I woke to throw up in my hair at 3am. I changed the sheets and bed
clothes of me and him and put my hair in a pony tail. I changed the pillow
cases and knew that I would have to change them again in the morning. Cleaning
up throw up is really hard and my disorganized brain makes it harder. A little
got on the mattress cover so I put a cloth between the mattress cover and the
and new sheet, and one between the mattress cover and the mattress. I also put
another sheet on the top of the bed, so any residue would stay off of the clean
sheet. That was the best I could figure out at 3am. After that he threw up
every five minutes for the first hour, every fifteen for the second. We tried
going back to sleep at that point and he threw up every half hour for the 3rd
hour, so I would doze and hear the retching and get the bucket and wipe his face
and rinse the bucket and go back to sleep for a bit. It was mostly bile and dry
heaves at this point. He threw up every hour after that so I got a few 50
minute segments of sleep and then it was wake up time. Then I washed his hair
and mine and got rid of all the mildly or possibly affected linens and did the
wash. He stopped throwing up at 9am. The only other time I got woken up by
being thrown up on was when my daughter did it a few years ago. That was a rite
of passage, this was just the drudgery (trudgery?) of motherhood/parenthood. He
is fine. We survived. Tonight I could do nothing so I spent over an hour on
line, first reading about someone’s journey through a really difficult time. Not like my silly night, but a truly difficult time. Here is the link for the curious. http://www.kevmcdev.com/2015/05/22/after-bmt-as-real-as-it-gets/
It reminded me of stuff I wrote about during my trial. He quotes Viktor Frankl,
like I did,at that time, ah the beacon of light. It was great to be reminded and to also know that things can pass. Then I looked at all of Chloe Dzubilo’s
artwork. Here is the link:https://www.visualaids.org/artists/detail/chloe-dzubilo
The work is brilliant and amazing. Thank you
for letting me part of it and thank you to all the writers and artists out
there for sharing and expressing yourself and letting me see it and feel your
journey. I really love life and being human and knowing you all. This is all I
got to write tonight. My home does not smell like throw up anymore, horray. I
am done. Updte, i am live editing this. I walked into the room to check on him and he was sitting up and i said whats wrong and felt around, but everything was dry and then he threw up all over them bed. and me as i tried to get him off the bed. Oh hell....not sure what to do.. more cleaning...https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hFDiXszQeVY
So I watched the Bad Brains live at CBGB’s
from 1982 movie. I had glanced at it yesterday when I wrote about seeing them
that year at Irving Plaza and then I cold not stop watching. There is not much
I can say. The film is right there online and you can see it all for
Even if is all there to be seen, I tend to
geek out on this band and rave about them every once in a while. I rarely if
ever listen to hardcore anymore. It has very little to do with my life and
where I am at right now. Once in a blue moon a story will come up or I will
check out something online and get transported back to a time that seems like
many lifetimes ago. I am rarely impressed. But this particular band and this
show was at the peak of the hardcore scene and it never ceases to blow my mind.
Things changed pretty fast from this point. But this moment in time tells an
So there’s the way I knew most of the people
at the show that night, many by name, Polly, Jaenette, Claudette, Leon, Maria,
John W, Bubby, Poss, Dave Insurgent, Jimmy G, Russel, and many others just by face.
These kids were akin to kids I went to High school with. We passed each other
everyday in the hall, so to speak. We all knew one another, whether we were
friends or not. It is remarkable that such a radically brilliant act had such a
tight knit fan base of family basically. They were our band. Look at the way
people sing the lyrics. Look at the way HR hands over the mike and gives kids
space in Right Brigade. Look at the way he lets everyone be included but can
still command the space. I cannot think of any other band that was so plugged in
and generous. The deahead scene maybe (?) but they were so sprawling and this
is so intimate.
Then there is HR the man. Holy hell, Batman.
