Beat
Sugar Walls- Sheena Easton
Let’s Hear It For The Boy- Deniece Williams
Jack & Jill- Classic Nursery Rhyme
Oh, Come All Ye Faithfull- Tradition Carol

She Died With Her Boots On... Born On This Day- October 17th... Irene Ryan

I played a man from the time he was born until he becomes a father in a charming, 5 person musical- Whispers On The Wind. This was autumn semester, October- November 1976, my senior year at Loyola Marymount University in L.A. I really loved the cast, 2 of whom I worked with several times, & the piece was directed by my favorite professor with musical direction from someone that I adored. I found out much later that had been earmarked for the lead in the other fall show, Eugene O’ Neill’s- Ah, Wilderness!, but the show I ended up in worked out to be a special, magical experience. The musical was produced in the department’s smaller theatre & had a well received run, popular with students & faculty. I had a really lovely, smart role, with great solos songs that were tailor made for my singing voice & group numbers that were complicated musically, including unusual & tough harmonies.

That is your host, with the full head of curly hair!

Whispers On The Wind should have ended at Christmas break, but soon after the run, it was nominated as a finalist in the American College Theatre Festival. After the holidays, it was mounted again, this time on the main stage as a fund raiser for sending the show to the festival, held that year in Las Vegas. Icing on the cake... I was nominated for the Irene Ryan award for Outstanding Actor, a particularly proud worthy achievement, up against actors from UCLA, USC, Cal Arts & University of Arizona.

 Irene Ryan had established the award, a scholarship, in 1972, as part of the Irene Ryan Foundation of Encino, California, awarding scholarships to the outstanding student performers at each regional festival. These scholarships are made possible by the generosity of Irene Ryan who is best remembered for her portrayal of the lovable & feisty Granny Clampett in The Beverly Hillbillies (1962-1971), for which she was nominated twice for an Emmy.

 Irene Ryan found success in vaudeville, radio, film, television & Broadway. In 1972 Ryan helped to create & also starred in the role of Berthe in the Bob Fosse directed Broadway musical Pippin, in which she sang the number No Time At All, which mentions, "a man who calls me Granny". In 1973, Ryan was nominated for a Tony Award as Best Supporting in a Musical. In April 1973, Ryan suffered a stroke during a performance of Pippin. Earlier in the year, her friend & fellow Beverly Hillbillies cast member- Nancy Kulp, had tried to persuade her not to go to New York for the musical. She died soon after, at 70 years of age. Irene Ryan has a special place in my history.


The cast of Whispers On The Wind & my circles kept my ego my in check by reminding me that I had actually been nominated for the Irene Ryan Look Alike Award, & not the acting prize.

Don't Put Your Daughter On The Stage Mrs Worthington... Part 1 Of A Series

My parents claim that from a very early age, I would sing & dance for them & their guests, & I would point to the TV & announce that- “I wanna do that. I wanna be in the TV… & with Ed Sullivan!” The parents say that my big number was- Istanbul (Not Constantinople).


I wanted to be a performer. Other subjects held my attention, but I certainly set my heart on being an actor/singer/dancer/stand up. I started training when I was 5 with piano lessons. My very loving parents gave their blessing & paid for every lesson I wanted to give a whirl: cello, string bass, voice, tap dancing, fencing.

Destined for stardom, 2nd from the left-front row

I started grabbing every opportunity to show em’ what I got. My stage début was age 6, in my elementary schools holiday pageant, where I wowed the audience with my spry wit & star power as Jack Be Nimble. I played piano & sang at every school talent show. In 5th grade, as a boy soprano, I performed in my school’s production of Hänsel und Gretel, an opera by 19th century composer Engelbert Humperdinck. I played the Sleep Fairy (a role that would come back to haunt me, when later in life, I have been known to occasionally fall asleep during sex). I was told by my teacher that it was professional & polished performance, & that I was correct to be on a path to stardom.

At Sacajawea Junior High School, I broke away from any possible adolescent shyness by performing at an all school convocation of talent, with my dizzying take on a Going Out Of My Head/ Windmills Of Your Mind medley in my brand new tenor singing voice. The student body was speechless, startled, stunned, & stupefied by my mature talent & good taste. Those 2 songs remain in my repertoire.

