Crappy voices sell on KCRW

I'm listening to an archive of Raul Campos' program from yesterday, and this woman is singing a cover of U2's "One" and doing it so badly, I almost think it's supposed to be parody. Her voice cracks and waves, and she goes off in directions that add nothing to the music...and it's not the first time I've heard this version.

It's by someone named La Santa Cecelia, and I'm stunned into silence at the understanding that they think this cut is good. Needless to say, I ain't buying nothing of hers.

Of course, Bob Dylan's hardly a great singer, but he knows how to write great music and can phrase with the best of them. Even Paul Simon and Madonna have voices of limited range, as did Marilyn, but they kept within their limits. Plus as good as Barbra Streisand is when it comes to vocal ability and range, her renditions of songs come across as soulless and cold, to me.

So it's not that big a deal not being able to sing. Rex Harrison made a major career out of it with "My Fair Lady" and won both Tony and Oscar for it. But this rendition of a beautiful song was like something out of a high school musical in a backwoods town in West Virginia.

But she got air time. She has an album. While I got eight books out there that aren't exactly burning up the bestsellers lists. You have to start to wonder if it's not people like Santa Cecelia who're untalented, but it's yourself who is and it's because your sense of taste is skewed totally wrong.

That or it's just plain fucking luck, of which I only have the bad or indifferent kind. And not even my Dragon or Lion selves seem able to change it.

I'd roar, but what's the point? If I am a cat, all that'd come out is a nice long yawn...and then a nap.

Hmmm....sounds good.

Hectic times call for hot tea

Despite the heat...and we're talking Houston heat in friggin' Buffalo...I've been drinking lots of hot tea, with honey and milk. It's my power drink. If I don't have a cup by me while I'm writing, I don't feel complete. Only problem is, it makes me pee like crazy.

It hasn't been much use the last couple of days, however, because I'm swamped with packing jobs. Off to Rochester in the morning for one, driving down to NYC on Sunday to do one on Monday, followed by another one on Tuesday and Wednesday, followed by ANOTHER one on Thursday in New Jersey on the coast, followed by one more on Friday...maybe. Depends on how things go.

I like having the work, and it's actually beginning to look like I'll be working through August instead of  the office shutting down and me being without a paycheck for a couple weeks. I keep trying to get on top of that, but too many outside expenses keep screwing me up.

What the hell...Van Gogh was crap when it came to finances, too, and only sold a couple of his paintings in his lifetime. Maybe I'll wind up that way, albeit with both my ears...though I did have one pierced, for a while, if that could count.

A lot of artists are crappy when it comes to making a living. Edgar Allen Poe died penniless. So did Mozart. It may be hubris on my part to hold myself in their company, but I've been working on my ego, again, and this is good sign.

For a narcissistic megalomaniac.

Atfer all...this little saying fits me to a T. Hee-hee-hee.

I HAVE to post this...

I'm a redhead, too...or used to be until nature turned me friggin' blond. Small wonder "Funny or Die" brought out the hate of red. I'm proud to be a redhead...once......

St. George

“Eight years was awesome and I was famous and I was powerful. But I have no desire for fame and power anymore.”

Actual quote by George W. Bush...and treated as if it's filled with wisdom and meaning and worthy of respect. After all that man has done to this country.

I still can't wrap my head around the absolute stupidity of today's media. They are no longer journalists; they're stenographers.

I was once offered the chance to meet George and Laura, and I turned it down. I had this image of me spitting in his face and being locked up by the SS for the rest of my life. Now? No spit; I'd slap the MFSOB, and the hell with prison.

This has been a difficult day, with me finding out I have Blepharitis in my eyes, and it's going to be a problem for the rest of my life. I now have to wash them out every night in a certain ritual and put a drop in each one because if I don't, they'll swell up and itch and go red and make my life hell. Seems the Norwegian side of me is susceptible to this, and my having had acne along with the measles, mumps and chicken pox made it even more likely.

My skin's always been an irritant. I'm so fair, I've gotten second-degree sunburn through a t-shirt (my first week living in Hawai'i). Most of me is pink, with freckles the closest I can get to a tan line. I once had a condition on my hands that caused them to dry out so badly, the skin would crack and bleed and scar. I stopped that crap by soaking my hands twice a day then slathering on Neutrogena hand cream...but it took a while. And still use that cream on my hands every night. Or else.

But I will say, I probably have the softest hands of any guy in New York state. It works on heels and elbows, too.

Don't ask why. Just accept.

Quick share of Dion in OT

This is SOOOOOO Dion (AKA: Rose of the Golden Girls, or Donald Rice). I think I'm gonna make a scrapbook of all my characters' looks, the ones that best personify them. If I ever become rich and famous (instead of piss-poor and infamous; my writing has been banned, you know), I'll publish it as a key to connecting all the dots and dashes.