Where do I begin: that vocal thing he does where he screeches high and demonic
and then drops down into himself “how low”, (demonic), “can a punk get,”
(dropping iiiiiin); the way he dances, the headshake, the finger snaps, the hip
sways, the arm swing, you are killin’ me; the way he looks and smiles, his
face, his body, come on; the way he dresses, in a cotton button down and tube
socks and trousers and looks more bloody cool than anyone I can think of. Where
and how did all of this originate? Such intelligence, presence and style, in
another world he would be, should be, the godfather: Tastemaker, rock star;
inventor, pioneer, possessed soul giving it away for free. The whole band is
mind blowing and deserved as much credit, Dr Know, Darryl, Earl.What were they thinking, how did they
come to be? They are simply an anomaly.
I love watching this. I remember how hot is
was in our NYC December long underwear and over coats and hats. I loved that we
were called “girls and boys”. I love seeing the gang, all those familiar faces,
Polly and Jae and Claudette and watching Leon dance. Beautiful Leon, so true
and hip. I love that some people were in on it, people I know and can talk
about it with, people who knew about this and how stellar and shocking it was, it makes me
feel less alone in the world. That was a time, boy, that was a time.
I’ve said it before and I will say it again.
The first one through the wall gets bloodied, not always getting their due. It is sad but true. But
some of us know better. Thank you Bad Brains for everything.
I went to see Minor Threat and the Bad
Brains at Irving Plaza when I was 15. Wow, was that a historical show. I will
never forget entering the club with this guy Chris that I asked if I could go
with, because I really wanted to be there and I did not want to go alone and I
did not know anyone else who was going. The foyer of the space was tiled or
marble, the stairs were hard stone. The sound of hardcore records being spun
was mad and muddy. I was tapped into the adrenaline of all these kids waiting.
We were chomping at the bit for the show to start, for life to start. The
energy in the room was on overload, the air was electric, humid with sweat and
body heat. Before we went upstairs to the room, I remember being part of a
conversation where a girl, I feel like it was Jenny, was saying that straight
edge was pointless. She said “why go on a diet if you are skinny?” Everyone
thought her analogy was profound. I was thrilled and terrified.
Then there was a woman in the lobby that I
will never forget. She was older than all of us teens. She was from the older
school of punk. She did not have short messed up hair, hers was set in some
cool version of a 50’s hairstyle. And she wore a tight skirt, it might have
been leopard skin, and sexy stiletto heels. Her style was definitely not just
50’s bombshell, she had that unmistakable punk edge. Most vividly, I remember
that she had chains on her body. I think she had metal cuffs around her ankles,
above her pumps, that had chains attached that went up to her wrists or her
waist or something. She was radically out of place in the sea of hardcore
teens, and also pretty amazing bravely commanding her space as she walked in tiny steps in her very tight skirt
and heels. I couldn't stop staring and wondering. And yes, I appreciated her style even though I was now into this whole other
thing of boots and overcoats and short hair.
The bands need no description. It was 1982
and they were the most amazing bands on the planet at that time.
There was a guy at the farmer’s market with
a beard and glasses wearing a housedress. My daughter thought it was funny. She
was with a friend and they thought it was very funny to see a guy in a dress,
not because of any cues I was giving them, they just did. I wanted to try to
teach her to respect how other people choose to look.
So I said that if we notice how someone
looks we should say hi to them. I told her that Allen Ginsberg said “Pay
attention to the vivid,” that he meant that you should pay attention to what
ever you were visually interested in. And if our attention is attracted to
someone we can tell them we think they look cool. And she said, “Or we don’t
have to say anything.” Yep, or we don’t have t say anything.
The truth is I thought the guy
looked really cool, radical actually, his large unwaxed brown body in a
polyester housedress and great horn-rimmed glasses on his cool face. I miss
creative dressers and revolutionary stylists. Los Angeles is lacking in that
department and he was a breath of fresh air. I should have been the one to tell
him how cool he looked. But he knew anyway.