Don’t put your daughter on the stage, Mrs. Worthington

Don’t put your daughter on the stage
The profession is overcrowded
The struggle’s pretty tough
& admitting the fact she’s burning to act
That isn’t quite enough
She’s a nice girl and though her teeth are fairly good
She’s not the type I ever would be eager to engage

I repeat, Mrs. Worthington, sweet Mrs. Worthington
Don’t put your daughter on the stage
Regarding yours, dear Mrs. Worthington
Of Wednesday, the 23rd.


Although your baby may be keen on a stage career
How can I make it clear that this is not a good idea
For her to hope and appear, Mrs. Worthington
Is on the face of it absurd
Her personality is not in reality quite big enough, inviting enough
For this particular sphere
Don’t put your daughter on the stage, Mrs. Worthington
Don’t put your daughter on the stage


She’s a bit of an ugly duckling, you must honestly confess
& the width of her seat would surely defeat
Her chances of her success
It’s - it’s a loud voice, and though it’s not exactly flat
She’ll need a little more than that to earn a living wage
On my knees, Mrs. Worthington, please Mrs. Worthington
Don’t put your daughter on the stage
Don’t put your daughter on the stage, Mrs. Worthington
Don’t put your daughter on the stage


Though they said at the school of acting
She was lovely as Peer Gynt
I’m afraid, on the whole, an ingenue role might emphasize her squint
She has nice hands, to give the wretched girl her due
But don’t you think her bust is too developed for her age
No more buts, Mrs. Worthington, nuts! Mrs. Worthington
Don’t put your daughter on the stage

Noel Coward
1933

I Love L.A.

Today marks the 229th birthday of El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Ángeles del Río de Porciúncula (The Village of Our Lady, the Queen of the Angels of the river of Porziuncola). Los Angeles & I have history. My father grew up in the Silverlake neighborhood, which at the time was quite nice, yet quite bohemian. When I lived in the city in the early 1970s, the neighborhood had deteriorated, but then the gays moved in & fixed things up as they do in most metropoltan areas & now it is inhabited by an eclectic community of hipsters, the creative class &  of course... lots of gays.

I went to college in L.A. at Loyola Marymount University. I lived in Playa del Rey on the strand. My apartment had sliders that opened on to white sand & the Pacific Ocean, with a view of Catalina on a clear day. My Los Angeles life, hardly ever involved L.A.. My universe was very beach & stretched from Redono Beach to Malibu. I frequented spots in Venice & Santa Monica. My friends & I would go into Westwood or Hollywood for movies & plays, but for the most part it was beach.

Loyola Marymount University... my alma mater.

Your Host, the Post Apocalyptic Bohemian circa 1974 with one of my dearest friends- Carolyn. The Afro was real, but tamed down in the 2nd photo when I was appearing in Private Lives. Noel Coward & Afros just did not work.

Recent archaeological studies show there was a culture in Los Angeles in 8,000 B.C. Mostly acting hopefuls trying to be seen by casting directors for the prehistoric version of pilot season. There was much disappointment & a certain amount of violence when it was revealed that film was 27 centuries away.


By 3,000 B.C. Los Angeles was occupied by the Hokan-speaking people of the Milling Stone Period who could sing, dance, act & gather wild seeds. By the time of the arrival of the Europeans in the 18th century, there were 250,000 to 300,000 people in LA., all trying to get their SAG cards.


Los Angeles is the 2nd largest city in the USA & has an area of more that 600 square miles. The urban area of Los Angeles extends beyond the administrative city limits with a population of over 18 million. It is the 14th largest urban area in the world. I love the city & I have watched the renaissance of areas that have turned around that I would never have dreamed possible: Hollywood, Downtown, & Silverlake, Glendale, & Venice.



Happy Birthday to the City of Angels. I will always love you: Tommy's Burgers, Hollywood, The Capitol Record Building, Santa Monica, Laurel Canyon, Griffith Park, Hollywood, Randy's Donuts, Rodeo Drive, Nate N' Als, Canter's, La Brea Tar Pits, The Getty, Venice Beach Boardwalk, Union Station, Watts Towers, Chateau Marmont,  the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel,  El Portal Theatre,  Palos Verdes, Swimming Pools, Movie Stars.

Ray Of Light

August 16th. I find it difficult to comprehend that August, my favorite month, is half way over. I have been training myself to “be in the moment”, so I will enjoy each summer day for what it has to offer. Today is the 5th day of a Portland style heat wave with temps above 95 degrees. The rest of the country swelters with temperatures this high, but Portland has low humidity (the so called “dry heat”), & cool nights. Not so bad. We close up the house early in the day, & it stays cool, & then we open every door & window in the evening. But it is truly hot, & the dogs sack out on a cool floor & the Husband attempts to keep the crabbiness at an acceptable level (it is rough being in intense pain in 95+ degrees). The Weather Channel forecast this day as- "Brilliant Sunshine". I am now considering changing my Radical Faerie name from Honey Buckitt to Brilliant Sunshine.