The photo is actually of David Chlopecki, a menswear designer in NYC under his own label, SlickItUp.com. I stole it off his FaceBook page. Be warned, his stuff ain't really suitable for work...but if you're buff enough and slim enough and young enough, you'll look like a porn god.

To be or not to be?

 Okay...I got a nice little dilemma going on here. Jake finds out a guy named Lemm knows his uncle and may be the last person to see him before he vanished. He also learns the guy is telling people he's being stalked. So he needs to meet Lemm and get his side of the story.

Well...this is Lemm, short for Leonardo. He's from Chile and is illegal. He's known Owen for 4 years, since he was fifteen, and that's playing into the story. Right now, I don't know if he's a good guy or a bad guy or somewhere in the middle. What I do know is, when Jake sees him for the first time, he becomes tongue-tied and his face tingles.

Wonder why?

Doesn't matter. Yesterday and today I added 20 pages of Jake and Lemm...and for some reason I'm picturing Mary Astor in "The Maltese Falcon", where you never know what she's up to. Not a bad template...but I hope Lemm winds up on the side of the angels. I'm just that shallow.

Here's a taste.
------------------------
So we got to Dion and Ton’s place about nine-thirty, and it was dead quiet. Dion crept in to find the twins in bed, sound asleep, while Ton and I checked on Joel. The boy was also asleep, but on a corner of the bed, a small flashlight clutched in his mouth, sat this guy who couldn’t have been more than nineteen, working on a jigsaw puzzle depicting Niagara Falls. He heard us peek in and looked around, and I was hit by the sweetest, most open face I’d ever seen in my life. Big brown eyes. Gentle smile. Good clean chin with a hint of stubble on it. He was close to ideal.

He dropped the flashlight into his hand and put a finger to his lips then carefully sipped off the bed, and I saw he had what I can only call a male-model body. Not one of those skinny guys who look like they live on the thought of food, but muscular and lean and clean and in just the right proportions, under a Polo shirt and Dockers that only added to the flow of his body. He whispered over to us and closed the door behind him, and his smile widened to reveal neat, white teeth.

I damn near hated him, he was so perfect.

“Joel wanted to talk,” he said, his voice carrying a bit of an accent. “So I sat on the bed to listen and advise as he told me of his problem. And he tried to stay awake. He drifted away only moments ago.”

“What’s the trouble?” asked Ton.

“He only wanted to know if he should tell you of a problem he has at school. More than that, I can’t say.”

“What d’you mean you can’t -- ?”

Dion put a hand on Ton’s shoulder and cut in with, “What’d you tell him?”

“He should speak with his fathers.”

“Thanks, Lemm. We’ll give him the opportunity.”

Then Lemm turned his eyes on me, and I felt my heart begin to pound and my face tingle. Dion jerked and put his other hand on my back.

“Sorry, Lemm, this is Jake. Old friend of mine. Nephew to Owen.”

Lemm just smiled and nodded a greeting.

“Hi,” was all I was able to come up with.

“May I have a ride home?” Lemm asked Dion, his voice nearly musical. “Then you can fill me in on the meeting.”

“I’m headed back,” I said, and it popped out of me faster than I could think it. “And I’ll fill you in. Uh, in fact, uh, Lemm, I’d like to ask you a few things, if you don’t mind?”

“It’s fine. But can we leave now?”

“Sure,” I said.

Dion slipped a couple of bills into Lemm’s hand, saying, “Thanks for helping out, baby. You’re a lifesaver.”

“I enjoy being with your children.” A slight cloud crossed his face as he continued, “They are such happy little things.”

We headed outside, Dion walking us to my car, and Lemm’s casual walk was so catlike and elegant, I almost stopped breathing. So I jolted myself with, “Lemm, you – uh, you’ve been having trouble with a guy, right?”

He looked around at me, his dark eyes narrowing, slightly. “Yeah.”

“What does he look like?”

His wariness turned into a frown. “Why?”

“Please? It might make a difference, later.”

Lemm looked at Dion, who said, “Baby, you can trust Jake as much as you trust anybody. More, even.”

The guy took in a deep breath and said, “Thirty. Not much hair. Round face. Sloppy, but not from being poor, more from not caring...except for his hands; they are manicured. He is not as tall as me. And his eyes are green. His clothes are cheap, and he has a small black book in his back pocket. I think it’s a bible, but I don’t know for sure.”

“And you’ve never seen him before? He just appeared?”

“I worked at a grocery store. I think I saw him there a few times before this began, but I don’t really know.”

“Where’s the store located?”

“Marimba Drive.”

“At Nassau Boulevard,” said Dion. “They have great produce.”

“Tell me, Lemm – was he usually in black pants and a white shirt? Tie?”

Lemm nodded. “But he was always clean, so I think he had more than one set of each.”