T & K were these art collectors I knew
when I worked at a gallery in Soho in college. They used tobuy tons of art and commission special
pieces in custom colors. The artists in the community they hung around would
make them these crazy custom pieces and make lots of money The T &K would
throw them big parties. This went on for a while and everyone was happy and
getting what they wanted.
Then one day it came out that T & K had
embezzled all of the money they used to throw the parties and pay for the art.
They went to jail. The bank auctioned off their collection at Sotheby’s, the
custom creations brought in only a small fraction of their original prices.
It blew my mind that they were taking such
great risks and paid such a great price just to collect contemporary art and to
throw parties and be popular on the art scene. But I realized that the real
drive behind the actions to feel special. They could have collected anything or
hung out on any scene and done the same thing. It wasn’t about the art. They
just wanted to feel the adrenaline and be popular and have things and be
That reminds me that few things are about
what we are seeing on the surface. Fights are rarely about the issue at hand
and love is rarely about what we are looking at on the surface. Go deeper to get
to the real source.
Cleopatra was a prostitute I met once. I was
in her apartment for a few minutes. Her bed was amazing. It was made out of
that white glossy plastic material they made those cube tables out of, is that
formica? Or just glossy plastic? Anyway the bed was a giant cube and on the 4
sides there were large circular cut outs so you could move in and out of the
cube onto the mattress. The openings dipped just below the mattress so you
could make the bed with ease. The mattress filled the cube wall to wall. The
circular openings were rimmed in silver metal so the edges were smooth. It was
brilliant. Then to contrast the white gloss she had purple satin sheets, so vivid
and inviting. Her bed made me want a great bed.
I searched like mad for purple satin sheets
but all I could ever find was eggplant, which was a whole different vibe. I
settled for pink satin, not sateen, but real satin.
I bought my first real bed with illegally
earned cash. I went to macy’s because they were having a mattress sale. The bed
that felt the absolute best was priced at $3000 in 1991, marked down to $1000.
I paid cash. Then I paid a guy $1000 to hand make me an iron frame so I could
hang curtains on all four sides. It was not exactly Cleopatra’s but it was
great. When I moved to los angeles, I left the the 10 year old mattress with a
friend. She still has it and when I lay on it, to this day over 20 years later,
it still feels unbelievably good.
A couple of years ago, I used legally earned
money and bought another $3000 mattress, organic. This mattress is unbelievably
comfortable and neither me or my husband sweat at night because there are no
synthetics in it. A great bed is one of the best investments you can make. You
spend 1/3 of your life in it.
Oh and the pink satin sheets which I slept
on till they shredded became the material I made my fin out of for the 2000
Coney Island Mermaid Parade.Someone just send me some photos of it, which brought it all back to
When Johnny Thunder’s died in 1991 (could it
really be 24 years ago last month?) there was a memorial concert at The Marquee
Club in NYC. A bunch of bands played, I don’t remember who, except Walter Lure
fronting the Heartbreakers. What was interesting was that Johnny’s family was
there. Johnny had an ex wife and a bunch of kids which seemed so at odds with
his public persona, which was so very feral, so undomestic. The dichotomy
reminded me of the character in Dog Day Afternoon, aside from Johnny looking
like Pacino. Of course, his family were there, he just seemed so familyless, so
alone, as he would say.
The other interesting thing was that David
Johansen sang a couple of Dolls songs with some of those guys, something he had
not done in a very long time, intentionally I believe, due to personal reasons.
I was hanging out in the balcony, liking some guy who wound up being a real
drag. Anyway, the band starts playing a Dolls song, Personality Crisis, and
David Johansen opened his mouth and it was just shocking to hear that sound
come out, so iconic and strong. He sounded like no one else can. He sounded
like the records. It was really emotional given all the circumstances.
It always bugged me that sometimes the only
thing that brings us back together with the people who were so important in our
lives but we just can’t find peace with while they are alive, is death. I wish
there was a way around that but sometimes there just isn’t.