 On this day in 1962, Ringo Starr replaced Pete Best as drummer for a new band- The Beatles. I love The Beatles beyond all measure, with a soft spot for Ringo, who I think I resemble. My 1st album, purchased with my own money was Meet The Beatles in January of 1964. He is profoundly underrated as a drummer, & who can resist the vocals on Octopus’s Garden?

On this day in 1977, Elvis Aaron Presley checked out. Presley is regarded as one of the most important figures of 20th century popular culture. He had a versatile voice & crazy, nutty success encompassing many genres, including country, pop, ballads, gospel, and blues. He is the best selling solo artist in the history of popular music. Nominated for 14 Grammys, he won 3, & received the Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award at age 36. I loved him & shed a tear on the day he died. My favorite Elvis song is Suspicious Minds:

On this day in 1958, a very talented & slightly hairy little Italian girl- Madonna Louise Ciccone is born. I am fascinated by & I appreciate anyone who is self invented & then manages to keep it going for decades by constantly reinventing. She is the world’s best selling female artist & one of the most famous people on the planet. It is my understanding that the Gays love her. I know I do. My favorite Madonna song is Ray Of Light.



The Post Apocalyptic Bohemian is finishing up the last touches on his memoir- Jockstraps & Vicodin: The Early Years. I am moving on to the next project, a reflection on my current state of attempting to find myself. I will become wealthy & successful, & I will wear cute tops. I am going to travel the globe in a quest of self- discovery, specifically to cities that have cocktails named after them. In my travels, I will discover the true pleasure of nourishment by drinking Manhattans in NYC; the power of the spiritual with Champagne in France, and, finally & unexpectedly, inner peace & balance with a Bellini on a beach on the Lido in Venice. I will make out with James Franco & Javier Bardam. I will have my picture taken in postcard perfect locals. I shall call this slim & extremely shallow vehicle of self absorption: Drink Drink Sleep. I have high expectations that it will make me a bundle, & that a film version will soon be in production with Bradley Cooper playing me.

Your host, surrounded with love from WCK3 & Edmond. I seem to have embraced full on Beardom.

In my own mind I look like Daniel Day Lewis, & then I see a photograph & I am struck with the revelation that I actually come closer to late career Marlon Brando. Maybe the new book should be titled: Whiskey Pizza Love.

This Really Happened To Me... Baby, You Can Drive My Car

Seattle, spring of 1978, the Husband is part owner in a unique grocery store, delicatessen, cafe with the clever name- Plenty, & as would be expected, he worked long, problem plagued days. I had joined him a few months earlier as the dining room director of Plenty, because quite frankly, they needed my help. Plenty was a great looking space- designed by the Husband, that served excellent, innovative American cooking to go or to eat in, but the table service suffered. I wanted Plenty to be the big success it deserved to be, & I knew just how to fix the problems. This ruffled a few feathers. But, I was a gifted dining room manager, & a deluxe, distinguished waiter. I had the dubious honor of having been named 1992 BEST WAITER IN SEATTLE by the Seattle Weekly. I would like to have been named best actor, or even best lay. The staff at Café Flora, my place of employment, razzed, ribbed & ridiculed me, so I couldn't actually take any pride in the honor. They even defaced the article with my picture on the bulletin board. That crew really knew how to keep me in my place.

I left my estimable position at Café Flora, to jump on board at the Husband’s venture. After a fagged out & frazzled 15 hour work day, my man & I were anxious to get to our car & get home to our cottage & our dogs. In the spot where we had parked the automobile was… nothing. The car was gone. Vanished. We ascertained that it had not been towed, there was no restrictions on parking where we had left the auto & no violations.We were weary & worn down & wanted nothing more than to get home, but apparently someone had stolen “Granny” (so named because she was a gift from the Husband’s grandmother when she was no longer able to drive). Granny was a 1982, 2-tone Chevrolet Caprice & she was as ugly as my husband was handsome. Granny was especially lovely because we were never able to find the source & fix her considerable oil leak, & many a catering order had spilled inside of her on the way to the deliveries. Granny was temperamental, crabby, leaky & stinky. I eventually became just like her. We didn’t like her much, but on this evening we really wanted to get home.

