By Beauty Damned

Another Legend Dies

I'll never forget the first time I encountered George Carlin's comedy. I was 9 years old. My brother was 11. Somehow Joshua had gotten his hands on a video tape which contained on it two things: Eddie Murphy's Delirious and George Carlin's HBO special, the one where he wears the green turtleneck and the burgundy pants (or is it the other way around?) and reads a practically endless list of dirty words and phrases from a long scroll. I knew some of them already, but he taught me a lot of new ones. We watched both of the videos repeatedly, I guess when our parents weren't home. I don't know how we got away with it. Or maybe they knew, I can't remember them raising a single objection the way they did when it came to movies or television shows that contained sex or violence. They didn't ever seem disturbed that Josh and I had learned a plethora of new jokes that contained nearly every "offensive" word and concept in the English language and that we repeated these things to each other with extreme glee.

We memorized and recited every line in Delirious. Eddie Murphy's storytelling was brilliant and the images of family events and sexual encounters that he drew with voices and characters had us holding our stomachs and laughing until it hurt. But George Carlin had something incredibly unique as well, something that I have idolized my whole life since. He was grouchy. Curmudgeonly, even. He grouched and grouched about things in a way that was so charming, so unbelievably easy to identify with, it felt like he was speaking the thoughts that were already in your head but you never could have found a way to articulate with the concise accuracy that he was able to convey in the expression of any idea. He said things better than other people said them, in a way that seemed there could be no way to argue with him. I imagined him in a debate with one who might disagree with him about his ideas about the world and I always imagined him winning immediately. First round knockout. Seemed like everything he ever said was so honest and for that reason irrefutably true.

I never grew out of George Carlin. He has continued to be a person whose thoughts and ideas and ways of expressing them has captivated and entertained me. Those parts of him will live on forever and ever in this world, long after we are all gone. It was quite a mark he left. Quite a mark.

Talk To The Hand

My parents did not bring me into this world to suffer fools. So if you are one, and I tell you off in person like you've never been told off before, please do not act surprised. I am an honest person for the most part, but I'm most true to that quality in situations where people piss me off. I am going to come out and tell you. So beware.

Take for example, the comic book store next to the restaurant that I work at. It is run by a man who seems nice enough. Sometimes when I am working on the chalkboard outside he comes out to chat, compliments me on my outfits and hairstyles, not sleezy, nice. I'm nice back. There is this other guy who works there, just a kid really, one of those kids who is a little bit too big for his britches if you know what I mean. Talks a lot, thinks he knows more than he does, asks questions in a way that makes them sound like insults. I've never liked him a whole lot but I tolerate him and I let his awkward comments slide.

The other day I arrived to work very early and had time to kill before setting up the bar. It was a hot day so I hung around on the patio for awhile and drank lemonade and read a book. After awhile I went inside and worked on my chalkboard and started setting up a bit, but I still had time to kill, so I decided that I was going to go and check out the comic book store next door, which I had never yet set foot in. Big mistake.

The door chimed as I opened it and the owner, a very stocky still young looking Italian man stood behind the glass counter filled with baseball cards, while the kid, who I would guess to be about 23 and of some kind of east Indian descent, sat on a stool at the back in direct line with the door and facing me as I entered.

"Hello!" I called, "Just thought I'd come inside and check the place out for once."

"Can I ask you something?" said the man behind the counter, "and I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but how is it that you always look so good and put together?"

I was flattered and so I smiled and said, "I make an effort every day. Thanks for noticing."

The kid gave me a big toothy smile, his glasses gleaming reflective in the flourescent lighting.

I didn't advance past the point where the counter began.

"So what happened with your boyfriend? Why'd you guys break up? Did he cheat on you?" asked the man.

"No, he didn't," I said, "It's too long of a story really, it was seven years of good and bad, but ultimately a lot of bullshit just never changed no matter what and we both finally gave up."

"You're a woman, don't curse. You shouldn't curse. But I understand that, it makes sense." He shrugged and nodded his head sideways instead of up and down.

I decided to let that one go. But then he went in for the kill.

"Do you go to church? You should go to church."

"No," I said, "I'm not religious."

"You should be. You should go to church and do some prayer."

"This is the last time that I'm going to walk through this door." And with that, I did not even so much as glance at the kid or maintain my focus upon the man behind the counter for another moment. I turned and opened the door again and stepped back outside into the hot sunshine, two steps to my own doorway, which I opened and breathed relief as I entered the cool dark sanctuary of my bar. That's my church, buster. It's the church of spirits. I light my candles there daily. How do you like them apples?

So that wasn't all though. Because yesterday as I was getting off the train and walking to work I found myself at the corner of Court Street and 2nd Place with this Indian kid, arriving there at the same coincidental moment in time.

"Hey! Look who it is!" He said.

I smiled and said, "Hello there," as we fell into step together walking down Court.

"What's with the heels?" He asked.

"Excuse me?"

"What's with the heels, is it a special occasion?"

"I'm sorry, but you're speaking to me like you've known me my whole life. If you had, you'd know that I almost always wear heels. So the answer is no. I change into flats for work."

"Well excuse me. I meant it as a compliment."