“What the hell, Jake?” Dion asked. “You think he’s a Mormon?”

I shrugged. “Uncle Owen thought so. He mentioned a guy like that bugging him just before the trial. Told him he’s going to hell and all that...but he didn’t sound Mormon.”

“What does one sound like?”

“Perky. This guy sounds more like a bible-thumper.”

“What’s that?” Lemm asked.

“A fundamentalist Protestant who believes the bible is literal and absolute, and damn the facts. We got ‘em all over the place in Texas, and they’re half the reason the state’s falling apart. No teaching anything that isn’t god-based; no discussion of birth control or family planning; no acceptance of anyone who doesn’t see the world as they do. They want to take the country back a hundred-and-fifty years, come hell or high water, as my Gramma’d say. Did you notice if he had a car?”

“No.”

“I think he’s a closet case,” Dion snorted. “Got his little self fixated on Lemm and is acting like an eight-year-old boy over it.”

“I can see why,” slipped out of me faster than I could censor it.

Lemm smiled at me then turned to Dion. “Let Joel come to you with his trouble.”

“I’ll keep Ton under control.” And Dion’s eyes twinkled when he said it.

“You’re over in the condo complex, right?” I asked, already knowing the answer, of course.

He shrugged an affirmative, told Dion goodnight and got in the car. I slipped behind the wheel, trying like hell to ignore Dion’s smirk as he closed the door on me.

“Drive safe,” he said, his voice carrying way too much meaning.

The Green Party has a nominee

Dr. Jill Stein, of Massachusetts. She makes a hell of a lot more sense than Obama...and makes Romney sound like a blithering idiot.

And I quote -- "We need real public servants who listen to the people — not to the corporate lobbyists that funnel campaign checks into the big war chests," Stein told applauding supporters at a Holiday Inn in Baltimore. "That's what brought me to the Green Party, the only national party that is not bought and paid for by corporate money."

Green Party: http://www.gp.org

I've been thinking...

...and am starting to consider the idea that, as much as I dislike Obama's ass-kissing with the Republican Party of Madmen and Women, and even though he's still allowing the anti-American crap started by Bush to continue (and has, in fact, expanded upon)...I'm close to thinking I'll vote for him just to stick it to the Right Wing. I guess this means I'm having one of those "The enemy of my enemy is my friend" moments. Never thought I would...but the older you get the more you realize how little you know about the world and yourself.

Paul Krugman gets to the real reason why the GOP should be despised in much better fashion than I ever could.

What keeps me from falling completely into hate and despair is my writing...and finding beauty like this to work into my stories. Bernardo's a Brazilian model and actor I've referenced before, thanks to his amazing face. He's joining OT as the personification of Lemm, one of the guys who rents one of Owen's condos along with three other dudes.

I'm not sure what point they're serving in the story, yet; but Jake's new honesty makes me think Lemm's needed (and do not ask me why his name has two Ms in it; it just does).

Still too damn true...

Using Frances Trollope’s infamous and very funny book, “Domestic Manners of the Americans”, as its springboard, this essay about America’s “religion of denial” is classic, and just as true under Obama as it was under Bush. Perhaps more-so, considering how Guantanamo is still open and the combination of law enforcement with military enforcement and domestic spying has only grown stronger under Obama even as the GOP and Tea Party have exhibited verifiable signs of insanity.

Seriously...one of the definitions of insanity is doing the same action over and over, always expecting a different outcome. And what had the House GOP done for the umpteenth time? Voted to rescind Obamacare, even though there is no chance their bill will pass the Senate or not be vetoed by the President. It's no longer theater; it's just fucking stupid.

I so despise the GOP, I think I'll make them the bad guys in OT. If Jake'll let me. Thing is, he's too honest to pull that.

Wrong direction

While doing the last of the packing, today, I zoned a bit and realized I have the ending of OT going a direction it should not go. It was making Jake seem a bit dumb and having the answer almost fall into his lap. And I wasn't comfortable with it, but was still working things towards that end...and then today I realized I was doing the usual "last detail falls into place" cliche of most mediocre detective novels instead of it being an accumulation of evidence to show what happened with Jake's Uncle Owen.

But now...now Jake's one mean-assed little SOB...and I hope lovably so. Or, at least, understandably. Because he doesn't want to reveal what the mystery is till just the right minute, and that means being a hard-assed, vindictive little shit. But considering how he's been treated, the last eight years, it's to be expected.

If I say anything more than that...well, I want to see if I can pull this off and keep anyone from figuring out the ending.

Dion/Rose of the Golden Girls figures into it. So does Matt. Antony, of course, is part and parcel...but the incident that makes Jake's mind up stems from...no, dammit! I'm not going to reveal any more of this story! The best way to kill a mystery is by being too coy.

Let's just say an image like this fits into the finale. Hee-hee.