We reported Granny to the police as stolen & thought it was the end of the story. Stolen autos are rarely recovered & being a 4 wheeled piece of shit, we couldn’t imagine the car’s fate. As we would have it, Granny was recovered, with the thieves riding in it, caught red-handed. The auto thieves had torn out the dashboard & burned cigarettes into the unholy upholstery. The crew was 4 Afro-American girls, all under age except for the ring leader- Clinique. The court had written me, inquiring what sort of punishment (community service, restitution) I would want for the minors, if they were found guilty. I answered that I wanted them to fry. I wanted them to suffer. I wanted to pull out their press-on nails. We had worked a long trying day & we just wanted to get home & the girl gang had taken my only transportation.

On they day of the trial,  I represented myself; it wasn’t so tough- they stole my car, simple & clear, the young ladies explained to the magistrate: “that man gave us his car to use, if we would perform certain sex acts with him. We needed the car, & we were afraid to bring it back, because we didn’t want to have to do the sex stuff with him.”  I was gob-smacked at the audacity of the gang.  It was however, one of the great moments when being gay had its own payoff.  I addressed the magistrate & the girls’ lawyer & stated: “I am an adult gay male, in a 15 year relationship with the same man. I like men sexually. Not young black girls. I really like firemen, if you know any. My boyfriend & I own the car together… & I need the court to understand, I am not above loaning out the car in exchange for sexual favors, but I was thinking of something along the line of Keanu Reeves as the loanee.  In fact there are a number of men that I would let barrow the car with the understanding of special favors as payment. Please, please… don’t tell my boyfriend.”

The girls did their short time & the restitution, but the story does not end there. For years later, we would receive calls on our answering machine (remember answering machines?) with the voices & the giggling of young black girls: "Hey, you got a new car we can barrow, faggot?"

This gentleman may borrow my automobile, anytime.

Do You Know Where You're Going To?

Miss Diana Ross in her Oscar nominated performance as Billie Holiday. This was my theme song  for the summer of 1976, living in NYC & trying to figure it all out. I would sing this to myself while hiking in the Rambles in Central Park.


My dear friend- WCK3 is getting set to move in to really swell new digs in the throbbing metropolis of Eugene, Oregon. His new place is very swank & is being designed,  down to the fixtures, just for him. As I stated recently: "WCK3, I am so refreshing that you are giving up the college dorm room look that you have cultivated for all too long". He was not pleased. He has been digging through boxes of photos & clippings, doing a bit of editing, & he came up with these:

Your host,  NYC circa 1976. I think I might be cutting a line of coke in this photo.

WCK3 & my college friend- TL, a beautiful & talented, tall dancer/actress, &  classmate & friend from L.A., on the Circle Line Cruise, autumn 1976. After WCK3 sent this, I mailed him back & I noted: "hmmm... I would so do young me"

WCK3: "I did, over & over."

This 1976 doodle, produced in my cubicle at my ASCAP job, has been saved framed, in many of WCK3's residences through the decades. So sweet that he has kept it through all the years & all the moves. I was just a little influenced by New Yorker cartoons in my early 20s, so it seems.

This is what I was listening to in July of 1976. Some things don't change, like my love of quality R&B, & some things change absolutely, like my hairline.

Born On This Day- July 23rd... Portland Director & Writer Gus Van Sant

"Fate sucks. I swear. "
Matt Dillon as Bob in Drugstore Cowboy


If I had been somewhat clairvoyant, & while on the set of Drugstore Cowboy I had realized that one day I would be living in Portland Oregon, in fact, just 2 miles from where we were filming, I most likely would have dismissed the entire notion as too much candy from crafts service. I loved living in Seattle & I had the best agent in town. I had been fortunate enough to have worked in television (Murder She Wrote, Twin Peaks, Northern Exposure, A Day in the Life) & a whole lot of commercials & voice-overs, but the Gus Van Sant project was my first feature film. I was thrilled to be working with the talented director of Mala Noche, a film I was crazy about & that had received an enthusiastic reception at The Seattle Film Festival in 1985.