"If that was a compliment, that's something you really need to work on. A compliment to most girls would have been something like, 'hey, nice heels' or 'I like your shoes' but not 'what's with the heels?' that's not considered a compliment, it's considered a rude question."

"Well sorry that I haven't known you your whole life and that I didn't say 'nice heels'."

How could I possibly describe his demeanor? Instantly put off by my honesty, frightened of it, in fact, he said so. "You're scaring me," he said, "I'm afraid you're going to hit me." This made me want to hit him. But I didn't. Of course I didn't. But I did tell him exactly what was going through my mind at that very moment.

"Do you want to know the truth? You don't need to say anything to me at all. In fact, you and your boss--"

"He's not my boss, he's my partner."

"--can just keep to yourselves and not say anything to me. After what he said to me yesterday, and the conversation that I'm having with you now, I would say that you are both totally lacking in social tact and you have no idea how to talk to people. I don't have to put up with it."

He was pretty much completely blown over by my bitchiness. I mean, don't get me wrong, I know that I was a MONDO BITCH to this guy. But I don't feel bad. I feel good. I feel free. Because I seriously meant every word. I am absolutely done DONE with people trying to shove their Christian bullshit down my throat and everyone else's throats and I am sick and tired of rude and invasive banter that makes me distinctly uncomfortable time and time again. So there. I am the biggest bitch in the world and I'm sitting on top of it.

"Wow." He said, "I'll bet your friends just love you. I wish everyone in the world was like you."

"Likewise," I said. And sped up my walk to get ahead of him at which time he slowed down and we thus ended our not-niceties. And...That's all folks. I hope you've enjoyed this episode in the life of the ever confrontational Maria.

Humans Die

Whoa Dude. It's weird when someone dies who you didn't know at all, but you feel like you knew them because you knew that they existed and that they were there, whether you noticed it on a regular basis or not, and now they're gone. Gone gone.

Humans Get Tired

I admit it. I'm tired. Must sleep now. Goodnight world.

No More Venting

One of my very favorite bands that I've been listening to for the past year is one my friend Josh introduced me to called Okkervil River. If you haven't heard them you should fix that. I was lucky enough to see them here in New York at Webster Hall last year, and they were truly off the charts phenomenal up there on stage. This is a great band to go see if you generally feel that live concerts do not live up to the band's studio sound. These guys really live up to and exceed in person what you get from listening to their albums. Their energy and creativity on stage is so grand - and I do mean LARGE, sweeping, explosive - and utterly contagious.

Here is a music video that is sure to mesmerize you, if you're into that sort of thing, being mesmerized I mean. Believe me when I say that it is worth watching from beginning to end (about 1:07 min. it gets really good and doesn't stop til the last minute.):

Nyaaah

There will always be those in your life who make you feel optimistic and those who just like to rain on your parade. I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have anything to balance out the latter. I find myself so frustrated with people who can't respond to any good news without first reminding me of all the negative aspects of any given subject, a whole host of downsides to consider just in case I hadn't thought of them myself. These people always think they're doing me a favor and looking out for me, but what they're really doing is just bringing me down. Can't they find a more positive way to introduce alternative ideas or to encourage caution, or whatever is the objective of this negative input? Clearly, I'm venting here.

Epic News Day

Today is definitely a great news day, for black Americans, for gay Americans, for ALL Americans. Today Barack Obama is our nominee for President of the United States. Yay!!!

And the California Supreme Court has decided not to delay its ruling on same-sex marriage, and therefore will not stand in the way of couples marrying.

Unfortunately, an initiative has made it onto the ballot for November that would amend the state constitution to ban gay marriage. The passage of that bill would overrule the court's decision. Hopefully that doesn't happen. In the meantime, however, hundreds and thousands of gays and lesbians will legally be allowed to marry in the state of California starting on June 17th. Yaaaaay!!!

Congratulations everybody. :)

A Gift Like No Other

I have a friend. Her name is Angela. We met when we were about seven years old at the student housing complex that we lived in with our respective families on Sepulveda in West Los Angeles. My dad was in law school at the time, my mom working as a paralegal. Angela's parents were both academics, very smart people who hit it off with my parents right away. She had a little sister and her parents homeschooled them both. Angela has always been an exceedingly talented and compassionate human being. She is a great artist and an excellent musician. We became very close as children. I don't remember a time when we ever disagreed or decided we didn't like each other, as I did sometimes with other children. Friendships are often so transient and fickle when you're little. But not with Angela.

And then my brother was afflicted with the pesticide poisoning and he couldn't walk, and we moved, and they moved. Thank god, Joshua recovered for the most part. And Angela, impressively as she was a child, always made the effort to stay in touch with me. We were pen pals no matter where she went. She moved to Florida with her family and I received letters about the activities that she was involved in and how very hot and humid it was and what it was like to see an alligator crawl up from a swamp to lay in the driveway. She always expressed a love and kinship towards me and my whole family that was very unique and genuine. I loved every letter I received from her and I wrote back with enthusiasm.