I was working in a feature! My scenes were with hottie Matt Dillon! I have done 12 films, but this one will always be so special because the very soft spoken Gus Van Sant creates an extremely creative atmosphere for working. Many actors that have done films with him have remarked on how great he is to work with & how wonderful the conditions are on the set of his films. He was not big on rehearsing, but he would ask for something completely different with each take. Matt Dillon (who I have worked with twice) was such a nice gentleman. He would stay & read his lines back to me for our reverse shots & he was such a “regular” guy. He would eat lunch, sitting at a big long table, with the rest of the cast, crew & grips & rarely spent time in his trailer. The rest of the cast were fun & friendly: Kelly Lynch, James LeGross & Heather Graham. I did not get to meet William S Burroughs…my only regret from this experience.

I was invited to the premier of Drugstore Cowboy, but did not attend because I was performing in a play at the time. The film went on to rave reviews & won Independent Spirit Awards for Best Screenplay for Mr. Van Sant & Daniel Yost, Best Cinematography, Best Actor for Matt Dillon, & Best Supporting Actor for Max Perlich. It won Best Screenplay awards from the LA Film Critics Association, the National Society of Film Critics & the NY Film Critics Circle, & Best Film at the Berlin International Film Festival. At the film’s Seattle premier, the Husband turned to me half way through the viewing & stated- “Oh. My. God. You are in a GOOD movie!”

Gus Van Zant’s films have ranged from Oscar winning studio fare: Good Will Hunting & Finding Forrester, to very experimental: Gerry & Last Days, Idies: Elephant & Paranoid Park, noble, brave & baffling experiments: the shot by shot re-make of Psycho & Even Cowgirls Get the Blues. He has done 4 films that I love & to which I award 5 Steve Stars to: Drugstore Cowboy (of course), My Own Private Idaho, To Die For, & in my top 10 films of all time- Milk.

In 2002, shortly after relocating to Portland after 20 years in Seattle, I was standing with some new Portland friends & some dear former neighbors from Seattle on a street in the Peal District. My friend S:  “oh my God… look! That is Gus Van Sant!”. The Husband: “Yeah, he lives in this neighborhood & Stephen knows him”. Our little group mumbled some- “yeah, sures & uh-huhs”. When Mr. Van Sant walked past us, he looked up, & said in his usual soft manner- “hello… there… Stephen. I haven’t seen you in a while... strange… your head looks bigger…” & then he went on his way. My friends looked baffled & everyone wanted to know what he meant. I had no idea (what could he have meant?), but I told them that it was an industry term, that good actors had heads that were proportionately too large for their bodies. It was my Gus Van Sant moment.

Gratuitous

Wheeled into a truckstop at a little place called Hamburger Dan's

I heard that jukebox a playin' song about a truck drivin' man

That waitress done brought me some coffee I thanked her then called her back again

I said you know that song it sure does fit me cause I'm a truck drivin' man

Pour me another cup of coffee for it is the best in the land

I'll put another quarter in the jukebox & play the Truck Drivin' Man

Buck Owens

1962

One of these photographs features your host-The Post Apocalyptic Bohemian. Care to venture a guess?

Up On The Roof

These are 3 of the principals in this little story: from L to R, the Husband, the "daughter", & your host.This was taken last week at the Open the DOOR to Sustainability event that the Husband & Syslee had door-to-art pieces in the show & auction. Syslee is our "adopted" daughter: beautiful & talented & loved.

I was more than just a little thrilled when I discovered the magic that was Xanax. In the late 1990s, I had a series of surgeries for TMJ, & although I would be heavily doped up, I had to be awake for the procedure. Knowing my profound phobias & because the procedure was a bit gruesome (basically breaking my jaw & re-setting it), the surgeon suggested a Xanax the day before & one 3 hours before the event. This drug was remarkable; not only did I not care that I was about to have surgery, when the assistants went to prop my mouth open, I was told that I was making dirty comments about my oral skills.

I horded a few of these magic pills, rationalizing that I might need them to get through another harrowing situation in the future.


The Husband ended up taking one during a moment of intense distress, & he felt bad that he had raided my stash, even though I had shrugged it off. The Husband mentioned this to a co-worker, & she cheerfully gave him a handful of her Xanax to replace my own. They were presented to me by the Husband & I reiterated that it was no big deal. I popped them into an empty pill bottle & tossed them in the junky miscellaneous drawer in the bathroom, & forgot the matter.


The next spring, the Husband was suffering from seasonal allergies & was feeling worse then ever. He was surprised & delighted to find a small bottle of industrial strength allergy medicine from the previous year. He took the 1st one at work & didn’t find relief for his sneezing & red itchy eyes… but he didn’t really care either. Work was not even bothering him, he claimed that he was dealing with the pressures of his job with little effort that week.


For 4 days he sought allergy relief, thinking that the medicine needed time built up in his system. By his weekend, nothing was really bothering him & in fact he was feeling rather nifty. He did more chores around the house than usual, including the unusual move of standing on our rooftop & power washing the gutters. Alone. While I was at work.




Searching for something, I opened the junk drawer & found that my Xanax stash had been raided once again. After some flying accusations, it was discovered that the Husband had been unwittingly popping a Xanax a day for the better part of the week, including the few extra that landed him on our roof with the hose. It was only then that we realized why he got totally shit-faced, falling down drunk on 1 stiff cocktail at our friend Syslee’s party. I was so flummoxed by his behavior that evening, it so unlike him to not be in control. He is such a light drinker & it was shocking to see him falling down stairs, slurring his sentences & licking strangers. The moral from this sordid little fable? A Xanax a day makes the Husband fearless & gay.

This Is Where The Magic Happens...

I kid the Husband because I love him. He is remarkable & stunningly talented, if a bit nutty & exasperating. He designed & built our bedroom, on the back of our attached garage. It was a 4 year process, with most of the work done on his weekends. The Husband did everything himself, except the electricity. The bedroom features high ceilings & recycled French doors that lead to a small, but very pleasant hot tub deck. The headboard frame is made from the scraps of an Indonesian window & shutters & is upholstered in blue velvet. The lights are designed by an industrial designer friend in Seattle.

You can spot bits & pieces of my collections including: Qs, car name plates, loving cups & birds' nests. I can't seem to go for walk without picking up a rock or a feather.

The painting above mirror was done by my Grandmother when she was 13 years old.

 My side of the bed. 2 years ago, just "because", the Husband & I traded sides of the bed after 28 years.

The telegram is an opening night note to actress Margery Maude for opening night of Romeo & Juliet on Broadway in 1933. She would later go on to play Mrs. Higgins in the original My Fair Lady.

One of the Husband's pieces- Boxing Day.

This room, that we basically use just to sleep in (the TV is in the backroom/study), does center around many artifacts from our life before we met & our life together. On the shelf above my side is an old glass Red Cross Supply Box that holds my childhood treasures: arrowheads, fossils, political buttons, flotsam & jetsam & coins.

The pine highboy (circa 1820s) & the pine clock are Flemish, & were purchased by the Husband in Belgium during the period that he worked in Europe as a set designer. Unbelievable... we had the highboy in the pass-through as a gardening shed for years. The 2 pine doors, are turn of the 19th century pocket doors, purchased in the 1st minute of being delivered to the Rebuilding Center & spotted by the Husband in a nano-second. He paid $350 for the pair & carried home on the roof of our VW station wagon. The Huband: "I am sorry Steve, I just had to have them... you have to understand." The bedroom, like most of the house, is stitched together from salvaged materials.

An additional piece from the Husband- Custom.

Your host- The Post Apocalyptic Bohemian is ready to hit the hay. Give him a kiss & say goodnight.

I hope you don't mind having a peek around the bedroom. If walls could talk!

Changes: A Visit To Post Apocalyptic Bohemia's Dining Room?

The Husband is very talented, but a tad bit nutty about our house. He tears down the walls to the bare studs (I just wrote bare studs) & 5 years later makes progress on our dining room. This tiny room was called "the formal dining room" in the original real estate listing. At times, it has not been used as a dining room at all, which is very much like the husband. In our Seattle Capitol Hill apartment, circa 1982, he made the living room our bedroom & the bedroom the den.

New, but period looking & energy efficient windows replaced the picture window.

These windows open from top or bottom... versatile, like me.

The Husband created the table from the stand of an industrial mixing bowl. He used an old dining room table top of no consequence & silver leafed it & studded the sides with upholstery tacks. It is very much a part of the look that I have dubbed- Post Apocalyptic Bohemian. I like the fact that our house is made of re-used, re-purposed & recycled materials & that it appears to be a bit of faded elegance plopped down in a squatter's shack.

The Husband left his company last week, kindly letting me know 24 hours in advance, so I wouldn't have too much time to panic. The Husband is striking out on his own, which makes him very happy. This week, while on hiatus, he made real progress on the tiny dining room. It is starting to look all grown up. I don't want to grow up.

Each board had to be sanded, stripped & pickled. The valances went up this week, & the last pieces of wall board were installed & plastered. I am quite sure that when this room is finished to everyone's satisfaction, this achievement will move the Husband to change it all again. There is always domestic adventures at Post Apocalyptic Bohemia.