One day her family decided to move again. This time it was to Wisconsin. We continued writing to one another. When I was fourteen, and my parents moved us from Santa Monica, California to Ashland, Oregon, Angela and I continued to keep in touch, but those correspondences became fewer and farther between as we were involved in our teenage lives and it became difficult to focus and think rationally as life and the scent of adulthood swirled all around. At least for me. I can only speak for myself.

I was so swept up in my teens. Party party party. And then I turned 19 and got married as a way to calm down. I can't say that it's easy to dissect the logic of it in retrospect, but it seemed to make perfect sense at the time. Anyway, so that happened, and it had been about eight years since I'd last seen Angela. And then she came to visit me at the teeny tiny little house that I shared with my new husband on West 11th Street in Medford, Oregon. It was so wonderful to see her, but it was also the first time that I felt how little we had in common. I felt like we were two people from two different planets, and it is also possible that I was a bit of an asshole at that time in my life and didn't really know how to treat my friends. After all, I'd gotten married without telling any of them and basically assumed a new identity on some level. I really did. I never realized it until I typed it out just now. But Angela didn't give up on me even after seeing and feeling completely tripped out by the life I'd assumed. (I've always been a bit of a chameleon in ways, but my role as a Medford wife/stepmother and small-town legal secretary was really one of my most outrageous, though one might argue that my subsequent 9-month tenure living with a male stripper in New Jersey and being his chauffer could rival that. My life has been all the bizarro soap opera that I can handle, and to this day it doesn't stop. I guess I shouldn't hope that it will.)

Anyway, it isn't necessary to get into all of the details of how I ended up in New York, but needless to say I did. And when I did and I'd gotten myself all settled in and well established, Angela, once again, came to visit me in my new life. Her mother had moved to Connecticut following her parents' divorce, and so it became convenient that I live in New York. Used to be that I worked in the Met Life Building at Grand Central Station and we could easily meet for drinks and pizza downstairs, as that is just where her train came in. She visited by herself a few times, and that was lovely. She also called me at my desk one day and said she was downstairs with her mom and her sister. I was excited about the surprise, so I hurried down and there they were, ready for a day out in the City. It was so good to see them and hug them all!

Then my brother died, and naturally I decided to leave that big corporate office in the sky to return to earth, life away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Central Station. I have talked to Angela, but not seen her since. However, each new incarnation of my life's passage is spotted with memories of Angela, presenting herself again and again, offering her friendship as a thing which is absolutely unchangeable in its sincerity. I've been fortunate enough to have incredible friends in this life, people who have this quality, this stalwart attitude about friendship, this intelligence and beauty that I feel privileged to interact with. And truly, Angela is one who has proven the real benefit of that longevity by always being there, always being a true friend, despite any place that either of us might ever move or travel to. Friendship is not a thing which is confined to a place. She really taught me that.

The reason I mention Angela today is because she sent me something that came two days ago wrapped in a big package by insured mail. This is the note that came with it:

Dearest Maria,

This Repose piece was what I was working on when I heard about Joshua. I felt it was a sign that it was meant for him and those he loves. My blacksmith teacher in Minneapolis heard the story and helped me finish the piece by building the steel part, and I helped with that. The relief work is out of copper. I wasn't able to find it for the longest time, and it was because I had left it at an art show, but just recently the owner of the space reminded me of its whereabouts. Perhaps the timing was meant to be. Sounds like, from your blog, things are a little rough. I am very sorry. I wish I could help. Let me know if I can! Much LOVE, Angela.

The letter was typed on an old typewriter, and I have reproduced it here without typos, despite their charm. It was signed in green pen, Angela.

This was with it and a pouch full of white votives.

You can look at other beautiful photographs of it here:

http://angelamcjunkin.googlepages.com/memorialsconce

Hi Angela,

I received your package this afternoon. It would be impossible to say how much it means to me. There have only been a few objects in my life which have held such value to me, and what is funny is that most of the others came from my brother. I'll never forget how it felt to open a package from him to find a piece of his artwork, something he'd made with his hands and his heart. Those are the only possessions in this world that I hold dear: those that were made for me with the hands and the artistic vision of a person that I love. Without a doubt, you are another such person. Angela, we have known each other a long time. A wonderfully long time. You have been such a great friend to me in a million different ways. But I want you to know that this thing, this beautiful treasure that you designed and fashioned and gifted to me, I will love it forever as a symbol of everything that you mean to me, and I can't thank you enough for the beautiful gesture of sympathy that you conveyed in your letter accompanying it. I shall never know another friend like you.

Love,

Maria

R.I.P. Bo Diddley

I saw this man perform once, at Randall's Island a few years ago. What I remember about him was that he was an incredibly entertaining musician and he completely blew my socks off when he threw down a freestyle rap with finesse that would rival that of Nas or Jay-Z any day of the week. His performance really stood out to me that day as one of the most privileged moments out of all of my musical experiences. Now, even more so, I feel so grateful that I got to see this legend perform live and in person before he left this earth for the next beautiful place that the universe has in store for people like him. Go on Bo Diddley. Go on go on.

**One of my myspace friends posted this video in a bulletin. The man did not mess around on that guitar. He got right to the heart, yes indeed. This is a great thing to see: